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thexsilentxwordsmith · 4 months

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Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!reader

Fandom: Call of Duty

Character(s): Simon Riley, Reader

Summary: A new relationship means excitement, an uncontrollable craving for each other. When an early morning romp is interrupted with a scheduled weekly meeting, will you be able to keep your hands to yourself when Price begins to drone on? And if you can't, what will your lieutenant lover do once the meeting is over after you've tempted him for far too long?

Word Count: 7.8 k

Warnings:

“Come on, just a quickie before you gotta go,” you try to bargain as you roll onto your knees on the mattress, moving to straddle yourself over top of Simon’s lap so that he can’t get out of your bed yet. “Promise I'll make it worth your while.”

You sit on his thighs as you wrap your arms around his neck and he grabs onto your hips with those large hands, only his boxers and your panties keeping you apart. Gently you run your fingers through the short, dirty blonde hair at the back of his head before bending down to try enchanting him with your kiss to stay a little longer before you both have to start your day. You know if you can get him going, quick is the last thing it is going to be and all you want is more time in his company. It’s getting harder these days to let him go.

Your lips meet and he sighs long and deep as he drinks you in. This new development in your relationship is only a couple months in the making, but you already have him in a chokehold that he can't seem to break free from. Goddammit your kiss is like heaven and he wants nothing more than to shove you back into the mattress and get lost in the ecstasy of your body all over again, but obligations of the job that you have so conveniently forgotten about are fast approaching this morning. As much as he hates it, clearly he’s going to have to be the responsible one. Christ, you aren’t making it easy when your pretty eyes are begging him for more as you pull agonizingly slow from his mouth and roll your hips over top of him.

“We can’t,” he says with an agitated groan as he bites the corner of his lips so the pain will stop him from losing it and leaning back in; if he doesn’t show some restraint now it’s not going to happen. “Officer’s meetin’, ‘member? Don’t wanna start any rumors with our absence, do ya? Rather not have to have a discussion with Price today. So, ya best stop fuckin’ lookin’ at me like that ‘fore ya get us both in trouble. Cause ya know if I get started, I ain’t stoppin’.”

Fuck, is it that time of the week again already? You’ve nearly forgotten the date, so absorbed in having the hulking military lieutenant all to yourself over the weekend. Instantly your heart sinks as you realize that your request isn’t going to get fulfilled now, not if you want to keep this relationship on the down low. No, you don’t want your good thing ruined by stirring up trouble, no matter how much your body still trembles to be beneath him right now.

Fine, your hands are tied at this point, so you’ll just have to be strong and table this till later. Or at least… you’re gonna try.

“Just can’t get enough of you,” you say, resigning defeatedly as you move to rest your forehead on his.

Eyes shut, he takes a few seconds just to enjoy the closeness with you before he speaks. “Later,” he reassures in a husky whisper. “Not like I can fuckin’ stay away from ya.”

A warm kiss is swiftly pinned to your temple and you sigh defeatedly before you move off of him to sit at his side. He gives you a look before he gets to his feet to find his clothes strewn about the floor, dressing as you watch on with hungry eyes until his body is covered once again. Instantly you are missing the sight of it now that it’s gone. Later already feels like a lifetime away as you fall back against your pillow with a groan and cover your eyes with your arm.

The sounds of rustling clothes and the jingling of a belt buckle lasts just a few more seconds, followed by the sound of heavy steps before you feel a depression next to you on the bed. A rough hand removes your arm from your face and you are met with those coffee eyes and cheeky smile poking out from beneath his half pulled down mask as he leans over top of you. “See ya at the meetin’, luv,” he says before leaving you with a quick kiss as he rushes to get out the door before that one small action ruins it all and he ends up getting you both caught from sticking around too long.

You watch the door shut behind him and in the silence that follows you can hear the sound of your heartbeat throbbing in your head. How are you meant to keep it together now?

Getting dressed feels like an impossible chore, but eventually you finish and arrive at the conference room with a bit of time to spare before the meeting starts. You enter the space and are immediately dragged into making small talk with a few of the others standing around the conference table, exchanging pleasantries till Price arrives. The heat in your cheeks struggles to dissipate from the morning and it is only made worse as a tall, burly figure enters a couple minutes later and makes his way to the back of the room as if it’s nothing. Your vision constantly darts over to that masked man in the corner as you chat, your pulse keeping your face hot because you can tell that he is doing the same, though the shadow created from the fabric covering his face gives him the advantage in keeping his dark eyes on you.

Trying to force his sight not to linger on you today isn’t an option, not when he can see the product of his kiss still spread through your face. It’s captivating to be in the presence of something like that belongs to only him, so why the hell would he not want to soak you all in? It’s like he is hypnotized. He hasn’t felt like this in a long, long time and to say he isn’t a little obsessed would be a complete lie. Just looking at you gets his pulse racing now and it’s almost instantaneous how he has to adjust the crotch of his pants as they have suddenly gotten a little tight as his body reacts to the sight of yours.

He’s gotta snap out of his insatiable craving right now or this meeting is going to be brutal to try and get through. Moving to the back of the table, he takes his seat to hide the bulge growing in his pants. That’s when a familiar voice rings through the room just the same as it has week after week and Simon feels like he can breathe a little easier.

“Mornin’ everyone,” the distinct voice of your superior is heard over the small crowd. “Let’s get started, shall we. Got things to do.”

Captain Price doesn’t waste any time, arriving precisely on the hour just as he always does and everyone immediately takes their seats just like clockwork. Good, now all he has to do is get through the hour and then you’ll go your separate ways until the end of the day. However, as he looks on as the chairs around the table get filled, he realizes that your usual seat towards the front already has a body sitting in it that isn’t yours and the only free chair left is at the back of the table right next to him.

Your eyes meet and your breath hitches as you see the empty spot beside him and it feels like you can’t get enough oxygen as you make your way over; no sense in prolonging your agony. Simon’s shoulders stiffen as you take your seat, the tension caused from your proximity making his mind hazy, even before Price begins to drone on about nothing of major significance. It’s all just daily reports and mandated updates from around the base, so it doesn’ take long before it all becomes background noise to the beating of his heart in his ears.

You aren’t fairing any better as your mind begins to wander and it’s in that loss of attention that the trouble starts to brew.

Sensory-filled memories of the past couple of nights play through your mind on repeat: sweaty, tangled limbs, burning kisses that steal your breath, ecstasy filling you up until all you can do is lay back and let it consume you; it’s the type of euphoria that could make you an addict if you're not careful enough. The vivid sensations associated with the images flooding through your mind chip away at your calm so that about halfway in your sanity has deteriorated.

You cross your knees over one another and clamp your legs together to stop the ache blossoming between your thighs, but it does nothing to help. You have to do something to ease the agony because you cannot squeeze your legs together any tighter or the danger of you accidentally letting out a moan will become a real threat. Desperately your eyes dart around the room to try and focus on anything in particular, but there is nothing that grabs their attention until they stop back at the table in front of you and out of the corner of your sight you notice the top of Simon's thigh peeking out from under the table. Those juicy bits of his body that you know intimately as they have been pressed between your legs before are a magnet for your sight and suddenly there is a need that is awakened in you.

Fuck, now you have a new problem. The longer you look, the harder it gets. Imagination isn't enough anymore. Shoving your hands into the tight space between your crossed legs you try to bury the feeling, but your desire pleads with you to reach over and get a feel.

Just a little touch won’t hurt, right?

He probably won’t even notice if you are careful enough, at least that's what you try to convince yourself of so you don't sound so fucking desperate. Maybe giving yourself a little treat will help ease the pain enough that you can move on. As Simon leans back in his chair, trying to adjust his position to keep himself focused on Price, you take that as a sign that you should just go for it.

Simon notices the way you shift in your seat, inching in closer to the edge of the chair nearest his side. You pause for a few seconds before he catches you moving again and now your shoulders are almost touching. He wonders what you’re up to getting this intimate, but just as the question enters his mind more movement grabs his attention and he watches as you lean in and your shoulder twitches. Then he feels it, a delicate bit of pressure on his thigh that immediately sends him spiraling.

You have reached over and are now running your fingertips over the outer seam on the leg of his pants, but the moment you make the slightest contact with him a yearning blossoms in your chest so strong that you can’t stop yourself and your fingers begin to wander thoughtlessly. Soon you find your touch on the outer edge of his thigh and then the middle and still you can’t force yourself to stop.

Simon risks a look down into the shadow underneath the table only to see your arm stretched out and your hand creeping in towards the middle of his lap. He pries his sight back up and catches you peeking over at him from the corner of your eye. Your gazes meet and your chest begins to rise and fall more heavily than it had a few seconds ago as you shoot him a tempting look.

Oh, so this is what’s going to happen today; his strength of will is going to be tested. Fuck.

Carefully and quietly, Simon repositions himself in his seat. Without turning his face at all, he inclines his head to the side so that it is nearly pressed against yours. “Ya sure ya wanna start this?” he growls his question in a whisper near your ear, yet he does nothing else as he sits back up straight.

Your hand continues on undeterred and makes it in between his thighs without any resistance; it’s clear that neither of you were finished with what was trying to be started this morning as a small peak already meets your hand before you’ve even done anything.

Simon exhales a shaky breath as your hand makes contact with the crotch of his pants and it takes all his willpower to hold steady as you run your hand over the mound just under the zipper. Thank God he’s wearing his jacket today, otherwise the way his chest starts to heave with each labored breath as you stroke your palm consistently over the swell would give him away to everyone here. Behind the mask, his mouth hangs open slightly as he forces himself to quietly pant as if under duress.

Being this close to him, you can hear the change in his breathing and those subtle deviations in his respiration guide your movements further. You press down and he has to bite his lip until he tastes that first bit of copper to keep himself under control. And yet he doesn't pull your hand away… because he doesn't want to. His pretty thing needs to feel him, he isn’t going to deny that. It’s a risk, but it’s one he is more than willing to take just to keep you locked in this moment with him.

Over and over you go in with insatiable intent, stroking until the tip of his thick cock throbs with his pulse against your touch as a throbbing of your own. The sound of your captain is barely a faint whisper at this point as all of your awareness is focused solely in the silent tension shared between you and your lover as your hand draws him closer and closer to release just from the pressure alone.

The tingle in his lap radiates out in waves that make his limbs feel heavy and causes a cold sweat to break out across his skin and just as Simon thinks that he can’t take a second more of stimulation because he’s going to burst, the meeting finally comes to an end. Quickly you have to pull your hand back out of his lap as your fellow officers’ attentions are no longer focused towards the front of the room and you pray that they can’t see the way your body shudders.

You don’t dare get out of your seat yet; at this point your legs are like jelly and you are sure that if you try to stand you will make a fool of yourself by stumbling around. Instead, you pull out your phone to pretend you are making a note of something important as everyone leisurely files out until all that is left is you and Simon in the empty room.

He hasn’t said a word since his cautionary question, instead moving out of his seat the moment he could to lean up against the wall near the door with his arms crossed over his broad chest. The last person makes it out and yet he’s still standing there soundlessly as if he is waiting for something, his shadowed gaze locked onto your form.

Eventually you calm yourself enough to make it out of your seat and back onto your feet without falling. You take a few steps to leave and you nearly make it out of the room before the door is promptly pushed shut in your face and Simon places himself directly between you and the exit. Instantly you are stopped in your tracks and you stand there curiously as that familiar click from the lock being engaged is heard and the room falls silent, not even the sound of people coming and going can be heard on this side of the door.

“What was that, hmm?” he asks in fake anger, his bright eyes giving him away even with the mask covering the majority of his features.

You shrug. “What are we talking about?” you ask in return with a tilt of your head. Ever the little actress, it seems.

He chuckles deeply as a spark flashes through the irises of his eyes to make them shine the way an animal’s does before it goes in for the kill. You know exactly what that look means. “Playin’ games, are ya?” he asks. “Or did ya already forget the way you were just tryin’ to make me come?”

“Is there a problem?” you ask back as the corner of your lip upturns ever so subtly.

He takes a step towards you and you move back with it; another and you do the same. This continues only a few more paces until you run out of space and back into the edge of the table, allowing Simon to move in without a problem until his body is within a few feet of yours. Reaching out with one of those large hands he wraps it around your wrist and pulls your arm forward into him.

“Oh, we ‘ave a big fuckin’ problem now, sweet,” he groans as he takes your hand and pins the palm just to the side of the zipper on his pants. You don’t even have to look down to know what he’s talking about as there is a hard, stiff peak that meets your touch; the tip of his cock strains against your hand as he presses your palm down over it. “See what ya did?”

An unintentional moan escapes your lips at the feeling that you try to disguise with a cough, but Simon has already caught it. With a hook of his thumb under the cloth of his mask, he pries it up off of his mouth and in the same motion he jerks your arm past his body to pull you in the miniscule distance still between you both so that you are now plastered to his chest. Since his mask isn’t an issue anymore, his hand captures your chin in its grip and he holds on firmly.

The intense domination of the movement feels like an ambush on your sanity and with that one simple motion he already has your heart fluttering just like he wants. You’ve played your little game and gotten him riled up, and it’s got him craving you so bad he can hardly keep his thoughts straight. Now it’s his turn at it and he isn’t going to stop until he has chipped away at your resolve so that you want him just as badly.

Keeping his grip tight on your chin he cocks your head to the side to move it out of his way as he leans his face in towards the soft, tender skin that has been revealed to him just under your jawline.

“Now, how’re we gonna fix this? Can’t go ‘round wit this thing at full attention,” his balmy breath travels over your skin as his lips rub along the side of your neck, the tip of his nose catching that sweet spot just behind your earlobe.

The very faint stumble covering the lower half of his face prickles your skin as he presses his lips against you gently at first to let the feather-light pressure tantalize the flesh around that pulsing vein under your jawbone. He can feel it begin to race under his touch the quicker your heart pumps and he has to force himself to take a breath. To observe the physical reaction you have to him, to feel the way you come alive in his hands, it’s enough to bring him to his knees and if he isn’t careful he can easily lose himself.

“Ya owe me–” he trails his kisses upward until his lips are pressed along your jaw “for–” those heated kisses keep going over the contour until he hovers right over your mouth, lips ghosting over yours just out of reach “–all that teasin’.”

You attempt to move in and collapse the distance between your mouths to zero, but his hold on your face keeps you at bay. Again you struggle to embrace his mouth and again he pulls you back and it’s clear what the game is now. If you want his kiss on your lips, you are going to have to meet his conditions.

“What do you want?” you ask coyly as if there is anything else that he could possibly be after at this moment.

Simon runs the tip of his stout tongue over the middle of his bottom lip as he stares at yours, the skin on your mouth growing redder with each erratic inhale of breath you take, before he drifts his gaze back up the short distance to your eyes. He admires how they shimmer with unspoken wants as he meets them again.

You know full well that the door is locked, Simon is certain you heard him secure it since you were close. That means you both are cut off from the rest of the base while in here and with the meeting over, there is no reason for anyone to come around. The room is yours for as long as you want.

“Well, we’re all alone, luv,” he says.

“Mmhmm,” you agree as if he’s asked a question.

Taking both his hands, he cradles the back of your head as his thumbs rest against your cheeks and he takes a step so that his hips block your body against the table. He inches in ever so carefully, making sure that his lips will not touch yours, but be just close enough that the agony caused from their proximity will make you fucking burn to feel them. It’s a game that he has perfected over his time with you and one he prides himself on being the master of.

“Ya know what I fuckin’ want.”

The heat from his warm breath wafts over your lips to make them tingle from the change in temperature. This close you can finally catch the scent of his natural musk mixing with the sharp notes of his spicy cologne and the smell reminds you of your sheets where the fragrance still lingers. It is overwhelming your senses until you feel delirious and out of control.

“Wanna take ya on this fuckin’ table,” he breathes into your face in a growl the comes from somewhere deep inside. “Can’t wait.”

His voice is pure sex on a good day, but in these moments when his full attention is on you as he plays up the sultry notes of his tone to match his growing need, you can’t help the way you squeeze your legs together as a shudder of pleasure runs like icy water straight through to your core.

“Undo - your - pants,” he orders, his deep, heavily accented voice breathy, but firm. “Now.”

Your pulse is pounding in your ears with your short, quick breaths and he takes the moment to tempt you further by having the tip of his tongue gracefully slither out of his mouth to catch the edge of your upper lip, lightly grazing the inner bit so that you shiver and it takes all your strength not to buckle at your knees and stumble in his grasp.

Finally gaining control of your limbs through the haze spreading in your mind you move your hands over your abdomen, using touch alone to find the fastener at the front of your pants as he holds your head in place, forcing you to keep your eyes focused on him. Finally you locate the button and as swiftly as your shaky fingers can manage, you fidget with it till it opens and you can guide down the zipper.

A ravenous grin spreads across Simon’s lips at the sound of your clothes being shed. It’s Pavlovian the way it immediately makes his mouth salivate with anticipation as he knows that soon he is about to enjoy a feast that includes all your delicious curves ready and begging for his special brand of ecstasy.

You’ve done what he’s asked and now you desperately want your reward, but you should know by now it isn’t going to be that easy. He is a man of mutual obsession and you’ve only barely just started to ache with the overwhelming intensity that he wants; he needs you in shambles just like he’s had to be this whole time as you stroked him under the table.

“Please,” you plead tacitly as multiple words seem too cumbersome to have in your mouth.

Simon shakes his head. “Not yet. Push ‘em down,” he demands. “Take ‘em off.”

You scramble to follow his dictation and grab onto the waistband of your pants, jerking them down over the curve of your rear and continuing until they are past your calves, slipping out of your boots so that you can step out of the fabric now bunched at your ankles. You stand back up straight and immediately those rough fingers are outlining the band on your panties just below the hem of your shirt and each time they graze over the tender skin of your pelvis, you gasp inaudibly into his face as the electricity from his touch makes your skin tingle.

