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cushion | ringo starr x reader
𐙚 contains ; nsfw!! minors dni! female anatomy
𐙚 summary ; a quiet night with ringo slips from soft to heated when a little harmless cuddling drifts into something far less innocent
𐙚 note ; FINALLY RINGO RINGO RINGO RINGO RINGO
The flat was dim except for the soft glow of a lamp in the corner, its light spilling across the worn sofa where Ringo had stretched himself out. The rain tapped faint against the window, steady as a metronome. You’d only meant to rest a while, nothing more. His arm was warm around your shoulders, your head tucked beneath his chin, legs tangled without thinking. A quiet evening, both of you half-dozing in the comfort of being close.
Ringo hummed low in his chest, some half-finished melody caught between wakefulness and dream. You felt it through his ribs, the vibration seeping into you where your cheek rested against him. His fingers traced idle patterns on your arm, not purposeful, just something to keep from fidgeting.
“You comfortable?” he murmured, voice thick with drowsy fondness.
“Mhm.” You let your eyes close again, breathing in the faint scent of his cologne, something woodsy beneath the smoke and the day’s lingering rain.
It could’ve stayed like that, perfectly safe. But then his hand slipped, grazing the edge of your hip before settling there as if it belonged. His thumb drew slow arcs, not accidental, and you realized he was watching you from beneath heavy lashes.
“Y’know,” he said softly, grin tugging at his mouth, “you’re awful warm. Gonna put me to sleep right here.”
“Not my fault you’re using me as a pillow.”
“Mm,” he chuckled, the sound rumbling through you, “best pillow I’ve had.”
It was teasing, lighthearted, but the weight of his hand where it lingered was different. His gaze, too, not sleepy anymore but intent, searching. The air between you shifted, thickening, and before you could second-guess it, Ringo tilted his head and brushed his lips against your temple. A touch so gentle it might’ve been nothing... except it wasn’t.
Your breath caught. He noticed. His smile widened, boyish and wicked all at once. “That alright?”
You nodded, and that was all he needed.
The next kiss landed closer, at your cheek, then the corner of your mouth. He gave you the chance to pull away, but when you didn’t, he closed the gap. Warm, unhurried, lips parting just enough to taste you. His hand cupped your jaw, rough thumb stroking your skin, and the kiss deepened.
Ringo lingered there like he wasn’t in any hurry, like he meant to learn the shape of your lips the same way he might learn the rhythm of a song. His mouth moved slow at first, teasing, testing, pulling back just to press in again, softer, then firmer. His breath hitched faintly when you kissed back, and he let out a muffled little laugh against your lips, pleased, like he’d been half expecting you not to answer him.
Your bodies shifted closer without thinking. His arm, once draped lazily along your side, pulled you tight against his chest. You felt the heat of him through the thin barrier of your clothes, his heart thudding steady under your palm where it rested against him. He smelled faintly of smoke and soap, familiar and dizzying all at once, and the rain against the window faded until all you could hear was his breathing mingling with yours.
He broke the kiss for only a moment, forehead resting against yours, lips still brushing when he murmured, “Christ, you’re sweet…” His voice was low, almost reverent, but laced with something rougher underneath, a spark of hunger. He kissed you again before you could answer, a little firmer this time, catching your bottom lip between his and sucking gently until you gasped.
The sound seemed to undo him, he grinned against your mouth, then kissed you harder, messier. His tongue brushed yours, tentative at first, then bolder when you welcomed him in. The rhythm of it left your head spinning, every slide and press sending a shiver down your spine. He kissed like he couldn’t get enough, like he’d been holding back for too long.
One hand threaded into your hair, tugging lightly as he angled your head for better access, the other still cupping your jaw, steadying you. His body pressed you further into the cushions, his weight comforting and electric at once. The slow burn of it made you ache, made your pulse stutter with every shift of his lips.
It wasn’t soft for long. He shifted, rolling you beneath him, the sofa creaking in protest. His hair brushed your forehead as he kissed you harder, sloppier, tongues meeting with a hungry little sound that had him groaning low in his throat.
“God, been wanting to do that,” he muttered against your mouth, words hot and breathless. His hips pressed into yours without thinking, the friction sparking a jolt of heat through both of you.
Your hands clutched at his shirt, pulling him closer. “Richie-”
“Mm?” He nipped at your lower lip, grinning even as his hips rolled again, deliberate this time. The bulge in his trousers pressed firm against you, and the sound that escaped your throat only made his grin spread. “Yeah… you like that, don’t you?”
His voice dropped, husky now, velvet wrapped around gravel. “Cuddlin’ wasn’t supposed to get me hard, y’know. But you-” another grind of his hips, his breath hot against your ear “-you feel too good not to.”
