If Your Partner Isn't Obsessed With You, Get A New One.

my eyes are extra pretty when they’re filled with tears and i’m on my knees looking up at you btw

Blurb:

Just my brain being turned on by hands. 🤷‍♀️

Eddie Munson loves teasing. It comes second nature to him.

He’d slip his hand around your throat anytime he was standing behind you. Giving it a tight squeeze then dragging his palm down your breast before settling on your hips.

He’d pretend his rings got caught in your hair to hear the little whine escape you when he pulled it.

He’d touch you in the gentlest ways yet so heated. Running his fingers in circles up your calf or down your spine.

He wanted you begging for his attention, his hands, his mouth, his cock.

Sorry I woke you up at 8am sucking on your clit, Princess. Would you like me to stop? 🥺

So, I started trying to write this ages ago and now suddenly there is a blurb? Idk how it happened either.

18+, MDNI 1.5k

cw: smutty smut, oral (m!receiving) dom-ish!eddie (he’s back to being a docile puddle by the end, dw), spit and tears and cum (oh my!), face fucking, but make it ~*~romantic~*~

There wasn’t a single part of you that didn’t hurt.

The hinge of your jaw aching from being stretched open, your numbed legs tingling from being folded underneath you, your knees stinging from the scratchy carpet fibers digging into them. Even your hips and shoulders were growing tight from trying to keep your back straight.

Your tired muscles screamed out for relief, for a second of respite—but they wouldn’t be getting it anytime soon. Not when the reason for their pain was so delectably and deliciously handsome.

“How’s that, sweetheart? You like that?”

Eddie’s voice was low and rumbly, emanating from deep in his chest. Just the sound of it made your center spasm and flutter, thighs clenching together in spite of them having fallen asleep.

The only noise you could make was wet gurgles and glucks that barely resembled actual words. You kept your head tipped back so he could watch your eyes fill with tears you could hardly see through. You didn’t need to see to know how gorgeous he looked, though.

Standing over your kneeling form as you gazed up at the soft planes of his torso and tattooed pecs; the barely-there pudge of his belly dusted with his happy trail that grew thicker and darker the further down it traveled; his chest that heaved in time with the persistent rock of his hips.

“Poor baby,” he tutted from overhead. “Can’t say anything with your mouth so full of my cock, huh? Can’t even tell me how much you like it?”

Sympathetic as his words were, his voice was anything but. There was a mocking edge to his tone and a glint in his dark eyes that was almost mean as he stared down at you. He gripped the side of your head, his strong fingers curling around the back of your neck to hold you in place as you received the brunt force of his thrusts. Every stroke was steady and even, his pace never wavering. You sucked in a big breath through your nose and swallowed in response to his question, drawing him deeper into the embrace of your throat and whining softly around him.

“You don’t have to tell me, sweetheart—I know you love this cock. That’s why you let me do this, right? ‘Cos you love it so much?”

You swallowed again, his tip inching down your throat with the motion. It made his brow pinch—just for a second—and his lips part in a breathy gasp he scrambled to hide. But he was too slow, and he felt the hum of pleasure you let out that threatened to unravel him completely.

Those fleeting seconds were the ones you lived for—the briefest flashes of your sweet, soft boy showing through the cracks in his facade when his domineering mask slipped ever so slightly.

As much as you liked this guy, that one was the one you loved. The only one you’d let do this.

“You know my favorite thing about this?” he asked, his grip tightening as his pace started to pick up, his domineering tone getting even lower and more leading, thick and dripping lewdly.

Trying to regain his upper hand.

As if he could ever lose it with you.

Your head shook as best it could with him buried in the back of your throat, and Eddie’s mouth split wide in a crooked smile, almost laughing as he continued in a deep burr.

“It’s that you can’t even argue with me when I tell you how well you’re doing.”

His words washed over you like an unrelenting wave of arousal. Your eyes bulged wide in your skull and you felt your spine go slack with the shivers that rippled down your back. Your head practically hung limp, only making it easier for Eddie to thrust freely until you were gagging.

The pool of spit that had collected in your mouth spilled past your lips and dribbled down your chin, your tongue sliding out of your mouth to lay flat as Eddie’s cock glided over it unforgivingly.

He was at full speed now, barely pulling his cock back before it was ramming back into your soft palate. The wiry hairs at his base tickled your nose and cheeks with each pass and you literally felt yourself sinking beneath his influence, turning liquid and pliant, almost soupy with lust.

“That’s right, baby,” he went on, “you can’t do anything but sit there and take it…”

The tears that had begun to well in your eyes flowed freely now. You blinked rapidly, squishing your lids together trying to clear your blurred vision, the mascara clinging to your lashes likely leaving behind those mottled black trails Eddie loved to see running down your cheeks.

