Tate Langdon x Reader (One-shots)

Orangs Skies (Smut)

Orange sunlight streams through my windows, the sunset becoming visible over the houses in the distance. It smells of autumn, one of wet leaves. I'm perfectly comfortable on my back, on my mattress with my legs up. I flip through a book, one I had been reading for a few days now. But he was distracting me.
Tate presses his thumb into the skin of my thigh, grabbing my skin there with pathetic intention. I stay, my back pressed against the pillows on my bed. His dark eyes are pleading. They make me take my own eyes off of my book for a moment, and in that same moment I place a palm on his cheek as if to give him at least some attention. He reaches up to put his free hand against my wrist, holding my hand there on his face, as if he's savoring the touch.
He was always so pitiful, so longing for me. It was enough to make the average girl insane.
"Please, y/n." He begs, his voice frail and whimpery. I twist the tips of my fingers into his blonde, curly hair before returning my eyes to my book. I do this in part to torment him, part because I'm so close to the end of the chapter. I take my hand from his face to turn the yellowed pages of my story.
Tate's hand grabs at my skin more intensely as I move my attention to something else, as if he's jealous of the novel in my hands. I smile at his frustration, loving the way that he needs me so desperately.
Tate, who had been sitting daintely at my feet, moves up on the bed to press his hips against the backs of my thighs, hands grabbing at my waist to pull himself into me. The bed creaks as he moves, fireworks igniting under his gentle touch. Tate pulls my legs so that they're positioned over his, wrapping around his waist. He was always gentle with me, and he had expressed many times that he would never hurt me. That he would die before he did.
That had always been poetic, an intense sort of poem. But I was a fool for all things lyrical, that's why I liked reading so much. But now that I had Tate I didn't have to rely on such stories to spark my interest, he could light the world on fire and not let a single flame touch me. It was my favorite type of story.
He kisses the tops of my knees ever so gently, his hands exploring my hips, then my inner thighs, my stomach. His lips slowly move from my knees to inbetween my legs. I can feel myself get hot there, wet. And I get immediately embarrassed.
"Tate..." I say quietly, setting my book down on the bed beside me. I hadn't been able to pay attention to it. The words started to contort as soon as he stepped into my room, he truly had that effect on me. Tate lifts his head up to look at my face, making sure that i'm not hesitant about what he's doing.
"You're pathetic." I laugh a small, intimate laugh.
"I know." Tate moves his hands up to grab the comforter on either side of my waist, pulling himself so that he's above me, looking down at me with pitiful eyes. They almost look glazed over. His face scans mine for any grief, then he can't find any he leans down to kiss the base of my throat, his lips against my pounding veins. And that gives me away, how fast my blood pumps. But he works without seeming like he noticed.
"What I wouldn't give to taste your blood.." Tate says almost to himself, his warm breath on my neck. I would let him, if he asked. I would let him do anything to me. I pick my hands up to place them on his hips, his shirt not quite reaching to cover his skin there. My palms rest against his bare waist. I feel my fingers twitch with lust, and I realize that i'm just as pathetic as he is. I want him just as much as he wants me. "You have no idea what you do to me..." He says in a breath that trails off.
"I have some idea." My response makes him smile, as I can feel his lips contort against my throat. I close my eyes for only a moment to take in the feeling of him, and when it passes I tilt his chin up, looking deeply into his eyes. And then I lay my lips on his, my eyes immediately closing again.
Tate slips an eager tongue into my mouth, his breath becoming faster and louder. It's an intense sort of passion, as it always is. Like he's struggling to contain himself. My hands trail from his waist to the small of his back, hiding underneath his brown and blue striped sweater. He tastes of something sweet, something delicious.
"Please..." His word trails off in a small whimper, my head spinning for a quick moment before steadying myself again. He knew what that did to me, what it makes me feel. "Let me show you how much I love you.." He pleads, begs even.
I give consent without saying a word.
Tate, with no hesitation at all, sits up to undo his belt after giving me an excited smile. His pale hands move frantically, skilled even. I have always been a sucker for Tate's hands, how frail and elegant they are. He throws his belt to the side, which falls onto my open book. Next is his sweater, which I help him pull over his head, and I can't help but gaze at him. He's more than perfect, more than just attractive. His torso seems to be made of porcelain, thin and etherial.  His dark eyes bore into mine as he undresses.
I'm too embarrassed to look as he takes off the rest of his clothes, so instead I busy myself with taking off my own. I fumble around, my hands shaking furiously. Tate begins to help me, and I guess that he knows that i'm having a hard time. I discard it onto the ground as Tate does with his, making a small combined pile on the wooden flooring.
The cool air makes my body full of goosebumps, and I shiver. Tate pulls himself back down to between my legs, all the while leaving a trail of kisses along my body. I watch him lower his head down lower and lower until I feel his tongue on me, which makes me gasp quietly. Immediately my breath begins to heighten, my heart pounding against my ribcage.
Tate wets his fingers with his own saliva before gently slipping them into me, his tongue exploring me before he settles on my clit, moving himself in small circles. My legs begin to twitch, then shake as he continues.
My head presses harder into my pillows. Tate continues, making me groan in pleasure. I'm almost embarrassed at the sounds I make, and I try to quiet myself down. It's no fair how Tate was so good at this, and I discard the thought of his previous experiences with other girls.
I roll my head back into the pillows, wanting to savor this feeling forever. I put my hands on Tate's warm shoulders.
