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robynhoodwrites · 8 days ago

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♛Within Reach♛

Expanding on the "Within Reach" Memoria, with smut at the end >:) (This is written from a first person point of view, with an AFAB and femme main character.)

Word Count: 6.5k

MINORS DNI! The following writing contains the following: smut, public sex, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, blowjob, Evol used during sex, mirror sex, half plot/half smut, jealousy on Sylus' end, mutual pining, he is possessive (in the hot way, ofc), kinda rough sex.

My fingers run across the fabric of the dress, the silk material sliding beneath my fingertips gracefully. “This is from our spring collection. I don’t know if you saw, but a few celebrities wore dresses from that collection to the Linkon Gala when it first came out,” the saleswoman says, her smile a bit too wide not to be fake.

I nod, reveling in the wine-red color of the fabric. My hands skim along the sides until they reach a price tag hanging from the collar. When I notice the price, a grimace spreads across my face. I hang the dress back up on the wall, a sigh leaving my frowning lips. The saleswoman notices this, tutting lightly under her breath.

“On second thought, why don’t you just browse over here in the clearance section while I finish stocking over here,” she says, her wide grin not leaving her face. Ouch. I just nod in response as she prances away, my eyes skimming the racks in the clearance section. Even these are a bit too expensive…

The pressure is on for this shopping trip. I have to make sure I look good for Romero’s party, especially considering that Sylus is going to be accompanying me. I didn’t technically invite him, but he took the initiative and invited himself. Honestly, I’m kind of glad he did. I can be a bit bad at that stuff sometimes.

As if thinking about Sylus had summoned him, I hear a crow’s caw come from my pocket. I take it out to find that Sylus is calling me, his face now illuminating my screen. Asshole must have changed my ringtone. I press the answer button, my mood brightening involuntarily as I place the phone against my ear.

“Did you change my ringtone?” I ask, a smile flitting across my face. I hear a dark chuckle from the other end, and I feel the butterflies in my stomach start to flutter rampantly. I have got to get this crush under control.

“I thought this one was so much more interesting. Now you’ll think of me no matter who calls,” he drawls, and I can hear the grin in his voice. God damn it, he’s not even here and I’m blushing. “Listen, I’m at the boutique by your work, on the top floor.”

I feel like my heart has stopped. “Wait, you’re here too? Did you do that on purpose?” I ask, a slight panic lining my voice. Sylus seems to pick up on this, another chuckle emanating from my phone’s speaker. “You totally did this on purpose,” I whine.

“See you in ten minutes, sweetie,” he insists, before hanging up and leaving me with a shiver down my spine. That asshole.

✧༺♛༻✧༺♛༻✧༺♛

The elevator finally slows to a stop, the door opening with a ding to reveal the top floor. I enter a waiting room of sorts, with a white and impeccably shiny tiled floor and several plush couches lining the walls. The room is empty save for two men, who are lounging on the sofas like they own the place.

“Luke, Kieran! Those couches are white! Get your feet off of them before you cover them in soot,” I nag, waving my hands in an annoying motion to get them to sit up properly. “The poor cleaners… Who knows where you two have been.”

“Oh, look. Mom’s here,” Luke jokes, and I turn to him with a fake frown on my face. He puts up his hands defensively, finally sitting up normally in his chair. Despite the mask, I can tell that a grin is spread across his face.

“I’m only a year older than you, asshole,” I mutter, crossing my arms in front of my chest. I flip him off, which only coaxes a giggle out of Luke. I shake my head at him, trying to fight the smile threatening to ruin my composure.

“If you keep it up, Luke, then I’m gonna take over as mom's favorite,” Kieran jokes back. I turn to him, reaching a hand down and rubbing it against his hair in an affectionate manner.

“You sure are buddy,” I say, leaning into the whole “mom” thing with a sigh. These two are idiots, but they’re so sweet that I can’t help but love them.

“Careful, you two. Sylus might rip you a new one if he sees you guys near each other,” Luke teases, and my hand immediately leaves Kieran’s hair. Besides Jenna, who has been on the receiving end of my ranting many times, these two are the only ones to know about how I feel towards Sylus. I didn’t actually tell them, but they have made it very apparent that they have figured it out.

“That’s it. Neither of you are my favorite anymore. Mephisto is in 1st place,” I mutter, moving towards the door at the end of the hall.

“Nice job, Luke. Now we’re losing to a fucking crow,” Kieran whines. Luke just throws a joking glare at him, resuming his lounging on the couch as he browses one of the many magazines on the table in front of him.

I just chuckle lightly beneath my breath before opening the door in front of me and closing it behind me with a click. The room I enter is quite large, with several changing rooms lining the walls. There is a table covered in different fabrics, several of them glittering under the fluorescent light above me. My eyes finally land on Sylus, who is standing in front of a large, floor-length mirror in the center of the room.

“Long time, no see,” he announces, his eyes meeting mine in the mirror. He smiles, and my heart begins its palpitations again.

“It really hasn’t been that long,” I mutter, slowly walking closer to him as I take the room in.

“And yet why does it feel like an eternity? Does time fly when you’re around?” he asks, turning to face me finally. Shit. He has to know what he’s doing. A blush creeps onto my cheeks, and there is no way Sylus hasn’t noticed.

I don’t know what to say, simply standing there and staring at him like a statue. He doesn’t break eye contact, instead holding up two ties. He holds a solid red tie in one hand, the other clutching a light blue striped tie. “Which one?” he asks, holding each up to his neck in turn.

I walk up to him, barely thinking before wrapping the red one around his neck. My fingers work slowly, tying it in an intricate knot and pulling it tight around his neck. His gaze never leaves my face, his eyes burning holes in my skin. I can’t bring myself to look at him, knowing that one glance at him will surely bring me to a puddle beneath his feet.

I fiddle with the silk material of the tie, finally working up the courage to meet his gaze. “The red. It matches your eyes,” I mutter, before stepping back and distracting myself with the table of assorted fabrics. He chuckles, following me closely and examining some of the fabrics himself.

“I’ll have to pick a suit to match the tie, then. Wouldn’t want me to take you to that party with a mismatched outfit, now would we?” he asks, his fingers finding a black fabric and rubbing his thumb over it lightly.

“This is for Romero’s party?” I ask, stunned at the idea that he is buying an entirely new outfit just for me. No, not just for me. For the party. Don’t be delusional. He nods, taking the fabric and setting it aside.

“I wouldn’t want you to attend the party with me when I’m not looking my best. Not that I don’t always look my best, I just don’t want to take any chances,” he teases, setting the fabric on an empty table beside him. He takes off the tie, resting it neatly next to the fabric.

“Where’s all the staff? I figured you would have someone helping you pick things out,” I ask, my eyes scanning the empty boutique for any other signs of life.

“I sent everyone away. I don’t like to be bothered, and they do what I say since I’m a VIP. They should be sending in a tailor to take my measurements, though,” he boasts, never afraid to flex his wealth in front of me. He’s such an asshole. I want him so bad.

“Sylus, how did you know I would be here?” I ask, picking up a nearby object to fiddle with. If I don’t do something with my hands, the nervousness will show on my face. And I cannot have him knowing how nervous he makes me.

“I have Mephisto watch the entrance of every building I’m in, in case of an ambush. He spotted you when you walked in and came squawking to me immediately, the loyal bird,” he smiles, running a hand through his silvery hair. So, I have Mephisto to blame for this.

“I asked for the tailor 30 minutes ago, and he’s still a no-show. What kind of store treats its VIP guests this way?” he huffs, clearly growing impatient.

“How dare they? Don’t they know who you are?” I tease, finding any excuse I can to make fun of the spoiled brat in front of me. He gives me a dark look, making me stop in my tracks. My fidgeting stops, and he looks down at the item in my hands.

“Oh, perfect. Glad to see we have a volunteer to tailor me today,” he grins, and I look down to see that the item I was fiddling with was, in fact, measuring tape. Shit, how am I this stupid?

“But I don’t know how to tailor-” I begin, but he interrupts me by grabbing the tape from my hands and wrapping it around his bicep.

“You just measure the different sizes of my body, see? Anyone can do it,” he explains, taking the tape off of his bicep and showing me the measurement. I try to stay calm and collected on the outside, but on the inside, I am screaming. “See, I’ve already got one measurement done for you,” he says, a smirk playing across his lips.

“How generous,” I mutter, snatching the measuring tape from his hands. I sigh, looking from the tape to his sturdy form in front of me. I can do this.

“C’mon. It’ll save time,” Sylus insists, and I see a small glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

“Fine. If you insist, your outfit will be made according to the measurements I take. And no matter how it turns out, you have to wear it to the party. Deal?” I ask, hoping that this will scare him off. If I have to get up close and measure him, I might melt.

He chuckles, stretching out a hand to shake mine. “Deal,” he says, wrapping the hand around mine and giving it a gentle shake. He rifles through a drawer in the table next to him, producing a pen and paper from inside. “You can write the measurements in here. You’ll need my waist and chest for the shirt, and I have already done the arms for you. Then, for pants, you need my inseam, the outside length, and the thigh. Oh, and my ass,” he adds with a wink, only strengthening the redness in my face.

“God, you’re so lucky I’m such a good…” I freeze, struggling to find the word. “Friend,” I finish, trying to pull myself together. A flicker of something flits across his face, but I can’t tell exactly what. He hands me the pen and paper, leading me over to the mirror.

“Let’s start with the chest, then,” he offers, pulling his shirt up to reveal his sculpted abdomen. He doesn’t take his shirt all the way off, instead letting it rest just above his pecs.

I can't help it- I start to stare. It takes all of my strength not to rub my hands along his torso, the defined abs rippling along his stomach calling to me like a siren song. This isn't the first time I've seen him shirtless, but it will be the first time I've ever gotten this close.

"Like what you see?" He asks, and my attention snaps back up to him. Shit, how long was I staring? I clear my throat, walking closer to him and resting the pen and paper on a nearby chair.

"Just... trying to decide where to start," I mumble, trying my hardest to brush past my obviousness. He chuckles but doesn't say anything else. There's no way that worked.

With my hands now free of everything but the measuring tape, I begin assessing his body for real this time. "I think I'll start at the chest," I tell him. That way, you can put your shirt down faster. And I can stop feeling like I'm going to explode.

"Whenever you're ready," he practically purrs, looking down at me expectedly. I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding, inching closer to him as I hold up the measuring tape. I try my best not to touch him, my hands struggling to reach around his torso.

"Don't be nervous. The closer you are, the more accurate," he tells me, placing a hand on the small of my back and pushing me closer to him. Calm down. The quicker you do this, the sooner it's over.

But what if I don't want it to be over?

I exhale, finally working up the courage to get closer to him. My hands wrap around his torso, his warm skin burning against my bare arms. I thread the tape around his back, coming forward to meet me in the front.

My fingers graze his skin lightly, and I hear him inhale sharply. I panic, looking up at him for the first time since I started measuring him. There is a look in his eyes that I have never seen from him before, and I'm unable to place exactly what emotion it is.

"Sorry," I mumble, worried I've upset him. I take the tape off and go to write the measurement down in the notebook.

"No, it's just... your hands are so cold," he mutters, his hands brushing where mine had just touched him. A smile graces his face, which makes me pause. Is he... enjoying this?