Your chest burned, seizing in anticipation.

Eddie knew this about you, knew how your need for praise and approval was constantly at odds with your inability to accept it. You and he had talked at length about how you loved the rush of having someone compliment you, but it was consistently followed by an equal and opposite   rush of shame. Feeling like you must have tricked or fooled them somehow into saying it.

His grin was triumphant when enough tears had trickled down your cheeks for you to see his face clearly, his plush lips spread wide in a wicked grin.

Eddie was so quick to compliment you, to ply you with talk that was as exalting as it was filthy. 

He was your biggest cheerleader—determined not to let you think for a second you were anything less than the talented, intelligent, kind, complex, hilarious, fucking ravishing creature he saw when he looked at you. But it was difficult, particularly in this area, for you to take his words to heart. To not immediately think he was just getting swept up in the moment, that he didn’t mean any of it. That he was just playing the part, saying his lines as scripted.

“Jesus, you’re so good at this,” he groaned. “I’d fuckin’ live in this throat if I could. You take it so… fucking…well…”

The last few words he punctuated with a punch of his hips. Your throat spasmed with it and your gag reflex made you sputter around his length, drool now running in rivulets down your chin.

“Goddamnit, I love you so much,” he gritted out, his voice cracking slightly as his mask started to slip again the closer he got. “Can’t believe I get to do this, can’t believe you let me—”

It’s the reverence in his tone that gets to you every time. You’d had men tell you before how they couldn’t believe you ‘let them do this’ and it always sounded so incredulous. Like it was dirty and disgusting, and like they were getting away with something. Not at all how Eddie says it.

He says it like it’s a gift. Like it’s the only thing he has ever wanted, and you’re the one offering him his dream come true. Like he isn’t convinced it’s real, or that it’s not something he’s dreaming.

“Oh, you’re fucking everything, you know that?” he asked, looking down at you with his own wet, glossy eyes, “you deserve everything, m’gonna give you everything…”

Your thighs clench again and you can feel your own arousal as it squishes in between your legs, your clit and cunt pulsating in time with the rapid beating of your heart. The tingling in your limbs has spread all over your body, distinctly more pleasurable than the pins and needles.

If you were ever going to cum untouched, it would be from this. No doubt about it.

Blinking through the last of your tears, you stare at Eddie raptly. He’s fucking gorgeous like this, all his muscles pulled taught, tensed and flexing and so close to snapping. His eyes are pinched shut, not quite closed like he doesn’t want to stop looking at you for even a second.

“F-fuck me, m’so close, baby. M’so fucking close, I’m gonna—ahh!”

His voice cracks along with his mask, his domineering tone crumbling into a needy and plaintive moan. With one final thrust, he pulls out of you and wraps his fist around his cock that’s soaked in your spit. You gasp, taking the first full breath you’ve had in ages and stick your tongue out, flattening it against your chin and tipping your head back as far as it will go.

It doesn’t take but a few quick strokes for his warm, salty spend to splatter across your tongue. His expression is almost pained until he sees the look of relief that washes over your face.

Only then does he permit himself to feel the full sensation, to revel in your mutual pleasure.

He drops to his knees, practically collapsing, and throws his arms around your shoulders to pull you into him. His chest heaving against yours while he comes down, he buries his face in your neck and clutches at the back of your head to hold you to him as he struggles to catch his breath.

“Fuck, I love you,” he whispers, words tumbling out of him, “I love you so much.”

You swallow thickly, his cum still warm on your throat as it slides down it. Your head turns to kiss the side of his face and whisper in his ear, voice coming out hoarse but no less adoring.

“I love you too,” you mewl, more tears welling behind your eyes. “Thank you.”

All my love for indulging me — love you, mean it! 📸

🤤

Someone Who Needs Me | Older!Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Eddie’s been working really hard and you want to show him how much you appreciate everything he does.

WC: ~1.6k

Warnings: fluff, smut, age gap (Eddie’s in 40s and R’s in 20s), mixed POV, possessive!Eddie, sexist co-workers, swearing, mention of piv sex, one teasing use of “daddy”, brief oral m!receiving. Not much plot these guys are just in love and horny for each other idk 18+ ONLY MDNI

This is a second part to Sweet Like Sugar

When you walked into the kitchen and saw Eddie’s lunch box still sitting on the counter, you sighed and gave a fond shake of your head.

Poor, Eddie.

Between picking up extra hours at the garage and working to repair your water-damaged trailer, he’d been trying to burn the candle at both ends and as a result was starting to get a little forgetful.

A few days earlier you’d found his wallet tucked behind the celery in the fridge, and he kept misplacing his rings and the keys to his car.

He laughed it off by saying it was just his “old age” finally catching up to him, but you knew the truth was that he was pushing himself too hard.