Your protest dissolved into a gasp as his hand slid lower, fingers squeezing at your thigh before edging closer to where you ached most. He kissed you again, messy and wet, as if he couldn’t get enough, every motion threaded with the same desperate want that had been simmering between you all along.
The sofa sagged beneath the weight of both your bodies, springs groaning as if they too felt the heat crawling through the room. Ringo kissed you like he was starved, lips bruising yours with each drag, tongue sliding in to taste you, pulling back only to breathe your name like a prayer. His hands weren’t still anymore, they roamed your chest, your waist, down your thighs, greedy in their search, as if he needed to map every inch at once.
You clutched at him, fingers tangling in the soft fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer. His laugh broke against your mouth, ragged and low. “Bloody hell, you’re keen.” But he didn’t pull away, not for a second. His hips ground into yours again, firmer this time, making you gasp. He groaned at the sound, forehead dropping to yours, his breath hot and uneven.
“Y’hear that?” he whispered, shifting so the hard line of his cock pressed right against you through thin layers of fabric. “That little noise you make, fuck, it’s drivin’ me mad.”
The words made your stomach twist with heat, and when he rolled his hips again, the friction nearly pulled another from you. He grinned, lips catching yours once more, sloppy and urgent.
“Bet I can make you louder than that,” he muttered, voice darkened by want. His hand slid between you, bold now, cupping you. The sudden pressure had you arching up against him, a strangled gasp escaping before you could stop it.
“Ah-Rich-”
“Mhm, that’s it.” He kissed along your jaw, nipping at your skin, murmuring against the curve of your neck. “Knew you’d sound sweet…” His thumb pressed at you through the fabric, slow circles that had you twitching beneath him. “Been wantin’ you.”
Your head tipped back against the armrest, heat clawing through your body with every touch. He slipped his hand lower, fumbling impatiently at your waistband until you lifted your hips to help. He laughed under his breath before sliding his hand inside.
The first stroke of his fingers around your wet folds tore a choked moan from your throat. “Ohhh-”
Ringo groaned, pumping you slow at first, savoring it. “That’s what I wanted. Hot in my hand, beggin’ for it.” He kissed you hard then, swallowing every broken sound that slipped out as his hand worked faster, rough and sure.
You bucked into his palm, lost in the wet drag of his tongue against yours, the scrape of his teeth when he bit at your lip. His other hand gripped your hip, holding you down as he stroked over your clit and slipped lower to tease your entrance, relentless, grinning when your body writhed beneath him.
“Let me hear you,” he urged, breath hitching, his own hardness grinding against your thigh.
You groaned at his words, the roughness of them, the way he said it like he owned the sounds you made. His hand still toyed at you slow, teasing, but it wasn’t enough. Not close. You needed more, and the ache in your gut told you Ringo did too.
You grabbed at his wrist, halting his movements, breath ragged. “Rich,”
“What is it, love?” His grin was crooked, breathless, his hair falling into his eyes. He leaned down, kissing you again, tongue wet and hungry against yours. “Want somethin’ else?”
You shifted under him, pressing your thigh harder against his cock, feeling how solid and hot he was through his trousers. “Yeah,” you rasped, unable to keep the plea out of your voice.
“Fuck,” he groaned, rutting against you once before pulling back just enough to look at you properly. “Been thinkin’ about it since the first night you fell asleep on me. Dreamed about it, too. You lettin’ me fuck you right here, makin’ this couch squeak till the neighbors bang on the walls.”
The filth of it had your pulse hammering, heat crawling up your neck. “Then do it already.”
His grin turned wolfish, and he moved quick, shoving his trousers down just enough to free himself. His cock sprang out, flushed and hard, the sight alone making your mouth dry. He stroked it once with a hiss through his teeth, precum shining on his fingers. “Christ, look at you watchin’. Gonna drive me mad.”
You scrambled to tug your own trousers down, clumsy with urgency. Ringo helped, laughing low, tossing them aside carelessly before spreading your legs wide under him. His eyes darkened as he looked down at you, tongue darting out to wet his lips. “Bloody gorgeous. Can’t believe I get to have this.”
He spat into his hand, slicking himself quick, then pressed the head of his cock against you, teasing your entrance. You shuddered, gripping the back of the sofa, breath stuttering.
“Relax,” he whispered, the words tender even with the hunger in his eyes. He pushed, slowly, stretching you around the blunt thickness of him. The burn made your toes curl, but the pleasure laced through it had you moaning, head tipping back.
He groaned, voice tight as he sank in deeper. “Sound so good when I’m inside you.” Inch by inch, until he bottomed out with a shaky gasp, forehead pressing to yours.
You clutched at him, nails digging into his shoulders. “Move, please.”
