Joseph woll and Anthony stolarz buying their gf one of those “clone your cock” kits so she has sex toys shaped like them while they’re on roadies. Making her use them while they’re on the phone with her
was lowkey kind of hesitant to write this but i wanna see how y'all react
nsfw content below
you didn’t think they’d actually do it.
you’d teased, half-laughed about it one night when they had that roadie on the west coast and joseph was stuck in the backup spot all week, both of them texting you nonstop like they couldn’t go five hours without a picture or a voice memo or some casual “what’re you wearing” at three a.m. — and you, being a tease, had said something about how if they were really worried about you getting lonely, they should just get one of those clone-your-cock kits. let you have them both even when you’re alone.
anthony sent the link within five minutes. joseph, sweet and pink in the cheeks, just sent a little “oh…” and then another message, a minute later, saying “if you want to. i don’t mind.”
which is how you ended up in the position you’re in now. literally.
face down in your sheets, hips up, legs trembling, a toy shaped exactly like joseph buried in your cunt, your hand shaking on the phone as you whimper into speakerphone. anthony’s already had you cum twice with his, stretched you out on your back earlier in the night and made you ride his molded cock like he was there, one hand on your clit, the other squeezing your tits, all while he whispered the filthiest shit into your ear over the call. and now—
now it’s joe’s turn.
his voice is soft, like always. “you’re doing so good for me, honey. that’s it, yeah? is it all the way in?”
you nod, even though he can’t see it. breath hitching as you press down and feel the toy push deeper, thick and long and just curved enough to make your thighs twitch. it’s an exact copy, not just the shape but the slight vein along the underside, the girth of the head, even the way the base flares a little at the end. your hips roll without meaning to, desperate and slow, slick soaking your inner thighs already.
“y–yeah,” you gasp. “feels just like you, jo, fuck, it’s perfect—”
you hear him exhale through the speaker, a quiet little sound that makes your whole body tighten. “wish i was there,” he murmurs. “wanna see your face when you take it.”
anthony’s on the line too, of course. the three of you on call, like always when they’re on the road, his voice deeper, already half-wrecked from listening. “she’s making such a mess, man. your toy’s gonna be soaked by the time she’s done."
you whimper, dragging your hips back and then sinking down again, the stretch delicious. joe’s toy hits different. longer, thicker in the middle. you remember the way he fucked you last time before he left, hands trembling from how tightly he held your hips, his mouth pressed to your neck, murmuring i got you, you’re okay, fuck, you’re takin’ it so good for me, baby, so good—
“she’s gonna cum again,” anthony says smugly, voice a little ragged. “she always does when she uses yours.”
joseph lets out a soft laugh, shy but pleased. “you’re beautiful like this, sweetheart. always so good for us. can you touch your clit for me?”
you obey instantly, hand sliding down to where you’re dripping all over the toy and the sheets beneath you, fingers rubbing slow circles. your other hand tightens around the phone, knuckles white. “g–gonna cum,” you whisper. “feels so good, jo, it’s so deep—”
“that’s it,” he murmurs, and you can hear the faint thump of his head hitting the wall behind wherever he’s sitting. probably hotel bed. probably one hand down his sweatpants, jerking slow. “i love you. wanna be there so bad. gonna fill you up soon, baby, real soon."
you cry out, legs shaking as you tip over the edge, whole body clenching tight as you grind down on the toy, soaked and twitching, joe’s voice a constant low hum in your ear telling you how good you are, how perfect, how sweet you sound when you moan like that for him.
and then anthony’s back, groaning under his breath. “fuck, baby. you think you can take mine again now?”
you whimper, dazed and messy. “a–again?”
he laughs, low and warm. “you said you missed us. we’re just making sure you’ve got enough of us to last the whole roadie.”
I feel like your the only person who could write this properly, so:
Could I please request Anthony Stolarz with a super short gf (like shorter than 5’2) who he’s obsessed with. Like he loves how short she is and thinks she’s the cutest thing ever. Calls her Teddy because she reminds him of a teddy bear.
Fluff prompt: reader asks to try on stollie’s goalie pads for a TikTok.
