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princesssmars · 14 hours ago

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concrete jungle with the devil.

some victoria neuman x reader headcanons.

part.ii of this

you’re beautiful, you’re talented, and you’re the secret girlfriend of a hot and potentially crazy congresswoman. what more could you ask for?

contains : fxf relationship. fluff. angst. manipulation, pretty toxic relationship because its the boys and its victoria, mentions of smut. readers hair and face not described.

wc : 2.415

a/n : started this when season two was airing. look at what an idiot i was.

you had forgotten how much walking was done in certain cities in the states, especially in the big apple. to be fair, you’d forgotten quite a few things.

you remembered things you had forgotten gradually after that night when you realized you were not only a supe, but a supe that had been unknowingly manipulating yourself with your apparent superpowers into forgetting parts of your life. would be a cool plot for a book if it wasn’t your entire life but, whatever.

after managing to think of the revelation without nearly having a panic attack and ‘crazy high blood pressure’ as victoria so eloquently put it, you’d fallen into a kind of…ease?

in her ‘loving worry’ the woman had put you under her watchful eye, moving you into her home to prevent you from doing anything ‘drastic’ and helping you acclimate to your new state of living. she paid for your expensive hotel for another week before not subtly (and not asking) recommending you stay in her townhome.

and she’ll make sure you’re as comfortable as you can be the entire time. find the guest bed uncomfortable? her first offer is for you to just sleep with her, but she’ll settle for making sure you have a new mattress and comforter set. feeling sad over your rapid change in diet? a personal chef is hired to make you authentic parisian dishes to your hearts content.

it’s completely jarring how she has such a hold on your heart. you know a part of you can’t move on because of your powers, but every time you try to remind yourself of how weird your situation is you’re roped right back in when she comes home from work and tells you how she was thinking of you all day, giving you physical affection when you seem open to it by pressing a sweet kiss to the side of your head.

as childish as it is, a small part of you wishes you had an actual label for your relationship. ‘woman who wooed me then flew me across the globe to accomplish my dream and then revealed she wants to take advantage of my unexplored power’ was more than a mouthful. even ‘partner’ would be preferable.

it’s amplified by the fact that you aren’t really in a relationship.

you’ve slept together, something you embarrassingly think about often at night when your hand trails beneath the soft satin pajama set she had gifted you. at the end of the day you do have needs, and having your sexual world rocked only to have to (reasonably) avoid the perpetrator as best as you can is all too confusing to process.

not to mention that she still treats you sweetly and romantically when in private, fingers brushing over your arms and pet names whenever she sees you in a room of her house, but outside and in public her career calls for…propriety? and a relationship with another woman in your career would hurt her numbers apparently. at least that's what her publicist said. she didn't seem very bright yo you, but victoria was throwing hundreds at her to support her campaign.

and oh yeah, she decides to tell you randomly on a thrusday night in while making dinner with her daughter that she actually is talking with another politician about running for president and vice president. zoe had to help you when you nearly choked on your pasta.

you hadn't delved too deep into politics when over in paris, only googling the basics about small party leaders who'd show up to bars and would likely engage in small talk over a few drinks. the first time you even learned about vic's profession you already heard alarm bells in your head, but president? seriously?

she tried to reassure you about it, listing off all the benefits it would bring to her family - which now apparently includes you. a better government position meant a better quality of living, moving into the secure grounds of number one observatory circle with access to the government's protection, connections, and loads of money. you and zoe both perked up at that. you looked at the girl curiously and she shrugged her shoulders, admitting later that she would like to be able to travel to more places farther than the met.

unsurprisingly, you grow closer to zoe. you aren’t given many opportunities to make a lot of friends, and the only adult conversations you get are your friends back in pairs over the phone and victoria along with her campaign help. at first you helped her a little with her homework, even if the curriculum for her private school was leagues above what you learned in your little low-budget middle school. eventually, you start to just talk about shared interests, and you're pleasantly surprised to find out the girl is musically gifted. its sweet to see that vic set up a corner of her office for the girl to practice her talents, and whenever she offers you listen to her play a piece on her cello.