As one hand plays, the other that is cradled at the base of your skull draws your face to him. “Ya got me wantin’ ya so bad it fuckin’ stings,” he admits. “Is that what ya want, sweetheart? Ya want me a goddamn mess wheneva you’re around?”

His thumb tugs at the corner of your mouth as he drags it over your bottom lip and the action takes your breath so you have to forcefully catch it. “I want you to want me as bad as I want you,” you answer as your heartbeat hiccups in your chest.

Simon chuckles. “Greedy girl,” he says, drawing out the words, his voice getting more and more gravely. “Ya know how fuckin’ hard I was strugglin’ to not just throw ya on the table and take right there in front a everyone? Ya got me outta my goddamn mind insane for ya with just a touch.”

You look up at him with starry eyes, the kind of sight that makes him feel like you think he’s hung the fucking moon for you. “Take…me now…” you beg.

He can feel you tremble in his hands as you plead for your sanity and it pushes him to his breaking point. “That what ya want?” he asks. “Let me hear it, sweet.”

You nod without even having to think about it. “Please, Simon. Please. I haven’t stopped needin you since this morning. Just give it to me.”

Fuckin’ hell he is going to absolutely wreck you after that.

Tilting his head to one side he moves in and with a sharp inhale of breath before the plunge, he hauls your mouth to his and crashes his lips on yours. The deadly potency in his embrace knocks the little bit of air you just drew in from your lungs and in an instant you are left gasping for breath again while not wanting him to pull away.

That huge, hulking body with all of its bulky muscles overwhelms your own as he pins himself harder against you, pushing your hips together to grind that stiff peak roughly against you with rocking movements, hips rolling into you again and again until you join him as your frantic fingers rip the jacket off his shoulders and down his arm so that you can feel his skin under your hands.

His mouth is insatiable, stealing sloppy, desperate kisses one after another until your lips burn from the abrasion. The contrast between the rough way he embraces you with the delicately smooth feel of his lips is a sensory overload in the best way. Those long fingers of both of his hands are now tangled in the strands of your hair at the back of your head, not wanting to give you the chance to get away from the harshness of his lips as he claims your mouth as his.

You match his energy and your fingers find the hem of his mask that still clings to his face and you slip them up underneath to pry it off the rest of the way so that you can caress the back of his head and make him buckle from the shiver as you run your fingertips over his scalp. He holds you tighter as a blunt grunt of pleasure vibrates up from his chest and he breathes it into your open mouth for you to swallow down. He is so caught up in the passion of the moment that he nips aggressively at your lower lip until you gasp as it stings so good.

The warmth from his breath tingles along the raw skin of your mouth as he buries his nose in your cheek the harder he pushes in. No matter how close you are, it isn’t enough; he wants…no he needs to be closer. He isn’t sure yet if he likes being the type of man that goes feral with an insatiable appetite for his lover, but if you are going to be greedy with wanting his attention he is going to be greedy in the way he reciprocates it.

You are suddenly on the move as Simon easily slides his strong hands up under your arms and picks you up to set you on top of the sturdy table, tugging behind your knees to pull you forward so that you are at the very edge of the surface. You hadn’t realized how warm you are until the instant the cool table touches the bare skin on the back of your legs.

A hum vibrates in his chest as he rubs the length of your thighs before he lockes his hands around them to pry them apart and moving in with his palm, he slides it up into the crotch of your panties and cups his wide hand up over your sex.

“F-fuck,” you whimper as he presses down to pin your lips up into your clit. “I need…I need…”

“Whatcha need, sweet?” he asks through panting breaths as he pulls back and pushes in again, making you squeak out a high pitched whine. “Tell me, use your words.”

You swallow hard. “Need… your fingers…” you struggle to say as he does the same maneuver again.

“Does that sweet little clit need my attention?” he asks. “Achin’ for my touch? Ya think I should jus’ give it to ya after the mess ya made a me when I couldn’t even get at ya yet?”

He keeps his hand pinned down and the pressure makes your hips buck in reaction. “I know… I know…” you stammer out the sloppy confession as you fight to create any words at all. “Couldn’t help it.”

If he had been in a more calm state, he would have liked to tell you to get yourself started to see how you’d follow his directions, and then if you did a good enough job he would come in, but Simon wants to feel you just as much as you crave his touch. The strangle you have on his sanity is making him lose it fast and there isn’t much time he is going to be able to spare, but even in his inebriated state as he slowly drowns in your ecstasy, his mind concocts a devilish plan.

Maybe he can have both his cake and finger it too.

Suddenly he takes your hand in his, wrapping his larger one over top while making you match the way his two middle fingers stick out with yours, and forces them both to descend down the tingling skin of your lower abdomen into the front of your underwear as he rests against you with foreheads touching. Working your combined fingers in tandem, Simon parts through the lips of your pussy and moves both sets right up against that tiny bundle of nerves just above your core.

“Already wet, pretty girl?” he groans with a hiss as his finger makes contact with a bit of warm moisture once inside. “Not enough, though. I want ya fuckin’ drippin’ for me. And we’re gonna do this how I want. Now we’re gonna make ya a mess so I don’t feel so alone.”

It hasn’t left his mind that this isn’t the safest place to be, that even though the room is only used on those weekly occasions when Price gathers his personnel to keep everyone up to speed, even though the space is vacated and the door locked, there is no guarantee that someone won’t try and get in. He has to be quick, but he is going to do this right.

Simon expertly guides your finger over your clit in that very distinct way that he does it, rubbing in concise circles over the nub with both of your fingers, using a bit of light pressure as your knees fall apart to give him more access and it doesn’t take long until your mouth falls open so that all those pretty sounds can escape unhindered just as you know he likes.

Their sound only adds fuel to his desire. Having him pilot your movements, forcing you to pleasure yourself under his control, adds another level of euphoria that he had not previously thought possible. Fuck, does he feel powerful to take you like this, both of you working together until your wetness dribbles down his fingers as the heat warms his hand.

His face is so close to yours that he can use your breath to fill his lungs as he runs out of air; the only thing he wants to sustain his life at this moment. Breathing you in, tasting you, feeling you; he only wants to be consumed by you like a man possessed. He has never needed anyone in the way he needs you and the more he causes you to sing, the more he has to be sure that no one else can ever satisfy you the way that he can. It’s his mission now to completely ruin you for anyone else.

Your legs start to shake as the pressure continues to build from the sensitivity and your calves crush his hips as a pitiful whimper you let out sends him over the edge and drives him insane in his already weakened state. There is no stopping the feral part of his brain from taking over to guide his movements and suddenly your clit isn’t the only thing he wants to play with; he needs to fill you.

You can feel your hand on the move, slithering down until the tips of both your fingers reach your entrance. And quickly they ascend up into you to stretch you out as your legs vibrate, the flood of blood to your cheeks making your face burn like you’re on fire as he keeps shoving up inside until he reaches the amalgamation of your combined knuckles. He keeps his eyesight down to watch the way your hands make your panties bulge as your pussy is filled with the both of you.

The unexpected fullness causes your back to arch and your head to fall back as you struggle to stifle a desperately loud cry from being stretched. Instantly Simon drags your head up and harshly connects your lips with overwhelming savagery to stop the sound from getting out, sucking it down his throat with his mouth pressed to you so securely as you continue to groan in short bursts until you finally are able to calm yourself enough to keep your volume down.

Your body grips both of your fingers tight as he begins to rhythmically work at your G spot with rough and intense movements, unable to calm down. The harder he goes the more dampness covers the fingers inside you and it drips down onto the back of his hand and begins to stick to the inside of your thighs. Your walls flutter around his fingers the more they swell and that lets him know that you’re close. His pulse is racing to feel it, that moment you come; no single sensation ever gives him more pleasure than being the reason you fall apart.

Your hips begin to grind onto your hands for more friction. “Fuck…fuck…” you mutter in agony under your breath. It’s nearly there, just a bit more.

Stroking and grinding, stroking and grinding, it feels like an eternity stuck at the edge of that cliff as the warmth gathering in the pit of your stomach grows in intensity, but suddenly and without warning, like a wave washing over you, that warmth reaches its peak and shoots through you as you fall over the edge.

Simon makes you ride out your orgasm on your fingers until you settle and only then does he gently pull your hands out from your still quivering core and up out of your panites, never letting you go. He holds them up and your fingers glisten with the product of his work under the fluorescent lighting. After taking a few seconds just to admire the way they look he locks eyes with you and holds your gaze as he brings those coated digits on your hand straight up to his mouth and sucks them inside that wet cavern. He uses his tongue to swirl around your fingers to clean them, sucking on them thoroughly to get all the taste of you off and you nearly faint from the erotic nature of his action.

The way he has no shame when it comes to enjoying every bit of you is staggering to behold. He is insatiable and you can’t get enough.

Giving your hand back, Simon steps up right against you between your legs as his hand slips between your bodies and he shifts his hips slightly so that he can undo his belt buckle, then the button on his jeans, and finally pull down the zipper. Sticking his hand inside the shadowed recesses of his boxers, he pulls out and releases that thick, veiny appendage that has been throbbing for far too long without relief. It stands at attention and bobs with his pulse, a mouth-watering view of all that girth ready just for you.

The knuckle of his finger bushes over your still overly sensitive cunt as he hooks the digit into the seam at the crotch of your ruined panties and jerks them to the side out of his way before the tip of his cock presses into your petals. So slowly he guides himself past that first barrier in through your lips and carefully he strokes his cock in your cum, coating himself in the heated moisture his touch produced.

Calloused fingers suddenly divide through the strands of your hair at the back of your head so that his grip is securely woven into you as the others dig into your hip. “You drive me wild, pretty girl,” he says with covetous aggression, “but if ya ain’t careful, I may not be able to contain myself like I did today. So unless ya want me ta fuck ya in front a everyone, you’re gonna wait till we’re alone to start things, yeah?”

You nod in agreement.

“Then I’ll make sure ta get ya so fuckin’ good,” he whispers as he pulls out just enough so that he adjust himself to align his swollen tip with your entrance. “Won’t let ya go till you’re satisfied, promise.”

He prods against the opening, pushing up against it until you feel drunk on the feeling of anticipation as you wait impatiently for when he finally thrusts hard enough to get all that girth in. “Lift your hips,” he hurriedly demands and you lean back on your hands to help angle your pelvis upward.

Those coffee-colored eyes meet yours one last time as his hand gives your hair a tug. “Let’s finish this right, yeah?” he breathes and his hips snap forward as he pulls yours down.

The moment the tip breaks through the threshold of your body you both involuntarily share a gasp between your open mouths. You are so wet and clearly more than ready to take him, but he still has to pace himself getting in or else he’s going to come before he’s had a chance to really fuck you good. Still your body sucks him in every single inch he gives you until he reaches the base of his shaft where he pauses.

The width of his cock pushes against your walls until they form around the contours perfectly and his hand on your hip burrows harder into the skin in an attempt to let any other feeling get through the overwhelming sensation of being inside you so that he can last. He focuses back on your face where your eyes are shut tight and something about that just won’t do. He wants those blown-out pupils that rest behind closed lids to be fixated on him as if he is the only thing in the entire fuckin’ world that you crave to look at.

Because you are the only thing in his.

“Eh, eyes on me, sweet,” he growls desperately to get your attention back. “Need ta fuckin’ see ‘em. That’s it, just like that.”

You open your eyes and your aching gaze renders Simon speechless. How in the fuck did he get so lucky to call you his and why in the hell didn’t he make that happen sooner? Without any more of a pause he begins to thrust in and out of you with a ferocity that makes your body burn as his desire overtakes him. Each stroke stretches you out more until the sting subsides and all that’s left is the satisfying euphoria that comes with being filled so full.

Your cheeks feel like they are glowing and on fire as thrusts after thrust he pounds into you, stretching you and filling you to the brim on all of his passion for your body as the sound of slapping skin against skin fills the silent space, accentuated by the sound of threads snapping as your panties are stretched to the point of ripping. Panting heavily into your face with mouth open, chest heaving up and down with laborious breaths, Simon unleashes himself upon you.

“Fuck,” he says, jaw hanging slack with desire, “wish ya could see how pretty ya look right now.”

Harder and harder he thrusts into you until the table begins to rock with him as he shoves his fat cock as far up into you it almost hits the back of your cervix. He desperately tries to keep the pace even, but it is reaching the point of no return.

“Ya feel so fuckin’ good, baby,” he stutters with a groan low and guttural as he starts the feel that pressure again building at the base of his spine, ready to shoot through him at any second of he keeps this up. “So fuckin’ good. Can’t ever get enough of ya.”

You buck against him, meeting his movements with your own as you use your legs wrapped around his hips as leverage. The risky nature of your triste barely registers anymore as the stimulation from his cock hitting that sweet spot over and over again inside you clouds all your thoughts except one: the need to come. And it is fast approaching the longer he goes until it is right fucking there; all he has to do is keep going.

“Shit, don’t stop Simon,” you plead in distress to him, your toes curling into the air as you focus on your erratic breathing.

“Tha’s it, sweet, come for me,” he growls, “Come all over my fuckin’ cock.”

His pace is relentless as he pumps with those powerful thrusts that bury him deep within you, unyielding and relentless with his need to render you completely satisfied. And just like that everything comes to a head with a shudder as your orgasm rockets through you fiery hot, making your body writhe in his grasp. You squeak out in a whine before you clamp your lips together tight to make sure you can stay as quiet as you can as you ride out the depth of your pleasure on his cock. God, it doesn’t stop, second after second it just keeps building stronger and stronger. Simon does not let up and soon you are whining from the over-stimulation.

He isn’t far behind though and it doesn’t take many more strong thrusts until the warmth that had been building to this point twice now finally shoots through his body, coursing like a burning river of fire through his veins as he rips his cock out of you and through your thighs as he pulls up your shirt over your tits to cover your stomach in sticky semen as he comes hard.

Leaning forward, Simon opens his mouth and latches it fully onto your collarbone through the fabric of your shirt, digging his teeth into the muscle to keep himself quiet as he milks himself dry with your thighs. He grinds up into those juicy bits of your legs as he grunts laboriously into the muscle of your shoulder so that it vibrates from the intensity while his wide hips continue rolling upward until he has nothing left to give and his shoulders slump forward with exhaustion as he comes to a stop.

The muscles of his arms are shaking as he releases your shoulder from his mouth. “Goddamn, sweetheart,” he says out of breath, wrapping his arms around you to hold you close, “I ain’t ever been to a meetin’ that ended this way, but Christ should they.”

You chuckle as you incline up into his face to catch his mouth in your embrace. Releasing his lips, you are met with a contented smile as he strokes your cheek sweetly with his thumb. You both know you need leave, you’ve spent too much time here already, but Simon just can’t let you go. At least, not yet. Not when you look so good in that post-coital hazy state of bliss that it makes his heart flutter.

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erwinsvow · 8 months

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𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐞, 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲

summary: hiding your relationship with rafe from your friends is fun... at first.

word count: 2k

now spinning: freak by lana del rey

author's note: this one put me in a silly mood <3 i love this man <3 so cute it'll rot your teeth! enjoy!

He’s a bad habit. Your worst habit, in fact, one that you hide from everyone like a dirty secret.

At first you’re just embarrassed. You’re supposed to be a Pogue, you try to remind yourself every now and then, you’re supposed to hate him and everything he stands for.

You’re supposed to hate the pretty jewelry he buys for you on a whim, hate the stupid—or something like that— look in his eyes when he puts it on you and presses a kiss to the soft skin of your neck or wrist or ankle, and you’re especially supposed to hate the way he spends money on you.

You’re supposed to hate all of it, but you don’t. In fact, you think you’re falling in love with Rafe Cameron.

Which is bad, so so bad, you don’t even have words to describe how terrible it is. Rafe—who your closest friends despise, and for good reason. He becomes an ass outside of the sheltered, private walls of your tiny bedroom, getting into fights and egging everyone into violence.

He’s completely different, like an entirely new person, and you should hate him for what he does to your friends and goads them into doing.

Hate is the furthest thing from what you actually feel. You’re not even embarrassed anymore. You’re protective, because you know your friends won’t understand, that they’ll try to talk you out of your feelings, and you’ll have to show them the thing that you’re dreading the most of all, that you would defend Rafe to them. That you would take his side.

That you would become that girl you used to make fun of, screaming at your friends because you don’t know him like I do, and then running home, running to him, to feel better.

It’s gotten bad, and to avoid all of this, you don’t bring up your relationship to them at all. What started off as chance encounters and graduated into quiet, peaceful hours spent in each company without another care in the world, has now turned into a real relationship. A secret relationship, at that.

Rafe wants to tell the world, and he especially wants to tell your friends. You convince him that it’s romantic to sneak around, with plenty of hidden kisses and longing gazes and making a fool out of everyone right in front of their eyes.

He buys the act for now, but you know he won’t for long. You think that he wants to rub it into your friends’ faces, that he got you despite how much they hate him. He doesn’t tell you it’s because he has to know, has to be sure that you aren’t ashamed of being with him.

𝜗𝜚

The first time you almost get caught is in Rafe’s truck—parked along the beach, in what was meant to be a cute little date. You pack sandwiches and fruit, freshly squeezed lemonade in a mason jar that you and him pass back and forth.

The two of you watch the sunset from the safety of his car, specifically because you’re worried your friends will catch you if they spot you on the beach with someone.

“This is good,” Rafe says, taking another sip out of the jar, his lips shining with the sugary juice. You want to lick it clean, but you hold off for now. “Where’d you get it from, again?”

“I made it, Rafe,” you reply, rolling your eyes. “We have a lemon tree in the backyard. My parents like to grow their own stuff.”

“Well,” he says, licking his lips. Damn it, there goes your chance to sneak a kiss in and act like it was for some other reason. “You should make more. Shit’s good.”