I shake my head, clearing my thoughts. He's just messing with me. I move back over to where he is standing, my hands a bit more steady as I go to measure his waist. If he wants to mess with me, then I'll mess with him back.

I don't shy away from touching him now, my hands grazing along the sides of his hips as I thread the tape around his back once again. I watch as goosebumps rise on his skin, the hairs on his arms standing up ever so slightly.

I take the measurement, turning away to write it down in my book once again. I don't look at him, afraid that his gaze will take away the newfound confidence I've gained. Now, to move lower.

I get down on my knees in front of him, gulping slightly as I measure the circumference of his lower half. This time, I make sure not to touch him, my hands hovering slightly as they move around his backside. It's a shame. His ass is one of his best assets.

When I've taken that measurement, I move to the outside of his legs. Luckily, his tight jeans act as a barrier between me and his skin. That makes me feel a bit better about touching him, actually.

Finally, I move to the inseam. I start at his ankle, moving the tape up slowly along the length of his leg. When I finally look up, I realize how close my hand is getting to his crotch. I freeze for a moment, my face turning red.

"The closer you are, the more accurate." The memory of his words from earlier rings in my ear. I sigh, moving as high up as I can without straight up fondling him. My eyes finally rake up towards where the tape ends, his crotch directly in front of my face.

Is he hard right now, or is it just always straining against his jeans? No, stop. Friends don't think that way about friends. I take away the tape, hurriedly standing up and writing down the final measurement in my notebook.

I still cannot bring myself to make eye contact with him, the deep embarrassment leaving splotches of red along my face. "Okay, w-well, now we can get back to looking at fabrics," I say, trying to hide the embarrassment in my voice as I move to turn away from him.

He stops me, his hand gripping my wrist tightly. I drop the notebook in surprise, and he takes that moment to tilt my face up to look at him for the first time since I started measuring him.

"Wait," he begins, seeming to be searching for the right words. "We’re attending the party together. Our outfits should match," He tells me, his eyes still staring down at me with that same mystery twinkle in them.

"Well, I figure I can just pick out a red dress or something," I mumble, my head still resting in his hand. He tuts, releasing me to pick up the notebook and tape I dropped on the ground.

"No, we need to fully match. That way, no one will question who your date is for the night." He places the notebook carefully down on the chair, twirling the measuring tape intricately between his fingers.

"Oh," I nearly whisper, finally catching on to what he's implying. "I can't really afford to get something specially made... I'll just get one of the premade dresses."

"It's my treat, since I invited myself to this party," he smiles, giving me a look that screams "You don't have a choice in the matter." I nod, lost for words as he raises one of my arms. I gulp, the short sleeves of my dress making skin touch skin as his fingers run lightly up my arms.

He works painfully slow, his fingers tracing along my skin and leaving goosebumps in his wake. I can't help the shudder that racks my body, which makes a small smirk play across Sylus' face.

I start to feel a small pool begin beneath my legs, and I have to bite my lip to keep from cursing myself out. Damn it, pull yourself together. He moves to my chest, his fingers not touching my breasts but getting so close that one slip would put his hand against me.

I hold my breath, and the prick keeps moving as painfully slow as he has been the entire time. "God, you're so slow with the measuring tape. I was nearly done by now when I was doing it," I mutter, and his eyes flick up to meet mine.

"I'm just trying to be precise, sweetie," he breathes, looking back down to get the measurement of my chest. He finally releases the measuring tape, an anxious breath quickly leaving my lungs as he moves to write down the data.

I shake my head again, trying to snap myself out of whatever trance he has put me in. The heat is still pooling beneath my legs, a blush spreading across my cheeks. Does he know what he's doing, or is he just an oblivious guy trying to be nice?

He resumes his work, wrapping the tape around my waist and jotting down the numbers. It is then that he gets on his knees, looking up at me from the ground with that same twinkle in his eyes.

It takes all my energy not to squeak from panic. Him on his knees in front of me... I stare down at him, the pool beneath my legs more akin to a river.

"I have to do your inseam now. You're wearing a dress, so I need your permission to put my hands under it."

My eyes widen, my breath halting yet again. The more embarrassed side of me is begging for me to stop him, but the rest of me is practically screaming for him to continue.

"Go ahead," I nearly whisper, and I flinch as his hand touches my skin yet again. He starts at my ankle, running the tape along the inside of my leg agonizingly slow. His fingers lightly drag along my skin, and a breath hitches in my throat.

"You're doing great," he murmurs, and my heart skips a beat in my chest. His hand finally reaches my knees, which is where my dress ends. He slides his hand under it, moving upwards towards my thighs.

I'm suddenly aware of the heat radiating off of my body, the warmth pooling between my legs, and his fingers moving further up into my dress. If you had told me earlier that this is where I would end up, I would've laughed in your face.

He finally reaches the top of my thigh, his thumb pressing down roughly on the tape.

And directly into the pool of my desire that has started to soak through my underwear.

His breath hitches in his throat, his eyes closing as he lets out a curse under his breath. I'm almost frozen in shock, my world seeming to crash down around me. He knows.

"I'm so sorry, I don't know what-" I begin, but he grips my thigh with his hands, and the words die in my throat. His eyes flutter open, locking with mine in the mirror next to us.

"Is this all for me?" He asks, and I feel my heart start to pound out of my chest. What the fuck does that mean, Sylus?

"No. Yes. I'm so sorry, I don't know what's gotten into me," I begin, anxiety bubbling in my stomach. "It's just a crush, and I'll get over it, I promise. I know you don't feel that way-"

"Are you dense?" He asks, his grip loosening on my thigh ever so slightly.

"Excuse me?" I ask, looking down at him in shock.

"Have you not noticed the way I look at you? Have you not, for one second, thought about why I would invite myself to a birthday party for someone I have never met?"

I just shake my head, trying and failing to wrap my head around everything that is happening.

"It's because I cannot bear to sit alone at home while you go to that party. The idea of you all dolled up for another man? The thought of you smiling at him, laughing at his jokes..." he trails off, but the look in his eyes is distant. His grip tightens on my thigh yet again, this time from a desperate need.

"How long have you felt this way?" I ask, whispering as I look down at his face.

"Since the beginning. There is not one moment that I have not spent thinking about you, not one night that I have not been lying awake and picturing you. Your touch, your smell, how you must taste," he murmurs, his thumb tracing circles on my upper thigh, my excitement now coating his finger.

I can't help the moan that escapes from me, my legs feeling weak as he continues rubbing rough circles on my thigh. I finally recognize the twinkle of emotion that has been dotting his eyes.

It's hunger.

"I've felt e-exactly the same," I manage to squeak out. "God, I feel so s-stupid-" I begin, but he cuts me off with a rough grab of my thigh.

"Don't you dare. You're not stupid, just careful. That's one of the reasons I feel so strongly about you," he murmurs, looking up at me with a frown. The sparkle in his eyes is now a fire, threatening to burn me to ashes with just a look.

"You're perfect," he purrs, his thumb leaving from under my dress and entering his mouth. I fall to my knees in front of him, feeling weak as I watch him feast on my excitement.

"Do you know how long I've wanted to do this? To taste you?" He asks, his thumb finally leaving his mouth. I curse under my breath, taking his head in my hands.

I pull him towards me, our lips meeting in a fiery clash after months of anticipation. He lifts me onto his lap, my legs straddling him as I run my fingers through his silvery hair. I moan, and he takes the opportunity to bite my bottom lip.

He moves a hand to my waist, the other finding its way to the back of my head as he grips my hair. I groan, pushing him backward until he is lying on the shag carpet below us. I'm straddling his body now, lying on top of him and rubbing my hands under his shirt to feel his toned torso.

"Is it how you thought it would feel?" He asks, breaking the kiss to look up at me. I'm sure I look a mess, with swollen lips and ruined hair. But he looks at me like I'm the only person alive that he wants to be with.

"Better," I tell him, my lips finding his again. He wraps his arms around me, pulling me closer to him as he slips his tongue into my mouth, exploring it like it would be the last time he ever would.

He grinds himself against me, his erection fighting against his tight jeans as it rubs into my pussy. I let out another moan, breaking the kiss, as I try to stifle the noise by biting his shirt.

"Stop that," he murmurs, pulling his shirt out of my mouth. "I want to hear you."

"We're in public, Sylus. What if another shopper comes in?" I ask, still fighting moans as he continues to grind himself against me.

"I rented the floor for the next hour. No one should be anywhere near us," he murmurs, moving his hands under my dress. I grab his hands, pinning them on the floor next to his head.

"Shouldn't we just go home?" I ask, and he smirks up at me. I feel something moving beneath my dress and look to see that he is using his tendrils of black smoke. They curl around my thighs, sparking pleasure through my body.

"I need you now," he nearly growls, his Evol pulling down my underwear in one fell swoop. I gasp in shock, and he uses my moment of weakness to flip us over. His hands are planted firmly on the ground beside my head, using his Evol to lift the bottom of my dress and expose my naked lower half.

The chill of the air conditioning blows across my exposed cunt, a shiver crawling up my spine in anticipation. Sylus moves one of his hands down to my thighs, dragging his fingers up and down lightly like he did before.

"Sylus, please," I moan, and he smiles devilishly down at me. His fingers finally make it up to my entrance, teasing me slowly by dragging them around the folds. I moan yet again, out of both pleasure and frustration.

He finally reaches the bundle of nerves at the top of my heat, circling his thumb around it slowly. My back arches, attempting to push myself even closer to him. He pulls away, tutting under his breath.

"Patience isn't your strong suit, is it?" He asks, his warm breath dancing along my face.

"I have been patient for months. I can't be patient anymore," I whine, moving a hand down to grasp his. I move his hand back to my clit, and he chuckles deeply as he resumes his ministrations.

I moan as he begins to rub faster, my back arching upwards involuntarily. His mouth finds my neck, kissing and sucking along the outside with care. He finally reaches his desired spot, nibbling on it lightly before sucking roughly on it and leaving his mark.

He moves his hand from my clit, and I almost begin to complain before something else replaces it. His smoke is now curling around it, taking over his work as he moves two fingers towards my entrance.

"Fuck, Syl-" I am cut off by him thrusting his fingers into me, a yelp of pleasure leaving my lips. He rubs against my walls aggressively, exploring my insides while his Evol rubs circles around my clit. He licks the spot he has been sucking, moving his mouth further down my neck and towards my breasts.

He suddenly stops, the complete lack of stimulation leaving me almost empty. "Sylus!" I whine, looking up at him with a pout on my face.

"I want this off," he mutters, tugging at the material of my dress. I stop him, staring him down defiantly. He raises an eyebrow at me, the question asking itself. "What could you possibly want?"

"Take yours off, too," I whine, and he shakes his head in disbelief. Without warning, my dress is lifted in the air by his Evol, the clothing falling onto the floor and leaving me completely bare in front of him.

I begin to argue, but he does the same for his shirt, leaving his sculpted upper half bare in front of me in all its glory. I can't help but run my hands along his body, and he groans at the feeling of my cold hands against his warm skin.

He pulls over a chair, knocking the notebook and measuring tape onto the ground as he goes to sit down. He beckons me over, and when I do not move fast enough, he wraps his Evol around me and pulls me over there himself.

