#.the wife guy!! <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[eraserbread]

Sigh, thinking about Husband!Nanami coming home after work to his sweet wife and just being overwhelmed by his love for her. Cuteness aggression turned sexual? Because what reason does his wife need to have such an amazing smile if not for him to kiss her lips, both sets while he's at it!

...need i say more? nanami just loves his old lady.

you tried out a new recipe, today. ken's a cookie guy - of course, he is. so, today decorated prettily on a plate he bought you, was a glazed ginger miso cookie. you spent hours perfecting the recipe, throwing out lots of expensive, unsavory doughs, and pining over flavor combinations before you landed on your jackpot.

then you waited for him at home, wrapped in a pretty lace apron that he bought you. for some reason, you were an especially good mood this morning - you had chatted on the phone with a friend for hours, received a surprise text from your perfect husband, and got to open another of his gifts that was painted on your lips.

a new, glimmering shade of lipgloss he so politely asked you to wear for him.

he comes home right at 6:30, spending time at the lock to allude you to his forthcoming arrival. work today had been especially annoying because there were no missions. he just went on a few training ones as a favor to satoru, but didn't break a sweat on the grade-4's he took care of.

all he thought to keep himself motivated was the feeling of seeing your soft, bright smile again. it was hard to leave your smaller, sleeping figure this morning, but he had to. he had to miss you sometimes to keep him excited.

so, he's so damn happy to see your stupidly beautiful face when he pulls the door open. you're waiting for him like a puppy, crossed hands and smiling so big, it renders him motionless upon impact.

"well, aren't you just the cutest?"

"i made you cookies!" you know to keep your voice soft for him after work, but your excitement is tangible. you don't typically bake for him, so when you do, he loves it. "don't worry, I made you actual food, too."

nanami stares at you for a moment, nose picking up on the delicious mix of scents filling his well-kept home. god, he wants to eat you alive.

he still finds time to pull his tie down when he approaches you, both hands reaching for you. you giggle when he captures your cheeks, squeezing them hard, and pulling you into a single, deliberate kiss.

"i just love you."

you two end up sharing a cookie, leaning over the countertop and feeding small, broken-off pieces between each others lips. ken focuses on the glisten of yours as you chew sweetly, making no sounds but a content hum. it makes him crazy - his stomach coils.

"i know this is so lewd, but I think I need you to sit on my face."

he's right. it's lewd - he's witness to all the chewed-up cookie in your mouth when your jaw drops.

but, you let him. no questions asked.

ken lays on his back in bed, already flushed to his neck and licking over his lips. he watches as you shimmy off your pants, under special request to keep the apron on. he just wants access to what's between your thighs, and he didn't make that vague.

you look at him for a second, suddenly conscious and slightly wary of his ability to breathe. he's given you oral countless times, but never like this. "ken, are you sur-

he fucking sighs and sits up, yanking you forward with a gentle, dominant hold on your ringed hand. "you think I can't handle my wife sitting on me?" you join him on the bed, crawling into a straddle so you two can kiss for a moment. he pets at your cheek, humming as he takes in your taste. green tea and ginger miso - what a palate.

but it maddens him even further. he needs you dripping on his tongue - there was no polite way to say it. he would not be polite when he eats you alive.

so, he sits back again, pulling you with him so you don't have a choice but to follow. with sexed eyes, he begs. "please, nanami baby."

that's what gets you this time. you take a breath and crawl up his body, holding it as you hover over his face. his big hands help you along, squeezing into your thighs and guiding you into the perfect position.

you reach down to tangle his messy golden hair between your fingers, giving him a look that kills him. he can't help that whenever you give him a look so pure and sweet, he has to squeeze you a bit harder.

"just follow my lead. pretend like you're humpin' my thigh, baby."