you never bring it up, but one time victoria stopped at the house for a long lunch once and overheard the two of you talking about a piece you both loved before zoe practiced it on her instrument. she stood out of sight in the doorway for a minute and just observed. as soon as you noticed her presence she was gone.

when things start looking up in the polls vic starts to show a little leniency with letting you have an actual life. of course she uses some backdoor connections to get you a boost in your career, and you find a great deal of peace in being able to perform to your hearts content. it only helps that the atmosphere of entertainment in new york is alive and bursting, you meet so many fellow musicians and singers.

slowly but surely you start to fall for the city. sure it can be dirty and smell weird and have heaps of garbage everywhere, but just like with paris you’re able to find the hidden jems that lurk just below the surface.

and after some pestering whenever the two of you manage to be in a room alone together for more than a few minutes, victoria finally starts to explain to you…well, you.

you’d always gotten a bad feeling by vought, never liked the way they profited off of the supers and marketed them to certain countries and people. finding out that they made you the ‘way you are’ . apparently, both you and vic’s parents thought letting a company shoot some super drug into their children would a smart idea, that you’d both go on to do something great.

“well, i guess you are kind of great, in a sense. smart enough to become a politician, raise a good kid. are they proud of you?”

she only gave you a dry chuckle as she took a sip of her dark wine.

“yeah, yeah they’re really proud.”

as much as you start to try, you cant get in to her head. you’ve been thrust into the middle of her life and routine and there’s still so many things about her you don’t know. hell, you don’t even know what her power really is still. you can tell she wants to let you in some, either for her own feelings or because she wants to help you explore your supercharged feelings for her to understand more about your abilities.

but just like when you talked about vought, as soon as she’s about to open up you see that look, one of a fear you’d never quite seen before flash in her eyes before she quickly dismisses you.

so you decide to tale a.. drastic measure to get some things out of her.

you had been exploring your power a bit in your new daily life, just little things that didn’t make too much of a difference or affect anyone too greatly. a simple request for the customer ahead of you to apologize to a barista they’d needlessly ridiculed, innocently asking a rushing passerby to give you directions to a cafe you had just been dying to try. it took a few weeks to get the hang of it, the fact that it apparently worked best when you were singing and the toll it could take on your body, but the dizziness fades eventually.

it’s a rare night where the two of you are in the house alone together and you decide to celebrate your recent well-perceived performance by opening up a bottle of bubbly and sitting on the couch, dressed in some maybe too revealing pajamas and waiting for her to inevitably join you once she finishes settling in from a long day at the campaign office.

she joins you and clink s her glass to yours, rolling her eyes into your drink when you immediately ask her a question about all of her plans.

“its gonna take more than some expensive champagne and you looking like that for me to crack, but nice try sweetheart.”

“oh yeah?” your finger teases the rim of your glass, eyes trained on her movements.

“yeah. let’s stick to the basic questions for now.”

you hum a short tune to yourself and take another sip of your drink. “okay. you should tell me what you had for lunch today.”

“patricia picked me up a ceasar salad today. it had too many croutons, a really absurd amount. sat confused for a few seconds.”

her eyes scrunch up slightly and flick to yours. you take her silence as a sign to keep going.

“i never really get to talk to your assistant. she told me once her name was morticia.”

she laughs and sets her glass on the coffee table, “think she might’ve been intimidated by you. she can be a real tightass but she’s a hardworker, believes in my campaign and message and all that shit.”

“dont try to skirt past that, tell me why she’s intimidated by me.”

her eye twitches, clearly annoyed by what you’re doing and not used to someone having this kind of control over her. but each time you do it you notice the way her hand clenches on the cushion of the sofa, how her tongue darts out to quickly lick over her bare lips.

“she wants me, checks me out sometimes when we’r ein the office. but the reason i hired her is that she’s incredibly observant, and she’s probably picked up that the two of us have a weird thing going on.”

your eyes slightly scrunch together. “what do you mean by ‘weird thing’ ?”

clearly your aggravation at how she decided to describe...admittedly whatever this weird thing between the two of you was, its enough for your concentration to slip and allow her to get out of the concentrated hold you had on her mind. in only a few seconds she’s pinning your body down to the couch, your wrists held down by her hands and your drink falling to the floor with a loud shatter.

