Pairing: Edward Cullen x Reader
Word Count: 1.8k words
Prompt: Somnophilia
Warnings: NSFW, smut, somnophilia (so dub/noncon themes), touching, no penetration, masturbation, panty stealing, Edward's a pervert but we knew that already...
A/N: Yeah... Okay.
You look so peaceful.
Moonlight streams in through your curtains as Edward stands in the corner of your room. Your blankets, rustled by your rest, no longer cover your chest and sit, instead, around your waist. Your shirt is so thin, he could see the outline of your nipples through it.
And he can smell your sticky arousal from where he stands.
It's a little unnerving. He’s been coming here for weeks, watching you sleep, listening to your dreams. And when you haven't quite fallen asleep yet, he can still hear your thoughts from the safety of the night outside.
Sometimes he even gets to hear your really intimate ones. He can see through your eyes, clouded in pleasure as you try to stifle your little sounds. He can see the images flashing behind your eyes as you plunge your fingers inside of yourself.
Sometimes even he makes an appearance in these thoughts—a flash of his face or his hands behind your eyes. It's enough to make him keep coming.
He knows he shouldn't be doing this—it's weird and perverted. He should turn around and leave—at least in this new girl's apparent lack of thoughts, he had a valid obsession for coming back. It's a much more potent intrigue.
But there's something about you that draws him, something darker than whatever it is he's found in his heart for Bella Swan.
Your blood is not nearly as maddening. He can hear and see your thoughts clear as day. Your beauty is not so ordinary as Bella’s, and more plainly seen. He's spent time talking to you, and you're not especially remarkable. And yet…
When you begin to stir, he almost runs. But you don't wake.
The slightest sound slips from your lips, a sigh—almost a whimper, even. He watches as you turn onto your belly, your blankets slipping from your body and allowing him to feast on the sight of you.
You're bare beneath the oversized shirt you wear. The shirt has ridden up your back during your adjustment and he can see the bare curve of your ass in the gentle moonlight through the window. One of your legs is bent, meaning his view is only elevated to something even more scandalous.
Images of bare bodies, sweaty skin, grinding and gripping arise within your mind. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, a silent groan in his throat at the sounds of moans and whimpers fill every recess of your thoughts.
Edward doesn't necessarily intend to move forward, but he does. His feet take slow, impossibly silent steps toward you. He reaches out his hand at his side, his fingers flexing and unflexing as he longs to press his fingers to your skin. His fingertips are careful in their venture, brushing delicate flesh and feeling the warmth of your skin radiating off of you.
His eyes catch something peeking out from beneath your blanket and he sees a sliver of pink. Wordlessly, he reaches for it and wraps pale fingers around soft, pink panties. They're damp with what he has come to recognize as your arousal. He smells it in the halls of the school, he smells it when he stands outside of your window at night. It is uniquely you, and it's maddening.
He shuts his eyes and watches the movie in your mind, sensual images of pleasure making it harder for him to resist tangling his fingers in your underwear and bringing them to his nose.
He inhales the scent like honeyed roses, sighing longingly as he presses them closer. It smells sweet, this saccharine scent that fills his mind with nothing but you—makes him grateful for the fact that no one else can hear the thoughts rushing through his head as an arousal he's not used to grows and grows in the pit of his stomach.
When you whimper again, he opens his eyes to see as you grind your hips shallowly into your mattress. Your thoughts are the same, if not more desperate. Your breaths are uneven, interrupted by tiny mewls. He watches as your growing need for pleasure rises within you until he thinks he won't be able to hold himself back any longer.
Edward almost doesn't realize it when his hand drops to his jeans, pulling down the zipper to relieve the hardness of his cock being restricted by the fabric. He stifles a groan when he glances down at himself, too stiff to be ignored as he finally, slowly, shamefully brings his hand to his cock and wraps it tightly around himself.
He's too far gone now. He knows he shouldn't be doing this, knows that it's wrong, that it's perverted. He should never have showed up in the first place.
But you're so peaceful now, even with the way you keen into your mattress and whine at the sinful thoughts in your head. He doesn't know why it's affecting him so deeply, why hearing your thoughts throughout the day, seeing you walk the halls, smelling you in the recesses of his mind makes him so adamant on being here. Even if it were all strictly innocent, he would still be here, watching you sleep watching you dream of pleasure.
He just wants to know what it's like…to be here, with you, in you. His mind is riddled with it, dirtied with it. He wants so badly to have you.
He fists his cock with an unsympathetic hand, stroking and gripping, trying so hard to be done with such a sinful deed. He wishes you didn't exist. He wishes you were never born so that he wasn't standing here, fisting his cock over your half-naked body as he held your panties to his nose.
You continue to grind into your bed to no avail, your whines only deepening when you cannot tame your need.
He's only helping. At least, that's what he'll tell himself when this is all over.
He bends over you, moving closer as his fingertips trail your back again. A tiny hum tickles his ears as they travel farther down, over the dip of your back, over the curve of your bottom. Your hips become a little more eager.
He lets his hand fall between your thighs, and he cups your arousal with a frigid palm. Your hips jerk slightly, but you don't wake.
He pulls his hand away, staring at his palm now slick with your wetness. He brings it close, inhales deeply, lets out a shaky sigh as he lets the scent of you invade his senses.
Edward lays the back of his hand against the bed, securely beneath you as he presses a finger to your clit. He keeps it there, does nothing else. He's steady and still as a statue as he watches you grind against his hand, losing breath in your sleep as a new pressure to your clit adds the pleasure you were needing.
Your tiny sounds grow as you aid yourself in finding a release. He purses his lips to keep quiet as he wraps your panties around his cock and strokes.
Between your breathy whines and his sinful arousal, all thoughts of fleeing have left his mind. He focuses on the thoughts flashing through your head, the way you grind your hips into his hand as you rub your clit over his still finger. Your fingers grip the sheets, your mind reels.
Edward grips himself almost uncomfortably, fucking his fist to your thoughts and your scent and your squirming hips. He can hear the sounds in your head fuzzing, he can see the image becoming brighter as it almost renders itself white noise.
You breathe a moan, a legitimate moan that has him opening his eyes to see your face, half pressed into your pillow. Your eyes flick rapidly behind your eyelids, your brows furrowing in a distant concentration. Sweat is beginning to prick along your spine.
He's not going to be able to hold out much longer—which is good. Being here, doing this, it's a line he knows he should not have crossed. The sooner he can relieve himself of his perverted act, the sooner he can leave you be. Maybe this will be the last time he comes to you. Maybe after this, he will be satisfied enough not to feel the need to come back.
The softness of your panties around his cock is intoxicating. His hips buck into his hand, and he nearly forgets to stay quiet when a sigh falls out of him. He watches your face, enamored by you and your pleasure as you continue to use his hand to find what you so desperately crave.
Your sounds become a little louder, loud enough to mask any puffs of breath he might let escape as the pleasure swells in him.
When he cums, it's a shameful feeling that overcomes him as he continues to fuck his cock into your panties. He stains them with his release, grunting as he loses himself in the pleasure, in your thoughts, in the mewls of your budding ecstasy. It shocks his system and settles once more as a heavy sinking in the pit of his stomach.
He's catching his breath, a deeply subconscious action that he does not realize is taking place until he can hear his breaths in his own ears again. He holds it immediately, steadying his thoughts to try and steer away from the continued filth of yours.
His eyes are glued to you when you find your release. Your jaw drops to let out a surprised moan as you grind harder, slower into his hand. Your arms flex as you grip the sheets, pulling yourself up. The sight is something he will never forget. It will stay with him forever.
And that is how he knows this will not be the last time.
His thoughts are cut short when the white noise of your thoughts are abruptly stolen into something he recognizes as consciousness. In hardly a second, he's tucked back into his jeans and fled from your bedroom window. It's closed so swiftly and so silently that you have no time to even realize it was open to begin with.
You catch your breath, opening your eyes and glancing around you as you try to figure out what this light, airy feeling in your body is coming from. You glance down between your thighs, slick with an arousal you had not fallen asleep with. As you tap your clit experimentally, you're surprised to find its sensitivity.
How did you cum in your sleep?
You glance around once more, as if looking for clues before ultimately coming short. You clammer out of bed to clean yourself up, looking to go back to sleep as quickly as possible.
Edward stands outside of your window, your panties still gripped in his hand, still stained with your arousal and his cum. He shoves them into his pocket and lets out a silent breath.
summary: edward is afraid to indulge himself around you… or basically you guys are getting down and he almost bites u but it’s ok
tags: fem reader, cunnilingus, dry humping, grinding, almost biting, slight temperature play? cumming untouched, cumming in pants, service top edward, vampires being sexy as usual.
warnings: edward almost bites you. that’s kind of it? some mention of death but very minimal.
word count: 1.5k
a/n: hi! this is my first fic on here and also my first time writing smut!! enjoy and lmk if it’s ok because idk 😪 I just know i had fun writing it lol
cross posted onto ao3
Edward didn’t like to indulge himself. Strict, unyielding discipline was necessary for his very existence as a being whose survival primarily depended on the death of others. He applied it to all things: to habits, to meals, to interaction. But you… you made it hard. His discipline was tested every time he was around you.
It was attraction. That much was obvious. Edward felt awkward about it, no matter how long he had lived. Attraction to your face, your body and especially your blood. He preferred not to think about it. Delicious rivers of it pumping through you like an oasis just for him… yes, he really did struggle through spending time with you.