"mm, okay." still highly suspicious, but kinda turned on now, you nod. then, he guides your thighs down until you're fully seated over his head - all of your weight focused there. upon impact, he fucking groans and it sends a tsunami of vibrations through your eager cunt.

you bite down a moan. "ken-

as soon as you say his name, he's digging his fingers deeper and begins eating you alive, just like he wanted. one of his flexed, scratching hands slide against your back, urging you to ride him -- to actually treat him like a coined pony. so, you do... it's so unfamiliar and you're terrified of hurting him, but his thick tongue felt so good and so right smushed against your sensitive clit, that you needed to chase some friction.

he's vocal like you've never heard him before, obscene slurps and moans spilling out from between your thighs as he devours you. on every back thrust, his nose buries itself into your clit, forcing a cry from your throat. it was so overwhelmingly good - you felt him everywhere like your nerves were standing on end.

you cum for the first time embarrassingly fast, crying his name and unable to move, so he drags you through it. it's only on the break he gives you to even out that you see that crazy look in his eyes.

his entire face is soaked in... everything. you, him, more of him, and more of you. so erotic and messy, you hardly get to see him so spent with a ruby-red face and blown pupils.

so pretty...

"i should stop, but 's so addicting."

"no." you're breathless and halfway to death. "no, keep going I'm fine."

"i know you're sensitive." somewhere behind the mania, you can make out a bit of that husbandly worry. you admit that he has much better stamina, but with him doing most of the work, the only thing you have to control is not cumming everywhere all the time.

"keep going." you demand a bit too harshly, tugging his hair as you grind back down on his tongue. you can feel him chuckle against your messy cunt, but doesn't need to be told twice to swallow you again.

you two go on for hours until kento feels like he's going to pass out. these pants are nothing but trash now that he's came untouched. it's a spectacle you only notice when he flips you over to finally lay it down.

he peels off his pants with a wrecked face, tongue slipping from his lips every so often to catch another taste. his briefs are sticking to his skin, stained darker around his cock and unmistakable. you try so hard not to point it out, because you know he's embarrassed, but you can't not breathe out a chuckle.

"when did yo-

"shut up." he decides before fucking you into the bed for hours. no mercy, he's unrestrained and drunk completely off of your deep, familiar taste.

and when he leans down to kiss and love you after it's all said and done, you can taste the ghost of yourself over his lips, and push him to go wash off.

he does, but you catch him letting his tongue linger over his lips until he finally gives in and runs his face underwater.

[polysyndetonaddictsupportgroup]

Outie Dylan, swallowing his pride and deciding to tell his innie that he’s actually pretty cool despite the wife smooching debacle: I’m proud of you and while I’ll respect your decision if you want to resign I think you should make it work there because I don’t want you to die

Dylan G: *immediately hits his boss with a vending machine*

[bravo666]

mdni • price x f!reader

captain price has a ritual and his men know better than to disturb. every time 141 gets back from an op and rumbles back to hereford, they unload, debrief, file the necessary reports and then some, all that dreary bureaucracy that needs to be done within the first couple hours of touching back onto english soil. and then, at the first opportunity, he fucks off. captain’s privilege, he says.

the others do too—on the town or to the bunks or to their own flats or wherever—but price never joins them. he has his own destination in mind and it’s a solo journey, so quit nosing about trying to find out, sergeant. he’s only ever gone for a few hours, six at the most, before he rolls on back to base, squares his shoulders, and throws himself back into work. at least he always seems a bit lighter when he comes back.

said destination is a pub not one, not two, but three villages over. the further from base, the less likely it is for him to run into one of his men, and he’d just hate it if that happened, would feel like a dog dragging mud in through the garden door, crossing his wires. he might not like it about himself, but john price is a greedy and selfish man, and the pretty little thing that’s been tending bar for the past few years is a morsel that he wants to keep all to himself, cradled in his jaw and savored.

the dingy pub is nondescript and uncreative, a local establishment that’s been around since anyone can remember and hadn’t changed a whit. price found the place back when he was first made captain and started looking for further out watering holes, looking for some peace and quiet away from the places where the recruits drank. he almost wrote the place off his lists of spots before he saw the flustered young bartender duck in for her shift.

since then, he’s been a regular—for a given value of ‘regular’, as much as a military man can be—ever since. started swapping conversation after the third or fourth visit. polite conversation turned friendly, then raucous with laughter, then warm and teasing.

that’s as far as he let’s it go, naturally. with a job like his, he’s married to his work; there’s no room, no time in his life for a sweet little wife, no matter what he dreams at night with his cock fisted in his grip or whose face he happens to see play the role. he tried the whole wife thing once, chased after it, even, and all price has to show for it is an alimony payment set to automatically go out every month.