‘ugh! vic, what the hell-” you struggle to get out of her grip, thrashing your arms and trying to kick up your legs that are trapped under her thighs. you apparently greatly underestimated how strong she is.

“that’s it baby, get angry, let it all out.” she has a fascinated smile on her face that does nothing to quell your frustration, only giving you the desire to get right back to messing with her anyway how.

“tell me why you’re doing this to me!”

“i like watching you under me, plus i like having control over you. definitely don’t want you turning the tables on me again.”

you notice that when you command her to explain her voice takes on this fast tone, like she’s rushing to answer you as soon as you finish speaking.

“you think i’ve dont you what you’ve done to me?”

“isn’t it fucking obvious? you just forced me to tell you something i wasn’t supposed to mention. i have to keep sharing things with you, you make me want to share things with you. you’re controlling me and you don’t even know it.”

“why don’t you want me to control you?”

“because i’ve been controlled before. its horrifying. you could be horrifying. because it’s not part of the plan. none of this is. god, you were supposed to be gone by now but i just can’t…i don’t-”

both of you’re eyes are wide when her speech starts to slip, fighting against the control to keep telling you what she’s hiding. her head jerks and you feel a rush of hot liquid rush down your face, your hand miraculously free to let you feel the blood pouring out of your nose. you look back at her and she’s scrambled to the other end of the couch, eyes trained ahead of her as she gets herself out of the daze.

abruptly she stands up, swiping off any leftover unease and starting her trek towards the stairs as you wipe off the now slow moving trail of fluid trailing from your nose.

as soon as she reaches the first step you call out to her, blood dripping into your mouth as your voice takes on a bittersweet and melodic sound.

“how do you feel about me, victoria?”

her manicured hand clenches around the wood bannister so hard you fear it’ll snap.

“you’re powerful. you’re useful and you’re terrifying.”

tears prick at your lashline as you swipe at more of the red covering your mouth. her head turns to meet your blurry gaze.

“i think i’m in love with you.”

you zone out to the sound of her footsteps rushing up the stairs and the light-headness from exertion.

you had forgotten what one one of the worst things about being in a city was. how despite being surrounded by thousands of people and hundreds of lives, inevitably came those times where you were alone as a person could be.

#uhhhhhhyeah #def going to expand on that end part in a mini drabble #that scene in my head was initially siren commanding vic to say shit and vic making her bleed from her nose until they b4ng #the toxicity with her...such untapped material #the boys #the boys x reader #gen v #gen v x reader #victoria x reader #victoria neuman #victoria neuman x reader #icljaa #dont expect that acronym to take off #idk maybe

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yameoto · 10 months ago

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HELL IS A (FUCKING) ROOMMATE. JORDAN LI.

synopsis ; your roommate has the libido of a goddamn animal and it's driving you insane. not to mention the fact they have an annoying habit of jerking off in your dorm. to you.

they want you? fine—they can have you. only on your terms, though.

✗ warnings ; dom!reader, sub!jordan. fem!reader, perv!roomate!jordan, dubcon, voyeurism, excessive masturbation (soz). wc ; 4.2k

YOU can do this. you can do this.

you grunt as you fumble for the key. cursing as, with an extreme lack of coordination—you begin to forcibly ram the bloody thing into the lock with the grace and precision of a sledgehammer. what you lack in motor control you make up for with inner beauty—or something.

the do not disturb sign rattles mockingly off the handle, meaning your roommate is definitely inside and definitely not helping out. you grit your teeth, entire body off kilter as you're preoccupied with balancing the boxes cramful of belongings in your arms; big and bulky and absolutely not helping your aim. you curse, loudly as they almost almost tumble out of your grasp the moment the key miraculously jams into place, jerking wildly to catch them. (note: super strength does not come with super-hand-eye-coordination.)

“fucking– stupid- key– fucking better– woah!”

without warning, the door swings open, inwards. a montage of your entire life flits before your eyes as you hurtle forward, boxes and all. you just about barely manage to catch yourself with an undignified stumble before drawing yourself up; coming face to face with—oh.

two figures. bodies very noticeably.. inside. each other. naked. on, what you realise after a bout of disbelief; your fucking bed.