One other thing he applied discipline to was sex. He was a monster after all. It stripped away his finesse, which was again quite awkward. Well, at least he thought it did. Although his innate vampire desire was for your blood, some of his sexual desire remained human.
Every heated moment, anytime you two made out or touched in any sort of intimate way, his focus was split between you and your perfect body, and the blood rushing through you, thrumming with arousal.
Because of that, and of course his nerves when it came to holding himself back, what you two did with eachother was limited. But when Edward got to you and you coaxed him into relaxing, he was amazing, if a bit too self concious. He just couldn't let himself go.
You had never believed him when he awkwardly told you how his wants changed with the makeup of his existence. But now you weren’t so sure.
Your room was the same as it always was that night- dim but warmly lit by your bedside lamp, your window open a slip to let Edward know he was welcome in any time, your clothes for tomorrow planned out and hung up on your closet door. But there was a change in the atmosphere. Usually, it was relaxed and quiet. Tonight it was tense and electric.
"Do you like that?" You purred, your warm hands sliding beneath his shirt and petting his cool skin. Beneath the pillow he had shoved over his head, Edward's groans and grunts were muffled. He always insisted upon it, because according to his logic if he were to be without it he would either pulverise your pelvis or scream- both equally unsexy. You liked to taunt him.
Beneath you, his hips bumped and slid against yours, cock so hard it was inhumanly possible. It was sad he never let you touch him. Again, according to his logic, if you were to ever give him one of the delicious handjobs he craved, he would immediately snap and eat you. Not in the sexy way. Although, it sounded sexy to you. He didn't appreciate you joking about it. He treated his limits very seriously, no matter how badly he wanted to break them. If he did, Edward promised you it would be the first- and last time you two were both completely satisfied. Primarily you. Because you'd be dead.
Your pussy was drooling through your panties just from the feeling of his desperate hips beneath you. The friction that dragged between your bodies was immaculate, a rough, grating feeling that opened your floodgates. How long had you two been at this- an hour? maybe half of one? Time lost all meaning when it was just the two of you getting hot and heavy like this. The crotch of his trousers were soaked. You couldn't tell if it was because of you or him.
After a particularly deep, rough grind from you, Edward growled into his pillow. Twisting the two of you over into missionary, said pillow was quickly discarded. His hips humped against your needily. You cupped his handsome face in your hands, trying to kiss him. It was a heat of the moment thing when you tried to use your tongue. Edward gave you a quick peck instead, before a long groan escaped his perfect lips and his face was buried in your neck, nose right against your pulse. His mouth opened, and you felt his cold breath against you, making you shiver. Your pussy welled up as you felt his lips get closer, kissing your skin hurriedly. He was obsessed with you. It made him careless. So, so careless. "Edward!" You gasped, feeling the edge of one of his fangs slip lightly against your neck.
Quickly, he took his head out of the crook of your neck. His expression mirrored a mix of intense lust and need. Edward seemed to refocus himself, his thick eyebrows furrowing "Sorry." He murmured "Maybe I should..." He looked away, like he was about to stop. Against his suddenly static cock, your pussy throbbed. Out of primal, bursting need, you jerked up, grabbing him by the arm. "No! I mean... it's okay." You whined, tugging slightly at his shirt sleeve. His eyes met yours, and all of a sudden, that hunger was back.
"Are you sure?" He asked lowly, his soft fingers sliding under the sides of your underwear, up your thighs "I don't want to end up hurting you. You know that... that's always a possibility." He said, his eyes still on yours. He was trying to be earnest, but the feeling of his cold skin on yours was far too distracting. "Mhm..." You mumbled absently, your eyes going wide as the soaked fabric slid further down your thighs. Edward inhaled sharply. The scent of your effluence was too much for him. "You just make it so hard for me to control myself." Edward whispered. A certain electricity had formed between your bodies, between his hands and your sweet, sensitive thighs.
As your panties were finally stripped from you, leaving you bare from the bottom down, Edward pulled your thighs around his shoulders. "You're beautiful." He murmured simply, before his cool mouth laid itself down against your warm folds. Almost immediately, the pleasure became overwhelming. "Oh!" You gasped as his tongue met your clit, your hands falling into his hair. Edward looked at you with those gorgeous hooded eyes, which despite their golden colour looked hungry as a starving man’s. He never stopped looking at you, not once. The thought made you blush.
Edward held your hips down with an almost bruising pressure, his hands like cold marble against your sweltering skin as you attempted to squirm. “Edward…” You panted, your hips bucking up into his mouth. He lapped at you like a starved dog. Somehow, probably because of his teeth, he’d learnt to use his tongue like a weapon. He preferred to eat you out rather than finger you, when it came to that. He just preferred to use his tongue. He said he didn’t get as much taste out of blood as he got out of your sweetness.
"Do you like that?" He murmured. You nodded, your thighs tightening around his head as he swiped over your clit with such skill it made you jerk with how good it felt. "I know you do." His tongue dragged through your folds, your juices slathering onto his tongue. Edward groaned. You whimpered. He laved against your clit, rubbing and sucking on it, until finally your hands tightened hard in his hair. "Edward!" You gasped, squirming hard "Edward!"
When you came, he didn't stop. He kept going, tongue pressing into your weeping pussy, pleasuring you to the point of near torture. As a second orgasm rolled through you, your hips starting to shake, you gasped "Let-let me-" You mumbled weakly, trying to bring your hand down to the erection that had to be painful by now. Edward guided your hand away, looking a tad embarrased "No... I'm fine." He murmured. Upon looking down again, you noticed he'd gotten much, much softer. He'd came just from eating you out. The thought of it turned you on to another level. It made you dizzy with arousal.
"Oh fuck." You whispered. Your pussy drooled with you.
As if nothing had happened, Edward started again. Your hips rolled and shook, and your attention was quickly brought away from the discovery you'd just made about yourself. "Oh- too much!" You moaned "Stop! Please! Too much!" Primal, lustful whimpers were torn from your throat. You were so loud. It only spurred him on further. It came all at once- your final orgasm. It was only final because you're weren't sure you could take another.
Your back arched, and your fingers in Edward's hair tightened hard. The moan that escaped from your throat was a noise you'd never heard yourself make before. Guttural and too much. Everything was too much around him. And you loved it.
Finally, after letting you come down from your peak, Edwards hands slid around your waist as he pressed you against his chest. You were still shaking. "Fuck..." You mumbled, cuddling closer to him. "Was that good?" He asked lowly. You sighed and nodded, your head lolling against him weakly "So good. Don't run off yet, okay?"
He nodded, a hand sliding through your hair. Perhaps another night you'd reach your goal of getting him to let you touch him. Not tonight though. You were exhausted.
i often see people asking where to find stuff so heres a whole post of jackass links!!! a catalog of jackass + friends content, all from internet archive, organized by release date.
big brother video collection (1996-2001)
cky (1999)
cky2k (2000)
jackass (2000-2001)
cky3 (2001)
cky documentary (2001)
dont try this at home: the steve-o video (2001)
cky4 (2002)
the steve-o video vol.2 (2002)
haggard (2003)
wildboyz (2003)
steve-o:the early years (2004)
steve-o: gross misconduct (2005)
it should also be noted that you can view all jackass movies (except for 4 and 4.5!) on pluto tv for free. ublock origin for no ads ;]
pairing: coach!steve harrington x teacher!reader
summary: your extremely professional relationship with coach steve may be under investigation by one (1) very observant six-year-old.
warnings: pure fluff, slightly suggestive, steve is just absolutely smitten, secret relationship, children being adorable, mention of marriage, post-s5 (2.3k)
. * ✦ . ˚ ✦ .
Little Eli Parker is zooming down the hallway on a Very, Very Important Mission.
Six years old, sandy curls bouncing wildly with every step, he's panting hard through the wide gap between his two front teeth. One of the Velcro straps on his sneaker has come undone, flapping wildly as he skids to a stop just outside your classroom door.
5B
He doesn’t come all the way in. Just peeks around the frame, fingers gripping the edge as he rocks back and forth on his heels.
You pause mid-sentence, lowering the book you’ve been reading aloud. A few students crane their necks to look.
Eli’s bright blue mesh pinnie hangs crooked over his T-shirt, smudged with chalk dust and tiny white handprints—making it very clear which class he’s just sprinted away from. His cheeks are flushed, chest heaving like he’d forgotten the ‘no running in the halls’ rule until the very last second.
“Hey, Eli,” you call out gently. “You okay, honey?”
He sucks in a much-needed breath, eyes wide. “Um… miss you haveta come with me. Coach Steve says you need to!”
You tilt your head. “Coach Steve?”
He nods solemnly. “He said it’s a ‘mer-gency.’”
A ripple of whispers spreads through your fifth-grade classroom.
You blink, already pushing your chair back. “Did he say what kind of emergency?”
Eli shakes his head, serious as anything. “No. He just said we need to hurry.”
Your stomach gives a small, uneasy flip.
Eli isn’t the type to exaggerate. He’s sweet, careful. Reminds everyone when it’s time to line up after recess and always volunteers to erase the board without being asked. He's the sort of kid teachers trust without thinking twice.
If he’s the messenger, it’s because of something important.
“Alright, everyone,” you call to the class. “Keep reading quietly. I’ll be right back.”
A chorus of shuffling follows as you reach for your cardigan.
“Hurry, hurry,” Eli bounces on his heels, voice small but insistent.
Before you can answer, he reaches for your hand. His grip is tiny, warm, a little sticky—surprisingly strong. You find yourself getting dragged by his bouncy, determined steps, weaving past rows of lockers, dodging a cluster of kids heading to recess. He zigzags through the main hallway, past the water fountain, the art room, taking the shortcut through the library until you arrive at the wide, double doors leading into the gym.