I'm now sitting on his lap, my back against his naked torso. We are facing the floor-length mirror, my body on full display as I rest on top of him. He kisses the inside of my neck, his hands moving up to massage my breasts.

I moan, my head leaning back against him as I writhe in pleasure. I feel his Evol wrap around my head, tilting it back down until I am looking at myself in the mirror.

"No, I want you to watch. I want you to watch as I take what's mine," he purrs, his other hand moving down to resume its work in my pussy. He thrusts his fingers into me, his other hand tweaking my nipple between his fingers.

I let out a yelp of pleasure, fighting the urge to throw my head back again. Instead, I look at myself in the mirror, watching as his fingers pump in and out of my leaking cunt. It's orgasmic, the way he completely ruins me.

I look up to find that he is watching me in the mirror, his eyes now locking with mine as he fucks me with his fingers. I feel my stomach tighten, already on the verge of an orgasm.

While maintaining eye contact, I run my hand down towards his cock, palming him through his jeans. He lets out a groan, a dangerous look now shining in his eyes.

"Don't start what you can't finish, sweetie," he groans, his hand gripping my breast tighter. I continue rubbing against him through his jeans, his erection fighting against the tight zipper.

I feel a strong sensation of pleasure and look down to see that he has started rubbing against my clit as well, the Evol now taking over the working of my breasts.

I moan again, finally reaching my orgasm as I fall apart beneath his fingers. He lets my head fall back as I pant, my body shaking as he continues thrusting his fingers in and out of me.

When I finally come down from my high, he takes his fingers out of me, bringing them up to his lips and licking them hungrily. I stand up, my hands moving to his jeans as I fight to get them off. He helps me take them off, pulling down his boxers and letting his erection spring up towards me.

I kneel, my hands rubbing along the sides of his shaft sensually. "Do you know how you made me feel when you kneeled in front of me earlier? Do you know how close I was to taking you right there?" He asks, tilting my head up with his hand so that I am looking directly into his eyes.

I don't hesitate, maintaining eye contact with him as I take the tip of his cock in my mouth. He groans, running a hand through my hair and grabbing it roughly. I inch slowly down his shaft, making him suffer like how he made me suffer earlier.

"Fuck, you're such a brat," he groans, using his grip on my hair to push himself further into my mouth. I take him in eagerly, my tongue swirling around him as he moves in and out of my mouth. He curses under his breath, and I feel his cock twitch inside me.

I moan, the vibration against his cock sending him reeling. He pulls out of my mouth, panting. I begin to protest, but he puts a hand over my mouth. "You're getting me too close. There's more I want to do to you," he breathes, practically picking me up off the ground and leading me over to the chair.

He sits down, his cock standing at attention as he keeps me raised above him. "Are you ready?" He asks, his voice dripping in need. I nod, practically begging, and he lines himself up with my entrance.

"Hold on," he says, and I grip his shoulders tightly as he pushes himself into me. Something close to a scream escapes my throat, his entire length sheathed into me in one hard push. "You okay?" He asks, pausing to make sure I am not in pain.

"More. Please," I manage to whimper out. This is all the permission he needs, thrusting in and out of me at inhumane speeds as he groans into my neck.

He begins kissing my skin again, this time more sloppy as he licks up and down the column of my neck. A jolt of pleasure shoots through me, his cock hitting the deepest point of my pussy over and over again.

I bite into his neck, my hands still gripping tightly onto his shoulders as he lifts me up and down on his cock. He groans, his dick twitching inside of me eagerly.

"They should be just inside here," I hear Kieran's voice say from behind the door, his footsteps approaching closer.

"Shit," Sylus mutters, practically leaping up from the chair we are sitting on. Like lightning, he pulls us into one of the dressing rooms, his Evol grabbing our pile of clothes and bringing it in with us.

The door opens as soon as we are inside, barely seconds after we had made it to safety.

"Mr. Sylus? The tailor his here to see you," Kieran announces, before leaving the room. We sit in silence for a moment, before the tailor clears his throat.

"Sir?" He asks the empty room, "Trying something on?"

"Yes, just trying out one of the vests from the Fall Collection," Sylus says, his voice surprisingly even. It's then that his Evol lifts me into the air, his dick finding its way back to the entrance of my pussy.

"Syl-" I begin, but he covers my mouth with his hand as he thrusts back inside of me. I whimper, his hand muffling the sound as he continues to thrust in and out of me.

"Well, sir, I am here to take your measurements whenever you are done," the man says, oblivious to what his happening inside of his changing room.

"We have already taken care of that for you. Now, please leave us be," Sylus tells the man authoritatively, his finger moving to my clit as he continues to utterly destroy me. It takes everything in my power not to scream into his hand out of sheer pleasure.

"You've taken your own measurements?" The man asks, bewildered. "I must insist you let me do them. That way we can assure they are as accurate as can-"

"I assure you, they are accurate. Right, sweetie?" He asks me, uncovering my mouth as he continues to pound into me. I look at him with wide eyes, but he just raises an eyebrow, prompting me to answer the man.

"Y-yes. Everything i-is...great," I tell him, in the most even tone I can manage. Sylus has not stopped, his Evol dancing around my body and leaving goosebumps along my skin.

"You hear that? We're doing great. Now, wait for us downstairs, and don't bother us again."

The man apologizes before shuffling out, the door closing behind him. Sylus uncovers my mouth, only pounding harder into me. "Sylus! What if he- fuck- had h-heard us?"

Sylus just looks down at me, pressing down on my stomach to compress my walls even further. "Would you have liked that? If he had found me fucking you like this?" he asks, his cock twitching as if close to release.

"Fuck, Sylus," I moan, my own orgasm nearing closer. The many sensations- his finger on my clit, his dick pounding into me, his Evol around my tits- it's too much to bear.

"Please- Please, let me finish inside you," he groans, sweat dripping down his toned chest as he continues fucking me. He looks at me expectantly, and I just nod in response. He growls, his orgasm finally reaching the edge.

Mine arrives first, my legs shaking as my pussy pulsates around him. My nails scrape along his back, leaving long claw marks along his toned muscles. This sensation drags out his orgasm, his hot strands shooting into me and coating the walls he had spent so long destroying.

He continues moving as we both ride out our orgasms, his lips meeting mine and gently swirling his tongue in my mouth. When I finally stop writhing beneath him, he stops his movement, keeping his cock inside me.

He stops kissing me, choosing instead to look down at me fondly. He runs his thumb along my lips, letting it drag along my bottom lip slowly. I'm panting, my hair sticking to my forehead as I heave out a breath.

"You're beautiful," he murmurs, wiping away a tear that had run down my face from pure pleasure. "Why don't we give them our measurements over the phone? I think we should head back to my place and relax for the rest of the day."

I just nod, pulling him in for a kiss that makes the butterflies in my stomach resume their fluttering. He sighs into my mouth, kissing me back softly and pulling me closer to his warm body.

✧༺♛༻✧༺♛༻✧༺♛

Thanks for reading! As always, my asks are open (and anonymous) if anyone would like to request anything :)

-Robyn <3

#love and deepspace #smut #lads smut #love and deepspace smut #lads sylus #sylus smut #sylus lnd #sylus x reader #lnds #lnds smut

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willows-peak · 1 year ago

Note

jjk boys reacting to getting a morning wood next to you

ANONNN UR MIND <3333

*･ﾟ✧ JJK Men With Morning Wood

tags: multi character x reader, fem! reader, morning sex, thigh fucking, humping, handjobs, male masturbation, mutual masturbation kinda, the ittiest bit of degradation in toji's

word count: 4.9k wowie zowie

a/n: eek my first request...so happy. this was so fun to write ty anon, im supes sorry it took so long to write! i may have gotten carried away,, also TYSM FOR 100 FOLLOWERS HOLY SHIT 🎉🎉🎉🎉should i do a milestone reward :o

NSFW UNDER CUT! MDNI

⋆｡˚ ♡ gojo: wakes you up and begs to fuck your thighs

Gojo woke with a startle, his body only lending him a few moments to adjust to his surroundings before he had to stifle a low groan into his palm, a dull, overpowering throb sending shocks of pleasure up his spine. He blearily glanced downwards to where he felt the heat starting to pool, his vision being blocked off by your body, pressed tight against his.

You were moving around in your sleep quite a bit, leg thrown across his own and arms wrapped tight around his chest. A quiet noise left his throat as he felt that jolt go through his body again, your hips moving up against his crotch just enough to graze across the head of his clothed cock, making him swear under his breath.

He'd found the culprit for his sudden awakening, but now comes the issue of taking care of it. The combination of sleepiness and horniness was making his head feel foggy, eyes darting around the softly lit room for any kind of distraction he could find for himself. Now he knew why you always made a fuss when he clung to you in bed, it was near impossible to move around and touch himself without waking you.

He bit his lip tightly as he felt his cock jump up in his boxers, eyes drifting back to your body innocently leaning onto his. The time on the clock read '10:20 am', much past the normal time you would wake up normally. You wouldnt be *too* upset if he just..?

"Baby.." he whispered, the arm encompassing your waist shifting forwards to jostle your still body, making you whine against his chest and hug him closer in defiance. "C'mon baby, get up." he said, moving you again and giving him a louder whine in response.

Through his persistence, your head turned up and poking out from the bumps of his naked chest, eyelids lowered as you slowly started to wake up

“G'morning beautiful, sorry to wake you up like this” he chuckled, brushing a small section of hair from your face as he watched your eyes travel downwards, to how his erection poked against your inner thigh. “You don't gotta do anything, just please-” Gojo shuddered as you slowly grinded up against his tent, your soft voice making the fog in his head worsen.

“Lemme fuck your thighs, alright baby? Please, it'll be quick, I promise” his chest rose up and down in quick, shallow breaths, stilling himself with all his might when the head of his dick slipped snuggly into the dip of your thighs, right underneath your panty clad pussy. “Please, sweet thing? I'll make you cum too, promise” he ran his hands down to your hip, pressing his lips together when you let out the softest moan.

Still too sleepy for talking, you nodded into his collarbones, spreading your legs apart enough for Gojo to slip inside them. Gojo almost moaned at the display in front of him, hushed praises and thanks coming from his lips as he hurriedly slipped down his pants and boxers, sighing in relief when the uncomfortable pressure of his underwear was finally gone.

Gojo's hand made quick work slipping his pants down to mid way down his thighs, moving his fingers to lightly press against the crotch of your panties. “Shit…” he whispered, feeling the way your pussy was already starting to wetten up for him. “Have a good dream about me, huh?” he teased, rubbing slow circles on your clit before replacing it with his length.

He could feel you clench around nothing through the thin fabric, a shudder erupting through his lower half as you slowly closed your legs back around his cock. He groaned under his breath at the warmth enveloping him, chuckling and pulling his hips back. “Shit, you feel good… where’s the lube, wanna make it feel better” he mumbled as he turned his body around to search through the drawers behind him, rummaging around loudly until he triumphantly brought out a small, almost empty bottle of clear liquid.

“Spread your legs again, this’ll make it feel good.” he spoke, a small *click* as he flipped the bottle open and squirted the liquid onto his deft fingers. As he massaged it into the plush of your thigh, his thumb caught underneath your panties, pulling the fabric to the side smoothly. His lubed fingers came to spread your lips open, the cold morning air blowing across your sensitive cunt and making you shiver from the exposure. ‘Satoruu..” you whined, feeling his cock slide up your thigh to rest right against your pussy.