Smut prompt: reader’s sitting in his lap, because duh? They’re supposed to be watching their show together and relaxing at home, but Stollie can’t focus on anything other than how small reader looks in his lap.
nsfw content below... daddy i mean what
anthony’s not watching the show. hasn’t been for a while now, if he’s being honest.
there’s some vaguely british murder thing happening onscreen—blood and fog and soft-spoken cops in gray coats—but the volume’s low, and the subtitles are going too fast for him to care. he’d wanted to have a normal chill night with you, he really had. snacks. cozy hoodie. your fuzzy socks propped on the coffee table. lights dim. his massive body molded into the corner of the sectional, arm slung across the backrest, thighs spread like usual because that’s just how he sits—
and you. warm and soft and fucking tiny in his lap, curled up like you belong there.
which you do. obviously. this is the seventh night in a row you’ve ended up like this, plopped yourself into his lap with a little sleepy sigh and a "mm, comfy," and what’s he supposed to do? not touch you?
no chance.
his hand drifts from your hip down to your thigh, fingers splaying easily around the whole width of it. his thumb rubs circles absently over the hem of your sleep shorts. they're loose, worn soft from too many washes, riding up even more now with the way you're draped across him—one leg tucked beside his, the other dangling off to the side. the oversized hoodie you’re wearing—his hoodie—makes you look even smaller somehow, sleeves half-covering your hands, the hem long enough to brush the tops of your knees.
you’re not even doing anything. just watching the show, snuggled against his chest like a heat source. maybe kind of dozing. but he can’t stop looking. can’t stop thinking about how small you are, how you weigh basically nothing compared to him, how one of his thighs is practically the size of your whole torso.
he ducks his head down a little, nose brushing your hairline, lips ghosting over the crown of your head. you smell like your leave-in conditioner and his body wash, and it makes something in his chest ache. soft and domestic and so you.
“what,” you mumble without opening your eyes.
“nothin’,” he murmurs back, still breathing you in. “just... you’re so fucking cute.”
you snort softly, the barest eye-roll behind it. “you always say that.”
“’cause it’s true.” his hand moves again, this time trailing up your side, feeling the curve of your waist, the slope of your ribcage beneath all that cotton. “you’re like a little teddy bear. my teddy bear.”
you scoff, batting at him with one hand. “i’m not that small.”
he laughs, warm and low, because you are. impossibly so. the kind of small that makes him want to wrap himself around you like a fucking weighted blanket and never let go. the kind of small that fits under his chin when you hug him standing. the kind of small that he has to bend practically in half just to kiss you properly. and sitting in his lap like this? christ. it’s like you’re made to be there, back tucked to his chest, head resting against his collarbone, your whole body barely covering half of his.
he shifts a little, not even consciously, hips rolling the tiniest bit as he tightens his arm around your middle.
you wriggle, adjusting your weight, and fuck, he feels that. feels the press of your ass right over his cock. not intentional—innocent, even—but it doesn’t matter. blood starts to thrum a little faster anyway. his free hand tightens on your thigh, gripping gently, thumb dragging over the warm skin just above your knee.
“tony,” you say again, but it’s a little more suspicious this time, a little breathier.
“hm?”
“you’re not watching the show.”
“nope,” he agrees easily, mouth brushing your ear now, the rasp of his beard making you squirm. “too distracted.”
“by what,” you ask, but your voice is quieter now, like you already know the answer.
he huffs a soft laugh. “you. obviously.” his hand inches a little higher under your hoodie, resting flat against your stomach. “you sittin’ on me like this, all warm and snuggly, wearin’ my clothes, bein’ cute as fuck... makes it real hard to focus on fictional murders.”
“we do this every night,” you point out, but there’s no heat behind it, only amusement. maybe a little fond exasperation.
“i know,” he murmurs. “and every night i fall a little more in love with your tiny ass.”
you roll your eyes, but your cheeks go pink anyway, and he catches it, grinning into your hair. “you obsessed with me or something?”