The moment you push them open, chaos erupts.
Bright rubber dodgeballs zing through the air. Sneakers squeak across the glossy, lacquered floor. Laughter and triumphant shrieks ricochet off the walls, punctuated by the occasional, “Yes! Got you!” from victorious first graders.
Coach Steve's leaned casually against the far wall, clipboard tucked under one arm, whistle hanging loose around his neck. He’s sipping from a blue ceramic mug that reads World’s Best Teacher in chipped white lettering.
Only five months into the job, yet he’s already something of a legend here at Hawkins Elementary. The younger kids adore him—dodgeball days and ridiculous warm-up games where he pretends to be a shark, stalking the gym with dramatic dun-dun noises until they’re all shrieking with laughter. Older kids trust him in quieter ways, lingering after sex ed to ask questions they’re not brave enough to bring home.
Despite the nerves you remember from his first day, Steve has settled into teaching like it’s been waiting for him all along.
Right now, though, he’s fully in coach mode. Brow furrowed, stance wide, eyes tracking the game like it’s a championship match instead of a bunch of kids still learning how to throw straight.
“Out of bounds! That one doesn’t count.”
“Woah—no head shots, Jacob! C’mon, we talked about that.”
“You okay, Alex? I got you. Here, try it like this. Yeah, there ya go bud!”
Eli, who had been clutching your hand the entire walk across school, suddenly lets go and races toward his favorite teacher.
“Coach Steve! I did it! I got her!”
Steve looks up. Sees you.
And the grin that breaks across his face is so immediate, so fond, it'd be enough to give you both away if anyone was paying the tiniest bit of attention.
“Hey!” he laughs, stepping forward. “Nice work, buddy. Thanks for the help.”
You watch, eyes narrowed in confusion as he ruffles Eli’s curls and slaps a high five against his tiny palm.
Eli puffs up with pride and pivots to sprint back to the game.
“Whoa—hang on, pal.”
Steve drops to his knees, setting the clipboard aside as he reaches for the loose strap on Eli’s shoe. He fastens it with careful, practiced fingers, giving it a quick tug to make sure it’ll hold.
Your stomach melts a little at the sight of him crouched like that: focused, patient, so gentle with this kid who’s staring at him like he hung the moon.
“There we go, champ,” he grins, giving Eli's sneaker a little pat. “Good as new. Now go have fun, alright? Your team missed you.”
Eli nods hard, then rockets back into the game without another word.
Steve straightens and finally turns to you, eyes warm, smile soft—and just a touch guilty.
“Mr. Harrington,” you say, crossing your arms carefully, “what exactly is the emergency you pulled me out of class for?”
His mouth quirks sheepishly, hands slipping into his pockets.
“Well, I just…” He steps closer, dropping his voice. “Haven’t seen you all morning. I missed you.”
You blink.
“You—” A breathy laugh slips out before you can stop it. “You sent poor Eli to fetch me because you missed me?”
He nods like it’s the most logical thing in the world. “Yeah. He's my fastest kid.”
“No, that's not the...” you trail off, turning your head, failing completely to hide your smile.
Steve steps closer, angling the clipboard between you so that, to anyone looking in, it would look like you’re addressing some very concerning issues with the class roster.
Well, except for the part where his eyes are glued to your face.
There’s this soft intensity in his gaze that makes your breath hitch, just by holding it. You find yourself staring back, unable to look away, appreciating the faint creases around his temples, how they deepen with his smile, the plush curve of his bottom lip and the rounded apples of his cheeks as they get pushed upward.
“That’s better,” he murmurs, voice all deep and honey-warm. “Just needed to look at you for a second.”
You shake your head, cheeks warming despite yourself.
There’s a reason you’ve been keeping this thing with Steve a secret.
You both realized, pretty early on, that acting normal in a building full of nosy children and nosier adults was a losing battle. You had to learn to bend with it, catching tiny, fleeting moments in the spaces between, holding onto each one as tightly as you can.
It wasn’t perfect. Mrs. Kline, the school secretary, has definitely noticed the two of you laughing a little too freely by the copier. One of your students will occasionally squint at you during silent reading time, wondering why a tiny scrap of paper left on your table at lunch leaves you grinning for the rest of the day.
Still, you make it work.
A shared coffee in the teachers’ lounge before the morning bell. Standing side-by-side near the parking lot fence as the buses roll in. A granola bar tucked under your desk with a note folded impossibly small.
you look beautiful today ◡̈
He repeats the message to you now, even as you roll your eyes and try to look away.
“Seriously, I mean it," he murmurs, tracing your face with his eyes—the slope of your nose, the curve of your cheek—before lingering, unmistakably, on your mouth. “Want to kiss you so bad right now.”
You snort, nudging the sleeve of his sweatshirt with a finger. It’s soft, heather-gray, the Hawkins Elementary mascot faint and cracked across the chest.
“That’s deeply unprofessional of you, Mr. Harrington.”
He groans under his breath, brow creasing as he tips his head back. “God, I love it when you say it like that. Say it one more time?”
“Jesus—Steve!” you hiss, half-laughing, eyes darting toward the gym floor like the kids might suddenly develop super-hearing over the screech of sneakers and flying dodgeballs.
Instead of stepping back, he leans in closer, lips parted in that familiar half-pout, eyes full of mock agony. “Can’t help it, honey. You’re fucking killing me over here.”
“Language,” you warn him, simply out of pure habit.
He smirks, lips twitching.
From the far end of the gym, a group of kids cheer triumphantly, “Yes! Coach Steve! We won!”
You both jump back like you’ve been caught doing something much worse than grinning at each other like idiots.
“Uh—great! Great job, gang!” Steve calls, clapping his hands. “Let's get all the balls in the cart and then grab some water, yeah? Five-minute break.”
Then he leans back in, brows raised. “See? Total professional. I’m telling you.”
You shake your head. “You’re unbelievable.”
You’re still smiling when he pivots, glancing over his shoulder to make sure no one’s paying attention. Satisfied, he turns back to you, brows drawn into a hopeful, pleading slant.
"C'mon," he murmurs, lifting the clipboard up like a partition. "I’ll get another game going. The kids won’t even notice. Just you... me...” He gestures between you, then toward the double doors leading outside. “Five minutes?”
You press your lips together, schooling your expression back into something stern. “Steve Harrington. I am not fucking you behind the school gym.”
"Language!" He gasps, mimicking your tone. “And jeez, who said anything about that? I was just gonna, you know, have a very professional conversation with you… about teaching.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Oh, c’mon, bab—"
“Coach Steve?”
Both of your heads snap down at the same time.
Eli stands there, chin tipped up, hands clasped neatly behind his back like he’s been waiting for his turn to speak. He’s rocking gently on his heels, eyes bright with curiosity as he looks between the two of you.
“Heyyy, buddy!” Steve laughs nervously, voice jumping up an octave. “What’s up? You okay?”
Eli nods.
Then, completely matter-of-fact, he asks:
“Coach Steve, when you marry her, can I come?”
Steve chokes on absolutely nothing.
“When—what?”
“When you get married,” Eli repeats patiently, like Steve’s just being a little slow today. “I wanna come.”
Steve squats down so fast he almost drops the clipboard.
“Eli,” he says carefully, “why do you think we’re getting married?”
Eli shrugs, unfazed. “’Cause you’re prac-tis married.”
“Practice… practice married?”
“Yeah. Like my Auntie Jen and her friend Mark at Thanksgiving.”
Steve blinks. “Okay, and what's... why do you think we’re practice married?”
Eli doesn’t hesitate. He points toward the front of the gym, in the general direction of your classroom. “’Cause you always wait for her outside her door.”
Steve opens his mouth. Closes it.
“And you bring her coffee. But you don’t bring us coffee.”
“Well,” Steve murmurs faintly, “that’s ‘cause you’re six.”
Eli shrugs again. “And you talk to her really soft. Like this,” he cups his hand around his mouth to demonstrate, whispering loudly. “Also, you always save her a chair at ass-em-blee.”
Steve rubs a hand down his face, glancing up at you before looking back at Eli. “That’s, uh… very observant of you, buddy.”
Eli isn’t done.
“And you make funny faces at her in the hallway. Oh! And you fixed her pencil sharpener. And, and, there was one time you looked at her, and you didn’t look away for one... two... three...” He glances down at his fingers and starts counting under his breath. “five... six... seven... eigh—”
“Okay!” Steve laughs loudly, holding up his hands. “Okay, buddy, I get it. That’s... that’s a long time.”
Eli nods, clearly pleased with himself. “Auntie Jen and Mark, they used to go everywhere together. And Mark fixed all the stuff around her house. Then later they got married for real.”
He looks between the two of you, satisfied.
“So. I think you’re practice married.”
You bite the inside of your cheek and crouch beside Steve. “Well... I think that’s a pretty solid theory, Eli.”
“Mm-hm, thanks,” he nods confidently. Then he spins back to Steve. “So, when you do the real one, can I come? I’m really good at sitting still. And my mom says when people get married they always eat cake. I love cake.” He spreads his arms wide. “Auntie Jen’s was this big!”
Steve presses his lips together, letting out a short, incredulous snort. “You know what, pal? Sure. Whe—if we get married, you’re more than welcome to come. And we’ll get the biggest cake we can find, okay?”
Eli beams. “Okay!”
He starts to run back to the group, then skids to a stop and turns around.