“Close em, fuck, I don’ think I can stay still for long” he whispered, his large body coming to hold your lower half flush with his own. You whimpered and wordlessly followed what he asked, moaning softly at the feeling of his firm cock grazing *so* slowly across your pussy.

“That’s the shit, god.. such a good girl for me” Gojo whispered, his voice sultry and practically dripping with heat as he grinded up into your thighs, his dick gliding across the wetness of your pussy and perfectly rubbing against your clit. “Hold onto me baby, I’m not gonna be gentle.”

⋆｡˚ ♡ getou: kisses you awake and humps your leg

Getou carefully turned himself around, keeping note of your tight grip against his sides and letting himself relax back against the warm sheets as he shifted himself closer to you, his fingers coming to cradle your soft hair as his lips met with your face.

Ever since getting with you, Getou had gradually lost interest in getting himself off, especially in the mornings like this. he could feel the way his half hard erection slowly filled out his pants more as he drunk you in, his lips taking their time to press against each and every crevice of your face.

He could feel you start to stir, your soft eyelashes slowly cracking open to meet with his gaze, lowered with his pupils expanded to cover the majority of his eyes.

He pulled away just enough to give you room to yawn, his hand sliding down the front of his body to grope at his cock as you greeted him, voice crackly and quiet. "Good morning hun" Getou spoke, his voice gruff right against your ear as he resumed his onslaught of kisses.

"Mm-" you tried to get out a word of questioning as to why he was so affectionate, but your lips quickly turned into a home for Getou's, tenderly kissing you. You could feel low, muffled groans being thrust into your mouth as he lifted your face up to meet with his better. “Sugu-” you gasped, pulling away only to be hungrily brought back to his lips.

“Shh, stick out your leg f’ me, baby” Getou ordered, smiling when you wordlessly obeyed him. You gasped again as your knee brushed over his bulge, Getou’s free hand coming down to hold it still. “Feel that pretty girl?” he asked, watching you nod and try to press harder against him. “Think you can help out with this?” he offered, biting his lip in arousal at how quickly you agreed with his request.

His grip on your thigh loosened, just enough to give you the wiggle room to grind down into his erection. His raspy, deep voice filled your ears as he ground his hips down into your hard knee, hand climbing up to grope at your butt and snickering when you squeaked in surprise.

“So nasty..” you murmured, watching with bated breath as he caressed the back of your thigh tenderly. “Only for you, sweet girl… fuck, keep doin that-” he grunted out, your knee pressing up against his balls slightly as he humped against you.

He’d slipped up to grinding against the meat of your thigh by now, whispers of your name escaping from his lips as a small, barely noticeable spot of wetness started to seep through the fabric of his sweatpants. “Sugu, kiss me again, please” you begged, barely needing to wait before geto’s lips came crashing onto yours. His thick, hot tongue eagerly pressed through your parted lips, grinning into the kiss as his tongue twirled around yours.

Your body quickly flushed warmly under his strong hold, feeling how pulsed and ground hard against your thigh, your breath catching in your throat when his tongue dipped up to the roof of your mouth, licking along the length of it before pulling away for a gasp of air. “So fucking sexy, baby girl, god- say my name baby please” Getou moaned, the grinds against your thighs speeding up sloppily. Getou could never control himself when he got like this, so desperate for an orgasm he’d take anything you gave him as long as it got him off.

“Suguruuu-” you drew out your words, half moaning and half whining as he raised your leg to grind back down into your knee. “Yeah, that’s right, say it louder f’ me” Getou purred, panting as his hips thrusted down onto your leg. You spoke his name again, feeling your pussy thump in tandem with your heart at Getou’s husky moans filling the thick air around you two. “Wanna see me cum, beautiful?” he asked, voice lifting as his body grew closer to orgasm already. “Mmmhm, please Sugu lemme see”

Getou fumbled with the band of his sweatpants clumsily, pulling them down to reveal his flushed red cock, the stain of pre cum much bigger now against the dark gray cotton fabric. You squirmed as Getou slid his lubed cock onto your bare thigh, rubbing down against the warm, soft skin and shivering softly. “Keep your eyes here, got it?” He whispered, forehead pressed against yours as the two of you watched his hips quickly pick up pace against your leg, raunchy sounding groans and chants of your name falling from his lips carelessly.

“Shit- y’ so good to me baby, so fucking good” Getou stumbled out, hair falling around the two of you as his head bowed down in pleasure. “Touch it honey, please, wanna cum for you” You gasped in arousal, warmth pooling down in your stomach as you quickly stroked the base of his dick, letting your fingers caress down onto his balls when your palm reached the bottom.

“*F-fuck* yes, cumming, I’m cumming, oh my *god*-” Getou groaned loudly, body trembling and curling into itself as his cock throbbed harshly against your thigh, cum leaking out of his tip and coating the skin of your leg and your hand. You slowed your hand down as Getou rode out his orgasm onto you, uneven bucks and thrusts up against you making you whimper under your breath from how hot you felt.

Getou continued to let out broken noises as his orgasm slowly simmered down, weakly grinding down into the puddle of cum he’d made. He let out fast, shuddered breaths as he rested against you, rubbing your thigh and kissing your forehead gently. Getou used his free hand to cup your chin, lifting it up to meet with his foggy, pleasure hazed eyes. “Don’t worry honey…I’m not done yet” Getou purred, gaze falling down to the way your thighs squeeze together.

⋆｡˚ ♡ nanami: jerks himself off to not disturb your beauty sleep

Nanami let out a drawn out sigh as he snuck his hand downwards, carefully scooting the blankets aside for his hand to get under them. He was hard, and badly at that. And while he didn’t at all blame you for this, he’d noticed that he’s started getting more intense morning wood when you’re with him, leading to him having to carefully wrap his hand around his erection and get himself off without waking you up.

He also, never seemed to realize he could simply turn over and plop you down on the empty bed space next to him until after he was done, discreetly wiping himself off and nudging you awake. He has to pretend he doesn’t know why it slips his mind, even though he knows good and well why he chooses this riskier route.

Some gross, locked away part of him loves thinking about waking you up by feeling his thick cock pressed against your hole through your panties, his hand quickly stroking himself through orgasm as you moaned at the wet feeling of his cum soaking you. Knowing you, he’d be met with the sweetest moan of his name as the after shocks of his orgasm faded over his body, pressing your hips down against his abdomen.

He held back a noise at that thought, his fingers finally ghosting over his pre cum soaked tip, rubbing small circles across the hole of it before working his way down his shaft. He focused on keeping his breathing steady as you dozed off on his chest.

Staring at the ceiling above him as he bit his lip with concentration. You were, thankfully, not a light sleeper, but he’d rather avoid the embarrassing notion of you waking up to him like *this*.

Nanami had done this many many times before, so he knew exactly what to think of to get himself off quick. Not that it ever took long with you, he could count the amount of times he’d nearly cum on the spot when you shimmied your panties off, a string of wetness clinging to your sensitive, pulsating cunt, your swollen clit peeking between the pink-ish folds. The few times when he’d come home tired and ready to either crash into your arms or the bed, when you’d so lovingly take care of him by riding the soul out of his body.

God, he wanted that so badly right now, watching your ass ripple from how hard you were slamming down onto his cock, moaning his name as he felt your hole twitch around him, the unmistakable way you’d quiver and still yourself as you came around his cock, whimpering and squeaking out high pitched little noises as he fucked up into you through your orgasm.

*‘Later’* Nanami promised to himself, feeling his chest begin to rise and fall rapidly as his hand pumped his cock, holding back sighs and grunts of pleasure as his arm stood as still as possible, his wrist rapidly falling up and down as he fisted his cock.

His hands rapidly squeezed along his thick shaft, desperate to mimic the way your pussy would clamp down so tightly when he bottomed out inside of you.

He was quick to move his hand off your waist, and over his mouth as he nearly moaned out loud at the thought, silently cursing his memory for being so detailed in this moment. He froze stiffly as he felt you start to stir in your sleep, sleepily reaching out before he joined his hand with yours. He sighed shakily, speaking lowly to not wake you further, his hand still grazing across the sensitive veins alongside his cock. “Shh, go back to sleep dear, I’m here.” He could almost laugh at how easily you fell limp back against him, your breathing slowing back down and a one off snore leaving your throat.

He gently held onto your hand, the fist still around his cock now picking up speed, wet sounds being poorly muffled through the blanket as he leaned his head back against the pillows. The adrenaline from just now only fueled onto his racing heart and sensitivity, hand clamping down onto yours as he could start to feel his orgasm quickly approaching him.

His teeth grit together subtly, holding back swears as his legs tensed up, his fist slapping loudly down against his dick as his stomach tightened. “Shit-” he swore, his orgasm overtaking him before he could prepare for it. His fist rushed up to close down over his dick, covering his tip as it leaked out thick spurts of his cum. He held his breath in his throat as he trembled, pressure mixing wildly with the fading anxiety of being caught and the pleasure of his hand pushing down across his girth.

He let out a deep sigh as fresh air filled his lungs, his heartbeat loud and clear in his ears while his cock started to soften. He breathed out in relief, glancing downwards at your peaceful figure, none the wiser at what he’d done.

Now, to clean this up before you stirred again..

⋆｡˚ ♡ toji: tries to will it away bc he doesnt feel like taking care of it, doesnt work. u wake up and take care of it for him

Toji grunted under his breath at yet another twitch of his erection, rubbing almost painfully against the starch material of his boxers. He'd been laying like this for a while now, achingly hard with you happily snoozing on his chest, unaware of the predicament he was in.

The rational decision to make here would be to wake you up, or even reach into his pants and get himself off, but it was a *little* hard to do that when one shuffle of his leg got him a whine of complaint and you shimmying back up on his body, getting yourself comfy again before falling back asleep.

And since Toji was *such* a gentleman, how could he disturb your beauty sleep and get himself off?

"Fuckin' hell..." Toji spoke softly, the pressure of your warm body laying on top of him, giving his dick the barest hint of stimulation driving him mad, slowly but surely. There was always the idea of grinding his hips up and jerking himself off with the plush of your thighs, but he knew that'd only result in you grumpily waking up from his cum coating you, glaring at him with those sweet eyes of yours, wiggling your pretty hips over his softening cock, and drowsily cursing him out for wasting his load on your leg like that-

A sharp pulse through his dick ceased his thoughts, making him loudly groan into the morning air. He heard you make a small squeak at the sudden sound, looking down and smirking. “Mornin’ princess” he greeted, his low voice carrying through the quiet air, much to your displeasure. “Y'ur hard…” you mumbled, rubbing your eyes and leaning your hips back to cradle over his tent.

Toji grunted at the feeling of you lazily grinding down against him, laughing and placing his hands behind his head. “Yeah, I am. Whatcha wanna do about it?” his lips cracked open into a toothy grin, watching the way you sleepily glowered up at him, raising yourself up by the arms and pushing yourself backwards on his lap.