He didn’t make you wait. Pulling back, he thrust in again, slow at first, letting you adjust, then harder, faster, his hips slapping against yours. The sofa squeaked exactly like he promised, every movement sending jolts of pleasure through you until you couldn’t hold back the noises spilling out of your throat.
“God, yeah,” Ringo panted, watching your face as he fucked into you. “That’s what I wanted, your voice. Wanna hear every bit of it.” He slammed in deep, pulling a ragged cry from you that made him groan loud, hips stuttering. “There it is, fuck, do it again for me.”
Each thrust grew rougher, sweat dampening his hair, his chest pressing to yours as he drove into you. The heat built sharp, relentless, your body clenching around him as you gasped his name over and over.
He bent to kiss you, messy and urgent, all tongue and teeth, his hand gripping your jaw to hold you still as he swallowed every noise you made. When he pulled back, his voice was wrecked. “Not lettin’ you finish without me buried in you, wanna feel you cum all over my cock, yeah?”
The words alone should’ve undone you, but instead they pulled you tighter, stretched that burning coil inside you until it hurt not to let go. Your nails dragged down his back through the sweat-damp fabric of his shirt, and he hissed, rutting harder into you, couch springs shrieking in protest.
His hand that had been gripping your jaw slipped lower, curling around your throat, not squeezing, just holding, anchoring you beneath him while his thrusts grew deeper, rougher. The weight of it made you arch, every nerve sparking alive as he pounded into you.
“Christ, you’re clenching like you’re tryin’ to keep me in forever,” he rasped, eyes rolling back for a beat before snapping to yours, glazed and desperate. “Never had it this good. Never.”
He pulled out suddenly, leaving you empty, your body jerking in protest. A broken sound left your throat. “No, no, don’t-”
“Shh, hush,” he soothed, voice wicked with a grin curving his swollen lips. “Not stoppin’, love. Just-” He grabbed your hips, flipping you with surprising ease until you were on your stomach, chest pressed to the arm of the sofa, ass up. His palms spread you open, and he groaned at the sight.
Before you could plead, he pushed back in, bottoming out with a guttural moan. The angle was different now, deeper, his cock hitting a spot that made you cry out, muffled by the cushion you bit into.
“Yeah, that’s it,” Ringo panted, slapping your ass with a sharp smack that echoed. “Arch for me, fuck, just like that. Beautiful. Takin’ me so well.”
Each thrust slammed into you with wet, obscene sounds, his hand gripping your hip so tight you’d bruise. He leaned over, pressing his chest to your back, panting into your ear. “Feelin’ me everywhere, yeah?” He bit your shoulder, groaning as you squeezed around him.
He shifted again, dragging you half off the sofa so your feet barely touched the floor, folding you open for him. The precarious balance only made it filthier, your body rocked by his pace, the sofa groaning under both your weight.
Your body burned, every thrust pulling you higher, but he wasn’t letting you fall yet. His hand snaked beneath you, finding your swollen clit, but instead of stroking quick, he teased, rubbing slow, holding you right at the brink.
The frustration clawed through your chest in broken cries. “Ri- please- oh, fuck, please-”
“Yeah, that’s it,” he groaned, thrusts turning brutal, his cock driving into you deep enough to knock the air from your lungs. “Beg for me, want to hear it when you break.” His thumb finally slid over your clit, circling fast, rough strokes that matched the slap of his hips.
It was too much. The denial had wound you tight as wire, and the sudden release of his hand sent you spiraling. Your back arched, head dropping as a raw, wrecked moan tore from your throat. Your orgasm hit like a flood, cunt pulsing around him as you shook violently while he fucked you through it.
Ringo gasped, watching the way you seized around him. He slammed into you harder, chasing his own end, eyes wild as he felt you clamp down on his length.
You were still trembling when he lost it too. His voice cracked into a groan, guttural and raw, as he buried himself to the hilt, cock throbbing inside you. The heat of his release flooded you, each pulse dragging another broken moan from him as he clung to you, hips stuttering until he had nothing left to give.
The room was a haze of sweat, sex, and rain against the windows. Both of you collapsed forward, the sofa squealing under the weight as he slumped across your back, panting. His lips brushed your shoulder, soft now, murmuring between breaths. “Bloody… hell… never thought a cuddle’d end with me comin’ apart like that.”
You laughed weakly, still shaking, pressing your cheek to the worn cushion. “Not very innocent, was it?”
Ringo chuckled, warm and low, pulling out slow before flopping beside you and dragging you against his chest. “No,” he sighed, kissing your damp hair with surprising tenderness. “But the best fuckin’ cuddle I’ve ever had.”
The sofa groaned again beneath you, but neither of you moved. You stayed tangled, breath syncing as the rain tapped steady on the glass, the heat of him wrapped around you like a promise.
And if he hummed you half to sleep with a tune under his breath, neither of you mentioned it.
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