You were staying with Eddie until he could get your trailer back into livable condition, but he was in no rush to finish — he liked having you around. The man who, for years, had relished in his solitude now found himself hooked on domestic bliss and the truth was, he never wanted to be alone again.

He loved seeing your pretty face every evening when he got home from his shift at the garage — even though the days were long, your sweet kisses kept him going.

He loved the sound of your voice, the light in your eyes and the soft perfume that you wore; how your scent filled his home and lingered in his sheets. Every morning when he pulled your warm body close in the early hours before dawn, he wondered to himself how he’d ended up with an angel like you.

And now that you were his, he never wanted to let you go.

As soon as your trailer was repaired, he planned to suggest that you put it up for sale and move into his place with him for good. He knew it was fast, but at his age he didn’t see the point in playing games — he just hoped his intentions wouldn’t scare you away.

He needn’t have been worried. You were all in.

Living with Eddie was the first time in your life you had ever felt truly safe and appreciated, and you couldn’t imagine going back to dating the immature guys your age. None of them could ever hold a candle to Eddie — they couldn’t even hold a match. He was the man of your dreams and took such good care of you.

You had an appointment that afternoon across town so you decided to leave a little early and drop Eddie’s lunch off at the garage on your way. It wasn’t much, but it was the least you could do to show him that you cared.

In your eyes, he deserved to be treated like a king.

When you pulled up outside the garage, you felt a little thrill of excitement. You loved visiting Eddie at work.

He always looked so good with his silver-flecked curls tied back and his big hands darkened with grease — for some reason the scent of motor oil on his skin really got you going.

As you walked into the garage you were greeted by a chorus of hoots and whistles courtesy of the mechanics eyeing you in your daisy dukes. You just rolled your eyes and ignored their stares as you looked around for Eddie, but you didn’t spot your boyfriend right away.

“Hey Ed, yer girl’s here,” someone hollered and Eddie rolled out from under a car, then sat up on the creeper and grabbed a rag to wipe his hands.

He’d tied a bandana around his head to keep loose strands of hair out of his face, and he looked so good that it made your stomach flutter.

“You forgot your lunch, so I thought I’d bring it by,” you said as he took the tin from your hands, then gave you a shy dimpled grin before his eyes dipped to the floor.

He still wasn’t used to having someone worry over him, and at times it left him feeling a little flustered.

“I swear I’d forget my fuckin’ head. Thanks sweetheart, you’re so good to me.”

He leaned in to kiss you on the cheek and your face started to get warm. Even after being together for months he always had the same effect on you, and you had to suppress the overwhelming urge to jump him in his greasy coveralls.

“It’s the least I can do. You work so hard.” You grabbed the material at his waist and pulled him close so you could press your glossy lips to his. You parted your mouth as you tilted your head, forgetting where you were for just a second and letting the kiss linger a bit too long for in public.

But Eddie didn’t care who was watching.

He grabbed ahold of your hips and squeezed them tight as he leaned into the embrace, letting his tongue caress yours and groaning against your lips. He wasn’t oblivious. He’d heard the obnoxious whistles and catcalls from before and had no qualms about showing those guys that you were his.

He could feel himself getting hard and wondered if maybe you’d be up for a quickie outside in his car that was parked in its usual secluded spot behind the garage. You’d visited a few times before on his lunch breaks, bouncing on his dick in the crowded backseat while he buried his face in your cleavage and sucked on your perfect tits.

But you pulled away a few seconds later and busied yourself with straightening his collar, derailing his horny train of thought.

“I’d better get going or I’ll be late for my appointment,” you said, giving him a little wink. “I’m heading over to the spa this afternoon for the usual.”

“Yeah?” He gave you a playful raise of his eyebrows and his cheeks flushed a little pink as he leaned in close so no one else could hear. “You need some money? Maybe get them to do that thing I like?”

Eddie loved it when you got your bush waxed in the shape of a landing strip just like the girls in the porno mags he used to read as a younger man. He also loved any opportunity he could find to spoil you.

You held out an upturned palm and he immediately dropped his gaze to the long, painted nails that gripped his shoulders every night in bed; those sharp pink tips that dug so deliciously into the soft flesh of his ass when he was buried inside you, urging him even deeper.

He walked over to where his jacket was hung on its hook and took a couple twenties out of the pocket, then handed them to you along with a soft kiss to your cheek.

“Thank you, daddy,” you whispered quiet enough that only he could hear, and his cock twitched at the sound of the name that was meant for just for the two of you.

“Shit—baby, you can’t just say that here,” he stumbled as your glossy lips curled into a sly smile.

“Oops, sorry.” You shrugged, feigning innocence as you turned to walk away. “I’ll see you at home later, okay?”