"what the fuck?"

one of them growls, mop of black hair flopping as their head snaps up, even though you're pretty sure you should be the one slinging expletives around. with a frustrated scowl they pull out of the dude, sending a withering glare to the poor guy they were fucking into the bedspread—to which he.. disappears? glitches out? phases out of existence? because suddenly he’s not there anymore, and you’re stranded alone with a very attractive, very threatening looking college student.

who is also—uh, very, very naked.

“um, hi–”

“why do you have a key to my fucking dorm?”

oh, shit.

they are, frankly, gorgeous – like, one of the most beautiful people you've ever seen. their hair is black, mussed, and you can’t help the way your gaze follows its way down the threshold of an.. extremely muscled, slick torso before snapping upwards to find a mildly paralysing glare that reminds yourself that you are not in a very good position right now.

“i’m uh- your new.. roommate?'' you don't mean for it to come out like a question, but by the way they're staring down at you like you're a cockroach that just flew onto their windshield, you almost aren't so sure.

"i'm a fucking TA— i don't have roommates." their eyes narrow, which is like—alright, way to be real welcoming.

“i’m a.. last minute transfer..?” you offer, wincing as you meet their stare. their eyes are unflinching, yet still lidded in a post-sex haze. you can feel your body involuntarily holding its breath; though from the steel in their gaze or the way their biceps flex when they run a hand through their dishevelled locks, you can’t tell.

fuck, you hate hot people.

“oh, yeah. fuck, i forgot about that.” their shoulders slacken, mouth settling into an unimpressed line; which is only slightly more welcoming than the look of murderous intent of two seconds ago. “jordan. jordan li." they say, last name and all—which is how you know they're a prick. "make yourself at home, i guess.” they don’t sound all too enthused as they skirt away from the door, seemingly satisfied with the fact that you're not a home invader—dorm invader? whatever. you just pray that the sigh of relief you breathe isn’t audible.

“great! nice to meet you, i’m–”

“s’on the sheet." jordan cuts in with supreme disinterest as they move across the room, leaning down to pick their boxers from the floor. you’re struck once again with the realisation that they are still fucking naked, and you pointedly tear your eyes away.

“um, yeah.. hey, uh—what’s your-”

“third year, crime-fighting. don't touch my shit. no pets, obviously. if you have a dog, get rid of it. give it to the animal shelter, don’t care. don’t snoop, don't make a mess, and definitely don’t take off the goddamn do not disturb sign. got it?”

you've barely opened your mouth to reply; probably with something along the lines of what the fuck? or animal shelter? before jordan's already turned away, back muscles flexing as they sink back onto the end of their bed, scrunching their briefs up in one hand and—

“hey, uh,” jordan interjects, turning round with an unreadable expression as they glance down, and like a fucking idiot, you follow; giving you front row seat to the massive, throbbing boner that they’re still sporting—pulsing an angry, flushed red as the tip drools with precum.

“mind if i take care of this? couldn’t exactly finish, if you know what i—”

you slam the door after you, and you swear a snicker follows you down the corridor.

over the next week, it quickly becomes apparent that jordan either a): forgets you live in the same room as them, or b): simply does not care.

for starters, there’s their apparent aversion to doing laundry until their entire closet is out of commission, the coke stash underneath their mattress and also—oh. their need to get their dick wet at least four times a day. (irrespective of whether they have a dick or not).

“what?” jordan scoffs through a mouthful of cereal. “‘m not lettin’ some fuckin’ freshie cockblock me.”

“i’m a transfer, not a fucking freshman.” you scowl, and jordan’s lips curl to form a lazy little ‘o’. it twitches upwards into that infuriating little smirk, like they enjoy seeing you squirm.

“whatever. my libido stops for nobody, not even you. besides,” they set their bowl on the bedside table, wagging their fingers suggestively into a ‘V’ shape and licking the air between. "a bigender supe has needs too."

they’re slouching against their headboard, free arm stretching lazily above their head. your cheeks flush traitorously as their biceps flex—muscles visibly popping against their frame “you can just say 'a girl has needs'. i'm not an idiot, i know what you mean." is what you grumble back, if only to ignore the inane, stupid heat pooling in the pit of your stomach.

