Kinktober Day 8 - Size

Kinktober Day 8 - Size

pairing: tom “iceman” kazansky x f!reader

cw: size kink, first time (fucking for the first time, not virginity loss), fingering, penetration, unprotected sex, dirty talk, praise

word count: 1586

kinktober masterlist here.

18+ ONLY | MINORS DNI

-

You’ve never seen Ice like this.

Unguarded, loose, intoxicated.

You’re sprawled out on the bed in your dim lit bedroom. You’re not meant to be bound or anything, but your knuckles are white from gripping the headboard, bracing yourself as Ice spreads your legs. 

The warm, glowy lamp on your bedside table illuminates the better part of his face; his lips are puffy and wet from kissing you, and there’s an eagerness in his pale eyes. Almost amorous, like he’s in a trance just from looking down at you.

It ignites something in you, a spark in your lower abdomen as his eyes rake over your lower half.

Ice slips his shirt off, tosses it to your floor and then works the button on his jeans. You let go of the headboard momentarily, just to sit up and slip your top off too, and Ice keeps his eyes on you as you both remove the last of your clothes. 

Your arms naturally reach up to grip the headboard again, breath getting heavy in anticipation for what it is he plans to do with you. 

It’s your first time actually having sex with him. You’d messed around for weeks, sure. His eager hand down your pants, yours squeezing at his bulge over his pants under the table at the O Club, making out in a bathroom stall to the point of dishevelment, but not sex. Not yet. 

Ice nearly looks like he’s salivating, his lips shiny. Reasonably, because his next move is leaning forward and letting his spit drip down onto your cunt. You flinch as it lands directly on your clit, and then moan quietly when his long fingers reach in to smear it across. Your body loosens at his touch, but your legs twitch with every swipe of his fingers. 

“Ice,” you whine, hips involuntarily rolling towards him, aching for more contact. 

It seems that just the pads of his fingers are enough to get you squirming against your sheets. He watches with concentration as they knead at your folds, spreading you open and letting more of his spit drip down onto your slit. It mixes with your growing arousal, and it starts sounding wet as he rubs you.

Ice doesn’t take his eyes off his fingers, how long they look against you. He removes them momentarily, slips them through his other hand for a second to mindlessly analyze their size, and then looks back at your leaking cunt. His eyes flick to you, watches as you watch him, the look on your face when he presses his middle finger against your hole. It slips inside easily, your walls fluttering around it, eliciting a high pitched moan from you at the entry. You’re so turned on that you immediately need more.

“I–Ice, more,” you plead, trying your best to stay still for him. 

He pulls his drenched finger out, inserts his index along with it, and watches intently as they enter you all the way to the knuckle. It’s then that he curls them slightly, and you gasp and groan loudly at how good it feels.

“I need you to fuck me,” you babble under your breath, squeezing your eyes shut as the pleasure courses through your body.

He seems to catch it, though, his breathing getting heavier at your audible request. He continues prodding at your G-spot, knuckles drenched and against your clit until he pulls them back just enough to slip in a third finger. “Bare with me, baby,” he whispers, mouth agape as he pants, watching your pussy stretch around his digits.

Your moans get higher in pitch, sounding more like cries as he stretches you open. “P–please.. Ice.”

“I need to stretch you—just a little more, baby,” he husks, lidded eyes momentarily flicking over to you.

You throw your head back against the pillow and shake it back and forth as you continue crying out for him. “Please, I need you now—” A strangled noise comes out of you when his fingers curl deeper. You continue babbling, “Don’t wanna cum like this, I want you to fuck me.”

Ice groans and draws his fingers out, bringing them up to wipe on his tongue. He uses the slick on his hands to wrap around his cock, and it’s only then that you lift your head to get a good look at it. Your breath audibly catches in your throat at the sight of it, hard and throbbing and incredibly large in his fist. 

You knew he had to be big, had felt him from outside his pants but Christ, you realize now why he was taking his time opening you up.

On his knees, Ice settles between your legs as he languidly strokes himself. He looks dazed as he leans in to rub the tip through your folds, and then decides that he needs a better angle. He’s quite literally towering over you, and he needs you even closer. Better for him, having your small frame wrapped around him. It’s enough just seeing you underneath him, but having you close, getting to touch you, seeing how big his hand looks against your torso, he’s almost afraid he’s not gonna last very long.