“Hey, Coach Steve?”
“Yeah?”
“You should ask her nicely,” Eli says, serious as anything. “With flowers. Mark did that.”
And then he’s gone.
Steve stays crouched, staring after him, jaw slack.
“…Did a six-year-old just give me relationship advice?”
“Mm, seems like it.”
He stands slowly, running a hand through his hair, eyes still following Eli as he rejoins the others.
“You think he spotted it before we did?” he asks quietly. “Back when... you know, we were still trying to figure out what we were doing?”
You smile. “Probably way before then.”
Steve's still distracted when you put your hand on his shoulder, quickly checking to see that no one’s watching before pressing a soft, fleeting kiss to his cheek.
He blinks, stunned. “Wha—no, wait, shit—”
He reaches for you a full second too late; you’re already headed for the door.
“Language. Have a good rest of your class, Mr. Harrington.”
Steve watches you go, hand frozen at his cheek.
Across the gym, Eli spots you and waves enthusiastically, completely unaware of just how accurate his little theory was.
The proof?
A small velvet box, tucked away in Steve’s bedside drawer, waiting patiently for the right moment.
. * ✦ . ˚ ✦ .
can I PLEASE request steve and shy!reader’s first time?? he practically begs her to make noise and when she does he’s just DEAD
ty for requesting!! — steve teaches you how to use your voice in the bedroom (new relationship, shy!reader, smut 18+)
“Is that the spot?”
You only vaguely hear Steve’s voice, low and honeyed in your ear, as his kiss-bitten lips trace over the shell of it. You’re suffocated beneath the weight of his golden body, and the pleasure he punches into you with relentless, measured thrusts. Steve keeps himself propped on his sinewy forearms on either side of your head, watching with attentive eyes as your pretty face screws with pleasure every time he fucks himself into you.
It’s hard for him to know exactly what you like when you aren’t really telling him anything. Your silence is not entirely expected — you’re always a quiet little thing, and now is no exception — but it’s hard for him to know if you feel good.
He’s grown too used to the wild types; the girls that scream and writhe and make sex an Oscar-worthy performance. He likes how quiet you are in your pleasure; how your pliable body reacts so loudly to his touches despite how shy you are.
He’s already found the spot that makes you keen. With one especially languid thrust — which had pierced the deepest parts of you and caged your sensitive clit beneath his coarse pubic hair — your wild head tipped back against the pillow, in time with your arching back and your clenching fists that reach blindly for the navy sheets below. The sudden stroke of pleasure, like lightning down your spine, makes you feel like a woman possessed.
Steve’s rosy mouth, slick with your honey and spit, curls into a crooked smile at the sight.
“Yeah?” he coos, half-breathless, when your velvet walls clench around him. “You like this, don’t you, honey?”
All he gets from you is a soft and airy moan, but it makes his stiff cock jerk in your quivering confines anyway.
“Then tell me.”
His words fall over you like summer rain. You don’t know if it’s a command or a plea — and he doesn’t, either, really — but he just wants to hear you.
Your mouth parts in a silent moan when his hips rock back and forward again, never quite pulling all the way out of you before fucking into you again, inch by agonizing inch. Your nails dig crescent shapes into his shoulder blades, and Steve revels in the distant burn.
“C’mon, sweet thing…” he pants above you. The breath of his words fans warm against your chin as his broad nose nudges against the side of yours. “Tell me… Tell me I’m making you feel good…”
A flicker of panic dashes across your fucked-out features at the simple command — you wouldn’t know what to tell him, how to tell him without sounding utterly un-sexy. But then his hips tilt back between your parted thighs, dragging his stiff cock out of you until your drooling pussy clenches around the bulbous tip, and then pushes slowly back into you again.
He forces you to feel all of it — every inch of his cock as he fills you once more. The thatch of hair above his happy trail that ruts mercilessly along your swollen clit, more so when your hips buck on their own accord. The scruff of his chest that brushes your sensitive nipples when you tighten your hold around his shoulders.
You couldn’t make out the words if you tried.
You cage your bottom lip between your teeth and squeeze your eyes shut tight, missing the look of worry that flashes across Steve’s scruffy face. His measured thrusts falter at your silence, lean hips stilling between your thighs.
“Does it… Does it not feel good?” he mumbles awkwardly into the quiet of his bedroom.
Your eyes fly open then, heavy-lidded and swimming with a leftover pleasure. You almost can’t believe he’s asking you that. Like you aren’t already so close to your orgasm, like you haven’t already drenched the sheets below you.
“Yeah… It— It feels good…” you tell him through panted breaths, quiet and hardly audible. Your eyes dart back and forth between his chocolate ones. Something short of agony twists at your pouting features. “Why— Why’d you stop?”
Steve grins all over again, though it wavers at the edges with a lingering worry.
“You got all quiet on me…” he murmurs, smoothing one wide hand over your cheek. The skin there is slightly sticky from a thin layer of sweat as he smooths rouge tendrils of hair from your temples with a softly calloused palm. His touch is as warm and firm as his heavy balls still pressed against your ass. “I wanted to make sure it was good for you, too…”
You shift slightly, caged beneath his golden body and the mattress below. You shrink into yourself instinctively, though there isn’t anywhere to go with you pressed so intently against him.
“Sorry…” you whisper.
Steve shakes his head. The chestnut tresses hanging over his forehead sway over his eyes, which go squishy around the edges when he smiles down at you with a melted chocolate gaze.
“You don’t have to apologize… I get it. It’s okay.”
He punctuates his reassurance with a kiss. His lips taste like spearmint, nicotine, and the sweet-salty tang of your cum when they press against yours. Your mouths slot together in a lingering, longing thing like they were meant to do it — like he was made to kiss you, like his only purpose was to kiss you.
Your lips smack when you pull away.
“Can you…” you hear yourself ask, then trail off a second later when you catch yourself.
“Can I what?” Steve hums knowingly. His lips curl into a lazy smile moments before he leans down to press them to your cheek. He doesn’t really kiss you there, but rather brushes the plush skin along your sweat-slick one. The breath of his words fans across your jaw and sends chill bumps pebbling across your bare body. “Use your words for me, and I’ll give you whatever you want.”
My cock, he means. Or the world. Or the ocean. Whatever you could possibly ask for, he’d fight like hell to get.
Your breath catches when his wet mouth meets your pulse. You wonder if he can feel the thrumming of your rapid heartbeat there. “Can you keep going?” you plead in a breathless whisper.
Steve grits his teeth to fight back a moan when your words make his cock twitch inside you. The scruff of his chin scratches your shoulder when he nods. “Yeah. Yeah, baby, I can… I do that for you…”
The process starts all over again, the merciless rocking of his hips. He pulls out just enough to make you sigh at the empty feeling, then he fucks back into you until his balls slap the plush skin of your ass. Your back arches off the mattress as your nails dig into his golden shoulder. Your moan gets buried in your throat, in a hardly audible whimper.
“Let me hear it, baby,” Steve pleads through labored breaths as his fists ball into the pillows on either side of your head.
His lidded gaze, glassy with a layer of honey, flits across your fucked-out features — eyes squeezed shut, head tossed back, bottom lip caged between your teeth. The sight of you below him is heaven alone, especially compared to how demoniacal your cunt feels wrapped around him.
“Let me make you feel good. C’mon.”
You vaguely feel his right hand squeeze between your sweaty bodies as he continues his measured thrusts. His finger brushes over your stomach, and past the thatch of hair above your pussy, before finding purchase on your clit — already sensitive from your previous orgasm, which he had given to you with nothing but his mouth.
Your body reacts before your mind does. Your hips buck with a shock of electricity. Your thighs clench around his lean hips. Your mouth parts to exhale a broken whimper.
“Right there,” you hear yourself say. “Oh, my god— Right there.”
The praise makes Steve’s even thrusts falter for a moment. A groan rumbles in the depths of his throat. “Yeah… There you go,” the boy slurs. “You sound so pretty for me— Fuck. I knew you would…”
His words make you keen. “Steve…” you whimper when you feel your orgasm suddenly approaching, like a knot in the pit of your stomach that’s growing tighter and tighter, threatening to snap at any moment.
He tries not to burst entirely at the way you say his name.
“What is it, honey?” he coos. “You close?”
“Yes…” you sigh.
“I know you are, baby— I can feel it,” he says through gritted teeth, as his own pleasure starts to build. “You’re getting so tight around me, baby, I can— shit. I can barely move—”
Your pussy clenches tighter around him, all but weeping for him now. Steve’s fingers on your swollen clit only add to the ache, which feels borderline overwhelming now. Your face screws in a pained sort of look as your thighs tremble on either side of his waist. You writh beneath his golden body, trying to both chase your orgasm and run from its intensity at the same time.
“Please, please, please…” you hear yourself begging, though for what, you couldn’t say. “Please, Steve…”
“I’m right here, baby,” the boy coos, words slurring from his own encroaching orgasm. He keeps one merciless hand on your clit, which swells beneath his fingers, while his other shifts to hold you. He keeps himself propped up with his elbow while his palm settles over the crown of your head. His fingers curl gently in your hair as he murmurs to you, “I’m right here. Take what you want. You know I’ll give it to you. You just gotta… holy shit— You just gotta fucking take it, baby—”
Something about his words sends you over the edge. The way he says them to you so softly, maybe, or the way they come out slightly strangled as he fights back his own pleasure.