One of the guys let out another low whistle as you swayed your hips on the walk back to your car and you smiled to yourself when you overheard Eddie’s gruff final warning.

“You’d better watch yourself, Derek.”

It was Friday evening, so when quitting time rolled around the guys asked Eddie if he wanted to join them at the bar, but he said no. He knew you were waiting for him at home.

The men all jeered and got their digs in about how Eddie was pussy whipped, but he didn’t give a shit. He knew they’d give anything for a chance to go home to you.

When he walked up the creaky steps to the trailer, he could hear the faint sound of you singing in the kitchen and when he opened the door he was met with the pleasant aroma of the food you had prepared.

He sat down at the kitchen table to untie his boots and you walked over to greet him, wearing his favorite frilly apron and a smile.

“Smells good in here, whatcha cooking?” He stood up and gave you a teasing wink. “You know if you keep this up, you’re going to spoil me.”

“I’m making your favorite,” you purred, stepping close and running your newly manicured nails down his coverall covered chest. “Why don’t you go get showered while I finish up?”

“Good idea. I’m so fuckin’ stiff, I can barely move.” He grimaced as he rubbed a hand over the back of his neck.

You furrowed your brow at the way he groaned with each bend of his aching muscles. He’d been working much too hard.

“Do you need me to help?” you offered sweetly, your wide eyes brimming with concern. “Dinner’s pretty much finished. I can just keep it warm.”

He nodded and a lazy smile stretched across his face as he watched you reach behind your back to pull loose the bow in your cute little apron.

“Yeah, baby. I’m gonna need some help.”

And you helped him, down on your knees under the warm running water, your fresh nails gripping his muscular thighs as he rested his back against the tile shower wall.

His breath came out ragged as he carded a hand through wet curls to push them out of his face, while using his other hand to guide your head up and down his slick cock.

“So fuckin’ good for me,” he mumbled, the soft praise spilling from his lips as he gazed down at you with naked adoration.

And you were. Such a good fucking girl.

Thank you for reading! 💕

A/N: I have another little part to this where reader sells her trailer and Eddie doesn’t like their new neighbor 👀

Taglist Lovelies 🏷️ : @mrsjellymunson @hippiegoth97 @princesssunderworld @madelynraemunson

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

Loveeee

Boyfriend Simon Elroy (NSFW)

prompt fill. (request)

Simon Elroy x fem!reader

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Simon is exactly the type of romantic who takes your favorite color or favorite movie or favorite holiday very fucking seriously. Everything you tell him, he commits to memory. Tattoos it on his brain so he'll never forget. You only eat the green M&Ms? He'll pick them out of every bag and hand them to you like treasures. You hate it when the sauce touches your spaghetti before you can mix it yourself? He'll replate everything over and over again until you smile. And he does it all like it's no big deal, nothing to see here; mid-conversation, making a joke, totally whatever.

Simon is exactly the type to be sarcastic, wields his dark sense of humor like a test—none shall pass—but knows when to brighten himself up if you need a boost. He'll defend your honor against anyone, disguising sharp remarks behind a smile as he cuts down the passive-aggressive idiots who try to make you rethink your values. He's soft words in harsh tones; observations collected over hours spent together; always studying you, always learning, always finding new ways to make you feel like the sun.

Simon is exactly the type to keep a hand in your back pocket and kiss your neck after he walks you to class. Yeah, he knows you're independent, but he doesn't give a shit, gimme your bag, babe, or suffer the consequences. He isn't into soft affection for the sake of it, but he'll find reasons to touch you. Funny enough, despite that quirk, he does like to roughhouse at the drop of a hat. Grab you around the waist and bodily move you where he wants you. Throw you over his shoulder when you suffer decision fatigue and have been standing in front of the squishmallows for twenty minutes.

Simon is exactly the type to make the little moments significant. Celebrates every achievement like it's the cure for cancer. He'll put together backyard picnics under the stars because he can't afford a restaurant. He'll set up a blanket fort around his bed to watch scary movies in the dark after you admit you've never seen The Ring. Even secretly calls your phone right as the end credits start to roll and cackles when you jump a foot in the air. Bundles you up and rocks you, kisses you until you say you forgive him.

But Simon is also the type to get obsessed. He isn't controlling, just wants to make sure his girl is okay, taken care of, happy at all times. Because if she isn't, there will be hell to pay and Simon will gleefully be the one to unleash it. He would go to the ends of the earth for you, no questions asked. You want sushi from that place in Milwaukee—an hour and a half away, and closed on Sundays—Simon WILL make that happen. He's the first one there and the last to leave, helps clean up the basement after everyone exits Game Night. Doesn't expect anything in return. You know that if you get hurt, he'll nurse you back to health, a bit of a helicopter mom, and that he'll also fucking murder whoever's responsible. (You've never seen the school patch a crack in the pavement so fast...)