(his ex-wife couldn’t handle him in the end. she was the type of woman who needed him at every hour to keep her love alive and couldn’t stomach the weeks alone while he was deployed, and even when price was home, she didn’t have an appetite to match his when he slipped himself off his leash. they both jumped into it without looking ahead. such is life.)

so he ignored the hungry need for a woman beside him, and even if he ever did go down that route again, it couldn’t be her. she’s young and bright and untouched by blood. playful flirting and occasional brushes of fingers hovered somewhere plausibly deniable as a service worker buttering up a favorite patron, or—and price only lets this thought loose for a moment before snatching it and shoving it down with a growl—a friend. he’s gone half the year anyway, or something like it. every time he comes, he carries the irrational, ugly fear that in she’s moved on, moved out, got a new job, left the country, got married—

when he shoulders through the door now, sawdust sticking to his boots, his girl’s—because that’s what she is, even if it’s only the sight of her that he lets himself claim and hoard—wiping down glasses behind the sill, the pub just about empty as all the old timers went home. his first thought is that she’s still there, thank god. his second’s that she’s changed up her hair. it looks good. price pointedly ignores the way the sight of her with her new hair and those pretty lips makes him chub up a little.

his girl’s eyes crinkle a little when she looks up toward the door. “john,” she says warmly, and before he’s even seated at his usual spot on the bar, she’s filling him up his favorite pint. “how are you doing, handsome? just got back from saving the world?”

a snarling, hungry, traitorous part of his brain tells him that his wife is being so good, keeping him fed and watered, and the only thing next on her wifely duties is to keep his balls drained. he tells it to go stuff itself.

“still working on it, sweetheart,” price says with a sip. maybe it was worth it, when she asked a while ago why he showed up so irregularly, to tell her that he was SAS, if only for the way she called it after. saving the world. that’d be nice.

this time, though, he notices something else that’s new besides the hairstyle, and it makes his beer taste like dust in his mouth. a glint in the light, on his girl’s left hand.

not really his girl anymore, is she?

price swallows down his mouthful and tries to quell the sudden heat that rises in his veins, a raging anger that feels, inexplicably, like he’s been stolen from. his molars clench together for dear life as he rearranges, tames, quiets himself. it was fine. it was fine! she’s just his bartender, is all. his friend. modern country and whatever, she could go meet whoever, get engaged to whoever, fuck whoever, and if she was happy, then—then price would have to be happy for her.

(she better be happy, he thinks. if whatever little boy she’s found isn’t making her feel like a bloody princess every god damn day then he doesn’t deserve the fingers he touches her with or the cock between his legs—)

this was good, even. with a ring on her finger, price’d always have a reminder that pretty girls didn’t owe him anything, don’t belong to him like a dog with a bone. kill the fantasy, keep his head on the missions. a better soldier. it’s that tightening thought that lets him calm himself enough to say “congratulations are in order, i assume?”

his gi—the—she furrows her brow in confusion, but she follows price’s gaze—how could she not, with him practically burning a hole in her finger with his stare—and laughs. “oh, that,” she says, easy as ever. “no, nothing’s happened.” she wiggles the ring off her finger and sliding it across the counter to price for his inspection.

under his touch, the tell is obvious: it’s plastic, cheap, almost gummy plastic. the faux diamond is cheap acrylic, only close to sparkling because she’s gone through and polished it up. it takes him a moment before he puts it together, but before he does, he briefly becomes so angry that he thinks he might actually kill a civilian for treating her this way.

“bought that online for five quid,” she keeps going. “just to stop some of the patrons from asking questions, or flirting, or, you know, trying to introduce me to their nephews and that kind of thing.”

a decoy ring. a dummy, a shield, something with no actual suitor attached to the other end. price is so relieved that he can feel every muscle in his aching body untense, and it pisses him off because he knows he shouldn’t care this much about his friend’s love life. “smart,” he says, his voice a bit thick before he clears it. “smart. though, you know, sweetheart, you could always try telling them you’re not interested.”