“There you go…” Steve sighs when he feels you cumming around him, velvet walls clenching through the silk you leak for him. He watches through the haze of bliss clouding his vision as you finally succumb to your orgasm, twitching and writhing behind him through every wave of pleasure. “Take it, baby. Take it—”
His voice breaks. A pain sort of groan sounds deep in his throat as his own orgasm threatens to unravel him. He punches into you once, hard, and then buckles down over you. He suffocates you beneath his warm, heavenly body while his aching cock jerks within the pulsing walls of your pussy, spitting several ropes of warm cum deep inside of you.
“Fuck, baby,” he whimpers into your neck, where he hides his flushed face that screws in a pained look of overwhelming pleasure. “Fuck—”
He stills against you with one last, shallow thrust. The remaining tension floods from his body as he sinks heavily onto yours, with every intention of melting with you there. It’s the closest to heaven he’s ever felt — hell, probably the closest to heaven he’ll ever get — with his sweat-slick skin sticking so deliciously to yours.
“Stay…” he hears you whisper when he goes to pull out of you.
The soles of your feet press into the back of his scruffy thighs. Steve pulls just far enough to see your face, and finds you wearing a pleading, pitiful sort of look — brows scrunched, eyes wet, mouth pouted from his kisses.
“Don’t pull out,” you beg through heavy breaths. “Please. I… I wanna stay like this for a while…”
Steve’s pink lips spread into a lopsided grin. His eyes are made of melted chocolate as they dart between both of your glassy ones. Rogue tendrils of chestnut hair fall over his forehead as he nods. And when the words of a promise finally catch up to him, he grins, “Yeah. Whatever you want, baby…”
Summary: Cedric Diggory, the golden boy of Hufflepuff gifts his girlfriend a bunny, and regrets it later when the bunny becomes a competition.
Warning: fluff, proposal, bunny
THE MORNING SUN STREAMED THROUGH THE tall windows of the Hufflepuff common room, painting everything in a soft golden glow. The fire crackled lazily in the hearth, the warmth of it blending with the quiet hum of students drifting in and out. It was a special morning—her birthday—and Cedric Diggory had been waiting for this day with more anticipation than he’d ever admit out loud.
She descended the girls’ staircase still tugging a jumper over her head, her hair slightly mussed from sleep but her eyes sparkling the moment they landed on him. Cedric was leaning against the arm of a chair, broad shoulders relaxed, his expression already breaking into that warm, sunlit smile that had always been her undoing.
“Happy birthday, sunshine,” he murmured as she reached him.
Her face lit up brighter than the fire. She threw her arms around him, pressing herself into his chest, and he laughed softly, catching her with ease. He kissed the top of her head, letting his lips linger there, as if the words alone hadn’t been enough.
“Thank you,” she whispered, muffled against him.
He drew back just slightly, hands still firm on her waist, eyes shining with the kind of boyish excitement he usually reserved for Quidditch victories. “I’ve got something for you.”
Her brows lifted in surprise. “Cedric, you didn’t have to—”
“I wanted to,” he cut in quickly, almost bashfully, though the mischievous glint in his eyes gave him away. He tugged at her hand and led her towards the far corner of the common room, where a small wooden crate was waiting by the armchair.
Curiosity flickered across her face as she crouched down. The crate wobbled faintly… and then a tiny nose poked out from the top.
Her breath caught. “Oh—”
A moment later, Cedric carefully lifted the lid, and out hopped a ridiculously fluffy bunny, its fur a cloud of soft grey and white. Its ears flopped forward as it blinked up at her, twitching its nose inquisitively.
Her gasp broke into laughter, a sound so light and delighted that Cedric swore he’d never forget it. She scooped the bunny into her arms instantly, cradling it against her chest as though she’d been waiting for this very creature her entire life.
“She’s perfect,” she whispered, stroking the silky fur as the bunny burrowed into her. “Oh, Cedric—”
The look she gave him was radiant, her eyes brimming with affection, and before he could even react, she leaned forward and kissed him deeply. His hands immediately found her waist, pulling her closer as he kissed her back, grinning against her lips because there was nothing he loved more than making her happy.
When they finally pulled apart, her attention snapped back to the bunny, her face glowing as she nuzzled its head. “What should I name her?” she mused aloud, bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet as she cuddled the tiny ball of fluff.
Cedric chuckled, slipping his hands into his pockets as he watched. “I thought you’d like her.”
“Like her? Cedric, I love her,” she said with so much conviction that he almost puffed up with pride.
Almost.
Because over the next week, that pride turned into something else entirely.
The bunny, whom she eventually named Clover, had somehow stolen her entire heart. Every free moment she had was spent cuddling Clover, stroking Clover, or cooing over Clover. Cedric would slide into the common room after practice, hair windswept, chest still warm from the pitch, only to find her stretched across the sofa with the bunny nestled under her chin.
Once, he leaned down for a kiss, only for her to tilt her head away, murmuring, “Careful, don’t disturb her nap.”
His lips froze midair. “Her nap?” he repeated flatly, staring at the bundle of fur that was apparently more deserving of affection than him.
The bunny twitched in her sleep. She giggled and pressed a kiss to its head. “Isn’t she the sweetest thing you’ve ever seen?”
Cedric stood there, utterly betrayed. “I thought I was the sweetest thing you’d ever seen.”
She looked up at him with a cheeky grin, eyes dancing. “You’re tied.”
He groaned, dropping onto the arm of the sofa with exaggerated defeat. “I’ve been replaced by a rabbit.”
“Not replaced,” she teased, hugging Clover a little closer. “Just… shared.”
But the teasing only deepened Cedric’s mock-jealousy. He’d watch her scratch behind Clover’s ears and mutter under his breath about how unfair it was. He even tried bribing Clover with bits of apple one evening, hoping the bunny would hop into his lap instead of hers. Clover, however, merely sniffed at him before hopping right back into her arms.
“She doesn’t like you as much,” she teased with a wicked grin.
Cedric pointed at the rabbit accusingly. “She knows I’m competition.”
She laughed so hard she nearly cried, setting Clover gently onto the rug before climbing into Cedric’s lap, pressing a flurry of kisses against his cheeks. “You could never be replaced, Ced,” she whispered between kisses. “Not by anyone. Not even by the fluffiest bunny in the world.”
His arms wrapped around her instantly, his faux sulk melting into laughter as he buried his face in her neck. “Good,” he murmured, his voice muffled against her skin. “Because I’m not sharing your kisses with anyone. Not even her.”
Clover twitched her nose from the rug, utterly unimpressed.
And Cedric Diggory, golden boy of Hufflepuff, couldn’t help but think—maybe he regretted the bunny just a little.
But then she tilted his chin up and kissed him again, soft and sure and sunshine-bright, and he decided Clover could keep stealing her attention, as long as he still got this.
The weeks after her birthday passed in a haze of warmth—frost crisping the castle windows, laughter drifting through the Hufflepuff common room, and Clover, the grey-white bunny, hopping into the rhythm of their days as though she had always belonged.
Cedric still wore his mock-jealousy like armor, though less convincingly each time. He would groan whenever she kissed Clover’s head, muttering about how he used to get all her kisses first. She only teased him, and then kissed him twice as much, which always softened his sulk.
But what Cedric hadn’t expected was how much Clover had quietly become… his ally.
One snowy Saturday afternoon, he found her curled up in the corner of the common room, Clover nestled in her lap as she stared absently into the fire. Something about her expression tugged at his chest—it wasn’t her usual sunshine glow, but something dimmer, quieter.
He knelt beside her. “Hey,” he murmured gently, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “What’s wrong?”
She shook her head, smiling faintly. “Nothing. Just… homesick, maybe. Birthdays always make me miss my family a bit.” She scratched Clover’s ears, but her voice was soft, wistful.
Cedric’s chest tightened. He hated when her light dimmed, even a little. He searched for words, but before he could, Clover shifted in her lap, stretching upward until her twitching nose brushed her chin. The bunny’s clumsy attempt at comfort made her laugh—a real laugh this time, sweet and bright.
“See?” Cedric said quickly, seizing the moment. “Even Clover knows you shouldn’t be sad.”
She looked down at the bunny, then back at him. “She’s perfect.”
“No,” Cedric corrected, sliding his hands around hers, careful not to disturb Clover. “You’re perfect. Clover just agrees with me.”
Her cheeks flushed as she leaned into his touch. She kissed him once, soft and grateful. And Cedric thought, not for the first time, that maybe the bunny wasn’t competition after all—maybe she was his wing-bunny.
It became a pattern. On stressful days, Clover was the one who drew her into quiet corners where Cedric could join her, wrapping his arms around both girl and rabbit at once. During late nights in the library, Clover sat in her lap while Cedric quizzed her on Charms, the sight of her laughing with a bunny in her arms etched into his heart forever.
And one spring evening, when Cedric finally worked up the nerve to ask her something much bigger than will you meet me at the library, Clover was there too.
They sat under the blossoming beech tree near the lake, Clover nibbling clover (fittingly) on the grass between them. Cedric fumbled with the small velvet box hidden in his robes, his heart hammering.
She was watching the bunny with adoration, unaware of Cedric’s nerves. “She’s grown so much,” she murmured.
Cedric swallowed hard, then reached for her hand. “So have we.”
When she turned toward him, eyes curious, he pulled out the box and opened it to reveal a delicate silver ring, a tiny carved bunny etched into the band beside a small gemstone.
Her breath caught.
Cedric’s voice trembled, but his smile was steady. “You’ve always been my sunshine. And I don’t want to spend a single day without you—whether you’re kissing me, or Clover, or both.” He laughed nervously, then added more seriously, “Will you promise yourself to me?”