“Then take me on another date. I’ll make you a whole pitcher.”

“Our next date is gonna be way better than this,” is his response, looking down at his half-eaten, heart-shaped peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

He notices your eyes get big, like you’re upset, and immediately follows up his own sentence.

“Not that this isn’t perfect,” he says, resting the mason jar in the cupholder. “It is. Perfect. Couldn’t ask for more. I just meant, next time, you won’t have to pack anything or juice any lemons, like a restaurant. All you have to do is wear something pretty and show up.”

You smile, giddily.

“You have some lemonade, right there,” you say, pointing to the side of his lip, leaning in for a kiss, just about to close your eyes, when you hear the unmistakable hoot that is your boys, as in your other boys. “Shit-” and you duck, head resting on Rafe’s thigh as you try to get out of their eye-sight. You don’t sit back up until you make Rafe triple-check the coast is clear.

“Y’know, if you wanted to get freaky in my car, all you had to do was ask-”

𝜗𝜚

The next time is a month later, a month of bliss and joy that you still haven’t told your friends about. Rafe came over to help you finish baking lemon squares, but really just creating a mess and kissing you with sugary, citrusy lips and flour-coated hands.

You take turns showering to clean off, because as much as you would love to rinse off together, your shower is not like the one Rafe has in his Tannyhill bedroom, and sadly, barely big enough for one. You go first, washing your hair and complaining about icing remnants, and send Rafe in after you while you dry your hair.

On his way in, he tells you not to get dressed just yet. You sit in anticipation, wrapped just in your towel, brushing your hair absentmindedly. You drop the brush on your foot when you hear three sharp knocks on your bedroom window.

Crap.

When you turn to look, it’s just Kie, and you sigh a breath of obvious relief. You wouldn’t be able to manage lying to everyone, but if it’s just Kiara, you might be able to get away with it.

She climbs in through the window, lying flat on your bed and starting to explain what’s going on—her feelings for Pope and some old feelings for Jayj that are coming to the surface. You half-listen, feeling like a terrible friend, but your heart is currently showering in your tiny bathroom, probably complaining about the luke-warm water and thinking about all the things he’s going to do to you when he gets out.

“Is your shower running?” Kie asks, ever-observant. “Dude, that’s like, so bad for the environment.”

“Oh, I-” your brain turns to mush. “I just stepped out to brush my hair, I’m going right back in. I’m so sorry Kie, I’m so distracted today. You know, I-I hate wasting water.” You stare at her for a second, wondering if she bought it.

“I’m just glad you care. JJ and John B don’t even recycle their beer cans. I’ll come back later, then?” and you nod, maybe a little too excited. “Are you gonna finish showering now?” she questions, watching you linger by the door.

“Yes! Yes, I am. Bye, Kie,” you say, opening the door and closing it quickly, hoping Rafe doesn’t speak up. You drop the towel and climb into the shower, clasping your hand over his mouth quickly. You wait to hear your window close, and then the noise of her car driving away.

“Y’know, kid, if you were feeling that impatient, all y’had to do was tell me,” Rafe says, leaning in for a hot, wet kiss.

𝜗𝜚

It all breaks down because JJ is like a walking metal detector, eyes flitting to anything shiny and new and the questions never-ending, even when you’re glaring at him.

Rafe bought it for you. A gleaming, pretty silver bracelet with a little pink heart hanging off, complete with the letter R engraved on the back of the charm. You try to sneak it in with your other bracelets, the beaded ones Kie makes, the thread friendship bracelets all of you share in matching colors, and you even throw on a watch just so no one notices something new on your wrist. It doesn’t work.

“Wow,” JJ starts, letting out a whistle. You freeze instantly. “What’d you do, rob a Kook and not invite us?” He comes up closer, taking your wrist in his hand and raising it above and below, inspecting it.

“No, no…” you trail off, mind going completely blank on how to explain this to your friends. All you can think about is the soft way Rafe kissed your wrist while helping you put it on, and the not-so-soft two hours you spent at Tannyhill after. “I, uh-”

“What, you found it?” Pope throws in, and you start to nod, even though your friends know you better than that. “Because you should really turn it in, I mean, they’ll get you for that-”

“Trust me, I would know,” John B says, coming around to look at it closer. “I feel I’ve seen that before.”

“Yeah, I bet all the Kook princesses have ‘em and compare with each other.” JJ puts on a goofy, high pitched voice that would normally make you laugh. “Mine’s silver. Mine’s gold. Actually, guys, mine’s encrusted with diamonds.”

“You know how much child labor funds the entire jewelry industry? They have kids mining in caves-”

“But that would actually make sense, Kie, because, like, they’re so tiny they’re the only ones who can just like, sneak on in there with their little tools, and just like-” JJ imitates, what you can only assume, is a child mining for gold with his hands.

“They can grow diamonds in labs now. It’s so unnecessary and dangerous,” Kie says, looking back at you. “We should burn it, so it goes back into the soil.”

“Woah, woah, woah,” JJ says, getting up and putting himself between you and Kie, like a barrier. “Why would we do that? We could probably go get a couple hundos for that thing. Y’know how much beer we can buy with that?”

“He’s got a point there,” John agrees. You’re speechless.

“Well, does it have any markings? Because if we just return it, the owner might give us a reward for finding it.” JJ scoffs.

“Yeah, right, they’d probably think we stole it.”

“Well, we did, that’s like the definition of-” you cut Pope off before you can stop yourself.

“I didn’t steal it!” It comes out like a yell, even though you don’t mean it, running a hand through your hair in frustration. “I didn’t steal it, okay, it’s mine, so can we please just drop it?”

You notice the boys lock eyes with each other, eyes wide, probably wondering what just happened. You turn away from them to look at Kie, about to apologize because you know she’s totally right about the whole child mining thing, when you see her eyes are fixed on your wrist.

“R?” she questions. “What’s the R stand for?”

You drop your hand to your side, eyes shutting on their own as you release a tight breath. You really have no idea how to get yourself out of this one, until a voice pipes up from behind you.

“Why don’t you idiots take a wild guess?” The voice belongs to your boyfriend, your secret boyfriend. You guess it’s not such a secret anymore.

JJ is the first to react, exactly like you thought he would, too.

“No, no, gross, gross!”

John B stares at you like you’ve just run over his puppy. Kie has her eyebrows raised like she’s questioning everything she ever knew about you. Pope’s eyes are wide like coins, fist clenched like he’s about to start swinging.

You let out another breath.

“Was that really necessary?” you ask, turning your head to question Rafe, standing right behind you, his arm hanging around your shoulder now.

“Had to tell ‘em eventually, kid. Guess today’s the day,” and then he uses his hand to squeeze your cheeks together, giving you a sloppy kiss and waltzing off in the direction he came from.All you hear is JJ—gross, gross, gross!

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #obx #outer banks #eeeee hope everyone likes!!!

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theemporium · 9 months

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[4.7k] the four times carlos encourages lando to confess his feelings to the youngest sainz sister and the one time where he's had enough and takes matters into his own hands.

New Years’ Eve, 2020

It was a few minutes past eleven when Carlos found him hiding out on the balcony.

There was something so overwhelming and intoxicating about New Years Eve, something that seemed to bring so many strangers together for the end of year celebration. That was the exact reason he had practically begged the Spaniard to fly out to London after the holidays, to spend the night drinking and laughing and celebrating with him to bring in the new year.

The night had started out great. He had been surrounded by friends and friends-of-friends. He had been drinking some awful concoction Max had made that was far too sweet for his taste. He had been badly singing along to the songs blasting through the speakers and dancing—both badly and proudly—in the living room of someone's mutual friend’s house.

But then things started to get suffocating. The buzz of the alcohol started to wash away, thoughts and reality started creeping in and, suddenly, Lando didn’t want to be stuck in the middle of a group of strangers who didn’t seem to understand he didn’t want to be touched and jousted around or hugged.

He needed space. He needed fresh air. He just needed to be alone.

His lungs were burning as he took deep breaths of cold, crisp air. He let it overwhelm him, let himself focus on the fact the cold was starting to seep into his bones. He let himself focus on the present moment, rather than the millions of racing thoughts in his head. He let the loneliness ground him.

But just as quickly as that relief came, it ended.

“Why are you hiding out here for?”

Lando’s eyes instantly snapped shut as he gripped the railing, wrapping his fingers around the cold metal before he lifted his head and turned to glance over his shoulder. The Spaniard stood by the door, the buttons of his shirts undone and his cheeks flushed from the drinks he had been downing all night. His eyes were a little glossy and dazed, but his smile remained as he made his way over to the Brit.

“I’m not hiding,” Lando answered, though the response was weak and Carlos could see right through him.

“So standing on a balcony alone whilst everyone parties inside is a British New Years tradition I didn’t know?” Carlos mused as he leaned against the balcony, his body turned towards Lando. “Try again.”

“I just needed a breather,” Lando said with a casual shrug of his shoulders.

Carlos’ brows furrowed together. “From what?”

“Just…things,” he muttered, his eyes cast down as he spoke. “I’ll be back inside in a couple of minutes. You didn’t have to come out here.”

“Of course I did, you’re my friend,” Carlos scoffed, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “What’s wrong?”

Lando shook his head. “Nothing is wrong—”

“Lando,” the Spaniard said his name in a softer voice, and something about it made his eyes well up a little. It was stupid. It was so stupid—and maybe the alcohol was playing a part—but he felt oddly emotional, and he didn’t like it. “Friends don’t lie.”

“I guess I’m just not in the mood to start a new year, that’s all,” he grumbled, feeling a bit like a whining child but it was the truth. There wasn’t much in the upcoming year that he was genuinely excited for, at least nothing that was coming to mind tonight.

“Just because we aren’t teammates anymore doesn’t mean I’ll abandon you,” Carlos said, resting a hand on his shoulder until the Brit finally looked at him again. “We are friends, Lando. Nothing can change that. Not even Charles.”

“We’ll hardly see each other,” he whispered in a soft voice.

“I’ll make time,” Carlos promised, but it still didn’t seem to be enough to put the boy’s racing mind at ease. “You know the best part of us not being teammates anymore?”

Lando froze, his brows furrowing together and he almost looked offended that Carlos could find a positive in the whole situation when his chest felt tight every single time he thought about the Spaniard in the Ferrari garage instead of the room right next to his.

“What?”

And before Lando could even question the glint in his eyes, he found his eyes following Carlos’ gaze as they both glanced back into the raging party inside—or, more specifically, where you stood in the middle of the crowd, laughing and smiling and having the time of your life.

“There is nothing stopping you now.”

Lando’s head spun back around to look at Carlos, his brows furrowed together. “Huh?”

“Lando,” he said his name like it said everything. “I’m not stupid. I’ve seen the way you look at her.”

Lando let out a noise mixed between a scoff and a nervous laugh. “What? No! I—”

“Lando,” Carlos repeated, and the boy quickly pressed his lips together. “I know you didn’t want to do anything because you were scared you’d cause something but…we aren’t teammates anymore. There’s no conflict of interest. You can ask her out.”

“I don’t like your sister like that, mate,” Lando attempted to laugh off, shaking his head.

Carlos shot him a look. “Really?”

“Mhm.”

“So, you don’t care if she kisses someone else at midnight?”

And truthfully? He felt his stomach churn at the idea. He felt like he could keel over the balcony railing and empty his guts there and then at the idea of witnessing it. The boy had spent the last two years pathetically pining after you, he had time to get used to seeing you with someone else and yet, it still made him feel physically unwell.

But as pathetic as he was, he was also a coward. Because even if it would kill a part of him to see you kiss someone else when he so desperately wished it was him, he would still rather throw himself off the balcony before he confessed his feelings for you.

“I don’t care,” he gritted out through clenched teeth. “Plus, you’re her older brother. Shouldn’t you be stopping guys from coming near her?”

Carlos sighed, shaking his head. “You’re being a muppet.”

“Yeah well, it’s not the first time you’ve said that.”

Lando had told everyone he had drank far too much that night, but the truth was that he couldn’t stomach anything after watching you kiss some pretty blond guy when the clock struck midnight.

Summer Break, 2022

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“No, I’m not. You’ve done this on purpose.”

“It’s just a few prawns, Lando.”

“And they are making me gag!”

“They aren’t even on your plate!”

Lando glared at the small shellfish on Carlos’ plate with his nose scrunched up in disgust, a clear look of disdain on his face. He should have known the Spaniard would torture him in some way, shape or form when he invited him out for lunch. Lando just honestly assumed it would be Carlos teasing him in front of you, he didn’t realise fish would be involved.

“That is disgusting,” Lando muttered with a frown.

“You are just dramatic,” Carlos scoffed.

“Hey, give him a break,” you lightly scolded your older brother, an easy smile on your face as you pushed your pasta around your plate. “In his defence, he did look a little green when they brought it out.”

“I did not,” Lando huffed, his cheeks flaming up in embarrassment. “This is bullying. You Sainz folk are bullies.”

You snorted.

However, Carlos only rolled his eyes in response. “It is not our fault that you have the taste palate of a five year old.”

“I should have just taken Max on his offer to play FIFA over this,” Lando muttered, letting out an exaggerated squeak when he felt the Spaniard pinch his side. “Hey! Hands to yourself!”

“I thought you liked it when us Sainz folk touch you,” Carlos retorted, a glint in his eyes that made Lando’s cheeks go redder.

“Don’t be silly, cabrón,” you spoke up, a look in your eyes that matched your mother’s. “He’s just like that for Mama. Little Lando Norris likes older women.”

“I think you’ve mistaken me for Verstappen,” Lando countered.

You opened your mouth, a witty reply undoubtedly on the tip of your tongue and something in his chest buzzed in excitement to hear it. He liked it when you did this. He liked the snarky back and forth, like some weird twisted foreplay. He enjoyed the thrill it gave him, the fact your attention was purely on him and his words.

But the universe seemed to be against him as the shrill of your phone ringing interrupted whatever you were about to say, leaving you to excuse yourself as you quickly headed outside to take the call.

“For the love of everything holy, please just tell her.”

Lando tore his eyes away from the large glass window at the front of the restaurant where he had watched you animatedly talk to whoever was on the other side of the phone—not that he was jealous or anything—and instead focused on the older Spaniard next to him.

“Huh?”

Carlos shot him a blank look. “Lando.”

“Not this again,” he grumbled under his breath.

“Yes, this again!” Carlos argued as he leaned over to pinch the Brit’s side again, narrowly avoiding his hand being swatted away. “It’s been years!”

“I don’t like her like that,” Lando argued, watching as Carlos went to open his mouth, but he quickly continued. “And even if I did, it’s been years. I wouldn’t like her like that anymore.”

He didn’t think it was possible for Carlos to look more exasperated.

“You bought a camera,” Carlos stated like it was the most obvious and incriminating piece of evidence against him.

“I wanted to take up a new hobby,” Lando said with a casual shrug of his shoulders.

“So, you choose photography?”

“Yes.”

“And it has nothing to do with the fact my sister offered to give you lessons and tips?” Carlos questioned with a knowing look.

“That was just a happy coincidence,” Lando argued.

“Mate,” Carlos sighed, heavy and exhausted, as he gestured towards the camera sat beside his plate. “You’ve literally been carrying that thing around everywhere you go in hopes it will start a conversation with her. Just ask her out.”

“Did it ever occur to you that maybe I just wanted a new hobby?” Lando retorted, feeling as though his face was on fire because he was right. Carlos was always fucking right. But that wasn’t something he would ever admit, especially right now. “I was thinking of starting an insta account for my photos.”

“Really?” Carlos deadpanned.

“Mhm,” he hummed, nodding his head.

Carlos opened his mouth, arguments and exasperated pleas ready but was quickly cut off when he noticed you barrelling over to them with a massive grin on your face.

“I did it!”

“What?” Carlos murmured, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“I got in! They accepted my portfolio! My work is going to be in the exhibition!” You all but squealed, your cheeks beginning to hurt from how wide you were smiling but you couldn’t stop. This was everything you had been working towards in the last few months and it was finally paying off.

“Congratulations!” Lando said, a grin just as wide as yours spread over his face as he quickly stood up from his seat, ignoring the looks Carlos was sending him as he brought you into a hug. “I told you you would get it.”

You pulled back, your smile softening a little as you looked up at the Brit. “You always do believe in me, Norris.”

“Always,” he replied, like it was instinctive.

For the rest of the meal, Lando promptly ignored the messages Carlos kept sending him under the table and instead let himself bask in your happiness, in your smiles, in you.

Silverstone, 2023

Lando Norris felt like he was standing at the top of the world.

There was a buzz of adrenaline and excitement coursing through his veins, and he genuinely didn’t think his heart would ever return to a normal rate ever again. Blood was roaring in his ears as he crossed over the line, as he heard the murmurs of his race engineer in his ear confirming his position, as the screams and cheers of the crowd completely enveloped him as he pulled his car behind the P2 sign.

His body was on autopilot as he pulled himself out of the car, running towards his team and throwing himself halfway over the barrier as they cheered and slapped him on the back. Their congratulations and praises washed over him as he tried to wrap his head around it, as he tried to process the fact he had managed a podium as his home race, like he always dreamed of.

He couldn’t stop grinning as he went through all of the post-race routines, getting weighed and finding himself in the cool down room before he headed towards the podium. He basked in the cheers as he lifted the trophy over his head, as he slammed his bottle down, as he drowned himself in champagne.

Lando Norris felt like a fucking winner, if he was being completely honest.

He had been grinning down at his trophy, gripping onto it like it was his most prized possession (and at that moment, it genuinely may have been) that he hadn’t even seen you barrelling towards him until your arms were wrapped around him and your body hit his with a soft impact, enough to make him let out a small oomph before the familiar smell of your perfume washed over him.

“I am so proud of you!”