“damn right i am.” his hand moves again, thumb grazing under the curve of your breast through the fabric. he’s not trying to start anything, not really, but his body’s already halfway there, cock hardening slow beneath you, pressing up just enough for you to feel it.
you pause, then tilt your head up to look at him, a sly little smile tugging at your mouth. “you’re horny.”
“baby,” he says seriously, “you’re literally five-foot-nothing and sitting on my dick wearing my hoodie. i’m a man, not a fucking saint.”
you giggle, hide your face against his chest like you’re trying to be coy, and he tightens his arms around you instantly, crushing you to him in a full-body squeeze that makes you squeak.
“see? that. that noise,” he says, triumphant. “teddy bear noise.”
“stopppp,” you mumble against his shirt, but you don’t move away. if anything, you melt deeper into his lap, legs tucking tighter, arms curling around his sides like you’re just as obsessed as he is (you are. he knows. you always sit in his lap first.)
and maybe the show keeps playing, and maybe neither of you pays it much attention, because anthony’s too busy nuzzling into your neck, whispering stupid sweet nothings, running his hands over every soft part of you he can reach. maybe his cock stays hard under you, not demanding anything, just content with the weight of you there, the promise of more later. maybe you fall asleep like that, warm and tangled and totally entangled, because of course you do.
i need anthony stolarz in a way that would get me locked out of the gates of heaven. hes such a BIG man...like i need to bounce on his lap asap
nsfw content below
you’re already wrecked and you’re not even close to done. thighs burning, hips snapping, your entire body working to take him—fuck, to keep taking him. he’s so fucking big, every time you drop down it feels like you’re splitting open all over again, but god, you love it.
anthony’s massive hands are spread across your back, warm and steady, holding you to his chest like you’re something precious, like you’re not using him like a goddamn toy. you feel every thick inch of him stretching you wide, stuffed impossibly full, your slick dripping down his length and onto his lap. it’s obscene, the wet sounds filling the room, but it only makes you ride him harder, grinding down like you need to make him a part of you.
"jesus, baby," anthony murmurs against your jaw, voice honeyed, wrecked but still so fucking gentle. he kisses along your throat, soft, reverent, completely at odds with the way you’re slamming yourself down on him like a girl possessed. "easy, sweetheart—you're gonna wear yourself out."
you shake your head, barely able to speak, panting, moaning, shivering as you grind down, as he presses so deep it makes your vision blur. “don’t care,” you slur, and you don’t. you need this. need him like this. need to feel how goddamn huge he is inside you, how easily he lets you use him. your hands clutch at his broad shoulders, fingers flexing against thick muscle, and it’s so unfair how strong he is, how he could flip you over and take control but just doesn’t, letting you ruin yourself on his cock instead.
his breath stutters, a quiet little groan slipping past his lips as your walls flutter around him. "fuck, angel, you're so tight," he murmurs, kissing the corner of your mouth. "so perfect for me, taking me so good."
your body clenches up at that, toes curling, and you let out this desperate little sob, shoving your face into his neck. it’s so much, so deep, so thick, and you can’t stop, don’t want to stop. you bounce in his lap like you’re trying to break yourself, thighs burning, ass slapping against his skin with every downward thrust. he moans softly in your ear, a quiet, helpless sound, so at odds with his sheer fucking size.
“gonna come,” you whimper, half-drunk off how full you feel, the pressure coiling low in your belly. anthony groans, hands smoothing up your back, one threading into your hair, cradling you against his chest like he can feel how wrecked you are.
"i've got you, sweet girl," he whispers. "let go. come for me, sweetheart."
(only a request if u wanna write it! if not then just yapping!) 3some with joseph woll and stolie lives rent free in my head. like theyd both be so sweet but also taking you to your limits. taking turns with you and talking about how good you are for them. and they both have such huge hands jfc those pictures of them with the belt just highlight how big their hands are. perfect for holding you!!
nsfw content below
joseph’s arms wrapped around you from behind, long and steady, his chest rising slow against your back as his fingers stroked gently down your sides, brushing over the arch of your hip like he was tracing scripture onto skin. he had you in his lap, legs spread, your knees bent up on either side of his, and your whole body trembled with how full, how impossibly stretched you felt.