For a moment, all she could do was stare, heart pounding, before she threw herself into his arms, nearly knocking him backward into the grass.
“Yes,” she whispered fiercely into his ear. “A million times yes.”
Clover hopped between them then, as if demanding inclusion, and she laughed through her tears, scooping the bunny into their embrace. “Looks like we’re a family now.”
Cedric kissed her deeply, his thumb brushing over her cheek, his other hand tangled with hers around Clover. And for once, he didn’t regret the bunny at all. In fact—he silently thanked her.
Because Clover hadn’t stolen his sunshine. She had only made her shine brighter.
Years later, the Diggory cottage was exactly what anyone would expect from a couple like Cedric and her: warm, sunlit, and endlessly inviting. Wildflowers lined the garden path, a Quidditch broom leaned lazily against the porch, and inside, the scent of cinnamon and parchment always seemed to linger.
And hopping around the sitting room, claiming every rug and cushion as her own, was Clover.
The bunny was older now, her grey-and-white fur a little less fluffy than before, but she remained the queen of the household. She had survived Hogwarts exams, cross-country trips in Cedric’s arms, and even one near disaster where she’d chewed through his Transfiguration notes. (He’d sworn she was out to get him; she swore Clover was just “helping.”)
Now, Clover had her own little woven basket by the hearth, though she rarely used it—she much preferred the lap of her human, who was curled up on the sofa in a sunshine-yellow blanket, book in hand.
Cedric entered from the kitchen, two mugs of cocoa balanced carefully in his hands. He paused at the doorway, watching with a smile tugging at his lips as she giggled at Clover nudging her book aside and demanding attention.
“You know,” Cedric said, crossing the room, “I’m fairly certain I was supposed to be the one cuddled up with you.”
She glanced up at him, all innocence. “Oh, but she got here first.”
Cedric set the mugs down on the table and dropped dramatically onto the sofa beside her, sighing as though deeply wronged. “I’ve been replaced again. Story of my life.”
She leaned over, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. “Not replaced,” she whispered, “just shared.”
“Mm,” Cedric hummed, looping his arm around her shoulders anyway, tugging her closer. Clover gave a disapproving thump of her back foot at being squished, but he smirked. “Well, sharing’s overrated. I want all of you.”
She laughed softly, curling into his side. “You sound jealous of a bunny.”
“Because I am jealous of a bunny,” he countered immediately, stealing a kiss from her lips. “You give her all the kisses, all the cuddles—”
“Cedric Diggory,” she interrupted firmly, shifting Clover into her lap with one hand while cupping his cheek with the other. “You get more kisses than anyone. She’s just the warm-up act.”
That made him laugh, the sound golden and easy. He kissed her again, slower this time, savoring the taste of chocolate and cinnamon on her lips.
Clover, unimpressed, hopped down from her lap and padded over to her basket, finally giving them a moment alone. Cedric immediately pulled her tighter into his arms, murmuring against her hair, “See? Even she knows when to give me my sunshine back.”
She smiled into his chest. “She’s always known. She brought us closer, remember?”
Cedric tilted his head, thinking back to the Hogwarts days—the way Clover had comforted her, the way she’d been the excuse for stolen moments together, the way her laugh had rung brighter when Clover was there. He pressed another kiss into her hair, heart swelling. “Yeah,” he said softly. “Best mistake I ever made, bringing her home.”
The fire crackled, Clover shifted in her basket, and the cottage seemed to hum with peace. Sunshine, cocoa, and a bunny who had accidentally built them a family—it was all Cedric ever wanted.
And when she looked up at him with that same radiant smile she’d worn the day she first held Clover in her arms, Cedric knew he hadn’t just given her a birthday gift all those years ago. He’d given her a forever.
your life takes a sharp turn when you're invited to study overseas at hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry, thanks to your rare and unusually strong magical abilities. entering as a third-year transfer from america, you quickly discover there’s more to your bloodline than anyone told you — veela ancestry that draws attention whether you want it or not. suddenly, you're the subject of whispers, glances, and fascination. the golden trio becomes four, and wherever you go, drama seems to follow.
* slow-burn. written in first person pov. a story that begins with the familiar— but evolves into something far more personal. this series is perfect if you're looking to experience the original timeline from a distinct point of view. early events align with canon, but your presence changes everything
*mature themes. 18+ only.
*we 100% do not support j.k. rowling here. this is an inclusive space— if you’re racist, homophobic, transphobic, etc… pls fuck off. otherwise, my messages are always open. thank you for reading, this series means everything to me <3
you’re a third-year transfer from the states with magic that turns heads — and veela blood that makes it impossible not to be noticed. you didn’t ask to get caught up in their world, but now you’re in it, and nothing is going to play out the way it was supposed to. a slow-burn, character-driven take on prisoner of azkaban, told through your perspective. this story is mostly canon to harry potter and the prisoner of azkaban — but here are a few changes:
✦ cedric diggory is only a year older than the golden trio
✦ fred and george weasley are only a year older than the golden trio
✦ though the story is set in the 90s, modern songs are occasionally mentioned
word count: 66.5k
*eventual mature themes. 18+ only.
INSATIABLE SERIES
✩ chapter one: dumbledore's visit ✩
✩ chapter two: the leaky cauldron ✩
✩ chapter three: harry, hermione and the weasleys ✩
maybe the only post I’ll do for kinktober? no idea.
this is very much something. what it is? you’ll have to read it. inspired by my med teacher who taught us about the history of vibrators today in class ✨✨
—> synopsis: Only woman in your house besides your gravely ill mother, it was a great concern when you fell ill out of nowhere. That is where your family physician, Doctor G. Way came into play. Despite your fathers otherwise wishes, you were brought to Dr. Way’s clinic for overnight supervision and treatment.
—> warnings: revenge era gerard, victorian au, vibrators, cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, hysteria, female hysteria, loss of innocence, sexual inexperience, overstimulation, glove kink, mask kink, Doctor/Patient, medical setting/kink, older male/younger woman
by clicking read more you consent to anything and everything in the warnings.
It had made you feel like a bad person, wishing that your mothers condition got worse. Of course you never wished anything pallid or something that caused harm, maybe just a small spike in a fever or she had trouble sleeping at night. Or maybe an injury that happened to your younger brothers, just something that needed medical attention.
Because with every injury or sickness came your family’s physician, Doctor Gerard Way. He had been your family’s main care provider since you were ten, and what you thought was just a silly little childhood crush blossomed into an infatuation with the doctor. No one in your family knew, and of course the doctor himself could never know. The bite back that would happen if your family found out you had feelings for a measly physician would be terrible. The daughter of an earl dating a lowly physician? Blasphemy! Hell, you didn’t even know what his face looked like in full, not really!
Everytime Dr. Way came to visit, he wore an elegant mask, pointed into an elongated beak. It was mainly black with red and gold stitching, some red and white flowered etched in onto the base of the mask. It covered the bottom half of his face, leaving his deep brown eyes to show any hint of emotion. And they were expressive, you had learned.
They were gentle when caring for your mother or bandaging a siblings sprain, and firm when telling your father to lose weight or to not miss a medication dosage.
He didn’t look your way often, but you did try to give him opportunities to. You tried to provide an extra set of hands when ever he was at your estate, holding your mothers hand or calming your crying brothers. If he asked, you were already halfway gone to fetch what he needed.
Your father allowed your behavior, after all it is good for a housewife to learn first aid. Your older brother teased you for it, calling you a make-shift house-wench. Of course, if your parents knew your true thoughts, they would stop at nothing to prevent you from seeing Dr. Way again.
Because you were not just only emotionally infatuated with him, you found he did physical things to you, aswell. Even a simple brush of his eyes against yours, or his calm voice telling you “Good day, Lady [last]” sent sparks down your spine. Luckily, you were good at hiding your crush on the doctor, but you knew it would only be a short amount of time before your father found out about it. It was harder to keep still the longer you went without seeing the doctor, the last time being a month ago when your brother tripped down the stairs chasing the dog.
Your parents thought he had broken his ankle, but when Dr. Way came, he assured them it was only a bad sprain. You helped bandage your brothers ankle, and when Dr. Way bumped his hand with yours, you nearly fainted.
“Keep him on bedrest for at least three weeks, and when he can no longer sit still, light exercise only.” He said sternly to your father, your brother held in your arms as you stood next to the Doctor. “Thank you, Doctor. We don’t know what we would do without you.” Your father smiled, shaking the gloved hand of the doctor. “Oh, I think you’d be ok. Lady [Name] is getting exceptionally well at helping me around. She was very helpful today when bandaging [Brother].”
Then, he had done something he had never done before. He took your hand that was stationed by your side, placing the back of it to the underside of his mask in an imitation of a kiss. Your eyes blew wide, his own chocolate eyes staring into yours before placing your hand back down by your side. You smiled, “It’s all thanks to you, Doctor. I wouldn’t learn what I have without you.”
“Still, you have an exellect space for medicine. It’s not everyday I meet someone with the mind for health.” He tapped his temple. “If you were not the daughter of a noblemen, I would sure hire you at my clinic.”
“That’s very nice of you, Doctor.” Your father interjected, coldly. “My daughter is perfectly fine here. I’m sure you have other patients to attend to?”
Dr. Way nodded, rolling his shoulders. “Of course, good day Earl [Last], Lady [Name].” He said before taking his leave, exiting through the large front doors.
Most nights you laid in bed and replayed that fraudly kiss over in your mind, wondering what it would be like if it was his real lips. It didn’t mean that he returned your feelings, did it? Did it mean that he wished to court you? It was stupid. You can’t be seen dating a Physician.