Something in his stomach fluttered widely at your words as he wound his arms around you, holding you tighter against him as he sunk into your embrace. His eyes fell shut, his face nuzzled into the crook of your neck and Lando believed that if he died right in that second, he would have died a happy and fulfilled man.

“Thank you,” he finally spoke when he remembered he hadn’t replied yet. “It doesn’t feel real.”

“You deserve it, especially after how this season started,” you said to the boy, your voice just loud enough for only him to hear as you held onto each other.

He clung onto you, no plans of letting you go anytime soon as you both swayed on the spot but it seemed as though you were happy to stay there too. However, the unnerving sensation of feeling like he was being watched forced Lando to open his eyes, looking over your shoulder to find your older brother staring at him.

‘Do something.’ Carlos mouthed to him.

And when you eventually did pull back, teary eyed and looking at him like he hung the moon, Lando couldn’t help but let his eyes fall down to your lips. It would be so easy, so fucking easy. He could just lean down and press his lips against yours, feel the little squeak of surprise you would let out before you sunk into his kiss. He could imagine it so fucking clearly.

But the voice of reason in the back of his head managed to scream louder than the adrenaline pumping through his body and he simply threw his arm around your shoulders instead, guiding you towards where Carlos was standing.

“Gonna celebrate with me?”

“I’m gonna get you so many shots, you won’t even remember your own name, Norris.”

Lando ignored the disappointed look Carlos sent his way and instead focused on the positives. He wasn’t going to ruin your friendship when you had a good thing going, not when there was the risk he could lose everything.

And Carlos was just going to have to mind his own business and deal with that.

Las Vegas, 2023

It happened so fast.

He didn’t even know what happened until his car finally stopped moving, when the rush of spinning and going hundreds of miles an hour came to a stop and the excruciating pain washed over his whole body.

It felt like someone was stepping on his lungs, making it really fucking difficult to breathe. His head felt fuzzy and heavy, his arms even fucking heavier. For a few moments, he couldn’t remember where he was. And then the sounds of the cars passing, the smell of rubber tires and fuel hit him and he couldn’t help but let his eyes shut as the disappointment of an unfinished race overwhelmed him.

He could hear the team in his ear, begging for a response. It took him a few attempts before he was able to properly grip the wheel and hit the radio button. It took even longer to scramble out of the wrecked car, even with the help of the marshalls. Everything felt like it was moving too slow and, for someone like Lando who thrived on speed, it was disorienting.

It was like an out of body experience, like it wasn’t really him controlling his body. He just let himself be passed from person to person, someone always guiding him on where he should go. He didn’t argue with anyone as he was taken to the hospital, feeling far too tired to even try disagreeing. He just did what they told him.

Test after test, observation after observation, talk after talk. Lando went through it all, feeling like a fucking pinball as he was tossed between different rooms and machines and doctors, but he didn’t say anything. He just wanted to lay down and sleep. He just wanted to pretend this whole weekend didn’t happen.

And when he was finally allowed to head back to the paddock to have a debrief with the team and pick up his belongings, the last thing he expected was for you to be waiting in his driver room.

“Gracias a Dios,” you breathed out in relief when your eyes settled on him, standing frozen in the doorway in a jumper that was far too large for him. But it was a passing thought as you rushed over to him, only to pause in fear of hurting him further.

However, Lando just flashed you a weak smile and brought you into a hug, feeling your body sag against him.

“I was so scared,” you murmured into his chest, sniffling a little as you spoke. “They wouldn’t tell me anything. I threatened to cut Zak’s balls off if he didn’t at least tell me whether you were okay or not.”

Lando snorted softly. “He always was scared of you.”

“Good,” you grumbled before you pulled back, taking in his tired and weary expression. “How are you feeling?”

“Sore,” he answered, smiling a little when he saw your lips twitch upwards. “I’ll be fine. Just need to take it easy for a few days.”

You nodded. “We can have an easy night in, just watch a movie or something.”

And suddenly, it felt like someone was standing on his chest again.

“You don’t have to,” Lando said, shaking his head a little. “I know you’ll probably want to celebrate—”

“I don’t want to do anything except make sure you’re okay,” you interrupted, a note in your voice that he recognised as your unwavering stubbornness. “You can choose the movie. I promise I’ll only complain a little.”

Truthfully, how was he meant to say no to that?

He tried to pretend like his heart wasn’t racing when you later made your way to his hotel room, sprawled over his bed as you flicked through possible movie options. He tried to pretend his stomach wasn’t fluttering with butterflies when you settled against the headboard, your shoulder brushing against his. He tried to pretend like he was so completely fucking normal when you grabbed one of his hoodies, pulling ot over your head before settling back into his bed.

He was fine. So fucking fine.

Smooth Operator: this is your chance, muppet. tell her how you feel!!!

And despite Carlos’ message, Lando just enjoyed the night with you. After a crash that could have gone so much worse, he was just grateful to have your presence beside him, whether it was as a friend or something more.

At least, that is what he kept telling himself.

Sainz Christmas Party, 2023

Despite the jokes made, Lando genuinely was an honorary member of the Sainz family.

With some extra time spent in Monaco before he headed back to England to spend Christmas with his family, it was easy enough to stop over in Spain for a day or two to enjoy the annual Sainz Christmas Party before he headed home.

He had arrived the night before the party, presents in hand to give to the whole family despite their insistence that it wasn’t necessary. Something in his chest eased whenever he spent time with the Sainz family, that reassurance that even though he and Carlos are no longer teammates, they still cherish him the way he cherishes them.

The party was as extravagant and lavish as it always was. The decorations were sleek and timeless, the wine was expensive and top of the range, and the food served to the many guests was some of the finest Lando had ever truly eaten.

It felt like a home away from home as he stood beside Carlos Senior and Reyes, a glass of some fancy champagne in his flute as he laughed and chatted away to them.

That same flute that was almost knocked out of his hand as Carlos came rushing towards him, muttering apologies to the other guests as he pushed past them and beelined towards the Brit. He placed a hand on Lando’s arm, giving his parents a strained smile as he did.

“Lo siento,” he simply said before tugging Lando away from his parents and the rest of the crowd, leading him down some random hallways in the Sainz household.

“Woah, Carlos, what’s wrong?” Lando questioned, abandoning the flute of champagne on some table they passed before he split it all. “Where are we going?”

“I need your help with something important and I need you to not ask too many questions,” Carlos stated simply, which only made Lando’s concern grow tenfold.

“Carlos—”

But the Brit barely got a chance to say anything before Carlos opened a random door and gave him a hearty shove as he stumbled into the small cupboard. The boy let out a noise of surprise, taking a few moments to realise he had stumbled into you before everything clicked. He whirled around, ready to give the Spaniard a piece of his mind, but the door was quickly slammed in his face and locked shut from the outside.

“Carlos!” Lando yelled, banging on the door a few times with his fist, but it was useless.

“No, I have waited five years! I’m sick of this! If you won’t do something about this, then I have to.”

Lando kept his gaze on the door as his cheeks burned in embarrassment. “I am going to kill you!”

“You can’t kill me if I never let you out.”

His ears burned. “Carlos—”

“You’ll thank me later. Feliz Navidad and don’t forget to look up!”

The telling sound of footsteps rushing off made it clear that Carlos had quickly disappeared, leaving you and Lando trapped in the small cupboard for god-knows how long. The Brit let out a groan, leaning his forehead against the cold wooden door as he tried to settle his pounding heart.

“Ouch. I didn’t realise being trapped with me was that bad.”

“No,” Lando quickly shook his head, guilt eating away at him but he still didn’t turn to look at you. “It’s not that, I just—” he paused for a few moments before he spoke again. “He’s only doing this because of me, I didn’t mean for you to get dragged into it.”

“Lando,” you murmured his name softly, a hand placed on his lower back and he could have sworn your touch had burned through the layers of his clothes.

“I’m really sorry—”

“Lando,” you repeated again, your voice a little firmer and your hand remained where it was. “Look at me.”

He shook his head.

“Please,” you continued, and your voice tugged on his heartstrings too tightly to say no.

Lando slowly turned around, a sheepish expression on his face as he took you in. You looked absolutely fucking breathtaking in the dark green dress you were wearing, the ends swaying and brushing against the floor when you moved. Your hair was curled to perfection, your makeup enhancing every feature to make you look prettier (if that was even fucking possible). But god, the best part of your whole ensemble was the smile you gave him.

He would move mountains to see that fucking smile.

“Don’t apologise,” you said, shaking your head.

“But—” He started.

However, you just shook your head. “It’s Christmas.”

He paused, frowning a little at your response. “Huh?”

“It’s Christmas,” you said with a knowing smile before your gaze shifted upwards, and he couldn’t help but follow your eyeline. Something in his stomach flipped when he saw the sprig of mistletoe hanging above you both.

Lando swallowed harshly as he glanced back down at you, his eyes instantly landing on your lips.

“It’s bad luck to break tradition,” you said, your voice barely a whisper as you spoke. And it took a few seconds. A few split seconds for Lando to truly wrap his head around everything.

This time he didn’t let himself hesitate as he reached up, his hands completely engulfing your cheeks in his hold before he smashed his lips against yours. And just like he imagined—like he dreamt about—you let out a noise of surprise before you sunk into his embrace.

Your hands fisted the lapels of his blazer, tugging him impossibly closer in the small cupboard until your body was pressed against his. You let out a desperate noise when his tongue darted against your bottom lip, happily letting the boy completely consume you and the air you breathed. His arms around your waist, keeping you close and tight like you were going to disappear. And god, neither of you wanted to pull away.

“Shit,” he breathed out when he had to pull away, when his lungs were burning and screaming for air. He pressed his forehead against yours, your lipstick undoubtedly smudged against his lips but he didn’t care. No, he didn’t think he could ever care about anything other than kissing you ever again. “I have wanted to do that for so long.”

“I have been waiting for you to do that for so long,” you retorted, your hands smoothing the lapels of his blazer before they slid up to rest on his shoulders. “Five years, to be exact.”

Lando blinked. “What?”

And you smiled, wide and unbashful, and he thought the whole world stopped moving.

“You weren’t subtle. But apparently you were too oblivious to notice the fact I liked you back,” you said as your fingers lightly traced along the collar of his shirt.

“You knew?” His brain took a few seconds before he fully processed your words. “You liked me back?”

“Like,” you corrected. “Otherwise I wouldn’t be locked in a cupboard with you hoping you kiss me again.”

His hands squeezed your waist, a smile making its way onto his face before he could really stop himself. “I—” His cheeks turned pink, but he didn’t care. “Fuck, I think I’m dreaming.”

“You’re not dreaming, I promise,” you murmured as you tilted your head back to look up at him, eyes full of adoration that he had never really noticed until now. “But better late than never, right?”

“I’ll make it up to you,” he promised, and because he couldn’t help himself, he leaned down to peck your lips again. Though, it was a little hard when he couldn’t stop grinning. “I have five years of bad dates and secret makeout sessions to catch up on.”

Your grin widened. “Promise?”

“Promise,” Lando murmured and, for the first time in five years, the tightness in his chest felt desired and wanted. The tightness was reassuring, it was the proof he had that this was all really happening.

“Merry Christmas, Lando.”

“Merry Christmas, baby.”

And maybe—just fucking maybe—he would thank Carlos for giving him that shove he needed to have the best thing in his life: you.

#lando norris #formula one #f1 #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #lando norris x y/n #lando norris fic #lando norris one shot #formula one x reader #formula one x you #formula one x y/n #formula one fic #formula one one shot #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 x y/n #f1 fic #f1 one shot

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helioswritings · 3 months

Text

“Hey,” Hinata asks you one day, as you both sit on the bed in your dorm, “have you ever been kissed?”

The sudden question startles you, causing you to raise your eyebrows at him. “Huh? What brought this on?”

He shrugs. “Eh, Atsumu talks about kissing sometimes. I’ve never done it.”

“I haven’t either.” You tell him a little quietly. It’s always been a spot of insecurity with you, your lack of experience, especially since people say college is supposed to be the perfect place to experiment and have fun.

You haven’t done any of that, and the only person you hang out with regularly is Hinata, and he’s not too keen on partying either.

“Maybe we should.” Hinata says, a bit obviously.

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, okay Hinata. Let me know when you find someone, and then come back and set me up too.”

He nudges you playfully. “No, I mean maybe we should. You and I. Kiss.”

Feeling like you’re dreaming, you pinch yourself a bit, then turn to him with wide eyes when you don’t wake up. “You want to…kiss each other? Why?”

“Practice.” The tone in his voice indicates that it should’ve been obvious to you, but you’re still not convinced you haven’t been asleep or in a coma.

But on the other hand, he’s right. And practice is good, because it’s be embarrassing if you didn’t know how to kiss. No other reason.

You set your textbook down and turn your body towards Hinata. “Okay. You’re right. Lay one on me.”

“Me? Why don’t you do it?”

“It was your idea.”

“But I don’t know how!”

“Neither do I!”

It takes about ten minutes of bickering and researching on the internet for the two of you to figure out what to do. It makes you feel a little silly, looking up how to kiss, but Hinata is looking at you with a fierce determination in his eyes that only rivals the look he puts on when he’s playing volleyball.

“Okay, are you ready?”

He doesn’t really give a response, as it were, he just…kisses you. He’s not bad, if you were being honest, not that you have anything to compare it to.

The two of you kiss for what feels like ages and when you pull away, Hinata’s face is flushed.

“I think we need to do it again.” He tells you. And you agree.

***

It becomes a thing. The kissing. Every time Hinata is over, he always wants to kiss. And you don’t argue! You like it, you do. But it’s also been stirring up feelings in your chest.

You know you like Hinata, you’ve always liked Hinata. You’re of the opinion that someone would have to be an idiot to not like him. But the fact remains that you don’t know how much longer you can take all of the kissing without shaking him so hard his brain falls out of his ears.

Like now. You’re kissing and his hands are sitting very politely on your waist, occasionally twitching and causing you to laugh because it tickles. Your hands are on his cheeks. The swelling in your chest is almost painful.

You pull away from the kiss abruptly and Hinata frowns. “What’s wrong?”

“I understand for the first time. Maybe the second and third, too. But it’s been weeks since then, and we kiss almost every day.”

“I thought that’s what people who date do.” He tells you, a bit confused.

“What do you mean by that, Hinata?” You feel a bit dizzy.

“Aren’t we?”

“No! I don’t think so?”

You think back to every interaction you’ve had over the past few weeks, and more and more the pieces start clicking.

“Oh my god.”

Hinata hands you some water.

You take it, still a bit thrown. You’ve been dating him for ages.

“Can we kiss now?”

He’s lucky you don’t throw him out the window.

#helios library #fandom☀️: haikyuu #char☀️: hinata shoyo #haikyuu x reader #hinata shoyo x reader #sunbathing with: hinata

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honeymark · 6 months

Text

𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒏𝒄𝒕 𝟏𝟐𝟕 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖 ㅡ

click 〔 here 〕 for the hyung line.

˗ˏˋ 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 :: hi miss soojin ! could u write smth ab 127 comforting their insecure gf ? thank u so much ! ´ˎ˗

⇢ 𝐉𝐀𝐄𝐇𝐘𝐔𝐍 feels the most secure when you’re by his side, so he’s quick to notice when you start pulling away from him. at first, it was the texts — on the days you didn't see each other, you'd always text him throughout the day, even though you knew you wouldn't get a written response. it's not that he didn't read them; he was too busy with work to respond, so he'd always react with a thumbs up or a simple "haha." but then, your daily text threads stopped. he knew you had your own life, so he assumed you were too busy to send updates, but the nightly phone calls stopped, too. did he do something wrong? did you find someone else? what the fuck was going on?

he waits until the weekend to talk about it, and he listens attentively as you open up about wanting to be “less clingy and annoying.” he takes your hand in his with soft, cool fingers in a reassuring grip. “i didn’t know you felt this way, y/n,” he says softly. he presses a light kiss to your knuckles before delicately pulling you into a warm embrace. “you aren’t clingy or annoying, baby. you’re the cutest person in the world, and in a perfect world, i’d spend the rest of my life right by your side. nothing is as special as the time we spend together, and that includes reading your daily updates and watching all the tiktoks you send me and falling asleep to your soft snores on our nightly facetime calls. i love it all, and i love you, so don’t pull away from me, please?”

⇢ 𝐉𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐖𝐎𝐎 isn’t one to ruminate on the past, mainly because he tends to overthink and overanalyze every little detail in a sticky situation. that being said, it would be a blatant lie to say that he hasn’t looked into your former relationships and partners. he’s matured enough over the years to keep his jealousy in check, but no matter how much time he spends with you, he just can’t seem to shake off a lingering insecurity that’s convinced him he isn’t fulfilling your needs…

which is why he’s all the more surprised when you bring up the same insecurities to him. he listens without judgement or interruption as you express how you’ve been feeling, his heart aching as you tearfully open up about not being enough for him. he waits for you to finish before enveloping you in a tight hug, and he thanks you for being vulnerable with him, reminding you that your feelings and concerns are valid. he gets carried away with listing all of the qualities he loves about you, and he doesn’t stop until you seal his lips yourself with a kiss. “there’s nothing to compare, my love. no one holds a candle to you. you’re the one for me, i mean it!”

⇢ 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐊 knew from the moment you met that there was no hope for him; he was going to fall head over heels in love with you. it’s been five years since then, and his affection for you has only increased tenfold. he truly admires everything about you, from your ability to understand and empathize with others, to your independence and strength, to your resilience and readiness to bounce back from any setback, to your creativity and ridiculous sense of humor. of course, he appreciates your beauty (something that he reminds you of very frequently, especially at night 🤠), but more than anything, he loves you for who you are and genuinely cherishes the depth of your connection.

so, unsurprisingly, he’s concerned by how suddenly adamant you are about not wanting to get dressed in front of him, something you’ve been doing for years now. at first, he doesn’t think much of it; you reserve the right to privacy, and he respects that, but it goes on for over a week. he’s sure something is bothering you, and his suspicions are confirmed by how you immediately burst into tears when he asks you about it. he holds you in a firm embrace as you describe how insecure you feel because of your stretch marks and acne scars. nothing hurts his heart more than to hear you disparage yourself, and he waits until you calm down to share his thoughts.