Simon is also the type who doesn't get jealous. He isn't territorial. He doesn't worry about you if another guy decides to make his move; watches in amusement because he knows dickhead Dom Sawyer can't do what Simon does for you. He simply raises a brow at the guys who try to pretend Simon doesn't exist. It's only if and when you get uncomfortable that Simon intervenes, "You okay, beautiful?" and extricates you from the situation, a protective arm around your waist.

Simon is exactly the type who makes promises he doesn't break. If he swore to make you scream his name, that's exactly what you'll be doing, no matter how long it takes. "Come on, beautiful, I know you can be louder than that..." He's methodical, thorough, has done the research and gathered the evidence, your honor, this is what word to spell with his tongue to make you squirt. And Simon loves to make you come as many times as you can take, groaning as he tastes you, his lips and chin dribbling, his eyes rolled back in his head as he tries to get his tongue deeper. He listens to you, knows your limits, won't cross them even when his curiosity is begging him to. Giving you pleasure gives him pleasure, and sometimes he won't even have to fuck you to get off. He doesn't get embarrassed, is sure of himself, just gives you a wolfish smirk and starts all over again. Makes you taste yourself on his tongue before he decides to use his fingers this time. "You want to come again, love? Say it. Tell me what you want."

Simon is definitely the type to fuck slow when he does have you beneath him. He's traditional in some aspects. Prefers missionary to anything else because he needs to see your eyes, to gaze deeply into them as he rocks into you, angled perfectly to tease you. "You feel amazing, beautiful girl," he murmurs as he kisses your neck and pinches your nipple. "You're so perfect, fuck, I'm so lucky." And then, finally, he'll position himself just right to hit your g-spot, ram into it until you and he come together.

Simon isn't vanilla. He'll secret you away to a bathroom at the arcade or have you ride him behind the Peddie's barn when there's a tailgate. He just knows what he likes and that's all there is to it. But if there's something you want to try, he's more than willing, "Anything for you, love."

Simon is exactly the type who knows how to laugh during sex. He's silly and doesn't take himself too seriously. Honestly, he just loves the way you sound when you giggle, he doesn't care what's happening when you do. Simon doesn't get drowsy after, either. He gets hype; wants to play; loves to tickle you into submission and then snuggle the shit out of you as he talks to you about plans he's made for you and him to travel to New York Comic Con. He tucks your hair behind your ear, blushes at his own gesture—like he can't quite believe he's allowed to be that intimate—and then smothers you in kisses so you won't notice how red his cheeks are.

🌰___________________________

also on AO3!

no thoughts, just rafe eating his study-till-i-drop girlfriend out to help her destress :)

the gentle knock on your door barely registers. "mom, i'll eat later tonight," you call out, voice clipped but trying to stay calm. it’s the third time you’ve said it, and the second you hear the door open, frustration prickles at your already frazzled nerves.

except it’s not your mom—it’s rafe. he stands in the doorway with his gym bag slung over one shoulder. “later tonight, huh?” he murmurs, an easy smirk tugging at his lips. with a gentle thud, he drops the bag just outside your door and steps inside, nudging the door shut behind him with his foot.

for a moment, your stress falters. the weight in your chest shifts, replaced by something lighter—relief, maybe even the hint of a smile. but it’s fleeting. you shake it off, glancing back at your biology book. “i have a lot to do,” you mutter, your tone softening despite yourself. “how was practice?”

he doesn’t answer immediately, just walks over to your bed, sits down, and kicks off his shoes. when he finally speaks, it’s in that low, casual drawl of his. “sweaty.”

you glance up and notice it now—his slightly damp hair curling at the ends, the faint sheen still clinging to his skin, and the subtle, clean scent of soap that lingers between you.

when you don’t respond, his brows pull together slightly, and he shuffles closer to you. instinctively, you tuck your knees to your chest, resting the weight of your textbook on your thighs to give him space.

“you should eat,” he says, his voice quieter now, laced with something tender. “you’ve been at this all day.”

he’s probably right, but the thought of pausing—of stepping away when you’re so far from finished—feels impossible. your pen moves almost mindlessly across the page as you scribble out another note, your lips parting to respond. but before you can, your notebook is snatched from your lap in one smooth, effortless motion.

“rafe,” you snap, reaching for it immediately. he holds it just out of reach, his grin soft but teasing.

“rafe, i’m not joking,” you warn, leaning forward. before you can try again, his lips meet yours, cutting off your protests with a kiss.

“you’re gonna burn out,” he murmurs against your mouth, his tone gentle but firm.

you pull back slightly, just enough to glare at him, though the frown on your face is more instinct than true frustration. “you haven’t even seen me during exams,” you mutter, the memory of those sleepless, frantic weeks flashing briefly in your mind.