anthony’s cock was thick and flushed and throbbing between your legs, already glistening from how he’d been grinding against your folds, teasing you open with slow, lazy strokes until your pussy was swollen and messy and pulsing on nothing. you were dripping onto joseph’s thighs, slick seeping down in warm, glistening streaks, clinging to the fine hair dusting his skin.
anthony knelt in front of you on the bed, towering over you both, one big palm steadying the back of your knee, the other dragging up your thigh, gentle, thumb tracing tiny circles over the soft flesh. he was so warm, eyes half-lidded, mouth parted, gaze flickering from your eyes to joseph’s, and back down to where your cunt flexed involuntarily each time he pushed just a little forward, not quite breaching, but pressing enough to make you whimper into joseph’s shoulder.
“you’re doin’ amazing, sweetheart,” anthony murmured, voice low and syrup-slow, his free hand brushing back a strand of your damp hair, thumb stroking along your jaw. “feel okay? too much?”
“she’s alright,” joseph whispered against your ear before you could answer, his voice soft like fog, his lips barely brushing the curve of your neck. “just needs a second. don’t you, baby?”
you nodded, teeth dragging across your bottom lip as your fingers gripped joseph’s hand hard, holding it like a lifeline, your nails digging into the back of his knuckles as he laced your fingers together and squeezed gently, grounding you.
“breathe for me,” joseph cooed, kissing behind your ear, “you’re so good. so brave for us. i’ve got you, i promise.”
and then anthony eased forward, just the head of his cock nudging through the soaked clutch of your entrance, and you choked on a moan that shivered down your spine and turned your thighs molten. your pussy clenched instantly, trying to swallow him deeper, but he didn’t rush, didn’t shove, just pushed in inch by slow, excruciating inch while you gasped against joseph’s throat, body caught between them, shaking and fluttering and burning alive.
your slick walls stretched, gummy and greedy, hugging every vein as anthony fed more of his cock into you with each slow, sweet thrust, letting you adjust, letting you feel him. and god, you did—felt every ridge, every twitch, your insides spasming helplessly around the impossible fullness.
joseph kissed your temple, nose, lips, anything he could reach as you squirmed in his lap, thighs trembling, whimpers pouring from your mouth like prayer.
“that’s it, angel,” he whispered, voice all breath and sugar, “take him for me. you’re making him feel so good, aren’t you?”
“mm-hmm,” anthony exhaled, jaw slack as he bottomed out, his hips finally flush to yours, your pussy so snug around him he nearly lost composure. “feels like you were made for us, baby girl. so warm, so soft, just perfect.”
his fingers brushed the front of your thigh again, slow strokes like he was petting you calm, like you weren’t already clenching around him so tight your legs were shaking. he leaned in, kissed your cheek, the corner of your mouth, then joseph’s lips right after, slow and lazy, both of them humming low and pleased while you writhed between them.
joseph’s cock was pressed against your back, hard and leaking, smearing precum across your spine as he held you tighter, wrapping both arms across your chest now, keeping you still while anthony began to move.
“there you go,” joseph murmured, his lips warm against your jaw as anthony rocked forward, dragging his cock out slowly, inch by aching inch, until you could feel your insides trying to hold onto him, fluttering helplessly in protest as he slid back in just as slow.
“so good,” anthony breathed, voice tight with restraint, his hands gentle as ever as he began to fuck you deeper, slower, his thrusts like waves—endless, smooth, and heavy. “you’re being so strong for us.”
you whimpered, nails scraping down joseph’s forearm, clinging to his wrist as he kissed you again, soft and messy, catching every moan that spilled from your lips.
“can you take a little more for us, baby?” joseph whispered, nuzzling into your neck, “you can, can’t you? you’re so sweet like this. so beautiful when you try.”
you sobbed softly, cunt fluttering as anthony bottomed out again, grinding just enough to nudge against the spongy spot that made your thighs seize and your eyes roll back.