"it's okay to feel that way, babe. but i'm going to be honest...i think you're beautiful no matter what. who cares about stretch marks or acne scars? those are just nouns. they don't mean anything, and they definitely don't take away from how amazing of a human being you are. you’re beautiful, and i can’t get enough of you.”

⇢ 𝐇𝐀𝐄𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍 is the first man you’ve ever met who’s been able to intellectually and humorously keep up with you, and you haven’t given him a chance to escape from your grip ever since (not that he’s ever wanted to, of course). the two of you met in college, and after months of constantly riffing off each other, you made the first move and confessed your feelings in an uncharacteristically sincere way. it’s been a few years since then, and while it’s undeniable that you two have the most fun when you’re together, you start to wonder if he really loves you. it’s not that your relationship was necessarily lacking anything; you two were plenty intimate, both emotionally and physically, but…it still couldn’t hurt to ask, right?

it’s one of those “let’s order pizza and rot on the couch for hours” kinds of nights when you finally find the courage to ask him, “do you love me?” he hears you, but it’s clear he doesn’t take you seriously; he doesn’t even bother looking up from his phone as he answers with a sarcastic “of course not.” he waits for you to respond with some sort of witty comeback, but you don’t. he glances up and nearly drops his phone on his face when he sees you tearing up. he immediately asks if you’re okay, and he solemnly listens as you make light of your insecurities. he pulls you into a rough hug and kisses you, his lips soft and sweet against yours. “shit, baby, i’m sorry. i didn’t know you were feeling this way. of course i love you. y/n, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and i’m sorry that i don’t say it enough. i love you, baby. i love you so much.”

#nct imagines #nct reactions #nct scenarios #nct fluff #nct 127 reactions #nct 127 imagines

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inazuman · 4 months

Text

breakfast on a day off

☁ wriothesley x f!reader x neuvillette s.mut, genshin impact ☁ reader is afab and goes by she/her, oral sex f receiving, light orgasm delay/denial

You’re barely awake when you feel the cold cuffs sliding over your wrists, stubble sliding across your inner thigh, a tongue lapping into your folds. You moan even in your half-asleep state, slipping in and out of consciousness as Wriothesley pushes your thighs apart further, nose nudging against your clit before his tongue moves up and slowly swirls around it.

Your head is groggy, but your heart beats faster with each lazy lather of his tongue. He’s clearly taking his time, moving to lick elsewhere and kiss your inner thighs every time you get too excited, letting you come back down only to build you back up again, calloused hands smoothing against your skin. Your hands struggle against the cuffs in your wake cycles, as if you’ve forgotten he’d done that in the few minutes you managed to drift back to sleep.

You properly come to as the shower shuts off and the bathroom door slides open, revealing the beautiful Chief Justice himself, strikingly casual in his fresh pajamas.

“I’ve gone out, bought breakfast, came back, showered, and you’re still devouring her,” Neuvillette sighs at the sight of you, your heaving chest, nipples perked, thighs shaking and breath coming short.

“Mm, can’t help it, she tastes good,” Wriothesley grumbles against your cunt, hot breath ghosting over, winking at you from below. He scoops your slick up with his tongue, swallowing it before his tongue delves into you again.

“Has she even cum once in that time?”

“Nope.”

“Tsk.” Despite his response to Wriothesley, Neuvillette approaches you with a soft smile, sitting on the bed and moving the hair out of your face. Your forehead is sticky with sweat that he gently swipes off for you, but it’s with love all the same. He closes in, lips brushing against yours before pressing in for the sweetest kiss, soft and pillowy, his breath minty fresh. You moan into the kiss, pressing into him for more.

“Aren’t you lovely,” he lifts himself from you, hand cupping your face, thumb caressing your cheek, taking in how you look flushed with arousal. “Haven’t even had breakfast yet, and yet the torture has already begun.” He loops a finger between your wrist and the cuff, frowning at the scuffs it’s made on his bedpost.

“I’m having my breakfast right now,” Wriothesley groans. Your slick has descended down his chin, evident in the way his stubble is wet against your thigh as he leans against it. “Besides, I think she wants to cum first, don’t you?”

“Let’s speed things up then, shall we?” Neuvillette lies down next to you, descending down to kiss at the top of your breast before bringing a nipple into his mouth, his fingers pinching your other nipple. Your back arches immediately, letting out a whine as Neuvillette cups your breast and grazes his teeth lightly over the bud.

Wriothesley, not one to be outdone, moves to press his hands to the back of your thighs, pushing your knees up as he finally, finally focuses directly on your clit, sucking the bundle of nerves into his mouth and lapping his tongue over it at the same time. You let out a scream from the contrast of going from being lazily eaten out to an onslaught, your hole pulsing around nothing. Wriothesley must’ve noticed, because he moves to slide a finger in, your thighs threatening to close as your hips buck into the pressure. Wriothesley holds your legs open, moaning into you as he hears his and Neuvillette’s names slide off your tongue.

“You’re doing so good for us, darling,” Neuvillette’s mouth moves against your breast, speaking between kisses. “Go ahead and cum for us, show us that beautiful reaction of yours.”

Wriothesley crooks his fingers inside of you and presses once, twice, and then pleasure racks through your whole body, back arching and thighs tensing as your orgasm crashes over you. Neither of them stop, Neuvillette’s hands still playing with your breasts as he moves back up to suck a hickey into your neck, softly whispering “that’s it, baby.”. Wriothesley grips your thigh tight as your pussy clenches around his fingers, tongue still lapping at your clit even as you struggle against the handcuffs, whining out ”too much, sensitive, ah, wrio,”. He only stops as you shuffle away from him, patting the side of your butt and kissing your thigh softly.

“That’s my girl, you did so good.” Wriothesley wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and moves up your body to join you and Neuvillette, caging you both in his arms as he leans down to kiss you, and then Neuvillette. Neuvillette cups his face, tongue lapping into his to get his own taste of you.

“Mm, you’re right, she does taste good.” Wriothesley, despite all his swagger, goes pink in the cheeks at Neuvillette’s bold response, making you giggle.

“As much as I love you both, a proper breakfast may do us good,” Neuvillette continues, reaching for the keys on the bedside table for Wriothesley to uncuff you. “We have all day to spend together, you’ll both dehydrate yourselves if you don’t at least drink some water.”

Wriothesley carefully checks your wrists as he uncuffs you, kissing them softly. “Hmm… breakfast in bed, Neuvi?”

Neuvillette frowns. “You’ll get croissant crumbs all over my bed.”

Wriothesley grins, thinking it’s cute when Neuvillette gets all pouty. He picks you up bridal style with a little squeal from you.

“Alright then, let’s fuck in the living room.”

“Wriothesley.”

#wriothesley smut #neuvillette x reader #wriothesely x reader #neuvillette smut #wriothesley x you #neuvillette #neuvilette genshin #wriothesley x reader x neuvillette #neuvillete x reader #wriothesley #wriothesely genshin #neuvillette x you #neuvillette genshin

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ghulehunknown · 11 months

Text

Papa Headcanons - 🐱👅

WARNING!! - NSFW

All the Papas love going down, but they each have their own style

Primo

Prefers to get you nice and worked up, so he’ll spend a painfully long time kissing and caressing you before actually going down on you (so when he does use his tongue it feels explosive)

Says “My, my aren’t we a wet little thing?” everytime, knowing FULL WELL he did that to you

Soft and slow, very gentle

Long, painted strokes along your entire area

Massages your breasts while flicking his tongue around your clit

Uses his thumb to rub circles on your clit to give his mouth a break but doesn’t stop until you’ve cum at least once or twice, preferably in his mouth

Secondo

Roughly fingers you while eating you out

Spreads your legs wide so he can eat every inch of you

Loves to eat you from behind so he can finger your ass too

Grabs onto your legs and hips so he can pull your body closer to him

Wants to take his time and edges you - so he’ll alternate by doing other forms of foreplay (sucking on your nipples or pinching them, making out, fingering you)

Praises you (“brava ragazza”) for being so patient as he takes his time torturing you (“You will be rewarded, tesorina”)

Wants to do all the work so he’ll scold you if you start to grind against him

Loves to see his Papal paints smeared all over your thighs

Massages your ass and tits while eating you out

Terzo

Would die happy drowned in pussy

Wears the smell of you like a badge of honor the whole day

Desperate to eat your arousal and drink you if you squirt

In fact it’s a little game he plays with himself, to see if he can make you squirt (he’s almost always successful)

Dying to get you off this way before he fucks you hard into the mattress

LOVES when you ride his face; he wants to be smothered and barely able to breathe

Also into 69ing - you on top or laying on your sides

Favorite cunnilingus position is you on your back with your legs spread and one hooked over his shoulder while he finger fucks you and sucks your clit

Massages your g-spot when he knows you’re close to cumming

Darts his tongue in and out of your hole a lot (“Amore, how could I waste a single drop of you?”)

Suctions/sucks on your clit a lot and alternates that, flicking his tongue, and using the flat part of his tongue

While each papa has their talents and are very good at doing down, Terzo is the Prince of Cunnilingus - a cunt connoisseur, if you will

Immediately wants to kiss you during (so you can see how aroused he’s made you) and after because sometimes he’s sweet like that

Usually wants to fuck right after you’ve cum (while you’re still breathing heavily)

Copia

Kisses every inch of you

Moans as soon as he has you in his mouth; he can cum just from eating you out (pathetic little rat man)

Can’t help it and will stroke himself while going down on you, unless you have him tied up (to punish him for being a dirty, needy man)

Loves being submissive to you while pleasuring you - either kneeling underneath you while you’re standing or sitting on the edge of the bed/couch, or tied up to the bedpost while you ride his face

Wants to be used like your sex toy

Would gladly spend all day down there as long as you’re getting off

Heard somewhere that spelling the alphabet with his tongue will get you off, so he does that and stops at whichever letter or motion gets the loudest response

He’s got a little bit of washing machine syndrome going on - very sloppy and all over the place at times

Finds a steady rhythm, position, and stroke and sticks to it because if it always works why change it

Listens to your breathing get heavier and stays consistent with his speed and motion when you grip his hair and tell him “don’t stop!”

Wants to cuddle you after and kiss you and feed you snacks (one time he hand fed you fruit snacks while he was down there)

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moonstruckme · 11 months

Note

I would love to see something from the beginning of poly!marauders relationship where they are figuring out that they all want to be together and learning how to make it work. I’ve always wondered how their relationship would start!

Thanks for requesting my love! It took me so long to get to it, I appreciate you being so patient with me <3

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.4k words

Sirius is playing with Remus’ fingers, and you’re trying to figure out if the ache of longing in your chest is some relative of jealousy. You don’t want it to be. Remus and Sirius are your friends, and you’re happy that they make each other happy. And honestly, looking at them now, with Sirius’ leg slung over one of Remus’ and Remus’ long fingers in his grasp, you’re not sure which one of them you’d trade places with if you could.

Things have gotten…complicated, lately, though none of you are talking about it. Two weeks ago, James had kissed you, and you’d really, really liked it, but you’d felt obligated to confess your confusion to him. You do like James and want him to kiss you, but you can’t help feeling guilty for also harboring feelings for two other people at the same time. It wouldn’t feel fair to start something with James, who deserves all the best anyone has to offer, if you feel like you can’t be fully in it with him.

And of course you’d known he’d be cool about it, but you hadn’t expected him to truly understand. He’d told you that Remus had kissed him back before he and Sirius had gotten together, and James hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the other boy either. Neither of you had quite known how to move forward in light of your admissions, but you’d agreed to put things between the two of you on hold for the time being.

Then just yesterday, you’d been walking to class with Sirius, and he’d accidentally brushed your bum with his hand. The zing you’d felt was probably more a nervous response than anything else, but it had felt markedly different from the icky feeling you’d gotten when boys had touched you without your consent before. Sirius had been quick to apologize, and you’d waved it off, but you’d seen the look in his eyes. You aren’t usually one to flatter yourself by presuming anyone might have feelings for you, but the attraction in his gaze was unmistakable.

You haven’t said anything to anyone about that, but even now, when he’s half atop his boyfriend, Sirius’ eyes keep flitting to where you’re working on your homework.

“Anyone started on the potions essay?” Remus asks.

“No,” says James. “Have you?”

“No.”

You and Sirius both make quiet sounds of agreement.

It’s silent again, the only sound the gentle scratching of pen on parchment.

“Alright.” James sets his pen down with a thwap. “What’s going on with you guys?”

You look up, and he’s staring right at you.

“What, me?”

“Everyone!” James shakes his head. “No one is talking to each other. Did something happen?”

You press your lips together, but Sirius blurts, “I told Remus I was into Y/N.”

James blinks, looking about as shocked as you feel but without the added embarrassment. You wish, not for the first time, that you could apparate straight out of Hogwarts.

“It’s fine,” Remus says. “We’ve sorted it.” He gives you a kind look. “Don’t look so nervous, love, I wasn’t upset. It’s not like we don’t all have thoughts about other people sometimes.”

Sirius looks unsurprised, and you gather that was a part of the conversation they’d already had, but James nearly chokes on air.

“Do you?” he asks.

Remus flushes, his fingers tightening almost imperceptibly around Sirius’. “Sure. Sometimes.”

James and Remus’ gazes are locked, a sort of heaviness building in the air between them, and you hurry to dispel the tension. “I mean, you’re all very good-looking,” you laugh. “It’d be impossible not to notice each other.”

Sirius seems on board with your plan of levity, falling easily into his default flirtatiousness. “Yeah, gorgeous? Do you notice as well?”

For a second, your mouth works without sound, your thoughts flittering about your head like frenetic butterflies. You’re sure your face is turning a humiliating color. “I—I mean, like I said, it’s hard not to.” You clear your throat. “You don’t get to be the golden boys of Gryffindor for nothing.”

“And here I thought it was our brains.” Sirius grins, letting you out the trap he’d unintentionally ensnared you in. “Well, if we’re known for our looks, then it makes sense why you’re part of the group too.”

It takes you a second to catch his meaning, but you don’t miss Remus’ tiny nod of agreement.

“Wait a minute,” James says, still looking between the lot of you like he’s refereeing a particularly perplexing tennis match. “So…Sirius and…who all here likes who?”

You go mute, as do the other boys.

James nods, and he’s sticking his tongue in his cheek like he does when he’s nervous, but the set of his brows is resolved. “Okay, I can go first. I fancy each of you.”

You look over at Remus and Sirius, but neither of them appear as shocked as you’d think the profession would warrant. Sirius opens his mouth like he has something to say, then shuts it again.

“Trust me, I feel very weird about it,” James goes on anxiously. “I just wasn’t sure—”

“No, it’s alright.” Remus leans forward slightly, looking like he would reach out and comfort James if he were close enough. “I’ve…I’ve had similar thoughts.”

Sirius has ceased his toying with Remus’ hand, but he doesn’t let it go, looking down at their joined fingers. “Me too,” he says, not quietly but noticeably lower than his normal half-shouting volume.

“I never…I don’t really understand it all the way,” you admit. “But I think I like each of you too.”

There’s another agonizing silence. Remus starts to brush his thumb gently over Sirius’ knuckles.

“It doesn’t make any sense to me,” you say finally. “I see you two together, and I’m not jealous at all. But I like you both.” You look over at James, and your face hasn’t cooled at all, but it gets a new wave of heat now. “And you, too.”

James gives you a little smile, and it’s like he can’t help himself, reaching over to give your shoulder a tiny squeeze.

“I don’t think,” Remus says carefully, “that there’s anything wrong with that. I mean, it’s not like any of us doesn’t like anyone else, apparently. Just…what do we do about it?”

You and James exchange a look, but this suddenly feels like something you shouldn’t intervene in. You’re both single, but Remus and Sirius aren’t.

“Well,” Sirius drawls with a nonchalance that’s definitely forced but so familiar that you’re grateful for it anyway, “if it’s alright with you, I think I’d like to date.”

“You are dating,” you point out.

Sirius shoots you a mocking look. “Date all of you, smart-ass.”

James lets out a little laugh, and you smile a bit at Sirius’ brashness. The both of you look to Remus.

Remus only shrugs as if you’ve asked him to comment on the weather. “S’alright with me.”

James really does laugh now, the loud, hooting sound you love so much. “It’s alright? You really do know how to make someone feel special, Moons.”

“Fuck off,” Remus laughs. “What else am I supposed to say?”

“Um, that we’re the most attractive people you’ve ever seen and nothing would make you happier?”

“Well there you go, James. You’ve said it for me.”

The laughter dies out, the new awkwardness of more-than-friends settling over the four of you.

“Well shit,” Sirius says after a minute. “What do we do now?”

“I don’t know,” you reply. “You’re the only ones who have been in a relationship, what do you guys do?”

Sirius looks at Remus, and Remus looks back.

“What do we do?” Sirius whispers to him. “Do we…we go on dates sometimes, yeah?”

Remus nods, one corner of his lips twitching amusedly.

Sirius turns back to you and James, nodding decisively. “A date,” he announces. “Pick you all up in, uh, our common room at eight?”

“Eight is good for me,” James says, grinning so hugely you can’t help but smile with him. “Now, if we’re all done being weird—Y/N, lovely, could you help me with this charms homework? I’m dying over here.”

You scooch closer to him, peering at his parchment and wondering if now you can stop cataloging all the places your bodies touch, your shoulder brushing his upper arm.