Snaking an arm underneath your waist, he pulls you up against his thighs, your legs inadvertently wrapping around his waist. You’re still death gripping the headboard, holding onto it for dear life as you brace yourself for the seemingly bigger stretch.

Ice’s eyebrows pull tight together when the tip pushes in just an inch inside of you. His mouth hangs open in a silent moan, sharp exhales spilling instead.

The tip itself has you seeing stars, and you unintentionally arch your back, allowing him inside of you another inch. Ice groans out, loud and hot, and then bites on the plush of his bottom lip. Attentive eyes fall down to the sight of his throbbing cock splitting you open—fuck—way more than his fingers did, and it’s almost dizzying. 

He speaks then, breaking free from his speechless daze, “How does it feel?” he asks, serious but strained. “Tell me.”

You cry out as he slowly slides inside. “Fuck fuck fuck. So good.”

“Yeah?” His voice is soft; he sounds out of breath.

“So fucking good,” you reiterate, legs tensing around his waist as he pushes in more and more.

Fuck. You feel so deliciously full already, stuffed to the brim, and he’s still pushing in, watching ardently as every inch disappears inside of you. 

He leans forward to hover above you when he’s buried inside you all the way, the veins in his throat throbbing as your tight walls constrict around him, squeezing him so good, like nothing else before. “F–fuck,” he moans through gritted teeth, eyes squeezed shut, relishing in your warmth. 

Your body feels slack as he envelops you, buzzing the way a limb does after it falls asleep on you. A sort of uncomfortable pleasure. 

You’ve never felt this full in your life. 

When he starts to move, you have to let go of the headboard and clasp a hand over your mouth to trap your screams. You can feel him in your stomach, the tip of his dick tapping against a part inside you that you’ve never even felt before. It evokes a hollow feeling inside you, like he’s reached something forbidden. It’s a different kind of pleasure, one that feels like a scratch you can’t get rid of no matter how much you itch at it. It licks up your body and paints your face crimson, heat in your cheeks when the sharp noises of his hips slamming against yours fill the room. 

“Oh, God,” he moans against your ear. “Oh, fuck—so tight.”

You whimper at his words, at the pretty noises he makes. 

“Look at you,” he breathes, moans slipping out between his words. “Taking all of it. Fuck.”

“Ice..” There’s a warning to your voice; you’re gonna cum soon if he continues talking. 

Strong hands wrap around your ribs, and he angles his hips to thrust into you harder, deeper. It takes everything in you not to let go; you know he’s close too with how fucking drunk on it he looks, his face flushed and contorted beautifully. 

He reaches his peak when he opens his eyes and glances down at your bodies, at the stark difference in them, at how fucking big he looks pounding into you. You cum with him; loud, uncontrollable cries meeting with his long, raspy groans.

Ice bows his head to kiss you, regretful that he hadn’t yet. He tastes just as sweet as he looks, quiet moans still spilling into each other’s mouths as the glow washes over you. He doesn’t pull out, in fact remains buried inside you to the hilt as he lazily works his mouth and tongue against yours.

He kind of wants to stay inside you forever, comfortable and snug there. He feels your body growing sensitive, however, your legs sputtering and your hips slightly pulling back, and it’s then that he pulls out. You whimper against his lips at the emptiness, your core left drenched and pulsing. You realize how sore your arms feel from grabbing onto the headboard, so you bring them down and over his shoulders, yanking him down atop your exhausted body.

Oh, he’s heavy, you realize. Right.

Basking in the glow together, Ice smiles, letting you breathe when he snakes his arms underneath you again to flip you over, settling you against his wide chest, arms enveloping your frame.

i have been told recently that i needed to find a new hobby so i began drawing sharks. here are my shark babies.

do not steal my art work i will cry ☺️

Thinking about Rhett, who isn't as big of a sex addict as the town of Wabang has chalked him up to be.

It's not particularly difficult to draw such a conclusion; between the countless times his momma has opened his bedroom door and gotten flashed by a woman she's never met before and all the one-night stands, it makes a lot of sense.

To Wabang, Rhett's just one of those guys. The town bicycle. Willing to follow anyone into a cheap motel room for a bit of fun, regardless of who they are, what they look like, or if he'll ever see them again. His buddies joke that he just can't keep it in his pants, and Cecelia's bible group whispers that the devil has his claws in deep.