"but i have needs when i'm a dude, too." jordan grins, propping themselves up by their elbow, eyes gleaming impishly as they curl their hand into a fist and making a fucking wanking motion over their (currently) non-existent dick. which is—yeah. that pretty much sums up your roommate for you.

the thing is about jordan, is despite all their excessive lockerroom talk and relatively abrasive personality; they’re still rank two in all of godolkin. ergo, they’re a surprisingly busy person; being preoccupied with either studying, sparring or partying ninety of the time.

thus, like all horny, single college students, when you don’t have time to squeeze a good fuck in, you’re left with second-best option—yourself. this would otherwise be fine, except jordan’s compound v must have seeped through their bloodstream and into their libido because jesus fucking christ are they horny.

it’s not like they make an effort of hiding it, either. they seem to have zero qualms about rolling out of bed, morning wood popping out from their briefs like a fucking beacon.

“oh, shit,” jordan yawns when slide the covers off, giving way to the immense boner throbbing against their boxer-briefs. they don’t even have the decency to look sheepish when they walk past you, adjusting themselves lazily. you don’t miss the grunt of relief that escapes them as their hand palms their crotch before they disappear into the bathroom, either. or the little groans of relief that sound behind the door before they saunter out, towelling their hands with the stupidest grin on their face.

it shouldn’t piss you off as much as it does, except for the fact that even when jordan rouses without morning wood (or wood in general); they end up making their usual bathroom trip anyways. noises slipping from a half-ajar door and toilet lid left slippery, as always.

they have to be doing it on purpose. they have to be. like, they left their strap-on on your desk once. which, first of all, gross. second of all, why was it so fucking big?

“jordan!” you holler, aghast as you nudge the thing on your desk, conveniently placed right next to your laptop.

“oh! that’s where i left it. sick.” jordan grins as they saunter over, veined hands reaching over to wrap around the shiny, plastic length and fuck, since when were their palms so massive—

“thanks, roomie.” they ruffle your hair with an impish glint in their eyes, smile only growing when you jerk away with a scowl.

and that’s not even the worst of it.

“oh, shit—was that yours?” to their credit, jordan looks somewhat sheepish as they pinch a rock-hard pair of socks off the floor. your fucking socks, which have clearly been well-loved and cared for in places other than your shoes.

“those were my favourite!” they weren’t your favourites. they’re socks. however, it makes jordan wince, which almost makes it worth it.

hey, a little remorse is better than nothing.

“..i’ll buy you a new pair?” jordan offers, scratching the nape of their neck. you’re almost content to let the awkwardness linger just give them just a piece of the torture you’ve been subjected to for the past several weeks — except the sliver of satisfaction is completely negated by the way jordan’s lip twitches upwards, like they’re fighting back a smirk.

“you little fuck—“

anyways, the point is jordan wanks. a lot.

you can’t stop thinking about it. because it’s annoying. and disrespectful. and god, do they think you want to hear every pretty little moan that falls from their mouth? every grunt and groan that slips from their throat in that raspy, godforsaken timber—

long story short; if you have to find a wadded up sock or sticky residue at the bottom of the computer desk one more time, you’re going to lose it.

you think jordan knows it, too.

it’s midnight when you wake up to the sound of a bed creaking.

you’re an early sleeper, jordan isn’t. it works. you’re typically long knocked out before they even make it back in the dorm, out there doing god knows what. today, though, you’d far overestimated your ability to finish your latest assignment; so when jordan finally staggered through the door, slumping into bed with a little grunt, you thought nothing of it.

minutes pass, and the bed shifts. jordan groans. under the moonlight you can see the shadowed visage of their figure, splayed out on their bed with one hand underneath the covers; moving, repeatedly.

jordan grunts again, and you squint; bleary eyes adjusting to the darkness. the muffled, wet sound of slapping resounds, subdued by the weight of the blanket. if you didn’t know better, you’d think they were—

“mm, fuck—” jordan moans, blanket slipping down their hips and—oh my fucking god.

like pulling back a curtain, jordan’s cock springs enthusiastically to the surface; standing tall and proud as their fist pumps up and down the thick, veined girth of their length. it’s practically pulsating with need, bordering on desperate—they must be desperate, because jordan’s shameless, sure, but.. jacking off in the same room as you?

you didn’t think they were that much of a fucking perv.

but maybe you’re a perv too, because the moment jordan’s hips rock upwards and their tip glimmers in a thick sheen of pre-cum; you can feel the telltale surge of heat in your stomach, the fabric of your panties dampening and oh, this can’t seriously be happening right now.