“please, john, you think i haven’t tried?” she shrugs. “no, most of them don’t listen without seeing a little proof that that seat is taken. always thought they could convince me otherwise. the ring shuts up most of them, and the few that still don’t get the hint, i end up having to tell them stories about ‘my husband’ before they piss off.”

the word husband coming from her mouth makes something rumble in price’s chest that’s becoming dangerously difficult to ignore. he tries a chuckle, tries to focus on the feeling of his beard bristling his own cheeks and not the way they would feel against hers, and tries to lighten the mood. “so, what, you just make up stories about this husband of yours? grand tales of romance?”

but she looks away, and—is his girl flustered? she picks up a rag in her hands and starts wiping idly at the counter, like she’s trying to avoid his eyes. “oh, you know,” she says. “i keep it simple. just enough to, er, get them to stop, and consistent, so they can’t pick holes. he’s—he’s in the military. leads a team.”

then, quietly, “he’s out there saving the world.”

the dog slips his leash.

when price finally leaves to make the long drive back to base, his shirt rumpled and his chin wet with slick, he keeps the plastic ring in his back pocket, not bothering to give it back. why would he? she doesn’t need it anymore, because he’s going to buy his girl the real diamonds that she deserves.

[zer0expektation]

The (almost) Perfect Assistant

[c3realkilluhz]

-

[ouroborosreilig]

ok tumblr can also have this chilchuck i drew overtop some image of a random guy

[kidicaruslover911]

fictional or not i love women and i might just perish if i don’t get to kiss one right now.

“wowzerz😰” i say wishing upon a star.

[rainbow-sunshine-unicorn]

Season 2

Kate: I’m leaving for India

Anthony: And it is not far enough

Season 3

Kate: I’m leaving for India

Anthony: And I’m going with her, ciao and toodles

[marciaillust]

I added some colours to her :)

[captain-hawks]

meian shugo is a relatively private man. with no personal social media accounts to his name, his presence on the internet starts and ends with msby's publicity.

his teammates know him as their captain. they know his leadership style and his tactics on the court. they know his favorite post-game izakaya and that he's a morning person. the rest of his life remains a mystery to the jackals.

—but everyone on the team knows that he's married.

there's a thick gold band that rests on his ring finger, methodically threaded onto the chain around his neck and tucked beneath his jersey in the locker room before each game.

atsumu catches him smiling down at his phone sometimes, lower lip tucked between his teeth in a boyish way they've never seen on the court.

bokuto swears there's always a hint of floral perfume that clings to meian's jacket before he shrugs it off.

hinata caught him buying flowers once—a enormous bouquet of roses.

and it's this one morsel of knowledge that has them all staring dumbfounded after a game as they catch their captain chatting with a journalist.

you're leaning into him as you giggle at something he says, and he doesn't pull away. he nudges one of your heels with his sneaker, one finger reaching out to hook on the camera strap that hangs around your neck. there's a pencil tucked behind your ear, and he plucks it out, grabbing the notebook in your hands and writing something down on one of its pages. you laugh again.

atsumu gapes. hinata and bokuto exchange alarmed glances. because yes, you're beautiful, and they'd all probably be tripping over themselves if you were interviewing and flirting with them, but—

"i wasn't expecting that," hinata blinks.

"they look a little...friendly," atsumu comments carefully, unable to look away as meian drags a hand through his sweaty hair and mirrors your smile.

sakusa's unimpressed voice suddenly interrupts their spectating, "i would hope so, considering the fact that she's his wife."

[localsamalicer]

The Distortion

[eraserbread]

pregnancy hormones don't stand a chance around your husband, nanami

"hope that books not more interesting than me," you whisper, propped against the open bedroom door, dressed in nothing but a lacey babydoll lingerie set. your four-month pregnant belly peeks through the lace delicately, and your features are on fire.

kento gives you a little peek. "was wondering what took you so long." he's replying, flicking his book to the next page. you're standing, pouting in his presence.

"hello? i'm horny."

"and you do look very tantalizing in that outfit."

"so come take it off."

he gives you another look, this time lowering the leather-bound book enough to see his face. you pose, crossing your knees and jutting out your hip. you can feel those dark hazels fall over your jutting breasts, then to your widening hips, and finally to your swollen, pregnant belly. his little girl's home.

so, he sits up straight, shoving his book to the side table and ushering you over. "come on, love."

"needy girl..." kento is whispering against the back of your shoulder, pressing kisses there and letting them linger. you're hovering over his lap in reverse cowgirl, tongue pushed from your lips as you focus on staying steady.