“It looks fine to me,” you say after a moment.

“I know, sorry” James replies, leaning into you so that the warmth of his arm seeps into your skin. “It was a charade.”

1K notes · View notes

freedomfireflies · 1 year

Text

Off the Shelf*

Summary: The second part to 404*

The one where you hate working with Harry and can’t ever seem to agree.

Except on one thing.

Word Count: 3.9k

*Contains Mature and Explicit content! Please only consume what you feel comfortable with!💞You are so much more important!*

(Note: This edit is not mine!! I believe the @ is on it, but full credit to the incredible creator! It's so perfect!!)

“And what seems to be the problem?”

Instantly, you and Harry are at each other's throats.

“I told him two fucking times to check his email for confirmation—”

“She wouldn’t shut up about the goddamn code—”

“—like that’s somehow my fault when he’s never on time—”

“—already in the middle of fucking rewriting the last sequence—”

“—which is ridiculous because I already told him—”

“—can’t do fucking anything when she’s yapping in my ear all goddamn day—”

“Okay, okay, all right,” Mr. Prescott sighs, raising his palms in surrender. “Let’s just take a breath—”

“She’s fucking up our project,” Harry interjects before leaning back. “Sir.”

Mr. Prescott rests his arms on his desk and glances between you. “From what I remember, the two of you agreed to work on finalizing the AI program. Comb through the bugs and whatnot.”

“Yeah, well, that was before he decided it was a waste of his time,” you retort, ignoring Harry’s obvious glare.

“That’s not what I said,” he huffs. “I said that we need to be working on expanding the GUI—”

“Except that wasn’t a part of our job, so—”

“Oh, and what? I can’t try to make the program better?”

“Maybe if you knew how—”

“I got hired for the same fucking job you did—”

“A job you don’t even want to do—”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t do it—”

“Oh, bite me, Harold—”

“All right, all right,” Mr. Prescott interjects, running a hand down his cheek. “Listen, the two of you are more than qualified for the position and perfectly capable of executing the sequence you were designing. I understand it can be hard to collaborate, but this is what you agreed on—”

“I don’t mind collaborating as long as he does what I need him to do,” you correct while Harry scoffs and uses his knuckle to shove his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. “He just doesn’t like to listen.”

“If what you were saying was worth listening to, maybe I would,” he agrees. “But until then, I’d like to handle my shit and you can handle yours.”

Stuck without much dispute, you bring your attention back to Mr. Prescott, eager for his response.

The poor, older gentleman crosses his arms and studies you both, seemingly unconvinced but perhaps too exhausted to fight it. “That’s fine by me. As long as you’re reporting your progress to your supervisors – and to each other – I don’t see why you can’t work on different aspects of the sequence.”

“Thank you, sir,” you exhale, glancing toward your partner who’s already turning around on his heel. “Uh, we really appreciate it. And we won’t cause any more trouble. We swear.”

“She swears,” Harry calls, already halfway out the door. “I don’t swear anything.”

Biting back a snort, you scurry after him and toss Mr. Prescott one final, “Thank you again!” before the door falls shut.

Harry is rounding the corner when you finally catch up, hands shoved into his dark jean pockets, and shoulders slightly tense. It’s not unusual, you suppose. He’s always tense. Muscles rigid beneath his clothing. Lip perpetually stuck between his teeth as he gnaws on the pink fibers until they tear and bleed. And glasses that are always about halfway down his nose from the bouncing of his knee.

He’s striding through the lab like he’s got somewhere important to be, and it drives you fucking mad because he’s technically done for the day. The only thing the two of you have left is a staff meeting with your supervisor before everybody is allowed to head home, and that shouldn’t take more than a few minutes.

But you don’t like when he walks like that. You aren’t sure why, but it’s always irritated you. Like he thinks he’s so goddamn special – so important. Like his presence is so valuable. And even worse, he’s always walking away from you. Like your presence isn’t.

However, instead of going straight to his desk – his favorite hiding spot – he rounds another corner and disappears into the next hall.

You pause, unsure whether or not to follow. He had to have known you were right behind him, so is he leading you somewhere? Or is he simply trying to escape you?

Either option seems likely.

Curiosity outweighs logic, and you continue after him until you manage to find where he’s disappeared to.

He’s hiding in the shadows of the abandoned walkway, lurking near a door you don’t recognize, his eyes now on you.

You skid to a stop, confused and a little cautious of the smirk on his face. “Uh…what? What are you…the hell are you doing?”

“You are so fucking annoying, you know that?” he scoffs, nodding his chin at you. “‘Oh, Mr. Prescott, Harry’s being mean to me. Oh, Mr. Prescott, Harry won’t do what I want.’”

Your eyes narrow at the falsetto tone of voice used to mock you. “Fuck you, I’m just trying to get our shit done and over with so we can move on—”

“Clearly,” he hums, but it’s riddled with sarcasm. “No, yeah. You wasting time going through the same data I’ve already been through is a great use of our time—”

“I’m going through it because I’m trying to make it better—”

“I made it. It was already better—”

“God, you are so fucking dumb—”

“Yeah, and you’re a cunt,” he retorts before he’s reaching for the door and swinging it open. “Get in.”

A bit stunned by the sudden and strange command, you blink. “...what?”

“I said, get. In. What, are you deaf and stupid?”

“Harry, it’s the middle of the goddamn day—”

“Get in the fucking closet, Tinkerbell, before I come over there and make you.”

Your eyes roll but you aren’t about to pretend you aren’t intrigued. Despite your revulsion for him, he seems to be in possession of the cheat code to your sex drive. All it takes is a look or a suggestive comment (or a rather rude demand for you to get inside a tiny storage closet) for you to fall victim to his intentions.

And it’s been that way since you met him.

Which only makes it that much more infuriating.

You obey – with a pointed scowl – striding past him and into the small space as he follows suit and pulls the door shut.

A light flickers on overhead, allowing you to see Harry’s amused expression as you huff, “Now what—”

He kisses you. Instantly and without a single moment of pause. His palms quickly press to the wall beside your head, caging you between his arms as he takes your tongue between his lip and sucks.

His glasses are cold against your face. You remember how they used to scratch you when the two of you first started this little arrangement but they don’t as much anymore. You think he might have changed the frames for this very reason, but you aren’t sure.

After all, that would be nice, and Harry isn’t nice.

“Harry—” you pant during a quick gasp for air. “We don’t have time—”

“I’m making time,” he counters, pressing his hips into yours while his mouth moves to your neck.

You want to snort your exasperation, but you’re too far lost in the feel of his body. “I thought you had shit to handle.”

“I do,” he replies smoothly, his hand now curving around your cunt until he can squeeze it tight in his grasp. “This is me handling my shit.”

His touch is unforgiving but incredibly welcome, and you whine softly before quickly reaching for his hair. “I thought I was annoying.”

“You are,” he says, sucking bruises into the space below your ear. “But there’s something about the way you stomp your little foot and tell on me that gets me all hot and bothered.”

You yank on his curls until he hisses, although he’s still much too smug. “So this has nothing to do with the girl who dropped by earlier? Or the fact that you apparently couldn’t finish?”

His eyebrow raises but he’s biting back a smile. “What girl?”

“Ha. Very funny. Are you gonna fuck me or are you gonna try to be cute?”

“Why can’t I do both?” he retorts, grinning wildly before pressing his lips to yours once more.

It feels familiar, this routine. This dance you’ve so quickly memorized, and it becomes increasingly easier to play along as you scratch your nails against his scalp and tug on the loop of his pants.

His hand slips into your jeans, the tips of his rough fingers smoothing down the front of your panties. A teasing touch, and you jolt in his hold before grabbing onto him harder.

“Harry,” you sigh, lashes fluttering as your head falls back into the wall behind you. “God, just…hurry. Please—”

“No.” It’s an easy response. Cruel, almost. But he’s focused on you. On your body and the way it responds to him. “I’m working right now, Tink. Leave me to it.”

He crouches down, pulling on the fabric around your legs until it pools near your ankles. He seems tantalized by the way your pussy sits so close to his face. The way it looks behind the pale blue cotton with the tiny bow.

He surges forward and presses his mouth to you. Lapping at the material until there’s a rather obvious wet patch – either from you or him, you can’t really be sure – while making your eyes roll back.

“Shit,” you whimper, once again grabbing onto his curls for stability. “God, Harry…we don’t have time for this.”

He smirks against your cunt before dragging his tongue over your covered clit. “D’ya want me to stop?”

Your lips form around the word, “Yes,” but what comes out is a very strained and breathless, “No. Please, no.”

He grins, large palms kneading on the flesh of your thighs to keep them spread before he lands a firm smack to your leg. “Good girl.”

His technique is sinful. Ruthless yet mesmeric, and you look at him with a kind of wonder you can’t explain.

Harry isn’t anything like what you expected. He’s incredibly smart and focused. He cares about his work to a point of obsession. He’s a perfectionist, through and through. He’s diligent and has a great attention for detail.

And yet this man has the most insatiable appetite for sex.

His list of kinks is a mile long. He’s out almost every night at bars, at clubs, at parties. He likes degradation, he likes pain, he likes bondage. He likes to bend you over your desk and spank you until your skin is raw and red. He likes to yank on your hair and drag his teeth down your throat. He likes to go deep – likes to go hard and slow.

You aren’t sure why you assumed he’d be docile and a bit vanilla in bed. Perhaps it was the glasses or the way he always corrected your grammar. Which you know wasn’t exactly a fair assumption, but you didn’t have much else to go on.

Well…until the first time.

“You’re holding your breath,” he murmurs from beneath you, forcing your attention back. “Stop doing that.”

Sucking in a quiet inhale, you oblige. “Sorry.”

You have a rather dangerous habit of taking in large gasps for air when he’s eating you out or making you feel good and then forgetting to release them. Which is all fun and games until you begin to feel a bit lightheaded and nearly pass out. In fact, one time you almost did, and it had scared Harry so bad, he refused to touch you for about a week.

Glancing up to make sure you’ve obeyed, he nods once. “Attagirl.”

Your cheeks warm slightly at the praise – another nasty habit you wish you could break – before he’s diving back in.

Despite the way the seconds are ticking by on your watch, Harry continues to revel in the taste of you, even through your panties. He hums until your legs shake, head bobbing to accompany his mouthing at your pussy.

He enjoys eating you, even like this. He always has and you can’t say you quite understand it. Perhaps it’s the power it gives him. The way you whine and whimper. The way you grab at him and give him everything you have to offer. The way you fucking hate him…yet you still let him in.

“Harry, please,” you nearly groan, tugging on him again. “If you’re gonna fuck me, then fuck me already. We don’t have time.”

He makes a tsking sort of noise before nudging his tongue against the front of your underwear. “God, you’re no fucking fun, you know that? And to think I was actually gonna take my time with you.”

Your expression is playfully unamused, but you can’t deny you’re somewhat curious.

He lands another spank to your leg and stands back up. “But that’s not what you want, huh? You just want me to be quick. Want me to fill you up and send you on your way. Don’t want me to play with you.”

You watch as he flicks his belt open and steps closer to you, a rather salacious look in his eye.

“And wouldn’t that be a shame?” he whispers, long fingers sweeping up the inside of your thigh. “For you to go into that meeting with my cum dripping down your leg? When you can’t do anything about it?”

You feel your breath catch, throat going dry at the way he drags the tip of his nose along your jaw. You want to resist him – you should resist him. And yet…

“Maybe it would be,” you reply coyly. “If you could get it up.”

To accompany your taunt, you reach down and press your palm to his cock, smirking when he sucks in a sharp hiss through gritted teeth.

“Seems you’ve gone soft on me,” you murmur, squeezing once more for good measure before releasing him. “That’s the real shame.”

The hand beside your head smacks against the wall. “S’cute, Tink. Real fucking cute—”

“Is it because of her?” you ask, straightening up until you can ghost your lips along his. Close, but not close enough. “Could she not take your tiny, little dick down her throat?”

You notice the way he swallows. The way the muscles in his arm flex beside you. The way his lashes flutter angrily from behind his glasses.

“Or could you not get yourself off?” You reach for him again. He's already beginning to harden from your touch – your voice – and despite yourself, your ego swells. “Was it when you were fucking your fist in your car this morning? Were you thinking about her? Is that why you couldn’t get hard?”

Something finally snaps, and instantly, you feel his fingers slipping around your throat. Just hard enough to make you grin. “What if I was thinking about you?”

“Mm. I don’t think so. Said it yourself. If you’re thinking about me…you’re always hard.”

He’s amused by this, squeezing your neck before surging forward to kiss you again. “Naughty little Tinkerbell.”

You smile.

With this, he spins you around and tosses you toward the empty and somewhat dusty bookcase in the corner of the closet. His touch is firm and unrelenting. Perhaps even a little cruel. The way he tugs on your hips as though to punish you. The way he shoves you until you’re bent over the shelf, allowing him access to your body like it’s his right.

And you don’t mind. This is the kind of dominance you’ve come to expect from the quiet yet horny man you work with.

Your underwear is yanked to the ground, the sound of a ripping stitch echoing throughout the small space. You frown but you don’t comment.

His palm smooths along your pussy, cupping it somewhat gently before his thumb flicks across your clit. He just wants to see you jump. Make you whine and push back into his touch.

You hear him chuckle. “Easy, princess. Gotta make sure you’re ready first.”

“I’m ready, just go,” you huff, staring down at the dust beneath you.

His finger slides inside your cunt, feeling you out for only a moment before retreating. “I don’t know. Seem a little tense.”

“If I’m with you, I’m tense,” you retort, making him smile. “Go already.”

“Now, now,” he warns, slipping in a second finger. “You wouldn’t rush Picasso, would you?”

You groan. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Harry—”

“What?” He’s enjoying himself. “I’m the painter, and you are my art.”

“No, you’re fucking irritating, that’s what you are.”

“Oh, come on, I thought girls liked sappy analogies like that.”

“No, they like to get fucked. So, hurry up already.”

He lands another smack to your ass before dipping down to whisper, “As you wish.”

You hear the sound of him pulling himself out before you feel the tip of his cock dragging through your arousal. Collecting every drop while slowly pushing in.

He’s right, you are tense. And the stretch that accompanies his large size is enough to make you wince, yet…you love it.

Despite the slight pain, it feels good. Full in every sense of the word, and you focus on the deep breaths you’re taking as your nails begin to curl into the shelf.

Through clenched teeth, Harry calls, “You okay, Tink?”

“Mhm,” you hum, lashes fluttering shut. “This is easy. In fact, you could go faster, actually.”

He exhales a strained laugh, readjusting his hands on your hips. “Funny.”

“Yeah, I’m hysterical.”

He pushes in a bit further but still slow. He knows your body well enough to know what it can handle. And he understands his size is a touch above average.

Although he never lets you forget it.

“Being so brave,” he coos with a playful air of condescension. “My brave girl, yeah? Taking it like a champ.”

“Bite me, Styles.”

“Yeah? Just tell me where.”

You get ready to respond, but your remark is ripped from your throat when he suddenly drives in to the hilt. Ripping off the band aid and giving you exactly three seconds to adjust before he begins to fuck you.

The push and pull is everything. The pace, the anger, the pain. His hand is against your scalp, keeping you bent and pliable to his intentions. He’s grunting softly, slowing down just to speed back up. He listens to the noises you make, the way you clench around him. And he uses that to decide what he does next.

Your heart is hammering in your chest and your stomach is doing cartwheels. It’s as though this is the first rush of relief you’ve felt in weeks. Your hands can’t do it. Your vibrator can’t do it. Not even the guy you met at the bar could do it.

Nobody can do it like he can.

And you fucking hate it.

He lets go of your hair to reach around and slip his hand up your shirt. Finding your tit and giving it a nice squeeze before slapping his palm along the tender flesh. “Oh, you like that, princess, don’t you?”

You nod faintly, whimpering from the subtle sting, silently requesting he do it again.

So, he does. “S’cute how much you love when I hurt you. Makes me think you might even like me.”

You manage to scoff between unhinged whines. “Shut up, Harry.”

“What? It’s the truth, isn’t it?” he continues. “You like me more than you think you do. That’s why you always do what I ask. Like a good girl.”

You sneak a glimpse over your shoulder, studying the crooked angle of his glasses, and the slight smirk on his face.

He’s cute, you think. He’s always been kind of cute, but he’s especially cute when he’s ripping you apart from the inside out.

He meets your eye and travels his fingers down to your clit. “Need more, don’t you?”

But you don’t just need more. You need everything.

He pinches you tight and readjusts his stance to make sure he’s fucking into you at just the right speed. Just the right place to make your back arch and your toes curl.

“Gonna have to cum for me,” he grits, the graveled request woven between your anxious moans. “You wanted quick, so be fucking quick.”

You nod your agreement, the pleasure at the base of your spine building until it becomes your singular focus.

You hadn’t realized you were this worked up. Hadn’t anticipated being so close to release after such a short amount of time but maybe Harry was right about something else. Maybe fighting with him is your aphrodisiac.

The first few sparks explode behind your eyelids, taunting you with more as he begins to groan softly from behind you.

“Fucking shit—” His hips are slapping into your ass, the sound of your arousal being fucked into you by his cock like music to your ears. “There you go, princess. Just like that – keep squeezing me. Yeah…fuck.”

He’s close and you clench around him to get him closer, needing to feel him fill you more than you need air in your lungs.

When he does, it tips the rest of the dominos. One after the other until everything is falling apart. The warmth of his cum inside of you, the pulsing of his cock in your pussy, the scattering of pleasure between your thighs.

And he sounds so beautiful. Rough and exceedingly desperate. The most perfect, delicious sound and it makes your stomach flip in the most excruciating way. You could listen to him for hours. Could get off to his voice alone, the way he grunts and moans for you. The way he says your name through a heated curse and spanks his hand along your ass.