“fuck—motherfucker..” jordan hisses, drawing your bleary-eyed gaze from the flushed, throbbing bob of their cock to their pink cheeks and fucked-out face, mouth lolling in pleasure. they twist their head, nosing into something tossed onto their pillow that makes you stop in their tracks.

that’s.. you thought you lost that!

“need ‘m—so—fucking bad..” jordan slurs stiltedly, nuzzling into your shirt like their life depends on it. “fuckin’—stupid fucking—”

your stomach tightens, and you can’t help it when your fingers dip down under your shorts, slipping into your cunt. you should be mad, should be disgusted, should be shoving open the door and ripping them out of their covers and.. wrapping your mouth around their adorably flushed tip? seizing their hips and yanking their cock into your tight, wet little—

"oh, fuck," jordan interrupts your thought process by growling through their teeth, precum spilling from the slit of their dick and glazing their palms. there’s so much of it, so wet that even in the dark you can see the stain pooling in their sweatpants, their bedsheets.

you’re so entranced you barely even register when it when their grip releases; length arcing and splattering thick ropes of cum against their abdomen. the sight is so mesmerising that you almost don’t pick up on the sound of your fucking name that tears out of their throat—husky and half gargled as jordan’s chest heaves. you don’t even realise you’ve been holding your breath until jordan’s figure simply lays there, pants echoing in the silent room.

they wrap your shirt around their dick and wipe it clean. it’s only when they murmur something unintelligible—burying their nose back into your jumper that you finally, finally turn away, fingers curling deep inside your cunt.

fucking hell.

the second time it happens, you are wide, wide awake. which unfortunately means you have no excuse for the minutes seared into your memory and sticky residue on your thighs.

granted, at first you didn’t know. as always, the bathroom door hangs carelessly agape. steam curls from the room, wafting up and dispersing in the stuffy dorm air. what lingers, however, is the fresh note of jordan’s shampoo, body wash, and something.. saltier, headier.

whatever. with nothing more than an arched brow, you pick over the discarded basketball shorts and tank tops that litter the floor, intending to kick the bathroom door shut and be on your way. it’s when your hand reaches out, closing around the cool metal that you see it.

jordan’s slumped against the slick shower wall, fingers buried knuckle-deep into their pussy.

oh, shit shit shit—

“shit..” jordan hisses, muscles working like well-oiled sprigs as they pump into their cunt, droplets of water trickling down their skin and pooling into the divots of their body.

your hand tightens around the doorknob. god, their moans.. if they think the sound of the showerhead can disguise the filthy nothings spilling out of their mouth, they are very, very wrong.

somewhere between the fuck’s and annoying’s and pretty fuckin’ prude’s their full-weight crumples against the shower wall, plush ass pressing up against steaming glass like some (high-quality) porn ad as they ram their fingers in one last time, free hand shooting out wildly to grasp at nothing before the shower wall splatters with something you only catch a glimpse of before you’re slamming the bathroom door, cheeks burning and fingers trembling. with a start, you realise you’ve almost wrenched the goddamn metal off.

the doorknob is always a little bit loose, after that.

you’re getting ready for a party.

well, you’re supposed to be getting ready for a party, hence the sultry eyeshadow, glossy press of your lips and sheer amount of skin laid bare. your crop-top is just a little bit too high, mini-skirt more than a little too short.

in reality? you’re enacting your fucking vegeance.

jordan likes you. it’s a fact that stares you right in the face. and if not a crush, it’s a massive, raging hard-on. for you—only you—citing a certain roommate’s post-nut ramblings you’ve heard one too many times.

as it turns out, jordan becomes considerably less insufferable when you know you’re the only thing that gets their dick wet.