“not looking forward to that,” he says with a quiet chuckle, still pressing faint, featherlight kisses to your lips.

you don’t stop him this time. instead, you find yourself watching him—watching the way his face softens as he leans into you, the way his eyes flicker between yours and your lips, the way his touch feels so deliberate, so careful.

“want me to help you destress?” he asks softly, his voice low and warm.

you blink at him, curiosity flickering in your eyes. “help me… destress? how?”

his hands trail down your legs, his touch light and teasing. “you had tights on this morning,” he notes, almost absentmindedly.

you nod slowly, your voice barely above a whisper. “they weren’t staying up… i took them off.”

his gaze lowers, and before you fully register what’s happening, his hands are gently parting your legs. your breath hitches as the air shifts between you.

he starts slowly, pressing soft, lingering kisses to your thigh, his lips warm against your skin. you let out a deep, shaky sigh—a sound that seems to rise from an exhaustion you hadn’t even realized you were carrying. each kiss feels deliberate, a quiet offering of care and something deeper, something unspoken.

he works his way lower, inch by inch, his lips grazing the sensitive skin of your thighs until he pauses. his eyes lift to meet yours, and his voice comes soft, almost reverent. “can i?”

you nod, breathless, unable to form words. the need simmering in his gaze feels like it could burn right through you, and the anticipation makes your skin hum, every nerve alive and aching for his touch.

his eyes drift down to your cunt that you know is drenched right now, before he’s even done something and the thought of him having you this undone before he’s even touched you is really sad.

when he tugs on the sides of your panties, you freeze for a moment—quiet realization of what’s about to happen and for a second, you’re afraid, afraid of something this new. his gentle eyes are immediately finding yours. “you trust me?” he asks and you know the answer is yes because you say yes without even thinking about it.

“good cause i won’t hurt you, sweetheart..” he’s lightly tugging on your panties, pulling them over your legs until they’re at your ankles and then he’s tossing them to the side. they’re simple white cotton ones and you find yourself wishing you atleast had those sexy, lacy ones.

“you promise?”

“cross my heart,”

he’s properly buried between your thighs now and the first lick along your folds has you gasping and fisting your freshly washed sheets. “you’ve got the prettiest pussy i’ve ever seen, baby..” when his tongue flicks against your drenched cunt, you let out a moan that is downright embarrassingly loud. before the noise can travel, rafe’s hand is flying to cover your mouth and you’re left muffling against his palm.

“as much as i’m dying to hear you moan my name, that’s a risk we can’t take right now, hm?” he murmurs and you assume that’s a sign that he’d go easy on you, you assume that since your parents are currently two floors below you and rafe cares about what they think, he wouldn’t go overboard.

you assume wrong.

“rafe!” you cry out against his palm, head tilting back as he shoves his tongue between your lips. your back is arching off the bed as your one hand holds onto his wrist that’s covering your mouth while the other is gripping rafe’s hair for dear life.

you were completely under the impression that the way his tongue was kissing and flicking your hole and folds was the pinnacle of all of this and you could imagine yourself cumming from just that in the next five minutes.

but then he’s licking from your hole to your clit and the moment his tongue makes first contact with your clit, your eyes fly open and your brain goes completely fuzzy.

“that’s it, baby, lemme make you feel good..” he’s muttering, mouth still right on your clit and you can hardly focus on his words, can hardly focus on much else but the pleasure that seems to be intensifying with every second that passes, “p-please..! i’m..i—“ you’re stuttering, eyes glossy in this almost fucked out state and you’re not even sure what you’re trying to say, what you want. you want something, need something.

“i’ll take care of you. i got you, babygirl.” you want to move, want to push against his mouth or push your hand against the back of his head to pull him in but your body feels too weak. all you can do is let out these muffled, shaky cries against rafe’s palms as he ate you out like it was his very last meal.

your whole body is trembling, a thin sheen of glistening sweat covers your forehead and you swear you can see stars right on the ceiling of your bedroom. rafe’s tongue is relentless, tirelessly lapping and licking at your clit, sucking it into his mouth and you’re losing focus, can’t think straight anymore. your eyes are rolling back as you attempt to push your mound against his lips.

you shudder when the pleasure only intensifies, “gonna cum for me, pretty girl?” rafe’s murmuring against your clit and you’re nodding frantically, “mhm! m’ gonna cum…gonna c-cum..!” you know it’s coming, can feel something pushing against you, pushing you over the edge and you’re about to spill.

rafe doesn’t stop, doesn’t even slow, just devours you no matter how hard you’re pulling on his hair because you’re about to cum and it’s gonna be all over him and the humiliation of that would kill you.