You stifled a yawn into your arm, your ass colliding with Toji’s sturdy abs and making you lose your balance for a small second, your eyes shooting open on instinct. “Careful, now” Toji replied, ever the helpful one as he looked you up and down decidedly. Despite your attitude in the mornings, Toji loved when you got like this, moody, sulking from being awake 'so early' as you'd put it, but not ever hesitating to make him cum all over your pretty fingers.

“You couldn't do it y'self?” you asked accusingly, now seated right below Toji's bulge, your smaller hand pressing down against his length. “Nah, you do it better” Toji said snarkily, watching your eyes roll as you slipped down his sweatpants. For as annoyed as you always looked when he woke you up with his hard on, your eyes almost glittered from how wide they'd get, staring at his thick cock poking out from the band of his underwear.

“Go on mamas, it won't bite.” He teased, groaning under his breath at your hands quickly pulling the last piece of clothing off him, your fingers pinching over his tip to lube his cock with his pre cum. “Dirty girl..” he commented, his voice much too confident for your liking. “Zip it.” you glared up at him, watching him run his pointer and thumb across his mouth in a zipper motion, the silence immediately being broken when you squeezed your hand around the base of his cock.

With a kiss of your teeth, you quickly began jerking him off, your hand twisting up near the tip before slamming back down at the base, making him let out a pleased moan. He knew you loved when he got vocal, so he made sure to put a little more effort into telling you how good you were doing for him. His sugar sweet girl, so cute even when she was being so slutty like this, manicured nails struggling to meet as they stretched over the girth of his fat dick. Your cheeks flushed as you continued, trying to subtly wiggle your hips as his words sent jolts of arousal straight to your cunt.

“Don’t stop, baby, fuck-” Toji let out, head tilting to the side as he never took his eyes off of you. “You better make this up t’ me, Toji” You murmured, cheeks feeling hot at his heavy gaze, making you feel surrounded by him even as you laid across his flexed thighs. “Oh yeah? You want me to fuck you with my fingers after you make me cum? Make that pretty pussy squirt?” You barely stifled a whine at his brash words, Toji laughing under his breath when he felt the way you tried to grind down against him.

“Yeah, that’s what my girl wants. Fuck, c’mon and make daddy cum, lemme get my hands on you.” Toji groaned, chest rising up and down as you added your other hand to stroke him. He swore at the sight, his brain fogging with arousal at how even your two hands struggled to handle his dick. Toji’s mouth struggled to stay closed as he could practically *feel* how desperate you were now through the way your hands moved, milking his dick effortlessly and making the coil in his stomach tighten fast.

“Fuck- open your mouth baby, yeah that’s it, *shit*-” Toji’s arms came down to grip at your hair, holding your head still as your tongue lolled out of your mouth, drool beginning to run down the tip of it as he came on your face. You watched through your lashes at how his eyes rolled back, hand covering his face as he groaned lowly, warm cum coming out quickly and covering your lips.

Your hands came to a stop when Toji’s iron grip on your hair loosened, his body falling back against the bed as you swallowed what had gotten in your mouth. You made a small sound of annoyance as your hand was now covered in Toji’s cum, your thumb rubbing against your plush lip and gathering a stray drop of cum from them. Glancing back down at your boyfriend, you could see him facing you yet again, a grin making its way back onto his face.

You yelped loudly as you felt your body get dragged up Toji’s body, hovering over his stomach with your legs spread open widely. “Whatcha doing with your panties still on? C’mon baby, show me what I wanna see.” Toji purred, licking his lips when you shyly brushed the crotch of your underwear to the side. “*That’s* right…”

⋆｡˚ ♡ choso: wakes up and asks if he can fuck you

soft clicking across a keyboard filled choso's ears as his brain slowly came into conscious, a vision of you seated on your side of the bed, leaning back comfortably against the pillows as you typed away at your laptop. choso let out a shocked sound as he tried to scoot closer to you, his pajamas unreasonably tight around his crotch and making his body shiver with sensitivity.

You paused your writing at the noise, shutting it and turning your head over to him. "Good morning cho" You smiled down at him, the morning glow of the sun casting highlights across your chest and collarbones, the loose fitting night gown you sported hiding nothing from Choso's rapidly growing imagination. He felt his leg twitch up at another jerk up against the cotton of his pants, a quiet gasp getting pushed from his lips in surprise.

Your laptop had been placed on the floor by the bed at this point, your body turned over to face Choso while your fingers went to caress his flushed cheeks. “‘M hard” he croaks out softly, making you giggle and nod “I can tell, baby.” he pushes himself up with his forearm slowly, moaning under his breath when his dick grazed against his thigh. “Need you, c’mere, please” he rasped out, tossing the blanket off of him and watching how your eyes dropped down to his tent.

Your body quickly came to lay back down next to his, lifting your nightgown up to reveal your bare body underneath. Choso moaned shamelessly at how you looked, running his hands across your soft stomach all the way down to the small slit hidden between your thighs. “Thank you, thank you, gonna make you feel good, promise-” he purred out, leaning down to kiss you as his thick fingers quickly made their way to pulling down his pants.

“So needy, aren't you baby?” you teased lightly, watching excitedly as Choso’s hard cock bounced out of his boxers, slapping the dip of his abs with a quiet ‘pwip’ sound. He nodded along breathlessly, hands gripping the fabric of his underwear tightly as you spread your legs, grinding your bare pussy down against his shaft. You shuddered when you felt it twitch up against you, Choso poorly hiding a whine into his hand as he grabbed your hips, pressing his lips together and pulling his underwear down to his knees.

Your nightgown, previously bunched up midway up your tummy, was now being pulled off leisurely by you, Choso quickly coming to cup his hand underneath your chest. “Yes yes, thank you, won’t take long I promise- *ohh god*” he spoke, voice unsteady and breathy as he prodded his tip against your hole, eyes threatening to roll up when he felt how easily you sucked him in.

You moved your hips down to meet with his cautious thrusts up, tightening around him as he slowly, so slowly inched his way inside of you. “Haahh- so tight” Choso vocalized, looking up into your eyes as he started to bottom out inside you. Choso had been made aware he was *much* bigger than average, so he’s always been extra careful when sheathing inside of you, mind being driven into filth at the way your pussy would so eagerly swallow him up, hole stretched wide over the base of his dick, your wetness seeping out and coating the front of his balls.

“Need this so badly, need you” Choso chanted, your name feeling like pure sugar on his tongue as he moaned it. The way you felt, stretched taught all the way down to the bottom of his dick, wet and hot and tight as he reeled his hips back, sighing out so softly as he kissed along your neck made his body feel tingly with pleasure.

To Choso’s credit, he was honest when he said he wouldn’t take long. With a simple plea in his ear, and a clench down around him, he was wordlessly rutting up into you, his thumb coming down to rub quick circles across your swollen clit. Breathless little ‘ah- ah- ah’s’ spilled from his lips into your shoulder as your leg hooked around his waist, hugging him close as he sloppily fucked into you.

“Sorry, ‘m already, *ah* already close, can I? Inside?” Choso asked, his words broken and strained as his hips effortlessly rammed up into your pussy, filling it out so perfectly that it was impossible not to dumbly nod along with anything Choso asked for. His eyes sparkled as they started to get misty, teeth clenching together while his hands held your hips still, abs tightening as his body chased after his orgasm that was rapidly approaching.

“Gonna cum, gonna cum, go-” Choso’s begs were cut off by your lips crashing down into his, his moans being drank down by you as he came instantly, shaking in your grasp as he thrusted up deeply into your pussy. The thumb on your clit never stopped as he came, stroking it alongside the bottom of the nub and whining at how it made you tighten down around him. “S-so *good*, can’ stop, plea-se” Choso cried into you, his arms stiffening into a tight grip that left no room to squirm or move away from him.

You whimpered and squeaked at Choso’s uneven, rapid thrusts up into you, his tip threatening to kiss your cervix as he sloppily rode out his orgasm inside you. You could feel the way his full balls emptied out as he grinded his hips down inside you, low groans vibrating against the skin of your neck and making you shiver when they reached your ear. You needily bucked up into him as his fingers pressed down onto your clit, eyelids lowering as your own orgasm was starting to form, just barely. Though, the feeling of tension left as soon as it came, Choso stopping his movements when he was done emptying his load inside of you

You made a noise of discontent as Choso’s thumb moved away from your pussy, clenching down weakly as he pulled out his softening cock from inside you. “Cho…I was gonna cum” You moaned, grunting as he flipped you onto your back. “I know..lemme use my mouth, please?” Choso uttered gently, his body crouched between your spread legs, with his eyes wide and hopeful staring up at you. You resisted the urge to smile as you nodded, shivering at how fast he dipped his head down between your legs

#jjk #jjk x reader #jujustu kaisen #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk fanfiction #jjk smut #gojo x reader #nanami x reader #choso x reader #geto x reader #toji x reader #gojo satoru #geto suguru #nanami kento #choso kamo #toji fushiguro #fem reader

2K notes · View notes

parfaitblogs · 2 months ago

Text

baby it's halloween ❀ s. reid x reader

in which a mutual friendship leads to a run-in with your ex, and it's halloween, which means you can be anything. even normal with him right?

pairing: ex!spencer reid x fem!reader genre: smut (18+ mdni) tags: garcia party in rossi HOUSE 💜. alcohol consumption. reader's dressed as a swan (stunning gorgeous amazing). pre established friends with benefits (don't fuck your exes). s10 bau team is there in spirit i think. crazy spare bedroom hookup. brief nipple play. oral (f receiving). fingering. p in v. he dresses you afterwards. porn with plot. oral fixation. soft dom!spencer. word count: 3.8k a/n: ex spencer reid makes a comeback. this is separate from bad idea right? but same pairing same sitch kind of same everything. LOL. thanks for giving me costume ideas guys. parfaitblogs revival!!! happy birthday spencer reid!!! happy halloween criminal minds tumblr!!!

"Penelope, what the fuck are you wearing?"

It was a very loud exclamation, over the sound of party music that certainly didn't match the overall theme of Halloween. It was only nine o'clock but the fox eared blonde in front of you had lip liner painting her chin, a pink flush on her cheeks barely hidden beneath a layer of makeup, and two cans of some multicoloured premixed vodka drink you weren't sure about trying (despite her holding one out to you).

"Fox costume. I'm Agnes! From Fantastic Mr. Fox!" Penelope says, cheerfully, urging you to take the drink she had in her hand, not relenting until you did.

"We agreed on swans," you huff, feeling awfully stupid now, in your all white costume, a pair of fluffy wings settled on your back.

Penelope looked genuinely apologetic for changing her costume idea on you with no warning, and so as she rambled about how she got excited after seeing fox makeup on her phone, you decided it wasn't actually that big of a deal. She finished her spiel with a comment about still technically matching because you're both animals, and it was enough for you to accept.

She led you further into the house. House, because she had convinced one of her coworkers to let her host a Halloween party at his, claiming her apartment was far too small for such a thing. Apparently he was very easy to convince.

It was a quick tour of where all the most basic of amenities on the first floor were, before she was shoving a shot glass of vodka into your hand, and encouraging you to take it.

So you did.

Perhaps it was a loosening up technique she was using in an attempt to keep you from ripping her head off when she began another conversation with you with the words,

"So, I need to preface before you get too drunk—" a sentence you really had never hoped to hear in your life "—that Spencer's here."