And as I feel a giant wash of fireworks begin to ignite from my core he stops, the wave stopping abruptly, fading away and making my heart drop.
"Tate..." This time it's me pleading. He picks up his head to look at me, smiling. He loves the control he has over me, and as much as I love making him suffer he enjoys it on his end as well. His eyes watch me whine for him to continue. I reach a suffering, trembling hand out to intertwine my fingertips into his hair, a peace offering.
I use that hand to gently press his head back into me, which he complies to without any problem. He continues, my legs beginning to twitch again, my hips suddenly lifting up so that he's pressed harder against me. But his hands move to push me back down onto the bed, which upsets me for a moment. But his tongue moves faster, and I immediately forgive him as all thought drains from my mind.
And once again the wave approaches, surging from each part of my body. A soft but intense moan escapes me and one of my hands grabs the sheets hard, the other pulling at Tate's hair as gentle as possible, but not succeeding. And he stops again.
Tate laughs to himself, but I can't help but feel frustrated. Tate takes notice of this, his lips returning to mine to comfort me. I can taste myself on him, and it's a good taste.
"Not for me.." I say each word between kisses.
"I'm sorry." he seems apologetic, but also happy at his accomplishment. That being, making me completely insane. His middle and ring finger slip into my mouth, the same appendages that had been inside of me not moments ago. He watches me with a pleased face, nearly making me gag. And when he removes them a thin strand of spit follows from my lip to his body before it breaks. He runs his tongue along his fingers, taking in my taste again.
He leans back down to kiss me,and without moving his lips from mine he repositions himself, my heart beginning to flutter, and when his hips bump against mine I can feel him inside me. Tate breathes a shaky breath. Tate keeps his face very close to mine, not an inch away, breathing hard as he slowly pushes himself into me.
I don't notice my hands around his back until I have to steady myself by holding him tighter, and with intense passion he moves his hips faster. I whimper, something I hate doing, and I cover my mouth with my hand. I didn't need my parents hearing me afterall. But Tate removes my hand quickly, keeping his palm pinning down my arm against the pillows.
"I like when you're loud." He groans, still moving at a medium pace. Had I always been loud?
"My parents.." I begin to argue, but his eyes lock with mine.I feel blood rush to my face, to my cheeks and nose. His eyes are intense but loving, soft in a way.
"I don't care." His hand tightens around my wrist. And as his eyes glare into mine he lets out a few breaths of contentment. "Don't look away from me..." He demands, and I can't help but look away instantly to glance at his shoulder. His free hand reaches to pull my face back so my eyes are once again locked with his, and he doesn't remove it from my neck. His fingers press into the sides on my throat, breathing becoming harder for me.
A medium pace turns faster, and a single hand worth of nails dig into the skin on his back. I quietly grimace in a series of mixed groans and whimpers. He gives a wry smile, eyes still holding mine. His hand further tightens around my throat, my breath becoming incredibly sparse, and the ones that do manage to escape are all smaller pants.
"Harder.." He moans gently, begging me to press my nails into him more. I hesitate, not wanting to hurt him, but he seemed to have enjoyed it thoroughly. And as if to influence me he pushes his hips harder into me. I rake my hands across his back as hard as I can possibly manage, letting all of the built up angst out onto his skin. And with me doing that he decides to give me a present in exchange.
He begins to press against my sweet spot, and he knows when he does based on how my mouth hangs agape and the breath that escapes my lungs every time he pushes into me. My legs that had already been shaking tremble against the sides of his waist even harder, faster.
"There's the spot." He lets out a dry laugh, letting go of my wrist. He moves his now open hand to place his thumb into my mouth. I close my mouth around it, grabbing at his wrist to keep him there. His thumb hooks onto my jaw, pulling me along with him. As he moves I feel tears well in my eyes, the pleasure becoming more intense the faster he gets.
Even though the pain is surreal, the pleasure is way more opaque. Tate doesn't loose eye contact with me, I can read in them happiness but also lust.
I feel the wave begin in my lower section, and it spikes down my legs, up into my heart which accelerates quickly along with my breath, which is still limited. I loose eye contact with him for only a moment before returning, and the first indication of his apex is that his eyes widen, which is followed by a series of loud whimpers. And then my body condenses against my mattress. The tears that had been welling finally fall down my cheeks, running down my neck.
Tate and I stop moving, and at last the only sound of each other's breath in the entire room. Loud panting noises, along with the sound of muted cries coming from me also fill the room. Tate kisses me once more, his lips soft and loving.
"Did I hurt you?" His voice seems pained, as if my answer would be yes.
"No, no. It felt good." I sigh out of complete bliss. He removes his hand from around my neck, and I can catch my breath even better now. Tate smiles, proud of himself.
"You should go back to reading your book, I heard it's a good one." He says, and I roll my eyes. He sits back up at my feet, watching my legs which still tremble. I wipe my hand down my face, exhausted and parched. My eyeliner drips down my hand, mixed with tears.
Tate grabs his sweater off of the floor, along with the rest of his clothes, and redresses himself. It takes a moment for me to be able to pull myself up, but when I can I dress myself up too.
The sun had set completely, my room dark and my exhaustion pulling me back down into my bed.I feel victorious in some way, but also very happy.Tate lays on my chest, hand wrapped around my waist and his leg hitched around my hip. His breath is even, long and deep as he sleeps. My hand strokes his hair, weaving into it. And I drift off as well