“rafe! s’ too much!” you gasp and somehow, rafe knows just what to do, just which way to flick his tongue because not a moment later, your toes are curling, fingers tightening in his hair, back arching off your sheets and you’re coming all over his face, slick gushing out as you cry so loud he has to stuff your mouth with his fingers to keep you quiet.

he only removes his fingers after a second and then he’s rising up from between your legs while you lay there, head on your pillow, in this almost dream-like state, trying to catch your breath.

“all good?” his voice is soft, slightly out of breath but steady compared to your shallow pants. you nod, still catching your breath, as he leans over and grabs a tissue from the box on your nightstand. his movements are slow, careful as he cleans you both up, the gentle press of the tissue against your skin making you hyperaware of the moment.

it’s only when you shift slightly that your eyes flicker downward, catching the unmistakable bulge in his sweats. a rush of heat floods your cheeks, and you sit up slowly, your movements hesitant. “you—”

he follows your gaze and shakes his head immediately, cutting off your words before you can finish. “nah, don’t worry about me,” he says, his tone easy but resolute. he leans forward, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead, the warmth of his lips grounding you even as your thoughts spin.

still, your eyes drift back to him, lingering a second too long. the idea settles in your chest, insistent and new, and before you can second-guess yourself, your hand starts to reach for him.

he catches your wrist gently but firmly, halting you in place. “no.” his voice is low, the single word laced with finality. his thumb brushes against the delicate skin of your wrist as he holds it, his gaze steady on yours. “go eat.”

you blink up at him, torn between frustration and a quiet determination. “i want to help you,” you murmur, your voice soft but unwavering, the words carrying more weight than you intended. your eyes meet his, defiant, even as your pulse races.

he exhales a small laugh, tilting his head until his forehead rests against yours. his lips brush yours, featherlight, a whisper of contact that leaves you yearning for more. “not today,” he says softly, his voice dropping to a near murmur. “go eat.”

his words leave no room for argument, but the tenderness in his tone eases the sting of his refusal. reluctantly, you shift off the bed, your legs unsteady as you make your way toward the door.

snippet from 'teach please me' series.

Blurb:

Wally Clark’s hands.

NSFW

Wally Clark is so touchy feely and clingy that he has to be touching you in some way.

When he was sat next to you his hand would rest on your thigh or he would have his arm around your chair. And if you had a little too much attitude he would tug on your ponytail giving you a look telling you to tone it down before he had to tone it down for you. Which usually ended with his hand wrapped in your hair while he fucked your throat or as he had you on all fours.

He’d pull you into his lap any chance he could get. Holding your hips in his hands. He’d slide them underneath your shirt warming your entire body at the feel of his skin on yours. He’d pop a boner immediately and position you perfectly over it making sure you felt him pulsing against your throbbing pussy.

Wally Clark would love how his massive hand looked wrapped around your pretty throat. The catch in your breath and the wide eyed look would turn him into putty. How dazed you got while he pounded into you.

If he needed you to be quiet or to shut up he’d sink his pointer and middle finger into your mouth and tell you to suck on them like the good little slut you are.

i wanna get teased with the tip til i cry

I need 💨 🍆. IMMEDIATELY

omggg i need rafe x stoner gf who comes home high nd needy🙂‍↔️

lamy's notes: i hope you like it!!

the door creaks open, and you stumble inside, still wrapped in the hazy warmth of your high. the world feels softer, edges blurred, your skin tingling like it’s alive, aware of every sensation. your laugh is low, quiet, spilling out like a lazy stream as you toe off your sneakers.

“rafe?” your voice is sing-song, a little slurred, dripping with sweetness as you call for him.

he appears from the kitchen, his frame backlit by the soft glow of the under-cabinet lights. arms crossed, his sharp features pull into a knowing smirk the moment he sees you swaying slightly, your eyes heavy-lidded and glassy.

“jesus,” he mutters, but there’s no judgment in his voice, only amusement—and something darker, something that sharpens when he looks at you like this. “how high are you?”

“mmm… like… a lot,” you admit, giggling as you close the distance between you, your fingers reaching for him instinctively. “but, baby… you have no idea how good i feel.”

you’re in his space now, your hands sliding up his chest, your body leaning into his. rafe’s arms come around you almost reflexively, steadying you as you nuzzle into his neck. you’re warm and soft against him, and your scent—a mix of whatever you’d been smoking and the faint sweetness of your perfume—wraps around him, intoxicating in its own way.

“i missed you,” you mumble, your lips brushing his skin with every word. “like… so much.”

“you were gone for, what, two hours?” he teases, though his voice drops, deepening as his hands settle on your hips. you’re swaying slightly, and he keeps you anchored, his thumbs stroking small circles into the fabric of your leggings.