“how do i look?” you call, doing a little twirl. it’s impossible to keep the smirk off your face, skirt flipping very purposely upwards as you spin, revealing a tad more than they ever (usually) get to see.

jordan glances up, and their breath fucking hitches.

bingo.

“what?” you cock your head, lashes batting innocuously as they stare. playing the oblivious role is just too sweet, especially when your eyes flicker down, just for a moment, and you can see the bulge in their sweatpants growing.

poor little jordan, hard because their roommate flashed a millisecond of ass.

“you look—good.” they grunt, tone carefully measured. their gaze lingers, only for another moment before they abruptly snap their vision back to their screen. an admirable effort, really. if only their cheeks were a little less red, cock a little less needy.

“well don’t flatter me too much,” you twist away, lips twitching upwards. feigning normalcy is easy, seeing as how you’ve been doing so ever since that first night. you're practically buzzing with anticipation when you make a big show of leaving the room, snarky comment and all.

and really, jordan could've waited for longer than two minutes before moaning that raspy, broken moan (you're so intimately familiar with) from behind the door.

your lips split into a grin, and when you slide the door back open, the look on jordan's face is so priceless you hope it'll be seared into your memory forever.

“shit!"

it’s undeniable, this time. you’re no longer a fly on the wall, and they’re no longer blanketed by the illusion of secrecy; caught red-handed with their cock in their fist and head on your pillow.

“wait—fuck—i can expl—!”

like clockwork, jordan's cock twitches as if in reaction, and a drop of fresh semen spurts from their tip before trickling down to join the messy puddle on their stomach.

“i thought—fuck! you said you were going!”

“that doesn’t sound like an apology to me.”

you delight in the way jordan flushes, their breath hitching. they take a ragged breath before they make a valiant attempt to cover up their falter with aggression. "doesn't mean anything," they retort through gritted teeth, mustering up as much conviction as they can.

it’s adorable, how much they pretend they don’t want you as if they don’t jack off to the smell of your sweatshirt every night.

“shut the fuck up.” you roll your eyes, novelty of the movement finally wearing thin. you have needs too—and with a fluid movement, you slide onto the bed and yank their hips against yours, pulling them into a straddle over your torso.

jordan can't help but hiss at the sudden contact, hips jerking instinctively. "fuck, you're cold," they mutter under their breath, though there's no denying the thrill running through them; hips bucking forward into the touch of your cool fingers as they wrap around their hard member. it feels euphoric—the contrast between your heat and coldness heightening every single nerve ending in their body. the tip of their cockhead brushing against your belly button, dripping a thin line of hot, sticky fluid after it.

“go on.” you coo, eyebrows raised.

jorda’s hands fly almost immediately to the hem of your skirt. so eager, like an impatient puppy.

before you curl your hand around their wrist, grip firm and punishing.

they freeze, head cocking like a confused puppy. “huh?” they say, biting back a noise of complaint. they want you so bad its goddamn gruelling; their fingers twitching around nothing, screaming in impatience, let me fuck you, let me ruin you already. don’t you know how long i’ve been waiting? how long you’ve kept me fucking waiting?

of course you know. they don’t know that, though.

“you’re not gonna do anything?” despite all their irritating, fratboy-esque bravado; jordan’s unable to prevent the whininess from seeping into their tone, hands tugging insistently at the hem of your skirt. their cock pulses, painful and needy.

“you have hands, don’t you?” your lips quirk at the way jordan’s expression drops and their mouth opens again, probably to protest until you yank their thighs open and press them forward, dick pressing flush against your torso.

"unnhnnngh.." jordan grunts, gasping for air while trying to maintain eye contact with you—an impossible task considering how goddamn desperate they are. their free hand grabs hold of your waist, grinding sloppily as precum spurts all over your chest. “f-fuck off," they hiss, lips crashing against yours, teeth knocking at their eagerness.

“goddamn tease—” they groan, rutting against your torso, to no avail. they bury their face into your collar, utterly miserable, fingers twisting into the hem of your shirt. “just get the fuck on with it—ahnnn.. f-fuck—”

“so mouthy,” you tease, delighted at the mewl that slips past jordan’s lips when your hand wraps around their tip. their chain necklace swings wildly, bucking their hips desperately into your fist.