“t-too much,” you gasped, even as your hips rocked into him. “feels too good—”
“shhh,” joseph kissed your cheek, forehead, your temple, hand stroking over your chest, soothing the tremors with every soft touch. “you’re doing so well. just focus on my voice, okay? i’ve got you.”
anthony’s hands came to cradle your waist, big and warm, fingers spread wide, holding you still as he kept the pace steady, not fast but deep, slow enough that you felt every drag through your gummy walls, every throb of him inside you. your pussy was clinging desperately now, soaked and twitching, drooling around the base of his cock with every push.
“you’re takin’ me so good, sweet thing,” he groaned, head tipping back slightly, sweat glistening at his hairline. “look at you—look how well you open for us.”
you couldn’t. you couldn’t even keep your eyes open, overwhelmed and shaking, your body caught between praise and pleasure, between joseph’s steady grip and anthony’s syrup-slow strokes.
joseph brushed his lips over yours again and again, whispering love like prayers against your mouth, fingers running through your hair, his hips gently rolling beneath you just enough to keep your whole body humming.
“you’re the most beautiful thing i’ve ever seen,” he breathed. “every part of you is a gift, and we’re gonna take such good care of it.”
“you let us know if anything feels wrong,” anthony added gently, eyes still soft, “or if you need to stop. we’ll hold you. we won’t go anywhere.”
but you didn’t want them to stop.
you wanted more. more of joseph’s kisses, more of anthony’s cock dragging through your fluttering walls, more of their hands all over you, grounding and praising and coaxing you into ecstasy like it was holy rite.
and you’d let them. you'd let them have all of you. and they would, slow and sweet, until your body forgot how to do anything except open and tremble and take everything they gave.
I have a request for Anthony stolarz! Reader plays hockey and is a goalie she’s pretty tall and Anthony just loves it (d1 babies) she plays in the pwhl and they’re both on a winning streak and think it’s because before the game that ended their losing streak they did that nasty nasty in the shower right before they left for the game and now it’s becoming a superstition but they have a roadie and they both decided that the best way to keep the streak alive is to go at it for a whileee in the shower before they leave.
If you want to ignore this you 100% can!!
nsfw content below
the guest bathroom’s tiny but you make it work. tile's cold on your knees and the showerhead's one of those shitty detachable ones with barely enough water pressure to rinse out your conditioner, but none of it matters right now, not when anthony's towering over you with his back to the foggy mirror, both massive hands braced on the narrow ledge behind him, head tipped back and mouth slack as you suck his cock like it’s the only ritual that matters.
he's already pink and flushed, skin misted with steam, chest heaving under the spray. you always forget just how fucking big he is until you’ve got him in your mouth again—thick and heavy on your tongue, one of those cocks that doesn’t ease in gently, not even a little. and he knows exactly what you’re doing, eyes slitting open so he can watch you gag a little, lips stretched wide and spit clinging to your chin, your own thighs pressed tight together as heat pools between them.
“fuck, baby,” he groans, voice deep and ragged, beard damp and jaw flexing as he fights not to fuck your face the way he clearly wants to. “you tryna keep our streak alive or kill me before puck drop?”
you just hum around him, smug, curling your tongue around the head as you slide off slow and wet. “don’t act like you’re not the one who brought it up.”
anthony laughs, one of those low, stupidly hot chuckles that vibrates in your spine, even though your ears are still full of water. his hand—those fucking hands, huge and rough and warm—cups the back of your head, not pushing, just there, fingers threading into your damp hair like he needs the anchor. “i mean, look, i’m not saying we only won ‘cause i blew your back out in our shower, but—”
“but we’re not not saying that,” you finish, licking the underside of his cock with one long, lazy drag. you spit into your palm and stroke him once, twice, admiring the way he twitches in your grip. “and now we’re both on a streak. you’ve got a .958 save percentage since then, babe. it’s science.”
he grins down at you, blue eyes gleaming. “god, i fucking love you.”
you stand, finally, your knees stiff and slippery as you rise, pressing yourself up against him until water beads on your stomach, your tits, your throat. you kiss him, messy and open-mouthed, tongue tangling with his as he groans and grabs your ass, pulling you in so close your hips rock against his abs.
and he doesn’t even try to be smooth about it. turns you around, palms flat on your shoulder blades to bend you over the tiny marble counter, your breath fogging the mirror in front of you. the stretch of his cock nudging between your legs is immediate, insistent, already sliding through the slick mess between your thighs like you’re fucking made for him.