“S’fucking good, Tink,” he exhales, tightening his hold on your waist to keep you upright and steady. “Milk me, baby, come on. Fucking take it.”

You can feel him dripping down your legs. Can feel the heat and the soreness already settling but you thrive off it. Indulge in the way he takes care of you for a moment more before finally pulling out and turning you around.

He checks your face for signs of distress. Brows furrowed and expression scrutinous from behind his glasses. You can tell he’s got another sarcastic comment locked and loaded but before he can fire it, you reach up, and slip the frames from his nose.

Then, you kiss him. Hard and with fervor. It’s oddly passionate – perhaps filled with the lingering frustration from your previous altercation. But you don’t mind. It feels like him.

After a minute or two, you pop off his tongue, return his glasses to nose, and shove him back. “And now we’re gonna be late.”

He smiles to himself, stepping closer once more to run his thumb just beneath your eye. Collecting what you assume are dried tears and runny mascara. “Oops.”

However, before you can pull your jeans back on, Harry is crouching down and grabbing onto the material for you.

He pulls your panties up and secures them around your hips, ignoring the sticky cum beginning to seep out of your pussy.

Confused, your eyes narrow. “Har—"

“I told you,” he says calmly while zipping your jeans. “You’re gonna go into that meeting with me inside you.”

You feel your heart skip.

“But maybe if you’re good,” he whispers before looking up with a devious wink, “…I’ll do something about it.”

Next Part:

~ SnakeBite*

Previous Part:

~ 404*

~ Full 404 Masterlist

~ Main Masterlist

~ Blurb Masterlist

Taglist: @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @keepdrivingkisses @swiftmendeshoran @tiredinwinter @straightontilmornin @justlemmeadoreyou @harrysdaydreams @tiaamberxx @peterparker1sgf @myfavfanficsever @littlenatilda @vamprry @fdl305 @tchalametishot @ssaama @indierockgirrl @likeapplejuicenpeach @vane28282 @lukesaprince @closureesny @lc-fics

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flowerfan2 · 2 years

Text

Steve doesn’t notice there’s something else wrong until he gets his glasses. The thing with his vision had been getting worse, and so he finally gave in to Robin’s nagging and went to an eye doctor. And to the surprise of no one, the glasses help.

With his sight, that is. But they also, strangely, show him something he hadn’t expected. He’s having trouble hearing, too.

He can see clearly now that his friends act differently around him than they do each other. When they want to get his attention, they stand right in front of him, and move in close. If they are too far away, or off to the side, it’s sometimes as if they aren’t there at all, his hearing is so bad. He can see them having conversations among themselves, heads thrown back in laughter and smiles pulling at their cheeks, but he can’t always make out what they’re saying.

Steve’s at Eddie’s one night, relaxing on the couch with beer and pizza. They’re supposed to be talking about who’s driving which kids to a dinner at the Byers’ tomorrow, and Eddie’s playing a new tape that Max gave him. Steve should be happy, safe and comfortable, hanging out with his favorite person. But Eddie’s bouncing around with excitement, pulling his hair over his mouth and jumping up to change the music, and Steve realizes he’s entirely lost.

“Could you just, maybe not-” he says, sharper than he meant, and Eddie turns to him, startled.

“Maybe not what, babe?”

Steve waves his hand towards the tape player. “The music’s really loud. It’s making it hard to…”

Eddie’s face falls, and Steve rushes to take it back. “Sorry, no, the music’s fine-”

Eddie plops himself on the couch, sitting cross-legged and pulling at Steve until they’re facing each other. When he speaks, it’s clear and his hair is firmly tucked behind his ears. “Hey, no, don’t apologize. It’s my fault, I should have realized. I’m usually better at this.”

Eddie’s eyes are wide and understanding, and Steve has to look away for a long moment. He knows.

Eddie touches his knee and waits until Steve looks back at him before he continues. “We can get help for this too. When you’re ready. And, you know, there are other ways of communicating.”

“Ha ha,” Steve says dryly, thinking Eddie is flirting, but Eddie’s expression is too earnest for that.

“Okay, that too. But also this.” Eddie holds up his hand, rings and all, and forms his index finger and thumb into an L. Then he lifts his pinky finger too, keeping his other fingers curled towards his palm, and directs it at Steve.

“What’s that?”

“It’s sign language for ‘I love you,’” Eddie says, picking up one of Steve’s hands and showing him how to do it. “My mom taught it to me when I was little. She said that way we could always talk to each other, even if we were far apart, like on the playground.”

“You know sign language?”

Eddie shakes his head. “Not much, but I’ve been working on it lately. I mean, I know plenty of words in fantasy languages, there’s no reason I can’t learn a real one. Dustin and Robin are learning, too. We just… didn’t know how to bring it up…”

Steve feels his eyes fill. “I can’t believe you did that for me.”

Eddie gives Steve a pleased smile, then leans in for a kiss that soon turns into the kind of communication Steve thought Eddie was joking about earlier. Later, lying in bed curled around each other, Eddie makes the “I love you” sign again, and Steve wants to kiss him forever.

“Guess there’s an advantage to having a nerd for a boyfriend,” he whispers, and if he can feel more than hear Eddie’s laugh in response, at least he knows they’re in this together.

#Steddie #Steddie fic #Eddie Munson #Steve Harrington #Stranger Things #Stranger Things fic #Steddie ficlet #Stranger Things ficlet

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clockwayswrites · 7 months

Text

Masked in Amity

CW: Sam doesn't come off great in this, but not Sam bashing. She just has a lot of growing up to do still and knee jerk reacts badly. (I also don't want to listen to any Sam bashing please and ty.)

Sam’s room still looked the same as always. Danny supposed that’s what happened when someone moved out for college but still came home again— especially to a home like Sam’s. There were only a few posters, a few photos, and a knickknack or two that had changed between high school and now. Danny sat on the edge of the bed like always.

“So how’s school doing?” Danny asked into the awkward silence. Silences never used to be awkward between them, or was that just looking back with rose colored glasses?

“Ugh,” Sam gripped and flopped back onto her bed next to Danny. “Why would you even ask me that? You know I hate it.”

“Because it’s what you’re doing right now? It’s a huge part of your life, you can’t just… avoid it.”

“Watch me,” Sam said, bitterly. Her snarled lips looked weird without the dark purple lipstick. “I’m going to get my stupid law degree my parents are paying for and work at some stupid corporate firm Dad has connections at and when my trust fund has made enough in interest I’m going to quite and go open a non-profit and sue all those fuckers I was forced to work for over how they’ve fucked up the environment.”

“Okay,” Danny said. He didn’t want to argue about this. He just hoped this plan worked better than the last three Sam had had before her privilege knocked her down a peg.

“Can I ask about, I don’t know, your time in Chicago at least?”

“Chicago is amazing,” Sam said, wistfully. “Being in Chicago, I mean, I’m sure you know how it is, it really makes it clear how backwater Amity Park is. The things people worry about here are so small compared to what’s out there!”

Danny just hummed in response. He didn’t exactly know what to say to that. It didn’t feel completely wrong, but it wasn’t right either. Worries weren’t a competition like that.

“And the bands!” Sam continued, thankfully changing the topic. “I have got to see so many amazing bands. The local scene alone is amazing and no one knows about them so you can be right up close and a lot of times even talk to the band after. You should come for a show sometime.”

“I can try to,” Danny said. Sam’s music wasn’t usually his thing, but something like that might be fun. It would be different at least. Danny gave her a little smile. “Maybe Tucker could make it out too.”

Sam rolled her eyes. “You know he won’t. When was the last time you talked to him not on the computer or the phone? He’s only here at Christmas when you aren’t.”

“You know how I feel about Christmas, Sam,” Danny said, holding back a sigh. Sure Tucker had been busy lately and that had made him more distant, but he was still one of their trio. “And if we plan something then Tucker can schedule for it. Don’t count him out just because he’s busy.”

“Alright, fine, we can plan something for a bigger show with Tucker,” Sam agreed, “but you still need to come out to something local. They’re really better anyways. We’ll go out to eat first and hit up a bar or three after. I know some really great places— places like you’ve never seen.”

Sam reached up and wrapped her hands around Danny’s neck, pulling him down a little. “It can be a date.”

Something in Danny balked at that. It was an innocent enough comment. Sam and him had dated and then not and then dated again or just had fun together. They’d known each other so long that it was easy to just ebb and flow out of the different levels of a relationship like that.

This time, though, Danny found himself resisting the tide. “Or we can just hang out.”

The almost dreamy smile Sam had crumpled into a frown. “What? I mean, sure, it can, but why? Are you seeing someone?”

“Yes? No? I mean, I’ve been… sleeping with someone, but we’re not dating or anything.”

“That’s okay,” Sam said easily. “I’m not going to make you be exclusive. I don’t want to be either right now; we’re not around each other enough for that and You know that I’ve been sleeping with my roommate sometimes and I’ve met a cute person in study group now too with amazing fingers.”

“No, I know, just…” Danny gave a frustrated noise. Nightwing and him weren’t even close to being exclusive. Someone like Nightwing could have anyone they wanted and with how much he liked sex, Danny was pretty sure Nightwing did have whoever he wanted. Danny was just… convenient for the hero side and Danny didn’t begrudge the other that. It was convenient for Danny too. It was just…

Danny didn’t want to keep living the same cycle with Sam where he was her world for a few weeks or months and then just back to an occasional phone call. He didn’t want to keep being pulled back to Amity Park. Maybe meeting her in Chicago would be different enough, but Sam was still so tied to Amity and always would be by her parent’s money.

“Maybe we shouldn’t do this again,” Danny said slowly, feeling the words out as he said them. “Maybe it’s time just to leave us dating in the past?”

Sam dropped her hands and sat up. “Excuse me?”

Danny rubbed at the back of his neck. “Just, we’ve tried being together in a lot of different ways and we always end up in the same place.”

“So you want to leave me in the past?”

“No!” Danny said quickly, trying to get ahead of this before Sam spiraled too badly from making assumptions. “I’d love to come to Chicago and see a band with you! Just… not as a date.”

“Because you want to leave that in the past,” Sam snapped and got up off the bed.

Danny scrambled off also.

“That’s not a bad thing. I enjoyed it and I know you did too. Just more, okay, maybe that wasn’t the best phrase? I mean maybe we shouldn’t go down that road again when we know where it’s going to end.”

Sam crossed her arms. That was never a good sign. “Right, because I’m always going to be a dead end, is that it? Not like you who’s off playing hero with the big names?”

“What? What does me being a Titan have to do with this?”

“Don’t play dumb, Danny, we both know you’re not. You left to go be a famous hero and hardly looked back at Amity Park or me or Tucker or your parents. What if the town needed you?”

Danny threw his hands up in the air. “Why would they need me? I destroyed the portal, came to an agreement with Vlad, made sure my parents couldn’t build another working one— it fixed everything!”

“And then left.”

“So I could help other people!”

“Sure it wasn’t so that you could be famous?”

Danny closed his mouth with a clack.

Sam winced at her own words. “Danny…”

“No.” Danny backed up a few steps from her. “No. You don’t get to— you of all people don’t get to come at me like that! I never wanted to be a hero, Sam! You’re the one who said I needed to protect Amity and you were right, sure, but it’s never what I wanted! You wanted it!”

“Danny, no—” Sam reached out for him and Danny stepped back again, hitting the wall.

“Yes you did, Sam! You did or I never would have had to die a second time after your wish! I lost everything again! I don’t have a future like you and Tucker, I just have being a hero. I just have being dead.”

“Come on Danny,” Sam tried. She moved close again, slowly, like Danny was some sort of feral animal.

Maybe he really was just a caged beast.

“I’m just— I better go. I’m just going to go,” Danny said. In a flash of light he was back to being Phantom. He let himself tip back and phase through the wall.

As he left Amity Park behind, he couldn’t help but think it really said something that he was far more comfortable being Phantom these day than Danny.

AN: Here's yous all voted on treat for the day! This comes before Danny showing up at Dick's door, quite upset.

#dp x dc #past Danny/Sam #masked #death defying

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eoieopda · 1 year

Text

tidal.

but vernon has a point to make, so that’s precisely what he does: “i don’t need a sales pitch. you will never — ever — have to convince me to fuck you.”

pairing: vernon x afab!reader type: one-shot (fluff n’ smut) au: est. relationship wc: 4.8k rating: 18+ a/n: i didn’t plan this whatsoever, but i felt so weirdly compelled to write it that i avoided eye-contact with all of my wips, and now… here we are, lol. cw: pov switch, reader is afab + on their period, gender identity + pronouns aren’t designated, blood mention (obvi), unprotected p in v penetration (ill-advised!!), wee bit of dry-humping (ig?), a lil massage, pet names (baby, sweetheart), self-indulgent ref to a favorite docu of mine, and lastly — vernon (yes, this is a warning 🧍🏻) 🔞 MINORS WHO INTERACT WITH ME AND/OR MY CONTENT WILL BE BLOCKED, WHETHER OR NOT THE CONTENT IS NSFW. I’M AN ADULT WRITING EXCLUSIVELY FOR OTHER ADULTS.

Vernon isn’t blind.

He can see you out of the corner of his eye, laying flat on your back, several unexplained centimeters away from his side. With the duvet clenched in your fists, you stare intently up at the ceiling, like you’re waiting for it to move — or trying to move it yourself, telekinetically. You keep your bottom lip pinched between your teeth, as if you expect it to make a run for it.

So, yes, Vernon can see you.

He just can’t figure out what’s wrong with you.

For a few minutes, he attempts to pay attention to the documentary lighting up the screen on the wall ahead. You were the one that picked it — some wild tale about mother-daughter recluses in New York — and he finds it hard to give a shit about it without your usual commentary. Your hot takes are his favorite part of any movie night, after all.

He’ll be the first to admit that he’s never been good at keeping his eyes off you. Try as he might, he can’t glue his gaze to the television; each glance in your direction sticks longer than the one before it, testing the waters. Minutes slip away just like this until he completely caves, turns his head fully, and stares at you outright.

You still don’t seem to notice.

His brow scrunches up as he watches you, caught in the middle between concerned, confused, and amused by how absolutely ridiculous you look right now. When he speaks, he tries to sound stern, like he isn’t fighting the urge to laugh.

“Baby?”

“Hmm?” is all he gets in response.

You don’t even look his way. If anything, you tense harder now that his attention is on you.

None of it makes sense. Not the weird gap you’ve left between your body and his, your total refusal to look him in the eye, or the fact that there wasn’t an argument to precipitate any of this distance. It’s a symptom with no apparent cause, and it’s totally baffling. Brain-breaking, even.

Frowning, Vernon scoots himself across the bed to get closer to you.

You don’t reciprocate.

He tugs gently at the hem of your sweatshirt in a silent plea for your attention and receives radio silence in response; unless he counts the way you swallow thickly.

Which, for the record, he does not.

This close, Vernon can feel the anxious energy pulsing out of your tensed-up body in waves, so he leans away and props himself up on his elbow. Desperate to know what broke you and how to fix it, he mutters, “What is happening right now?”

Ope.

It comes out harsher than it was supposed to, reading more like annoyance than worry, so he immediately clears his throat. Gently and with a brush of his knuckles against your hip bone, he tries again: “Are you okay? Did I do something to make you mad at me?”

A fly on the wall might get the wrong impression and think he stroked you with a live wire instead.

“Oh, my god. No!” You sputter with a jolt, shifting gears quickly from vaguely on-edge to horrified. You shake your head so frantically that Vernon fears you’ll detach it. “No, you haven’t done anything. I’m fine, I just —”

He interjects with a laugh, “— I don’t necessarily believe that —”

Visibly cringing with every muscle in your body, you cover your face with your hands. Not long after you take a deep breath does a meek voice slip out through your fingers, sounding beyond embarrassed.

“I’m so incomprehensibly horny right now that I can’t even look at you.”

For a second, it’s dead silent because he can’t quite process how much of a weirdo you are, or how completely and hopelessly enamored he is with you. But then the dam breaks. His laugh comes out so forcefully that you pull your hands away from your face, eyes wide.

“Is that so?” He smirks, nodding his head towards the television. “Grey Gardens really gets your motor running, huh?”

Absolutely aghast, you swat at his bicep. Then, you sling your arm over your eyes and groan, “I got my period. It has turned me into a sex-crazed monster, I fear.”

Vernon nods in understanding, even though you can’t see it, and hums, “Ahh.”

And he leaves it at that, only because you seem to have more that you want to say. Something you want to ask, maybe, or a reason you may want to give for not jumping his bones at the first opportunity. He’s down, he thinks without hesitation, so long as you are.

But you don’t say anything.

Maybe you aren’t actually down after all, and that’s why you won’t look at him. Shit, are you embarrassed? Should I say something? Silence falls overtop like a weighted blanket, smothering the two idiots who can’t tell whose turn it is to talk.

Do you or do you not want this right now?

You mumble something that he can’t catch, so he nudges your side gently with his knuckles to encourage you. Just as nervous, you repeat yourself without looking at him, “Period sex is supposed to help with cramps, I think.”

He thinks he’s read the exact same article you have. More than that, he wishes you’d look over at him and see for yourself how completely unbothered he is by this concept.

“If you think about it, it’s kind of like a natural lubricant,” you add in a voice that’s even smaller than before.

Your shyness really might kill him, so he reaches over to grab your hand and gently pull your arm away from your eyes. It’s the first time you’ve looked at him since you laid down — since you put your self-imposed no-contact order in place — and he feels his stupid heart swell.

For what it’s worth, he feels his dick twitch, too.

You open your mouth to speak again, likely to continue your unnecessary campaigning; Vernon is having none of it. He tugs your wrist just enough to tilt you inward, then he kisses you hard enough to shut you up. A tiny whimper slips out of your lips when he pulls away, and it almost makes him regret his decision to do so.