But if that was the case, it explained his hesitancy. You were the daughter of a high Earl while he was a common physician. There was no glimmer of hope that you could marry him, let alone court him.
You couldn’t deny your mind though, what it would feel like. What it would feel like for his gloved hands to trail down your neck, down to your waist, his lips placed on yours, his hand dipping down to...
“[Name]!”
When you went to turn around, your head tilted and you felt yourself bump into the wall before crashing to the ground.
When you awoke, there was a horrible stinging smell in your nose. It took a second for your eyes to open, to see your sickly mother held up by your father, holding a glass of smelling salts. Your mother pulled the glass away from you and you looked to the door, seeing your brothers stand still.
“Mother? Father? What happened?” You groaned, rubbing your eyes with your cold and clammy hands.
“Well, you fainted darling.” Your father said, helping your mother to sit down in a chair next to your bed. “Why?” You asked. “Well, we don’t know. That's why we called someone who will.”
Despite having fainted a few hours prior, you felt your heart leap out of your chest. You were going to see the doctor, and it was going to be about you! You couldn’t help but get giddy.
A few hours had passed since you awoke, and you were starting to think that your little fainting spell had been nothing. But every time you tried to leave your room, your father or one of your brothers were there to send you right back into your room. After the third or fourth time, you had given up and changed into a nightgown, picking up a book and flipping to where you last left off.
It had been about three hours before your father knocked, “Are you decent? Dr. Way is here.” You smiled, and quickly replied with a simple “yes.”
Soon after, the brown-haired man opened your door and walked through, stethoscope around his neck. He was still dressed in that mask, eyelashes batting when he blinked at you.
“Why did you call me here today, Lady [Name], Gerard said, placing his medical bag on the foot of your bed. “Well, we called you because...” Your father was cut off when Dr. Way interjected. “I believe I asked Lady [Name], not you.” Way tilted his head at your father before turning back to you, crossing his arms. “My father called you here because I fainted, but truly, I’m fine!”
“No, your not! Dr. Way, not only has she fainted, but she has been acting really skittish and in her mind! She does not finish her meals anymore, and locks herself up in her room all day!”
The doctor could see you grimace at your fathers words, clearly exposed in your state. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave, the Lady [Name] has to be properly relaxed for me to address her.” Dr. Way nodded before motioning a hand over to you.
“[Name], is this alright with you? He is a man... and a much older one than you.”
“Yes, father. I trust Dr. Way to remain professional.” You hoped you didn’t sound too eager.
Your father left a few seconds after you spoke, a clear dissatisfied look on his face.
With your father gone, Way sat down on your bed. “I need to check your pulse.” He said, pulling off one of his pristine white gloves.
His voice was so calm, so collected. It made you feel relaxed.
You nodded, outstretching one of your wrists for him to assess you, but it never came. Instead, his fingers reached out farther, tilting your jaw to the side and placing his index and middle finger on your necks pulse point.
After a good thirty seconds in that awkward situation, Dr. Way pulled his hand back and slid his glove back onto his pale skin, standing up to let your father back in.
“You said that Lady [Name] has been experiencing other symptoms, correct? Always being in her head and being more skittish?” He replayed your fathers words, adjusting his black tie. “Y-Yes! She has also been so quiet, unlike she normally is!”
Dr. Way closed his eyes and tilted his head, as if he was pondering about something.
“I think Lady [Name] is experiencing early symptoms of Hysteria.”
Your father gasped, though you weren’t sure he knew what the doctor was saying or if he was just reacting as a concerned parent. Either way, it did little to nothing for your nerves. Your mother was already diseased, and to hear you had an illness you never heard of spiked up your fear.
Luckily, Dr. Way noticed your discomfort.
“It is a rather common in young ladies around Lady [Name]’s age.” Dr. Way paused to make sure your father was as well listening. “It also has a fairly simple treatment.”
“Oh, thank heavens!” Your father exclaimed.
“A simple one, but I cannot perform it here. I will have her return to my house with me and continue treatment there.”
Your fathers eyes narrowed, his voice loudened. “Absolutely not! I will not have [Name] spend a night at a mans house not intended for her!”
You couldn’t help your stomach sink. This was your chance to talk to Dr. Way alone, and help your illness, your father be damned!
“Ah, my mistake. I meant to refer to the clinical wing of my estate, I assure you.”
Clinical wing? Does that mean he had more than one wing? How could a physician have such a large wing? You knew he lived less than a two hours carriage ride away, and there was nothing but Noblemen's houses around here. Was it possible that Dr. Way was a nobleman himself?
Whether your father came to the same conclusion as you, or he just had a huge amount of trust in the doctor, he allowed it, and had the maid pack a bag for you. About ten minutes later you were placed in the elegant carriage of Dr. Way, sitting right next to him. He smelled of fine herbs and laundry cleaner.
Once again, your emotions had begun to perturb you. The usual excitement was mixed with the fear of your new illness, and nerves of being away from your household for more than a few days. You were happy to be staying at Dr. Ways estate, but you would be staying in the clinical wing, where you wouldn’t necessarily be the center of the doctors attention. You sighed.
“Hysteria... I’ve never heard of it.” You pondered out loud, looking out the small carriage window. “It’s quite a common illness, I assure you.” Dr. Way spoke, turning his head to look at you,
“Although, it has more to do with the alignment of the mind than the physical body.” He tapped his temple. “It is caused by repressed emotions, negative ones. Fear, anger, anxieties, even the common day loneliness.”
Brown eyes fixated on yours with the last few words. There was a heavy weight on his gaze, one that made an uncomfortable lump settle in your stomach. Quickly, you turned your head over to view out the window again.
“It is a rather... Intimate cure I have to say. You’ll have to put a huge amount of trust in me as a doctor and a man.” Dr. Way said, eyes still staring into the side of you.
You turned back to look at Gerard, shifting in your seat. “Don’t worry, I trust you. I’m sure you know how to treat me better than my father.” You giggled, hand moving to squeeze his knee.
Before you could continue the conversation, the carriage slowed to a halt as it pulled in front of Gerards manor. Your jaw had dropped, never had you expected to see such an elegant house!
In the middle there was a large rounded porch, and from the sides there were two long flanking wings with windows covering a majority of it. You were sure that there was another wing behind the house as well. You were caught up in the beauty of his estate that you hadn’t notice him exit the carriage, waiting for you with an outstretched hand.
You quickly took it, hopping down from the box and adjusting your clothes. Dr. Way had gently squeezed your hand before tucking your hand into the crook of his elbow, the coachman grabbing your bag.
You gasped when you entered the foyer. A large chandelier hung from the painted ceiling. It was decorated with many shades of reds and whites, with the occasional black and gold entitlement.
“The clinic is that way.” Dr. Way motioned with his other hand. When you went to go step that way however, the doctor had gently pulled you back to his side. “I’d thought you’d prefer a room in the residency side, away from the chaos of the patients.” Gerards eyes crinkled, a tell-tale sign of a smile.
He had lead you up the fancy set of stairs and into a separate hallway with doors lining each wall. You both had stopped at one down near the end, Dr. Way opening the door for you and taking your bag from the coachman. It was cold in the room, and was not much different from yours at home.
Dr. Way placed your bag on the foot of the bed and placed his hands in his pockets. “You have a beautiful house, Doctor.” You said, the man chuckled. “Doctor is much to professional now that you are a guest in my house. Please, call me Gerard.” You smiled, turning your head to him and giving a short nod.
“Would you mind if I joined you for dinner tonight, in say, two hours? We could talk more about treatment then.” You had accepted, and with the tip of his head, he had left the room.
“Gerard, Gerard way. Lord Gerard way?” It fit him, as you thought to yourself. You flopped down on the bed, hand going over to pull your bag closer to you and pull out one of the two books the maid packed for you.
Then it had hit. You’d be having dinner with the doctor. You’d be having dinner with Doctor Gerard! You smiled to yourself and turned around to your back, giggling giddly.
-
Exactly two hours later Gerard had come knocking on your door, pushing a cart of yummy looking food into your room. Gerard had been dressed differently, much more casually. His usual beak mask had been replaced with a black fabric mask, and his pale gloves had been replaced for black leather ones. You couldn’t deny, he looked attractive in the casual outfit.
You jumped to help set the small make-shift table, allowing Gerard to fuss over you before taking his own seat.
And what had seemed in like a long time, you had one of the most pleasant dinners you had in awhile. Gerard could see that you were anxious and decided not to bring up the topic about your illness into the morning, encouraging you to eat and not be nervous.
You watched him intently while he ate, too. He did not take his mask off to eat, and instead pulled the bottom up a bit to expose a sliver of chin and sometimes his bottom lip.
You quickly learned that your doctor was quite a good conversation holder, now that he was not under the pressure of being professional. He was well versed in a multitude of things, all peaking your interest.
After dinner, you both had nursed a cup of tea when you decided to spark a conversation.
“Gerard... Is this manor yours?” You asked, almost sheepishly.
The doctor paused for a moment before answering your question.
“Yes.” He nodded, “Way manor has been in my family for generations.”
“Then you must be a noblemen, correct? How else would you have this house?”
Gerard paused again, setting his cup of tea down.
“You are right. I do not like bringing the fact up with my patients as it might cause them to doubt my expertise, but my full title is Lord Gerard, Augustine Way.”
You paused. Gerard was an Augustine?
Another thought popped into your head.