"let me have it." you slur, cunt milking obsecnely over his bare lap. he's got a thick fist tight around his erection, making sure you're stable and comfortable before he lets you take him.

"i want you to, but i don't want you to hurt yourself... how about I be on top?"

"—no." you insist, shaking your head violently. he won't let the grip he has on your thighs loose, so all you can taste is the bulbous tip of his familiar, blushing cock.

"why do you insist on being so bratty?"

"I don't want to bottom, baby slides up and into my ribcage and ugh.." you're shivering, and if it wasn't for the abnormal influx of hormones, you'd be turned off just thinking about the pain.

the baby kento pressed into you all those months ago, was an active little girl. she kicked the hell out of you whenever you slept on your back, leading to long nights with little sleep. kento knows this, so why he's telling you to just lie there and take it, is lost on you.

though he's stubborn at times, kento is largely well-trained by you, so he lets you take him like this. his grip starts to loosen, and you can finally feel the stagnancy of his cock start to peek through your sticky folds and into you.

filled to the brim with need, you shiver instantaneously. "oh, please, pleaseplease. all the way—mmgh!!"

he's chuckling behind you—actually breathing a stupid laugh from his nose at your blatancy. "you're shaking already?"

to answer him —you're cumming, and it's a release you've never felt before. his fingers are pressing into your belly, keeping you strong and at his mercy as you cream helplessly all over him. your thighs are shaking, eyes rolling back into your skull as you cry and whine.

it feels like every single one of your nerve endings is being fanned and flamed, driving you absolutely apeshit like you've never been touched a day in your life.

"oh, baby... love."

"sh-shut up."

"that feel good?"

"keep—just keep going." you're begging, drool dripping from your lips as his cock massages that sticky, spongy bunch of nerves at an angle only his cock could hit. he's circling his hips under you, tongue tracing licks across your neck.

your pretty lace panties are ripped and disregarded as the night goes on, and your teddy is busting at the seams, sticking to sweat and dipping off your shoulders. kento's big hand reaches to cradle your swollen breasts, growling in your ear as he fucks you just right... so perfectly and deep that you can feel the slick cervix kisses every time he bottoms out.

you're crazy, and fucked off of five orgasms that night.

thank god for pregnancy hormones—thank god for your husband and all his raw talent. sure, he'll bicker softly just to ignite your needy fires, then he'd give you what you want, exactly how you want, until you're sick with it.

what a thoughtful husband.

[shepscapades]

Had to do a little doodle of the purple panda skins >:]

[sevastiel]

!! IMPORTANT MESSAGE FROM ARTHUR WARFRAME !!

REBLOG TO GIVE EVERYONE YOU KNOW AN ORNAG WIT NO STRIGS

(Alt vers w/o text below the cut)

This started as an extremely high effort shitpost study of Arthur and then I was like, this is too high effort of a shitpost, and I put it down, and then i came back a month later hyped up on adderall and I was like 'I need to practice coloring anyway, why not" and it went from Extremely high effort shitpost (via lineart) to Extremely high effort shitpost (via colors)

[agathabridgerton]

She wanted him to be proud of her. She wanted it more than anything in the world, more even than she’d wanted him when she’d watched him from afar.

— Chapter 19, ROMANCING MISTER BRIDGERTON

[ceruark]

☆ killah ☆

♫ "if i get you alone, under your skin and bone, imma try you on for size" the MAYHEM collection. now playing: killah.

[childhood friend! sunday x fem! reader] synopsis: you return home from uni after breaking up with your boyfriend, where you childhood friend awaits you with open arms... and no ulterior motives. wc: 2.0k cw: explicit smut. MDNI. sunday is a bit of a freak. implied obsessive and possessive behavior.

“massive day for sunday oak,” kakavasha jokes when you break the news to your friends back home that you finally broke up with your awful boyfriend.

your relationship with sunday, your childhood best friend, had become… strained, for some reason, after you’d told him that you were in relationship with someone you’d met on campus. things were still tense from you choosing to go to a different college despite the fact that you’d both been accepted into the same prestigious one that he’s currently attending, but this seemed to be the nail in the coffin. sunday still texted you frequently, of course, but you did notice how he would never like or comment on a post or close friends story that featured your then-boyfriend in it.

he’s not the type of person to do something without purpose, after all.

kakavasha, someone you’d both met in high school who is a friend to you (to sunday, too, not that either will ever admit it) hounds you constantly about sunday’s supposed crush on you. 