You're not too sure why your world begins to crumble around you at that fact. You figured he would be. In fact, when you were choosing the articles of clothing for your costume a week ago, you had the idea of Spencer Reid seeing you in mind. You had mentally prepared for seeing him. And yet; panic.

However, instead of making a scene about how anxious that thought made you, you force a small smile onto your face and murmur out, "That's fine."

"Are you sure?" Penelope presses. "You can hover around me the entire night to avoid him, if you want. I'll stay away from him. I'm really sorry for inviting him."

You didn't like that. "No. Pen, it's okay. He's your friend."

"So are you."

Your heart stuttered in your chest at her words, a warm feeling spreading throughout it. But, ultimately, you were not the person who wants perfectly good friendships ruined because you're too scared to hold a relationship together.

"I'll get drunk enough and start talking to him anyways. It's fine," you reassure her.

And get drunk enough you did.

You had bumped into him a few times already, making awkward eye contact when you passed him on your way to the kitchen for another drink, or to the bathroom to fix your corset that felt like it was getting tighter every breath you took.

Yet here you were, stuck between the fridge and him, a collection of things you wanted to both beg him for, and cuss him out because of, sitting delicately on the tip of your tongue, waiting for the right trigger word from him.

Unsuccessfully, for he was rocking back on his heels, clasping his hands around the glass of water he was nurturing, keeping the peace between you two and staying silent.

And you couldn't have that.

"Hi. How are you?" you chirp after closing the fridge, a can you were getting for Penelope and not yourself now settled between your hands.

"Hi. I'm good," he says, sending you an all too familiar tight lipped smile. One he always did when he was feeling awkward. "How are you?"

"This is really formal," you say, tilting your head to the side. "I'm good."

He nods his head in agreement, and you find every curse word you had ready to yell at him dissipate in an instant. "I like your costume. Swan?"

"Yes," you nod your own head, forcing the flutter of your heart to stop.

You weren't sure what he was when you had first arrived to the party, but a few short exchanged words between the two of you revealed the fake teeth he had settled in his mouth, confirming Penelope's earlier guess that he was a vampire.

Fitting, you had almost said then.

"I like yours too," you say after a few beats of awkward silence and you realising you hadn't said much after his compliment.

"Thank you."

It was an awkward song and dance around the elephant in the room (your relationship, or lack thereof). An even more awkward interaction of him reaching behind you into the fridge to get out a drink for Morgan, and then a breathless apology when he had gotten a bit too close and you hadn't had a conscious enough mind to step back.

"I don't like this," you blurt out.

"What?"

"This. Us," you clarify. "Being awkward. Not talking. We talk fine when we hook up."

Because yes, there's that secret you were keeping hidden away from Penelope.

"We're preoccupied during that."

"I'd argue seeing each other naked once a week is much more awkward than bumping into each other drunk, at a party."

"I'm not drunk."

Right. You knew that. Spencer Reid didn't drink. It was why the cup in his hand was only water, and the alcoholic beverage in his other wasn't for him.

If you were any less buzzed you probably wouldn't say the unfortunately very embarrassing sentence you let leave your lips, that sounded a little foreign even to you.

"Then do we need to see each other naked tonight to make this not awkward?"

His lips parted and he froze, rightfully so. You weren't sure how you'd react to somebody asking you that either. It seemed awfully blunt for even you, and if you were any sane person, you'd probably be backtracking to take it back. Instead, you were just as frozen as him, fearful for how he would respond.

"No," he says, but there was a strain in his voice that told you otherwise. Thankfully, you had enough self restraint to not call him out on that.

"No?" you tilt your head to the side.

"No, we don't need to. Do you want to?"

Does it make you a horrible person to say yes? To take advantage of one of the many rooms littering the Rossi house, and use a situational run-in to have sex with your ex-boyfriend?

Probably.

"Yes. Do you?"

"I like how you look tonight."

Your heart rate speeds up. "That isn't an answer."

"Yes," he says. "I do."

The kitchen was left empty with a glass of water and two unopened cans on the countertop, that Derek Morgan was no doubt bound to discover when Spencer never returns. Followed closely by — probably — Penelope discovering the same about you. Which would probably lead to the discovery of the friends (were you friends?) with benefits situation the two of you had.

You've barely stepped into the spare room he had located before he's kissing you. Feverishly, devouring you whole, as your back is pressed up against the door. Your wings dug into your shoulder blades, the feathers tickling your arms, and yet you couldn't find it in you to care.

"Spencer."

His response to your plea of his name is to kiss you harder, fingers entangling in your hair, and you think if he pushes against you any more, you'll meld to the atoms of the door.

"You taste like alcohol," he mutters against your lips.

"Funny that."

"Are you drunk?"

"I'll remember this all in five minutes, if that's what you mean."

"Sort of."

His mouth detaches from yours, and there's a desperation in the way he kisses down your neck you don't think you'll ever get used to, no matter how many times he does it.

It was a heartbreaking reality of the difference between how he would have sex with you then, and now.

It's his grumbling that forces you to focus on him again, and not the comparative thoughts you have whirring in your brain. His fingers are fumbling with the lacing on your back, as he says, irritation you find almost hilarious in his tone, "I hate corsets."

"You said you liked it earlier."

"I liked it when I wasn't trying to take it off of you."

You smile. "I'll wear something more convenient for you next time."

"Yes. Thank you," he nods, successfully loosening the lacing enough so he could take the corset off of your body. "T-shirts are good."

"Duly noted."

"Or nothing. Nothing's better," he adds, leaning in to kiss you again, his hands dropping to your chest — completely bare, considering you couldn't justify the wearing of a bra beneath the corset.

"I'll ask the board."

You feel him smile against your lips, his hands cupping your chest, thumbs delicately running over your nipples to elicit a breathless whine from you. Ever so careful, he uses his thumbs to circle them, amused with just how easy it was to fluster you.

His lips trail down from your lips again, his hands dropping to your waist, using his hips to nudge you towards the bed.

The backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed and you wince, although any pain dissipates as he murmurs a gentle apology and lowers the two of you to the bed.

It's quite amusing; the articles of clothing you're removing from your bodies. You didn't think feathered wings and a Dracula-esque cape piling together on the floor would be a sight you ever saw in this context, and yet.

"What do you want, honey?" he asks you, though your brain is a little preoccupied with his pulling of your skirt down your legs, fingers brushing against your skin. He forces your focus back onto him again with the calling of your name, and a kiss to your inner thigh.

"What're you willing to give me?"

"You know I'd do anything."

Your heart soars. Yes, you do know that. He loves to prove that feat to you.

"I don't know," you shake your head. "Whatever you want. You choose. My gift to you this Halloween."

It was a tradition you had started with him three years ago, on your first Halloween together. You knew how important the holiday was to him, and so you had bought him a plethora of decor for his apartment (on top of what he already had). You had helped him set it up, and later that week he had gifted you a charm bracelet with a pumpkin clasp. Every Halloween since, you bought him more decor, and he bought you a Halloween inspired charm for the bracelet.

This was your first Halloween where you weren't together.

"I didn't get you a charm."

"That's okay," you reply, earnestly.

"You're so wet," is voice is breathless, changing the topic of conversation awfully quickly. For his eyes had dropped to the only item of clothing you still had on, and his fingers had trailed far enough up your thighs to brush over it.

"Do something about it then," you retort, bluntly, and he smiles amusedly.

He probably murmurs something about you being a brat, but his hands were pulling your underwear down your legs, and you should not be expected to focus on two maddening things at once.

Thankfully, he does do something about it. And quite quickly, too. Wasting no time teasing like he usually does, instead attaching his lips to your core, tugging a moan from your lips.

His tongue licks a stripe up the centre of your folds, circling your clit, expertly so.

"Oh God," you whine out, breathlessly, head falling backwards and digging into the mattress beneath. Sinful as it was, Spencer's tongue on you did feel like the closest thing you'd ever have to a religious experience, a thought that had crossed your mind the many times he's done this before.

Once he's sure his tongue flicking over your clit had worked you up enough, you're forced into shock as you feel one of his fingers at your entrance. Lack of hand-eye coordination aside, he's well versed in the art of using two different body parts at once to make you come, and yet you're still writhing beneath him like it's the first time.

Sometimes it felt like it was.

"Spencer," you nearly cry out, if not for your hand flying to your mouth to muffle how loud you had anticipated you'd be.

He pulls his lips away at that, instead lifting his head to hover over yours, as he pushes a single finger inside you. Even when your eyes flutter closed and your head tilts back further, you can still feel his gaze on you, as if in awe of the way you looked.

"That was so easy," he murmurs, leaning down to kiss your cheek. "You really did want me to do this tonight, hm?"

Too wrapped up in the feeling of being touched by him again, all you can do is nod your head, and you feel him smile against your cheek.

"Yeah, I know, sweet girl."

He captures your lips again, swallowing a string of moans that leave your lips when he begins to move his finger in and out. Finger that becomes fingers, for he's pushing another one in, and you're arching your back up as you attempt to accomodate to the stretch.

"I know, I know," he repeats when your head jerks back as your lips part in another, this time silent, moan. "I shouldn't have missed last week, hey? I'm sorry I was out of state."

You want to tell him it's okay. That you didn't really mind being celibate for an extra seven days on top of the six the two of you leave between your nights together. Unfortunately, growing accustomed to a once a week cycle meant the interruption of it left you overwhelmingly easy to shatter with the simplest of touches. You did mind, so you kept your thoughts to yourself.

"Please," you ask him, almost pathetically, when he curls his fingers and your entire brain goes fuzzy.

"Please what, honey?"

You're not sure what. More of his fingers? His tongue back on you? You want it all. Yet, time was unfortunately of the essence, and you were acutely aware of the ticking alarm clock in view on the bedside table. You did not have the minutes to receive absolutely everything you wanted from him.

"Want you to fuck me," you murmur.

He breathes out a laugh. "I know. I'm going to, I promise. I just need to get you ready first, okay? How're you feeling?"

"Ready." Your voice is an impatient grumble, one that amuses him greatly, which frustrates you even more.

"I don't think so," he shakes his head, pushing his fingers back inside of you to elicit a sharp whine from your lips. "I want to do this a little longer, anyways."

"Spencer."

Your protest and attempt to bribe him with a kiss is hopeless, for he is continuing to pump his fingers in and out of you, using your arguably selfish kiss to quiet every single sound you make.

It isn't until you're quite literally writhing beneath him and begging him with an incessant repeat of his name, does he pull his fingers out of you. Tapping your lower lip with them, you take his fingers into your mouth, despite your panting and attempts at catching your breath.

You want to close your eyes, but the way he's looking at you as you suck on his fingers is borderline ridiculous, and you should probably be locked up for just how attracted to it you are.

He trails his fingers out of your mouth after a few moments, but any desire to protest that is lost on you when your eyes catch his removal of his boxers.

He disappears from above you for only a minute, though he knows you too well and says, "I'm getting a condom," before you have a chance to start complaining about it. By the time he's returned, he's kissing you again, and you've forgotten all about your irritation.

The head of his cock pushes at your entrance, and you're already a mess. He's slow as he eases into you, and you're eternally grateful for it, because your entire body tenses up, and he's forced to pause, and ease your muscles with his hands kneading your thighs.