If Gerard was an Augustine, that would not only make your relationship allowed, but prefered! You felt a bit honored to have such a socially well classed doctor, but a bit silly as you were a daughter of a mere earl.
A gloved hand was placed onto your own. He had a worried hint to his eyes, did he think that you wished to return home and find help from another doctor?
“If your an Augustine, why become a doctor? Surely you don’t need the money.” You questioned, Gerard huffed. “No, you are right. I do not need the money, but I enjoy helping people. My father was a doctor as well and I wished to follow in his path. The more I looked the more I saw why he did it, the more I saw how people needed help. I don’t want to become another stuck-up, vapid, high-class socal snob.”
Gerard had sounded true, earnest. You smiled, and decided to place your hand in his in a brief moment of comfort. The doctor nodded, smiling.
A distant clock chimed, breaking up your moment as Gerard stood up, tearing your hand away from his. You were about to help clear up the table, but was stopped by Gerard.
“There’s no need, the servants will clean it up. I have gone ahead and took the preparation of a bath for you, if you wish.” A small ‘oh’ left you as you stood up and nodded.
“Tomorrow we will discuss the means of treatment and how it will forego. Please, do get a goods night sleep.”
Hours later, after you had been bathed, brushed, dried, and combed, you laid in bed and store at the creme colored ceiling. Three thoughts had ran rampant in your mind.
Your relationship with Gerard was not only possible, but favorable.
By judging the actions of dinner, there was a strong will that said Gerard reciprocated your feelings.
You were even more in love with the man then you had been before,
---
The next morning you were awoken by the same maid, she had brought you breakfast in bed. However, when you were finished and got up to change, she gently pushed you back down onto the bed.
“Your treatment has begun today, and Dr. Way had ordered that you remain comfortable.”
“That... makes sense, I suppose.” You say, the maid handing you a book before taking her leave.
It felt like days, which was only truly a hour, before Gerard came and knocked on your door. Before he had entered, you had a moment of panic, trying to straighten yourself up for him.
He sat aside you on the bed, still in a more casual outfit with a fabric mask and leather gloves. Gerard smiled, patting your shoulder.
“Good morning, [Name]. I hope that you slept well.” He said, watching as you returned the book to the table beside you.
“I did, thank you. How was your night?” Gerard sighed.
“We had a patient in the clinic last night that...” He paused, “Nevermind. We are here to talk about you, not other patients.” He matter-of-factly said, adjusting himself.
“Oh, ok. You said about how we should go about treating...”
“Your Hysteria, yes.” Gerards voice had took a clinical turn, “What do you remember about what I said of Hysteria?”
“You said it was more of a mind-thing than physical, and that it was caused by repressed feelings, right?”
“Very good. Now, there are two ways to treat a common case like what you have, one short-term and one long-term. However, the long-term one might not be a very available option for you right now, so we will go about the short term option for now.”
“...Which is?” You leaned forward, curious.
“Release. To relieve symptoms of Hysteria you have to release those built up motions that were caused there in the first place.” Gerard stated.
You pursed your lips, licking them after. “So we are going to be talking, then?”
Gerard shrugged, “Sort of,” His hand was placed on top of your ankle, and when you had no reaction, he moved it up to your thigh and gave you a light squeeze, a moan slipping out of your mouth.
“O-Oh! I’m so sorry! I didn’t me--aaaahhh!”
You cut yourself off as Gerard had moved to rest on top of you, gloved hands on either side of your head. His knee came to rest in between both of yours, spreading them apart. You watched as his pupils dilated, black covering until a small brown ring remained. He was close, so close.
“Gerard..! I-- What are you doing?”
Gerard’s head dipped down so his forehead was resting on yours, “Something I’ve wanted to do for a long, long time. From the first time I met you, you were like an angel sent to me, so eager, so earnest, so ready to help.”
Gerard knew. He knew how you felt about him, and he reciprocates those feelings. You watched as he pulled his head back, shifting his weight so he could pull the straps off of his face.
Before he did, he paused, unsure if he should do this. But all was confirmed when you placed your hand on his, gently nudging the mask away.
You smiled when you saw him, saw his face in full. He was what you could only describe as stunning. It was like you had imagined him to be, face round and perfect for him.
A few second later, covered fingers were placed under your chin so Gerard could tilt your head back, lips coming into contact with yours. A kiss, your first kiss. It was more calming than you had imagined it to be, his hand coaxing its way down your body to rest on your hip.
As he pulled away, you drew in a deep breath. That felt... Good.
“Was that the kind of release you were talking about? Telling each other we have feelings for each other?”
Gerard smiled, hand going from your hip to stroke your cheek.
“Yes, and no.” He paused for a split second. “There are two types of release; Emotional and physical.”
You dawned a puzzled look, speaking up, “what do you mean physic-ooohhh”
You moaned as you felt warm lips nip at your pressure point, giving small butterfly kisses around your throat. You felt as his hands wandered down your nightgown, him smirking into your neck.
“Angel, tell me to stop and we won’t continue.” Gerard spoke, still speaking into your neck.
“Gerard,” You whimpered, “it felt good, please continue!”
Gerard chuckles before one of his hands slip under your nightgown and caressed your thigh.
“Last chance, angel. Tell me to stop and I’ll walk away.”
You did not answer, but instead your hand went down to join his as it gave him a little nudge. His fingers went down to remove your undergarments, pulling them off and placing them on the ground.
Gerard adjusted himself so that he was lying on his stomach, face close to your sex. It felt awkward and embarrassing to have someone down there, but you trusted Gerard.
A leather-covered hand caressed your folds. You didn’t know if it was just the leather, or having anything near your vagina at all, but it felt weird. Good weird. You did know the basic functions of your vagina, but you never thought that it would feel this pleasurable, this good.
His finger slid up and down, up and down. It repeated the action a few times before it caught on something that made you yelp, Gerard smirking. The doctor petted that one spot a few times before speaking up.
“Give me your hand, angel.”
You brought your hand down, and he took it in his own, bringing your fingers down to the spot he was petting, making you gently touch yourself.
“Do you feel that little nub? It’s your clitoris. It's a small bundle of nerves, mainly used for pleasure.”
Gerard pinched your clit, and your back arched as a strange sensation shot through you. Your hand fell useless by his, fingers digging into the soft plush of your thigh. He continued to stimulate you, keeping one finger on your clit as the other hand danced around your folds.
Your other hand shot out in search for something to hold onto as something was building up in you. Gerard seemed to notice you, and removed one of his hands to entangle it with yours.
You felt the tightness of your stomach increase, that bundle of buzz swarming and building in your lower stomach and back. It was so close, it felt so close to achieve... please, please, please, please, please!
With a shout, that knot in your back snapped as you felt a warm liquid gush down in between your thighs. When you propped yourself up on your elbows, you were greeted with Gerard sucking that wetness off of his glove. You watched as he closed his eyes and moaned,
Still shuttering, you sputtered, “was that the release you meant?”
Gerard chuckled once again, “Yes, however the treatment of Hysteria is not cured by one orgasm, but by a few.” He stated, moving up so he was now sitting on his knees. His hand reached down to his pocket, pulling out a small, metal bullet-looking device.
“What’s that?” You question, slumping back down. “It’s called a vibrator, and it was invented to cure Hysteria.” He said. “It runs off electricity, and you see, when I turn it on...” He clicked a button and it buzzed on, gently vibrating in his hand.
You reached out, fingers brushing over the head of it. You giggled, “That tickles! But where does it go?”
“Oh my innocent little angel, where do you think it goes?”
You didn’t have much time to respond before Gerard was pressing the head of the vibrator to your clit, your back arching as a loud moan left your mouth. You squirmed, but Gerard was quick to pin you down with his body. “T-That!! UH-aHa!”
Gerard slotted his hips up against yours, getting the crotch of his dress pants wet. Without knowing what was really happening, you felt a knot quickly build up and release, another shout leaving you. You twisted, tears forming in your glossy eyes.
Gerard removed the head of the vibrator so you could recompose yourself, breath heavy as you sniffled. “Ger-Gee... I-Ahuh...”
“Still able to speak, honey? That just won’t do for this type of treatment.”
Before you were able to understand what he was saying, the buzzing head was back again, this time pressed harder.
You nearly screamed as you felt wet rush against your legs again, hands flailing as your legs kicked. “You did consent to this.” Gee said, one of his hands coming to rub against your thigh.
A broken moan left you as drool came out the corner of your mouth. A broken sound that might have been his name was all you could fathom, body tensing and freezing as you felt that coil again. That sweetly sick coil.
Throughout it all, Gerard hovered above you, peppering kisses into your neck as he ground his hips up against you. The final moment before that string snapped again was him licking a stripe up your neck, vision going white as another orgasm ripped through your body.
Luckily, Gerard pulled the vibrator away from your clit. You were still twitching in the aftershocks, hands squeezing the sheets tightly.
“Such a good, good darling for me. Do you think you have another one in there for me?”
You braced for the harsh vibrations again, but that never came. You barley felt Gerard shift down onto his stomach, lips coming to kiss at your wet clit. You jerked, hips accidently grinding down onto his mouth. You yelped loudly as you felt Gerard smile against your sex before inserting his tongue inside what you think was your vagina. That was all you needed before you screamed, gushing all over his face. With how wet you were, it was easy for him to replace his tongue with a slim index finger, his tongue going to dance over your clit.
You were a crying, screaming, kicking mess twitching in overstimulation, a painful coil building and snapping when you felt a finger prod at a very sensitive wall. With a suck on your clit, that was all you needed to pass out in pleasure.