“he’s being passive-aggressive.” the smugness in his voice somehow always manages to carry through the phone speaker. “i don’t know why you won’t admit to yourself that he’s down bad for you.”

“he’s not,” you insist, even though you know somewhere in the back of your mind, that sunday has always looked at you in a way that kakavasha and veritas never have.

despite your feigned denial and ignorance, though, you’re a bit nervous to be home for the summer. you’d broken up with your ex at the beginning of the semester, meaning that a solid five months have passed since then. you feel like you’ve moved on and are ready for whoever life sends your way next.

a mindset and shift in your demeanor that sunday will be able to pick up on immediately.

sunday knows you better than anyone— undoubtedly, even better than you know yourself. it can get uncomfortable, at times, being under his scrutinizing, all-seeing gaze and being handled as meticulously as one of the projects assigned to him by his adoptive father as a test to see if he is indeed a worthy heir.

maybe you are a personal project to him. he’s always so careful, so calculated in his interactions with you that it leaves you feeling slightly uneasy, but only after the fact. no, in the moment, you’re always blinded by your fondness and long-time affection for him, something which he knows. which he uses to his advantage.

so, yes, you do play dumb when it comes to sunday. you know how he is, what he’s capable of— you’ve been witness to his colder, crueler side countless times, have exchanged your fair share of wide-eyed side glances with robin— and you know that if show even an ounce of interest, he’ll seriously pursue you, and he’ll execute it so flawlessly that you won’t even realize what hit you until you’re already nestled deep within his grasp.

you know this, and yet.

you agree to go over to his house (mansion, really; all these years, and you still get lost in dewlight pavilion if you’re not with sunday or robin) the day after your flight lands. his more questionable behaviors aside, you do love sunday dearly, and you do want to see him again, especially now that things aren’t tense between you anymore.

a foolish thing to do, in hindsight. why do you never trust your instincts when he’s involved?

he’s been driving you insane all day. his touches linger, but not nearly long enough for you to actually be able to call him out on it. you’ll think you catch something needy in his gaze, but when you do a double-take, he’s the perfect picture of innocence, listening to you attentively, as always.

sunday has always been attractive, you’d be an idiot to try and convince yourself otherwise. but you’ve always been hesitant out of fear of ruining your friendship with him— that, and because of the depth of his feelings for you.

you should know that he’s stringing you along, working you up on purpose. he’s always known how to read you, carefully tracing your lines with his finger as if you’re sheet music detailing his favorite song, committing your notes to memory and playing you so masterfully, like he was born to do nothing else but ensure that you are his finest piece of work.

and as you’ve always known, you’re already in too deep by the time your brain catches up to what he’s been scheming; you’ve got him pushed back against his headboard while you straddle his lap, hands tangled in his hair as you kiss him senseless. his hands are at your waist, fingers digging into your skin as he keeps trying to pull you impossibly closer to him. his mouth is pliant beneath yours, following your lead and movements with small moans and gasps slipping out in between. 

he trails after you when you pull back, so you place a hand against his chest to keep him in place. it snaps him out of it enough for him to open his eyes. he looks absolutely debauched with his blown pupils and puffy lips, and you try to ignore what the sight does to the heat building between your eyes. 

“is this—” you clear your throat. “is this really okay?”

his eyes are locked onto your lips as you speak. “why wouldn’t it be?” he asks back. 

“you— you haven’t done anything before, sunday,” you say. “i don’t want you to regret it.”

he finally meets your eyes at that. one hand removes itself from your waist and comes up to cup your cheek, his thumb stroking it gently. 

“i could never regret you, dove,” he whispers, and you feel your face flush bright red at the nickname.

you swallow thickly. the devotion will take some getting used to. “are you sure?”

he drags you toward him, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. “of course,” he murmurs against them.

you adjust yourself on his lap, leaning into him fully, your chest pressing against his. he sucks in a shaky breath at the contact, his hand finding its way to your waist again. “you’ll let me know if it’s too much, right?”

he nods weakly, distracted. when you raise an eyebrow, he mutters out, “yes, i will.”