That's not the full story; it's a tale that Rhett's been denying from the moment he realized it. For a period of time, he does manage to push it into the farthest depths of his mind, too weary of what acknowledging it may do to him.

But then you come along, with your sweet smile and eyes that glisten at the sight of him, and it comes rumbling right back to the forefront of his mind. His friends love to drunkenly joke that he must be having a hard time holding himself back, but it's not that at all.

To tell the truth, his sex drive isn't as wild and rampaging as everyone thinks it is; he doesn't have that crippling obsession with having a nameless face beneath him; in fact, his hand and imagination are usually more satisfying. It's always with him, no worry of another officer noticing his truck rocking, paying for a motel he won't stay in for longer than a few hours, or waking up alone.

But there's just something about the concept of people wanting to sleep with him. Man, woman, something in between; it's never been much of a concern to him. All it takes is that lingering, hungry gaze to get him weak in the knee, heart pounding in his chest. Too eager to fall into that fleeting feeling of being wanted, even if the sunrise dissolves it into the familiar, grimy sensation of feeling used.

In all honesty, he's not even sure what to do with that information; how does one even bring that up? What difference does it make?

You don't mention anything about it until after you go through a sudden period of wanting him multiple times a day, riding him before he goes to work, sneaking over on his lunch break, just for a taste, luring him in after that night's rodeo and then again in the shower.

It's to the point that even you are surprised that he isn't beating you back with the broomstick. An intrusive thought suggests that he's pushing himself because he doesn't want to tell you no. So you do the only thing you can think of; you pull out of an impromptu kiss and confront him about it.

And Rhett flounders.

Stuttering the beginnings of a confession that he doesn't know how to tell, tripping through every little word until it all rolls out in one jumbled mess.

"I likeitwhenyouwantme."

It's so rushed and poorly put together that he's got to grab your hand and press it against the bulge in his jeans, the only way that he knows how to convince you that he wants this. He loves this.

Piece by piece, it all clicks together. The way that his eyes always darken when you cradle his face in your hands and kiss him before he can speak. How easily he falls into tandem with you when you start whispering into his ear, or that time he went from yawning to nearly eating you alive, all from you pulling him by his tie.

You think it's something that will fade with time, but it really doesn't. It's a card that almost always works on him. One little look or the brush of your hand up his thigh is enough to have him falling into you.

God forbid you start whispering about how much you want him, the things you love about him, and how good he is for you. The first time you do it, he cums before you can finish licking that first stripe up the underside of his cock.

Nobody ever expects for cowboys to be whimpering messes in bed, especially not the champion bull-rider with a winding, blue-collar pedigree. And to be fair, he probably wouldn't be this way if you never took advantage of his weaknesses, but you just can't help yourself. It's a habit that you can't break, whispering into his ears or letting your wandering hands do all of the talking.

The only times he ever tells you that he's no are when he's at an extreme, injured from a rodeo, worked to the bone, or wrapped up in a horrible mood that he just can't shake. Even then, he does often seek you out when he's feeling better; there's just something about it that makes him so damn happy.

It's the intimacy, your hands in his hair and his name on your pretty tongue. It's the overwhelming fact that you want him and all of his flaws. Nobody else will do. He loves being with you, and feeling you, and making you happy.

It's the trust that you are willing to share your most vulnerable moments with him. The way that you treat him with just as much care as he treats you with. He's given and been burned so, so many times, but you treat his beaten soul as if it's made of glass.

There are so many better men out there, but of all those people, you've picked him, and it's something that will never not get his heart racing in his chest.

send top gun requests! i want to write something tonight

send requests!!!

masterlist

hi! my name is liv, and i go by she/her pronouns. i am 23, and this is a nsfw account so mdni! i love getting requests, and i will write smut, fluff, and angst. i will also write for poly ships. everything i write is x reader.

my work:

- jake “hangman” seresin

- bradley “rooster” bradshaw

- natasha “phoenix” trace

- robert “bob” floyd

- pete “maverick” mitchell

- tom “iceman” kazansky

- rhett abbott

- others

if you request anyone who is not on this list, i still might write it, even if it is in a different fandom. so never be afraid to send a request!

Natasha “Phoenix” Trace work

a little arrangement

summary: you admit to bob that you have a crush on phoenix. so he decides to invite her into your bedroom. 18+