“felt like forever,” you counter, pulling back just enough to look at him. your eyes meet his, and there’s a spark of mischief in your gaze that makes his grip on your hips tighten. “i was just sitting there, thinking about you. about us.”

he quirks an eyebrow, his smirk widening. “yeah? and what were you thinking?”

“you wanna know?” you ask, your voice dropping, playful and suggestive. your fingers toy with the hem of his t-shirt, slipping underneath to brush against his warm skin.

“tell me,” he says, and there’s an edge to his tone now, his patience fraying.

“i was thinking,” you start, dragging your nails lightly up his stomach, “about how good you feel. how good you make me feel.” your lips curve into a slow, lazy smile, your hands wandering higher. “and how much i want you right now.”

he exhales sharply, his hands flexing on your hips as he fights for control. “you’re unbelievable,” he says, his voice low, thick with amusement and want.

“mmm,” you hum, leaning up to kiss him, slow and teasing, your lips brushing his but never quite pressing fully. “please, rafe… i’ve been so good.”

“good, huh?” he asks, his voice dipping lower as he crowds you against the wall, his body pressing into yours. his knee nudges between your thighs, and you gasp softly, the sensation sending a fresh wave of heat through your already buzzing body. “you think you deserve a reward for coming home stoned out of your mind and throwing yourself at me?”

“yes,” you answer without hesitation, your lips brushing his jaw. “please?”

he groans, low and guttural, before capturing your mouth in a kiss that’s anything but teasing. it’s hot, demanding, his hands sliding lower to grip your ass, pulling you tighter against him. you whimper into his mouth, your fingers tangling in his hair, your body arching into his as the room spins pleasantly around you.

“bed,” he mutters against your lips, his voice rough. “now.”

you’re grinning as he lifts you, your legs wrapping around his waist, your laughter mingling with his groan as he carries you down the hallway.

he lays you down gently, but the weight of his body pressing into yours makes your breath catch. his mouth is everywhere—on your neck, your collarbone, the curve of your shoulder—leaving a trail of heat that has you squirming beneath him. his hands are no less insistent, tugging your shirt up and over your head before palming your breasts through your bra.

“you’re so fucking perfect,” he murmurs, his voice muffled as his lips drag lower, over the swell of your chest, down your stomach. he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your leggings, pulling them down slowly, savoring every inch of skin he reveals.

“rafe,” you breathe, your voice shaky, needy.

“i know, baby,” he says, his eyes dark as they flick up to meet yours. “gonna take care of you. promise.”

his mouth moves lower, and when his tongue flicks over your clit, your back arches off the bed, a soft cry spilling from your lips. he hums against you, the vibration sending a jolt of pleasure through your body as he works you with a precision that leaves you breathless. his hands grip your thighs, keeping you open for him, his movements relentless as he draws moan after moan from your lips.

when you’re trembling beneath him, teetering on the edge, he pulls back, his lips glistening, his smirk downright sinful. “not yet,” he murmurs, his voice thick with desire.

he rises, shedding his shirt, his jeans, until he’s bare before you, all lean muscle and raw intensity. he covers your body with his, his hand sliding between your thighs, his fingers teasing, testing, until you’re writhing against him, desperate for more.

“rafe, please,” you beg, your nails digging into his shoulders.

he doesn’t make you wait. he pushes inside slowly, his forehead dropping to yours as he lets out a guttural groan. the stretch is exquisite, every inch of him filling you, making you gasp. he stills, giving you a moment to adjust, his lips brushing yours in a kiss that’s surprisingly tender.

“you okay?” he asks, his voice rough, strained.

“yes,” you whisper, your hands tangling in his hair. “please, move.”

he does, starting slow, his thrusts deep and deliberate, each one sending a wave of pleasure crashing over you. his name falls from your lips like a prayer, and he answers with your own, his voice low and wrecked as he murmurs how good you feel, how perfect you are.

“fuck, baby,” he groans, his voice tight, breath hitching with every roll of his hips. “you feel so fucking amazing. taking me so well.”

as his pace quickens, the room fills with the sound of your shared breaths, your moans, the soft slap of skin against skin. every nerve in your body is on fire, the intensity building with every thrust until you’re shattering beneath him, crying out his name as you fall apart.

“that’s it,” he growls, his voice thick with need. “let go for me, baby. wanna feel you.”

he follows seconds later, his release a low groan against your neck as he buries himself deep, his body trembling above yours.

for a moment, neither of you move, the only sound your ragged breathing. then he shifts, rolling to the side and pulling you with him, his arms wrapping around you tightly.

“you’re trouble, you know that?” he mutters, his lips pressing to your temple.

“but you love me,” you tease, your voice soft, drowsy.

he chuckles, his hold on you tightening. “yeah,” he says, his voice low, tender. “i really fucking do.”

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