“okay,” you say, satisfied. 

and then you descend on him again, lips meeting in a mess of tongue and desperation. you hike the skirt of your dress up and begin to slowly rock your hips back and forth against his clothed erection, and the groan that leaves his throat sends a rush of heat shooting down your spine, pooling in the pit of your stomach. 

after a few minutes, he pulls away just enough to hiss out a desperate, “please.”

nodding, you lean back and begin fumbling with his belt. once it’s off, you pull his pants as far down his legs as you can without removing yourself from him completely. his boxers are soaked through, and you feel yourself swallowing again in anticipation as you reach inside of them. he jolts again when your hand wraps around his girth, another whine slipping out of his lips as he involuntarily bucks into your hand. with your other hand, you begin moving his boxers down his thighs as well, and pull his cock free.

he’s on the slimmer side, but he’s definitely longer than your ex— the only person you’ve ever been intimate with. you might have some trouble taking him fully, but judging from the amount of pre already dripping down his cock— and the mess between your own legs, dripping down your thighs— it might be able to slip in just fine.

huffing out a shaky sigh of your own, you hurriedly remove your own panties, tossing them somewhere to the side of the bed. you shift upward, carefully lining his cock up with your hole. you both groan a little bit when his tip brushes against your entrance.

you place a hand on his shoulder and rub your thumb in circles against his collarbone and, voice lilting, ask, “are you ready?”

“yes,” he breathes out.

slowly, you start sinking down onto his cock. a soft whine escapes you as his tip stretches you on its way in, a sigh of relief leaving you when it slips in and you start taking in his shaft.

sunday’s grip is near-bruising as you descend fully, and a strangled moan leaves him when you sit down on him completely. a choked gasp leaves you when his tip hits something deep within, a part of you that’s never been reached before.

he leans forward and presses his forehead to your shoulder. you gently card a hand through his hair, letting both him and yourself adjust.

when he leans back again, you place both your hands on his shoulders.

“i’m going to move now,” you say, “that okay?”

“please,” he whines again, and you giggle and press a sweet kiss to his lips.

you move yourself up and off of him just enough so that his tip is barely leaving your entrance before you slam back down again, taking him at a fast pace. 

whatever control he was trying to maintain over himself unravels quickly, and the whines that leave him stoke the flames burning in the pit of your stomach even more, knowing that you’re responsible for picking him apart like this. your own whines mingle with his, as each bounce has his tip slamming into that sensitive spot again and again, pushing you toward the edge faster than your ex or any toy ever has.

he’s getting close— you can feel him twitching inside you, and his whines are escalating into deep, loud moans that he tries to muffle by burying his face into your chest. you’re not quite there yet, but you’re not too worried about coming today; making his first time enjoyable is enough to satisfy you.

as if sensing your resolve, though, sunday removes a hand from your waist— something you don’t realize until his cool fingers are prodding at your clit. your hips jerk forward at the sudden contact, sucking in a sharp breath as he begins kneading it.

his movements are a bit sloppy at first, but he’s always been a quick learner, especially when it comes to you. when one particular motion has you crying out suddenly, he’s pressing harder against that spot and massaging it faster, bringing you closer to your high.

your movements have become erratic and your walls are fluttering when he tries to speak again, voice hoarse. “i— i’m—”

“inside,” you moan out, the word slurring as you feel yourself hanging on by a thread. “‘s okay.”

sunday gives a few a more thrusts before one more loud whine rips itself from his throat. he gives one last aborted jerk as he unloads into you, and the warmth that fills you pushes you over edge at last, and somehow, even through his own haze, he continues rubbing against your clit as you ride out your high.

eventually, you slump forward, collapsing against his chest as you catch breath and bring your racing heart back down. a hand comes up to cradle your hair gently, and he presses a tender kiss to your temple.

now clear-headed, you sigh, poking a finger into his rib. “you did all of that on purpose, didn’t you?”

he laughs, innocent enough if you didn’t know him as well as you do.

“whatever are you talking about?” he asks. he pulls you back by the hair gently, gazing into your eyes. there’s mischief and something a bit darker in them. “you came onto me.”

you roll your eyes at him. “what am i gonna do with you?”

he takes your hand in his, bringing it up to his lips and brushing your knuckles against them.

“i can think of a few things.”