“shh, fuck—c’mere,” he mutters, reaching down to yank one of your legs up onto the ledge, opening you wide. “we’ve got, what, forty minutes before you’ve gotta be on the bus?”
“thirty-seven,” you gasp, arching your back and pushing into him shamelessly.
he groans like you’ve punched the air from his lungs. “plenty of time.”
and then he’s inside you, just like that, thick and deep, one hand splayed between your shoulder blades to keep you steady while the other grips your hip tight enough to bruise. the first thrust is brutal, makes your jaw drop open in a silent cry as he splits you open with no preamble, like your body already knows how to take it, how to clench down around him so tight it nearly hurts.
the mirror’s too fogged to see anything but your own blurred silhouette, but you can feel every inch of him, hips snapping forward, thighs slapping against the backs of yours as he sets a punishing rhythm. you’re already moaning, already breathless, one hand clutching the sink edge and the other scrabbling uselessly at the tile wall for leverage.
“every time,” he grits out, panting. “every fucking time i get my cock in you before a game, we win. it’s like you’re—fuck—my good luck charm.”
“you—ah—owe me an assist,” you whimper, toes curling as he hits that spot deep inside you that makes your knees nearly buckle. “i want a goal bonus.”
he laughs, stutters in his rhythm just long enough to lean down and kiss the back of your neck, his beard scratchy and wet against your skin. “deal. but you’re getting your own shutout tonight. four games in a row.”
“only if you fuck me hard enough i can’t walk straight into the arena.”
“oh, you think i won’t?” he pulls out almost all the way, just the head of his cock pressing in, teasing, then slams back in with a growl that rattles your ribs. “i want you waddling onto that bus, baby. i want everyone knowing why you’re walking like that.”
you choke on a moan, nails digging into porcelain as you try to keep up. his rhythm’s brutal now, relentless, the kind of fucking that leaves you raw and stretched and dripping, not just wet from the water anymore. you’re so close it’s embarrassing, high and tight in your gut, every thrust dragging you closer to the edge. and he knows, god, he always knows, fingers sneaking down to rub tight circles over your clit, just enough pressure to push you right over—
your body seizes, thighs trembling, cry muffled into your elbow as you come hard, cunt clenching around him so tight he groans like it physically hurts. “fuck, babe, i’m gonna—”
he groans your name, bites down on your shoulder, and then he’s spilling into you, hips jerking as he empties himself deep inside, grinding through it with one last desperate thrust. the two of you stay like that, gasping, sweat and water and cum all mixed between your thighs, your skin tingling and your legs shaking like they’re ready to give out.
he holds you up, though. wraps those massive arms around your middle and hauls you against his chest, planting kisses into your wet hair as you both catch your breath.
“i love hockey,” he mutters against your ear, still slightly breathless. “but i love our fucking pregame rituals even more.”
“we’re gonna have to do this every time, huh?”
“obviously. it’s a team superstition now.”
you laugh, turn in his arms, and kiss him again, slow and messy, because no matter how many games you both win, no matter how many headlines or highlight reels or trophy nominations—this? this is the part you’ll always love the most. the two of you, sweaty and aching and so fucking in love you can barely stand it, about to suit up and save your hearts out like it’s all just an extension of what you do to each other in hotel showers and locker rooms and every goddamn morning before a game.
you rinse off quick while he dresses, and by the time you’re both walking out of your house together, anthony’s got a hand on your lower back and a cocky little smirk on his face, like the win’s already in the bag.
Could you do size kink with Stolie 🙏 I'm short af but I love the tall ones 😍
nsfw blurb below
“easy, sweetheart,” anthony breathes, voice as soft as his touch, big hands smoothing down your sides, cradling your hips, steadying you as you try, as you struggle, gasping through the stretch. “you’re so tight like this, i can feel you shaking.”
you are. your whole body’s trembling, fingers curled into the sheets, face hot, eyes glassy as you try to relax, to breathe, to take him. but he’s so fucking big, thick and hot and barely inside, and it’s too much—it always is at first, but tonight, god, tonight it’s worse.
he notices. of course he does. anthony notices everything.