"I'm sorry," he says, genuinely, when your eyes squeeze shut, and you're back to remembering why you're not happy about the dreadful thirteen day celibacy he forced upon you. But he's so nice, and so apologetic, that as he bottoms out, your hands are wrapping around his neck to provide him with silent forgiveness.

He stays still for a few more moments, his lips tickling your jawline. His breath fans your skin, warm, and just as desperate as your own, which is comforting.

"Tell me when you're okay," he says, quietly, breathing out a moan when your walls flutter around him.

After a beat, you murmur, "I'm okay," and he pulls his hips back, before rolling them back into you, slowly.

You're a puddle of content and pleasure and love as he repeats the gentle motions of fucking you, moaning and squirming beneath him, despite his hands on your hips in an attempt to keep you still.

"Doing so well for me, honey," he tells you after a few minutes, and heat warms your cheeks at the compliment. He laughs at your bashful smile. "You feel so good."

He moves his hips a little faster, and you're moaning again, hands dropping from his neck to the mattress. At that, he picks up his ministrations once again. All up until all the tender, slow motions are gone, and he's listening to your throat produce broken whines and pleas, his own presenting breathless groans.

"Spencer," you gasp out at one particular thrust, and he's instantly repeating that same deep movement. "Oh fuck."

"Like that?" he asks you, tenderly, and you're frantically nodding your head. "God, look at you. You're so pretty when I do this to you, you know?"

Vulgarity — in any form — coming from Spencer Reid's mouth should sound foreign, and yet it doesn't. Though, perhaps you're too lost in the pleasure of just how good he feels to believe he's anything but perfect.

"I want to come," you tell him, a disguised plea.

"Okay. I can make that happen."

You know he can. He's proven it a thousand times, you're sure.

One of his hands drops to your cunt, fingers finding your clit and timing the circles onto it with his thrusts, until you're pretty sure there is no longer a coherent thought in your brain that isn't simply him.

If his aim was to turn you into a mess with very little time, he was excelling above average. Your hands had grabbed fistfuls of the duvet cover atop of the bed, your mouth producing nothing but a constant repeat of, "Please," and "Spencer," one after the other.

He wasn't surviving very well, either, you found. His breathing heavy and his thrusts growing sloppier by the second, until he was feeling your own walls clench around him with your stomach tying itself into a knot.

He forced his hips to keep moving, albeit much more messy now, as he moaned against your skin, his own orgasm wracking through his body, while still attempting to chase your own.

It didn't take much more than that, to be honest, and your entire body went boneless and shattered beneath him as you came too.

Jelly seemed like an apt description for what you felt as you relaxed in the bed and your nerves began to calm down, Spencer breathing heavily above you. Up until he was sliding out of you, and standing up on legs you could see shaking, perhaps just as much as your own.

He's disposing of his condom as you lay there, attempting to regain your breath, eyes fixated on the ceiling above you. He's shuffling around more than you'd expect for a simple trash trip, but then you feel hands on your ankles, and your head snaps down to find him kneeling at the foot of the bed, gently tugging your underwear back up your legs.

"I know it's not ideal," he says, when your face scrunches up as the piece of fabric lands back on your hips. "But I also know your skirt is too short to not wear these."

"I'll get over it," you reply, letting him redress you with delicate fingers that leave your entire body hot, with goosebumps rising on the skin.

"Yeah," he agrees, though half-heartedly, expert fingers clasping your bra back onto your body.

Once your skirt is back on, he helps you up into a seated position, helping to reapply the feathered head piece you had on.

It's oddly intimate, way he's kneeling in front of you, breath warm against your face as he clips the feathers into your hair. Your breathing hitches as his hands drop back to your thighs upon finishing, and you swallow the lump in your throat.

"Everybody's gonna know what we did," you say, quietly, for it was true. You two had been gone for too long of a time for people to not draw correct conclusions.

"They already know we do." Hook up.

"What? How?"

"You need to stop telling Garcia things."

Your face falls, and he smiles, sympathetically, thumbs drawing gentle circles on the skin of your thighs.

"At least you don't work with them."

"I guess there's that," you confirm with a small nod.

He's silent for a few more moments, simply staring at you and studying your face, before he sighs, and goes to pick up your corset.

"You need to go to the bathroom after this," he instructs you, though gently, motioning for you to stand up and turn around so he could do up the dreaded lacing.

"I know. Don't worry."

"Good," he replies, your skin tingling with every extra bit of pressure he put on your back as he laced up your corset. "You feel okay?"

"Yes," you nod your head. "Do you?"

"I do," he confirms for you, tying off the lacing and tapping your hip so you could turn back around.

You do, and your eyes flicker up to his face. "Do you also promise not to make me wait two weeks again?"

"I'll talk to the board."

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated ♡

#lia’s fics ♡#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer x reader #spencer x self insert #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid angst #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader smut

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splishfish · 2 months ago

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Watch (NSFW)

Tomura Shigaraki x AFAB Reader

Tags: Mutual Masturbation, Fingering, Established Relationship, Use of The Word Slut, Slight Dirty Talk, Good girl is Used Once, Crude Tomura

WC: 943

“You…want to watch me jerk off?”

"Yeah."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You…want to watch me jerk off?” “Yeah.” That simple conversation was what led you two where you were now. Sitting in front of Tomura with your legs crossed together, and him manspreading on the bed, his pants strewn somewhere across the floor. His flaccid penis laid on his balls, an unimpressed expression on his face as he watched you stare at him.

“Your dick is cute…” You mumbled, smiling affectionately at his penis.

A scowl formed on his face, and he glared at you as he grumbled out. “It’s not cute. Don’t call it that.”

A small giggle left your lips, and your eyes trailed up to him curiously. “So…are you gonna jerk off?”

He scoffed, rolling his eyes as he grabbed the base of his cock. He limply wiggled it, muttering. “Show me your tits. I need to get hard.”

You sighed, reaching for the hem of your tanktop and preparing to slide it off when he suddenly stopped you. A look of confusion formed on your face, and he smirked as he spoke.

“No. Like this.” Suddenly, one of his hands grabbed the collar of your top, yanking it down and causing your breasts to spill out and bunch up at the top. You gasped in surprise, shooting a glare at him.

“Seriously?! You’re gonna stretch out my top!” “Shut up. It makes your tits look bigger, so be a good girl and play with ‘em to get me hard.” A scoff escaped your lips, but you didn’t argue. Bringing your hands up to your breasts, you began to gently rub at the softened nubs. You cupped your breasts gently, holding them up as your index fingers drew small circles around them, slowly hardening your nipples into stiff peaks. Once they were hard, you began to slowly pinch and twist them, pulling on the sensitive flesh and letting small muffled noises of pleasure escape your lips.

Your eyes trailed down to his penis, which was slowly beginning to stiffen up. He grabbed the base, pumping his cock at the same pace as your gentle stimulation. He hummed in satisfaction, before speaking again with a casual tone.

“I wanna see your pussy.” “How charming.”

One removal of sweats and underwear later, you sat in bed with Tomura in front of you, and your legs spread wide enough for him to get a good view of your pretty cunt. He groaned once he saw your pretty folds, stroking his cock before pausing. He scrunched his nonexistent eyebrows, before speaking in a puzzled voice. “Why aren’t you wet?” A few minutes of explaining how women aren’t constantly aroused later, Tomura violently fisted himself to the sight of your two fingers snuggly pumping in and out of your pussy. He tilted his head back, a small thunk being heard as his head hit the bed frame. The tip of his cock weeped constantly, precum coating his hand and causing a slick noise to echo through the room. His voice echoed through the room, small moans and cute whines slipping from his chapped lips, a pink hue coating his face and a small sheen of sweat coated his face.

You weren’t any different, two fingers pumping in and out of your now soaked pussy and small moans of pleasure escaping your lips. Hooded eyes locked onto his cock, the red mushroom tip disappearing and reappearing with every thrust of Tomura’s hand. A whiney voice escaped you, muttering in desperation. “Tomu…wanna see you cum…ah…touch your balls for me…please?” A groan of pleasure escaped him, and he squeezed his aching cock as he responded. “Fuck..you’re such a slut…watching me jerk off and telling me to fondle my balls…you like this huh?” You nodded your head, closing your eyes as you brought your second hand up to play with your clit. Small circles rubbed against the throbbing nub, and a loud whine escaped you as you begged in a hoarse voice. “Please…yes…I’m a slut...please..wanna see you cum…” He chuckled weakly, bringing his hand down to squeeze and toy with his balls. He groaned in pleasure, a curse escaping him as he bucked his hips. “Oh fuck…’m gonna cum baby…”

It wasn’t too long after he muttered those words that he squeezed his balls, almost painfully, as he got out rope after rope of cum. It splattered onto his hand, even reaching as far as his shirt, staining it with a white streak. As he panted, still languidly stroking himself, he watched as you finger yourself, desperately attempting to reach your own peak.

Crawling over, he settled besides you, raising your leg up and placing your calf on his shoulder, spreading you wide. A small whine escaped you, and you leaned back to lay on your forearms as he took control. His hand quickly replaced your own, slipping two fingers inside your warmth. A loud moan escaped you, his fingers reaching deeper inside. One of the better things about having Tomura use his hands is how rough they are. His fingers are dry and calloused, scratching your insides in a way that made you curl your toes and scream.

It didn’t take long for him to finally help you reach your climax, your hips bucking up into the air as a broken moan escaped your throat. Your warm heat clenched down on his fingers, causing him to grunt before pulling them out, a string of your arousal sticking to his index and middle finger.

Panting from the blissful experience, you took your leg off his shoulder, before wrapping yourself around him. He grunted before wrapping his arms around you in return, nuzzling his face into your hair.

Did you enjoy this? Check out my Masterlist for more!

aaahh!! I’m slowly figuring out this app! Are the ombré colors cool? ;3

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heechwe · 4 months ago

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not a bad thing | 𝖍𝖛𝖈

୨୧ pairing: hansol (vernon) chwe x fem!reader ୨୧ word count: 6.6k ୨୧ genre: fluff, smut ୨୧ tags: friends to lovers, light drug use, fingering, oral (f receiving), mutual masturbation, penetration, cockwarming. ୨୧ synopsis: Just because you've been friends for so long doesn't mean Vernon isn't keeping some secrets from you, and you're determined to confront him about it.

“Simple but still cute, or spontaneous and fun?”

Vernon, sprawled out on his back on your bed, looks up from his phone screen in absolute confusion. He’s wearing a rainbow beanie with his plaid button-up and denim jeans, contrasting your leggings and baggy t-shirt. He always acts unaffected by how good he cleans up when he wants to, but you shake the thought out of your head and wait for his answer. “Come again?” he asks.

You’ve been holding out the red and black cropped, long-sleeve shirts for two minutes for your best friend to see. Maybe he would immediately pick one or take his time deliberating, especially with the cutout in the shirts’ centers meant to reveal hints of cleavage. However, the realization that his attention was stolen long ago by some meme in your friend group’s group chat has you huffing and flinging the shirts at the edge of your bed.

It isn't the first time you've gotten nervous before a date, and it definitely isn't your first runaround with Vernon being out of touch with both his current and past conversations. Still, you value his advice more than anyone’s. Only you need it in an hour before your date arrives, and he’s being less than helpful. “Pick which one you like, idiot,” you whine.