“hands feel so fuckin’ good,” jordan sputters, drooling almost as much as their dick is. their fumbling grasp finds purchase in your shoulders as they pump themselves into your hand; you barely even have to move, with them doing most of the work.

“need to be— inside—“ jordan grunts; glassy eyes blinking down at you like it’ll change your mind just like that. it’s cute, how they look when they’re not scowling or fucking smirking at you. it’s even cuter, the way they inhale sharply when you shake your head and deliver a cool “no, baby,” their back arching when you cup one of their balls and squeeze, forced into dismal acceptance with a keening whine.

jordan’s movements are getting unsteady, now. eyes glazing over by the second. “y’gonna make me cum,” they slur, grip on your hips tightening. it only takes a moment before their movements stutter and they’re muttering “fuck fuck fuck oh, fuck!“ and a long, gargled moan rips from their throat and all of a sudden hands wrapped around cock are sinking in wet, sloppy heat; your fingers sliding knuckle-deep into their pussy with almost breath-taking ease.

“jesus christ!” jordan croons in sheer, unexpected pleasure as they feel you shove yourself inside them, cum spurting and squeezing out helplessly from between their walls and your fingers. they squirt so fucking messily, their leaking cock replaced by a cunt spilling out out all over your palm.

“i didn’t—didn’t mean to—” they slur, panic two steps behind their mouth. struggling to sling anything coherent together with you kneading your fingers into their pussy like its goddamn putty. “oh?” you arch a brow, and jordan visibly flushes, moaning openly when your digits curl.

“can’t–don’t really—”

“what? fuck yourself?” is your reply, because you both know they fucking do; it’s not like you don’t how their pussy sounds when it’s sliding slick against their pillow, how your name sounds cried out, thick through the muzzle of your jumper.

it’s a dual guilty pleasure—you watch, they do. at this point, you can’t tell who’s the more perverted out of the two of you.

jordan. definitely jordan.

“too busy humping my clothes, is that it?” you purr, and jordan honest to god whimpers, squirming away from your fingers both out of overstimulation and plaintive shame. “ah, ah,” you tut, nails digging into their hips as you hold them in place, finger thumbing harshly against their clit as they cry out a gargled moan.

“f-fuck off—” jordan hisses, practically an admission of guilt itself. they seem to know it, too, with the way they abandon all pretence and pound violently against your knuckles—their gaze burning into yours like they’re daring you to say another word. “don’t act like you didn’t—shit—fucking like it.” jordan gasps out between sputters, teetering on the edge of another orgasm.

“hm?” you pause, eyes meeting jordan’s heated, quivering stare. “jerk off to watching me?” they choke, eyes glossing over when you thrust “did you fuck yourself to my—mmhnn—!”

an easy, all-too-familiar eye roll graces your face before you shut them up with your fingers. their pussy clenches; hot, slippery walls gripping your digits as if afraid to let go. oh, this is too easy.

“don’t get cute with me, roomie.” the nickname tastes sweet on your tongue, and jordan’s face grows hotter. a well-timed thumb to their clit flickers their bravado out like a light. “fucking hell!” they gasp, mouth gaping into a moan and eyes rolling back into their skull.

“you wanted me to watch, didn’t you?” you coo, and jordan squirms; mouth open in protest—or at least attempts at them, what with the way they keep gasping out in pleasure as you roll your fingers against their clit.

“shut the fuck—i didn’t—”

“a pervert and a liar now, are we?”

jordan makes a noise somewhere between a hiss and a whine, crying out when you slide two more fingers into the slick canal of their core. their eyes screw shut, hands seizing so wildly into the mattress you almost think they’re about to tear a hole through the bedsheets.

“god! fuck—i can’t—”

they cry out your name when they cum, and even if its a sound you’ve heard countless times by now you don’t think it’ll ever get old. “that’s it, baby.” you coo, lips curling upwards at the way they bury their face into your collar.

they lie there, panting, for what feels like forever before a muffled, half-delusional groan leaves their lips.

“oh, fuuuckk..”

“what?”

“..i thought i would top.”

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