But Vernon has a point to make, so that’s precisely what he does: “I don’t need a sales pitch. You will never — ever — have to convince me to fuck you.”

Your eyes crinkle at the corners, like this is somehow news to you. It shouldn’t be. He’s told you a thousand times in as many different ways how thoroughly crazy you drive him just by existing so closely to him, but maybe you didn’t take him seriously then.

To emphasize his point, he slips his hand under the hem of your sweatshirt and finds your bare waist with the pad of his thumb. It spirals slowly against your warm skin, making both of you dizzy. Then, sick of the distance, Vernon dips his head down to press a kiss to your temple.

“Like, ever,” he murmurs, lips following the curve of your jaw.

Soft, slow kisses trail behind him as he travels down to your lips. Your head tilts further backwards with every single one, providing him with more and more access.

He states it matter-of-factly because, to him, it is. “I’m down so bad for you that it might be terminal.”

“Oh?”

You try to laugh but turn to putty when his palm rests fully on the curve of your waist and pulls you flush against him. The surprised gasp you let loose confirms his suspicion: You can feel how serious he is, affirmation throbbing against your abdomen in time with his heartbeat.

Vernon smirks to himself, relishing your reaction, and bypasses your mouth entirely. A moan escapes from you, soft like an exhale, as his lips move slowly down the length of your neck. Every so often — just to feel you shiver — he flicks the tip of his tongue along the delicate skin he finds there.

“It might be messy…”

The rest of your needless warning gets lost in a dreamy sigh as he suckles at the spot where your neck meets your shoulder. Shifting even closer, your desperate fingers reach out and cling to his t-shirt.

Vernon licks a stripe over the galaxy blooming on your skin. He hums, hand traveling upwards from your waist, “Don’t care about a mess.”

And he means it.

Mindful of any soreness, he smooths his hand over your left breast and massages it tenderly, swearing to himself that he’ll throw the whole fucking mattress out if that’s what it comes down to. For you, he’ll race across town on foot to buy another one, and — fuck it — if the store is closed, he might just break in.

You’re growing impatient; your fingers let go of his shirt and tangle themselves in his hair.

“So needy,” he chuckles low in his chest, teasing. “You know, I think you’re lying. I think it is this bat-shit insane documentary that’s driving you wild, and you’re too embarrassed to admit it.”

“Stop,” you whine, dragging out the vowel sound.

You don’t, though; you throw your left leg over his right thigh and shimmy forward until your cunt grazes his dick. Involuntarily, he groans at the warmth radiating off your core. Every part of you drives him just the slightest bit insane. You seem to know it, he thinks as he watches your pupils dilate in real time.

But he can play games, too, so he rolls his hips forward and grinds against you. He pushes you further, “Don’t get me wrong, baby. I’m not kink-shaming you —”

“Hansol Vernon Chwe!”

Oh, shit. Government name?

“— I’m just a little surprised, I guess.” He sighs with a shrug. “Think you know somebody…”

Your impatience is scribbled all across your scrunched up face. It seeps into your voice when you crash back against the pillows and huff, “Can you please stop fucking with me and start fucking me?”

“Sex-crazed monster, huh?” Leaning over, Vernon punctuates his question with a quick press of his lips to yours.

You whimper, “I’m so serious. I might explode.”

“Then go take care of whatever you need to take care of.” He kisses you again, smiling so fondly that his eyes may even be twinkling. “And I’ll go get a towel.”

You wait until Vernon clears the threshold before launching yourself out of bed at breakneck speed. Stumbling all the while, you race off to the adjoining bathroom and shut the door forcefully behind you. When it clatters against the frame, you finally admit to yourself that you might be a little bit eager.

Maybe.

Opting to keep your baggy, bleach-stained sweatshirt on, you wiggle out of your shorts and — what he refers to as — your crisis diaper. The high-waisted, frumpy, beige panties are utilized exclusively during your period, and to your surprise, they’ve remained spotless. It’s only ever the pretty and expensive pairs that wind up as collateral damage, isn’t it?

As they pool around your ankles, you can’t help but think that Vernon’s nickname for them is pretty spot on. That’s partly why you figured he might need to be talked into this. Unsated arousal aside, you feel as far from sexy as you can possibly get.

You shake your head to clear your thoughts, kick what you’ve discarded into a pile near the hamper, and let your sweatshirt shift down to cover as much of your ass as it’s capable of managing. You grab a square of toilet paper; then, you go to work excavating the wad of cotton that separates you from everything you want in this life.

It is within the realm of possibility that you’re a little bit eager and a little bit dramatic.

Perhaps.

After discarding the evidence in the small trash can under the sink, you wash your hands as if you’re about to step into an operating theater and not the bedroom you spend half your life in. When you finally feel sterile, you lift your head and catch your reflection in the mirror. Instantly, you make eye contact with the painful, hormonal pimple on your chin — the one you’ve been waging a retinoid war against for days.

“Bitch,” you mutter, like calling it names will be the one thing that finally gets it to shrink. Of course, your plan doesn’t work, but you feel a little less powerless. That’s good enough, you think. At least, as good as it’s going to get.

Now half-naked and certifiably unobstructed, you tiptoe back to your bedroom much more carefully than you left it. Vernon enters from the opposite doorway at the same time, jumping slightly the second he notices you. You ignore his frightened eyes and glance down at the crisp, white towel he’s clutching.

You open your mouth to suggest anything otherwise, but he beats you to it. His eyebrows shoot up his forehead as his mouth widens outwards, a self-aware rectangle. Otherwise expressionless, he lets go of an atonal, “Aaaaaaah”, that tells you he’s caught on.

He says nothing else before turning around and walking back the way he came. You have to bite down on your lips to keep from cackling.

That one’s mine, you think, still as infatuated as you were at the start. I chose that one.

While he’s gone, you try not to move, not to breathe too heavily. Vernon said he didn’t care about a mess, but when he said it, he was speaking theoretically with his hand on your tit. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d spoken recklessly with your body melting under his touch.

As far as you know, he hasn’t had any experience with this mess in practice. He could wind up finding you about as sexy as you currently feel — to wit: not at all. So, erring on the side of caution, you turn yourself into a statue and wait for the boy and his towel to find you again.

When he comes back, he plants a drive-by kiss on your unsuspecting mouth before skirting right around you. With shocking finesse, he grabs the corners of the — thankfully — black towel, which unfurls in the seconds before he flicks it upwards. It lands perfectly in the center of the bed, flat without needing to be fussed with.

“Wow,” he mutters to himself, taking in his clean work with raised eyebrows.

The impressed look is still on his face when he turns around, but you don’t have time to comment on his feat because he laughs as soon as he sees you.

“Kinda look like Donald Duck with the whole top-on, bottom-off situation.”

I chose this one?

You pout with an indignant gasp, crossing your arms over your chest. “I’m not wearing a sailor hat, so…. bad analogy. Rude, even.”

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs as he snakes his arms around your waist and pulls you in close. You stumble a little on your way into him; the jury’s still out about whether it’s his hushed tone or the sudden movement that trips you up.

Between his thumb and index finger, he gently captures your chin. You follow along with his unspoken direction, tilt your face up to meet his. This close, you can see your own reflection in his pupils, black dilating against the warmest shade of brown you’ve ever seen.

Vernon takes a moment of silence as he takes in your features, and he studies them so intently that his eyebrows crinkle on their own. He sighs, sounding so completely serious. “You might get prettier every time I look at you.”

It’s unclear if you’re melting, or gushing; and if it’s the latter, you can’t say which biological process is at fault. Thankfully, the hand at the small of your back keeps your weak knees from buckling when his lips brush over yours.

“Even if you’re dressed like Winnie the Pooh.”

You feel him smirk even before you hear him laugh at his own joke. Then, you feel his hand slide down to cup your bare cheek, squeezing affectionately. You want to tell him that this analogy is still inaccurate because you’re not wearing a crop-top; but he gently instructs you to ditch the sweatshirt and get on the bed, and your body moves automatically. No questions asked.

Carefully, you crawl up onto the mattress, then you center yourself on the towel. Still on your knees, you tilt your head curiously and ask, “Where do you want me?”

“Anywhere,” he breezes, pulling his shirt off and tossing it onto the dresser nearby. He amends, “Everywhere. All the time, and then some.”

“Better be careful,” you tease. “Talking like that might have consequences. You may never be able to get rid of me.”

His joggers are the next to go. Your sanity follows shortly thereafter, hungry eyes lingering on the imprint of his cock underneath his boxer briefs. You have to clamp your mouth shut to keep from drooling.

Brown eyes sparkling, he steps closer to you, kicking his pants aside as he goes. “Be careful,” he echoes, not a hint of cockiness to be found — just softness. “Saying it like a threat doesn’t make me wish it’s not a promise.”

I choose this one.

Crossing all the way to you, Vernon reaches the bed and climbs up with significantly more grace than you did. The mattress dips under his weight as he kneels right in front of you, mirroring your posture and causing your stomach to flip with anticipation.

You can’t help yourself; you lick your lips and look up at him with half-lidded eyes. “Naked, please. Like, right now.”

“Damn, I gotta do this myself?” Incredulous, he holds his hands up while glancing pointedly down at his underwear, then back at you.

You arch an eyebrow, unfazed.

“Depends.” You shrug. “Do you want to keep them? Because I really will rip them off of you.”

He concedes quickly; he always does. Sighing, he shakes his head and tuts, “Sex-crazed monster,” before pushing his briefs down his thighs. His length hangs heavy between you, but you swear you can feel its perfect ache inside you already.

You have a one-track mind, so you don’t hesitate to reach out and wrap your hand around him. A groan crawls up from the bottom of your chest when you feel the weighted warmth of his cock in your palm. You don’t hold that back, either.

“Fuck,” he sighs, head tilting as far backwards as it’ll go. Unexpectedly, he laughs. He doesn’t catch the quizzical look you shoot him, though he explains himself anyway, “Your hands are so fucking cold, but it feels so good.”

Swiping your thumb over his tip, you spread the pre-cum you find there down his shaft and stroke him slowly. He grows harder with every gentle squeeze, every pass of your fist.

“We’re learning a lot of new shit about each other today.” You lean forward to pepper kisses across his collarbones. The hum of your mouth against his skin when you talk makes his cock twitch in your hand. “You might have a temperature kink and a thing for Winnie the Pooh.”

He snorts, nowhere near serious, “Shut the fuck up.”

“Make me,” you counter smugly, and you do mean it.

Vernon tilts his head forward to stare back at you. You’re already turning into a puddle, but if the look he gives you says anything, it’s that your melting isn’t enough for him. His voice is low and velvet-lined when he responds, “How about I just make you cum instead?”

“That could work, yeah.” You shrug.

He runs the pads of his fingers down each side of your waist to your hips, then back again; and each time he does it, you shiver. Reflexively, your back arches, chest pressing against his.

At this, he smirks, “It could? Maybe?”

“We can workshop it.”

“Or,” Vernon so generously offers, “You can turn around and lay down on your stomach. You know, if that’s sufficient.”

It’s not until you whip around and flop down onto the towel that you realize you never responded with words. Oh well. You figure he gets the point, judging by the quiet laughter you hear as he settles with his knees on either side of your upper thighs.

You don’t know what his next move will be — you don’t care, either, as long as he moves in your direction — so you don’t anticipate his palms flattening against your bare back, applying perfect pressure with his thumbs while he rubs away the soreness at the very base of your torso.

“Oh, shit,” you moan, eyes fluttering shut as the heels of his hands work out the tension in your muscles. “Have you always been good at this?”

You feel his chest brush against your shoulder blades when he hovers over you. Against the nape of your neck, he murmurs, “Nope.”

He kisses down your spine, mouth trailing after his hands as they work their way back down your body.

“Lemme guess — you read an article? Studied up?”

You get a snicker, then an affirmative hum, then another kiss. This time, it’s at the curve of your spine, just above your ass. Seconds later, he’s kneading the doughy flesh of your cheeks until your whole fucking body tingles.

That’s when it hits you:

Under normal circumstances, Vernon would be face-first in your pussy by now. Devouring you in earnest, like he’s starving. He can’t do that now — and you don’t blame him — so he’s making up for what you both view as a loss.

God, you want him.

One hand disappears from you, but you don’t have to guess where it went. You can hear the barely-there hiss of breath through his teeth when he takes his cock in that hand; as well as the very faint shift of his palm while he pumps himself.

“You’re gonna have to navigate, baby. I dunno how sensitive you are like this, what’s too much — any of that, so you need to tell me how you want me to move.”

Suddenly dizzy over how badly you need him, all you can muster is a nod. Vernon must want a verbal acknowledgment, though, because he leans back over you with one hand bearing his weight beside your head.

He kisses your shoulder and urges you, “Please say so if you need to stop or switch it up. Don’t wanna hurt you, sweetheart.”

“I will,” you breathe. “But I can’t even articulate how much I need you inside of me right now, so please — pretty please — fuck me.”

The tip of his nose bumps your temple affectionately. Right beside your ear, he teases, “With a cherry on top?” And it vibrates down your whole goddamn spine.

“Vernon!” You whine, burying your face in the comforter. It’s muffled, but you warn him nonetheless, “Don’t make me come back there.”

“Aish. Calm down, sex monster.”

The instinct to twist around and glare at him over your shoulder is strong, but every feral urge you feel is stronger. So, when he tells you to spread yourself open for him and tilt your hips back, you do so without even a hint of complaining.

With the crown of his cock slipping through your folds, inching towards your entrance, you hear him curse under his breath. Suddenly self-conscious, you finally crane your neck to the side and glance back at him.

“We don’t have to,” you whisper. “If it’s gross and you don’t want to anymore, I get it —”

He balks at your suggestion without letting so much as a beat pass. “None of that, sweetheart; no spiraling. I’m just trying to figure out the logistics of, like… how to survive how good this already feels.”

Struck dumb, all you can muster is a peep, “Oh?”

“Shit, yeah.” His response comes in a low groan. “Can you take a deep breath for me?”

It’s a good call on his part, a suggestion you’re glad to have taken, because the pressure of him entering you is intense enough to knock the wind out of you. Empty lungs likely would’ve led to your untimely demise.

You whimper, already overwhelmed with the combination of pain and pleasure; the best kind of ache. The little, breathy moans must freak him out, however, because his fingertips caress your waist as he checks in: “This okay?”

Your limp arm lifts off the mattress, which you’ve melted fully into, and you form a circle with your index finger and thumb to indicate that you’re okay. The light is bright fucking green; you’ve just maxed out your capacity for speech.

Vernon continues his slow thrust forward, giving you ample time to adjust to his size.

“Oh my god,” he grunts, “This is — shit, I can’t believe we haven’t done this before. If I knew how good you’d feel like this, I wouldn’t have waited around for you to ask me.”

That hits like a truck.

He was waiting on you.

You spent months convincing yourself that he’d need to be convinced, and chickening out before you could raise the idea. Months, and months, and months, of craving him during your werewolf transformation; wasting away over a shitty assumption that Vernon is anything like the people you’ve been with before.

Christ.

His credit for putting up with you is long overdue.

Too tongue-tied to speak any of that out loud, you settle for a summary that you hope conveys the message: “I love you so fucking much.”

Mindful of how deep it will push him into your cunt, he leans down over you carefully. Weight balanced on his knees and forearms, he envelopes you in his body heat, trails kisses across your shoulder, and echoes your words back at you between each one.

“Is this too much?” He whispers, rolling his hips slowly.

You feel him everywhere, with every drag of his cock along your walls; and you can’t tell where that throbbing sensation is coming from, him or you.

You shake your head and sigh, “‘s perfect. You’re perfect.”

Like he knows it’ll unravel you, his large hand comes to rest over the back of yours. His fingers slip through the spaces between and squeeze you much more gently than the vice grip you hold on the bedding below you. He keeps holding you — just like this — through every movement.

The sensation of being this surrounded, this loved, this whole crashes over you like a wave and knocks you off balance.

“I’m so close,” you pant, voice as ragged as your breathing. There’s nothing that he isn’t already giving you with every deep, deliberate thrust into your heat; but you beg nonetheless, “Please, please, please —”

His speed doesn’t increase, but the intensity does. The smack of his hips colliding with your ass does, too, and you feel it reverberating in your bones. Buried as far inside of you as he can be, cock tip kissing your cervix with every high tide, length rolling across your g-spot with every low.

You cum so hard — so completely, invoking every single muscle you have — that you forget how to breathe. With a choked-out gasp, you squeeze your eyes shut and let your orgasm devastate you.

“Fuck!”

Vernon gets caught up in the current, too, grinding desperately against you until he’s swept up in your wake. You feel him twitch inside you as his release floods, leaving you so lost in his warmth that you feel boneless underneath him.

His face winds up hidden in the crook of your neck, somewhere amidst the baby hairs that cling to the sheen of your sweat. You feel his lips fluttering against your skin when he laughs, “Oh…my god.”

“Mmphf.” You nod weakly in agreement. Beyond blissed, your body still tingles too much to move.

Slurring, you add, “‘s good. ‘s really…”

The rest of that thought dissolves into something between a moan and a yawn.

Just as tired, Vernon pats your ass cheek affectionately and mumbles, “Well said. No notes.”

You tilt your head far enough to free your face from the sheets. When you do, you find your boyfriend fighting a losing battle to keep his eyes open. In the rare seconds he can, he looks back at you in a daze that seems even more adoring than it does fuck-drunk.

“I think I need to hibernate now,” you announce. “Think you just fucked me so well that I need to take a sabbatical.”

He counter-offers, “Shower first, then sabbatical?”

You wiggle so that you can pull your joint hands to your mouth. You can’t kiss him properly while he’s laid out on top of you, but you can press your lips to the back of his hand and hope he feels how much of you that you pour into it.

“Okay, but, like…. who’s carrying who?”

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