“hey, hey, it’s alright,” he murmurs, and you feel him shift slightly, planting his feet, settling deeper into the bed, but he doesn’t push. he never pushes. “you’re doing so well, baby. let’s take our time, okay? just let me stretch you open nice and slow.”
you whimper, body instinctively tightening, and he groans—quiet, breathy, like the way you clamp down around him is testing every last ounce of his control. his hands move again, one sliding up to your stomach, fingers pressing down, like he’s trying to feel himself inside you.
“you’re barely even taking me yet, sweetheart,” he murmurs, wonder laced in his voice, like he still can’t believe it, like it still stuns him every time—how small you are around him, how much he has to work you open. “you’ve done this before, you can do it again. just relax for me, okay?”
you make a soft, desperate noise, and his free hand moves, slow and deliberate, stroking up your thigh, fingertips brushing featherlight over your clit, not enough, never enough, but it makes you jolt, makes you twitch around him.
he feels it. hums, low and pleased.
“there you go,” he praises, voice dropping just a little, just enough. “see? you’re already opening up for me. just need a little help, huh?”
you nod, frantic, dizzy, and he leans in, kisses the corner of your mouth, soft and chaste, so gentle it makes your chest ache.
“it’s gonna feel so good when you take me all the way,” he promises, breath ghosting against your skin. “so full, so deep, you’re gonna love it. i know you will. i know how much you like it, how much you love feeling me stretch you.”
you whine, pressing your face against his shoulder, and he exhales a soft laugh, amused but so, so fond.
“i’ve got you,” he murmurs. “just let me in, sweetheart. let me make you feel good.”
may i suggest stolie cuddles on a cold day + being ticklish when he kisses your neck with that beard
it was one of those bitterly cold days where the wind rattled the windows and the snow piled up in uneven heaps outside, but inside, wrapped up in anthony’s massive arms, you were warm—completely, utterly, perfectly warm.
you had burrowed yourself into his chest, sinking into the solid expanse of him, your fingers tracing idle patterns over the fabric of his hoodie. it was soft and worn, stretched a little over his broad shoulders, and it smelled like him—clean, crisp, something faintly woodsy.
“you’re so tiny,” he muttered, voice low and rough from disuse, rumbling through his chest. his chin rested on the top of your head, scratchy beard tickling at your hairline.
“not tiny,” you protested, though it was kind of pointless when his arms could wrap around you twice over. you felt the laugh he huffed out more than you heard it, his chest vibrating beneath your cheek.
“you’re tiny,” he repeated, and to emphasize his point, he shifted, rolling you easily onto your back, pinning you down under his sheer size alone. his weight pressed into you, grounding and comforting, and his lips found your neck in a lazy kiss, just the faintest press of warmth before—
“tony!” you yelped, twisting as his beard scraped against your skin, not painful but so ticklish it sent a full-body shiver through you. he didn’t budge, just huffed out another low chuckle and nuzzled in closer, nosing along your jaw, his beard a rough contrast to the softness of his lips.
“what? i thought you liked my beard.” he grinned against your skin, tilting his head to press another kiss to the spot just beneath your ear, where he knew you were most ticklish.
“i do, just—” you tried to squirm away, but there was nowhere to go, nowhere to escape his massive arms caging you in. “you’re doing it on purpose, you idiot.”
“maybe.” his grin widened, and you could feel the smugness radiating off of him, his nose brushing against your cheek before he kissed you properly, slow and lingering. his hands were warm where they slid over your sides, a soothing contrast to the icy chill outside.
when he pulled back, he was still close enough that his breath ghosted over your lips, his blue eyes soft and warm. “better?”
you narrowed your eyes, suspicious. “for now.”
his lips twitched like he was fighting off a smirk, but he only hummed, shifting to wrap himself around you again, tucking you snug against his chest. “good. now stay here and keep me warm.”