“They’re literally the same shirt. The only difference is the color,” Vernon retorts. He rolls his eyes and resumes his endless scrolling.

“Exactly! I need to know which color you think I should wear. That way I give off the right impression.”

“And what impression exactly are you trying to give?”

“I don't know! Ready to have a good time but not looking to go too fast. Fuck, if only they had a shirt for that.” You rub your temple, contemplating if going on this date was the right decision.

The day Mingyu offered to set you up with his friend, you had half a mind to shut him down. His insistence on this blind date was too much to say no to, though, and going without any romantic or sexual interests for months seemed to take its toll on your resistance. While Vernon wasn't outwardly against the idea, he decidedly brushed it off with a disinterested hum and didn't mention it once until today.

Once he sees the defeat on your face, he caves, leaving his resting spot to grab you by the shoulders. It’s unsaid, but he practically asks outwardly for you to look him in the eye, so you do. “Listen. This guy is gonna like you no matter what color your shirt is. And you wanna know why?” You shrug, deflated. “Because anyone who can't see how hilarious and gorgeous you are is blind, and we don't hang out with blind people.” Vernon crinkles his eyebrows together and sighs. “You know what I mean. Like, metaphorically blind and shit.”

You laugh. “Thanks, Han.”

You turn away from him to stare at the two shirts still spread out on the bed. “But back to this. Which color do you like more?”

After waiting a few seconds for his answer, you look over your shoulder. He’s miles away, lost in his thoughts again. The look in his eyes and etches of his face are traced with puzzlement, and when you call his name to get his attention and snap him out of it, it’s still there. No matter how hard he tries to hide it with a tight-lipped smile. “Black. Simple but still cute,” he says, his voice soft as he uses your words from earlier, proving he was still listening.

Satisfied, you grab the top and turn, ready to make a beeline for the bathroom to get dressed. You stop short when you almost bump into Vernon on your way. It's only then you realize how close the two of you are. Less than a foot apart, to be exact. “I gotta get dressed, weirdo.” You try to sound humorous, but the breath accompanying your words sounds bated and unexpectedly airy.

In that second, all while you trace the outline of Vernon’s lips with your eyes, you wonder if maybe it would be so bad to skip the date altogether and do something else. Anything else. As long as you didn’t have to leave the house or Vernon.

“Right,” he whispers, but has no intention to walk closer to the bedroom door. Slowly, his eyes go a fraction wider than they normally do.

Like a silent cue, he steps away and fumbles over his words. “Okay well, good luck and—Sorry, I just—I’ll see you at Seuncheol’s after. You can tell us how it went. That is if you want to!” He stutters, right as he hits the back of his head against the door.

“Hansol! Are you okay—“

“Yeah! I’m fine!” He takes his beanie off to rub the sore spot. “Don’t worry about me. You don’t wanna be late. I’ll see you later!” He races out of the apartment, mumbling and clutching his head.

While you curl your hair and put on your favorite pair of jeans for your date, your mind goes back to the look in Vernon’s eyes and the thoughts that raced in your head before he took off. And you speculate about what those two things mean, and if they mean anything at all.

“He didn’t even kiss you? What a dumbass.” Vernon mumbles, grabbing his mocha latte. He takes a vigorous sip, humming at the warmth it brings.

“I know. Now pass me a Splenda packet, please?” You pout. Well-adjusted adults would normally be at home and in bed at ten in the evening. But for you and Vernon, you decide on hanging out in your favorite late-night coffee shop for pastries and cold brew. It was better than sitting around at Seungcheol’s, the usual festivities of weed and alcohol not hitting the same way. You both settled on an alternative to fill your time instead.

“How did it go exactly,” Vernon asks, his voice garbled from the cheese danish he stuffed into his mouth.

“Well, I made it to the restaurant and he was there already, which was nice. But as soon as we started talking about ourselves, he was so flat.”

“What do you mean?” His eyebrow furrow, clearly confused.

“He was just very one-dimensional.”

“How so?”

“I mean, he was either talking about accounting, his accountant friends, or his work projects. Maybe it was better that he didn't kiss me. It might have been as boring as his capacity for communication.” You both share a laugh.

“So, I guess this means you don’t want a boring guy who presses his suits and plays golf on the weekends,” Vernon teases with a grin. You shove him playfully in the arm.

“That’s not the point! I mean, yeah, I don’t mind if a guy is serious, but I want someone who makes me laugh too. Who I don’t have to worry about liking my jokes but also sets a table or buys me flowers once and awhile.” You sigh.

While on your diatribe, Vernon grabbed your vanilla bean frappuccino. In a second, he has your straw in his mouth for a long sip. He smiles when he passes your drink back to you, unapologetic. “Someone who steals your drink for himself?”

You throw a napkin at him in retaliation. “I hate you!”

“Everything okay here, miss?” The barista asks, his name-tag shining against the dim lamps surrounding the cafe.

“We’re all good—Joshua—thank you.” You give him your best smile, to which he flashes his own at you. His teeth sparkle as much as his name-tag does, you think to yourself.

“Just Josh, please. The only one who uses my full name is my mother.”

You two exchange a chuckle, and you notice Vernon is not laughing or smiling at all. His eyes are mere slits, you can barely see the brown in his irises. His mouth follows in the same fashion, but downturned at the corners if anyone was paying close attention.

Joshua hands you a packet of chocolate-covered almonds, and he blushes. “They go really great with the frappes.”

“Oh thank you, but I didn’t—”

“It’s on the house. As long as you keep coming back.” Joshua turns to walk back to the coffee bar, suddenly tense as he leaves you and Vernon at your table.

Looking back to your best friend, you can see why. The original expression on his face has changed to pure anger. Vernon looks like he wants to blip the poor barista out of existence, and his long, hard stare in the guy’s direction might just make his wish come true.

“What’s wrong with you dude?” you ask Vernon directly.

When he turns to look at you, the stone in his expression softens a touch. “That guy seems like a creep.”

“He was just being nice!”

“He gave you a pack of nuts. Who does that?” He scoffs outwardly, and you can’t help but laugh. “What? You know I’m right.”

“Next time a cute guy gives me a snack, I’ll make sure you vet him first.” You wink at Vernon, but he remains hard-pressed. “Come on, don’t be jealous!”

“Of coffee boy? Please.” Vernon shrugs off your comment and crosses his arms. Something unreadable passes over his face for a brief moment. You would ask him about it, but you know the man is anything but overly emotional or easily vulnerable.

You try anyway. “Han, what’s wrong?”

He shakes his head and gets up to throw away his coffee, half unfinished. “Nothing, I’m fine,” he lies, looking away from you with a cold lilt to his tone. “Let’s get out of here.”

The sound of Vernon’s voicemail causes you to grunt in frustration, the beginning of the message you practically know by heart now. After the stint in the coffee-shop, Vernon walked you home without a word and hasn’t interacted with you since then. After being left on read for the past three days, you are all kinds of antsy. Normally, he would text or call instantly with a reason, but it’s been nothing but silence on his end. Your black phone screen makes you rub your temples. What did you do wrong?

“At this point we should send a carrier pigeon,” Lisa says with a shake of her head.

“She’s got it bad, babe,” Hoshi comments with a wink in your direction. He kisses Lisa on the cheek on his way to their kitchen.

When things went wrong, it was second nature to confide in Lisa and Hoshi. Two childhood friends turned dance prodigies and then inseparable lovers? They sounded like the plot of a bestselling romance novel. And admittedly, you wish you could find what they had. Why did you have to encounter so many red flags and road blocks?

“I mean, we all know you’ve been down for him for…three years now?”

“Shut up, Soon!” You exclaim, blushing. “I just don’t know why he’s gone AWOL on me.”

“Maybe he’s in a mood. You know him,” Lisa responds.

“Not like this. This is the longest we’ve ever gone without even sending an emoji to each other,” you say with a frown. You scroll through your conversation, the endless blue bubbles making your stomach sink further.

“He’s gonna be at Wooz’s tomorrow night for that party,” Hoshi says with the slam of the fridge door. You nod your head, already aware. Hoshi smirks. “Corner him there.”

Vernon was closer friends than you were with Woozi, someone you knew in passing because of his relationship with your best friend. But you had been to the guy’s apartment many times before. It wouldn’t be weird to attend, sans Vernon. Right?

“Fuck it,” you think out loud. “Lisa, can I borrow an outfit?”

The party is in full swing by the time you arrive. Chan answers the door with a grin, patting you on the shoulder when you step through the threshold. Woozi and Seungcheol are karaoke battling in Woozi’s living room while the rest of the partygoers are either drinking beer or in circles puffing and passing.

You decline when Minghao tries to hand you his half of a joint, a dopey grin plastered on his face. You want to be sober when you confront your best friend for leaving you in the dark for half of the week, even if you know it’ll take the edge off of your nerves.

When you find Vernon, he’s grabbing a hard lemonade from the spare cooler on top of Woozi’s counter. His eyes, the usual white around his irises pink from the party favors, go wide when he sees you. “Fuck me,” he says out loud.

“Yeah, fuck you is right,” you bite back. “Why haven’t you been answering your phone?”

His mouth is agape, giving no attempt to provide an answer. no answer. You get angrier the longer the seconds go by without one.

“Okay, how about an easier question: Why couldn’t you respond with a thumbs up or something when I asked if you were still alive?”

He runs a hand through his hair in frustration, another curse leaving his lips.

“Fine. Keep being weird about whatever the fuck is wrong. I wanted to try and make sure my best friend was okay, but he can’t even give me a solid explanation as to why he’s being a dickhead.”

Vernon takes your hand and walks quickly with you in tow. The people you pass move out of his way before they get body-slammed, some of them confused while others are too drunk or high to care.

When you make it to a bathroom off of the hallway, Vernon closes the door behind you and locks it. He takes a second before turning to you with a solemn expression.

“We can’t be friends anymore.” The words that leave his mouth break your heart to pieces and steal any semblance of air from your lungs. You didn’t expect to come into tonight and lose a friend, especially when you were unsure of what you did to cause Vernon to feel that way.

Your eyes begin to water with tears, but you don’t let them run over. “What the fuck do you mean?”

“I’m saying I can’t keep doing this.”

“Doing what?” Your voice grows thin. You’re confused how every word from his mouth sounds more sure than the one before while you’re falling apart.

But, even though he keeps up a composed posture, you can tell something inside of him is cracking. His bottom lip is caught in his teeth and his hands are fidgeting, two signs something is bugging him beyond his will.

“Please just tell me what I did wrong and I can fix it. I can’t help make this better if you don’t tell me what—”

In a second, Vernon has your back pinned against the bathroom counter. His lips capture yours in a bruising kiss, giving your quick gasp no time to leave your mouth. He swipes his teeth over your bottom lip while his hands roam from your waist to the expanse of your hips. Soon enough, his tongue is inside of your mouth. He holds your neck with one hand while the other sits on the back of your thigh, hitching it up to press your leg against his side.

He feels the warm skin of your thigh in his palm and the center of your legs against him, making him groan. His touches and the sounds leaving him make you moan in kind into his mouth, and he swallows it blissfully.

When you separate for breath, you look deep into his eyes. Vernon’s expression brims with naked emotions, ones undecorated and unprepared, ones he cannot hide anymore. “If that’s the only time I got to do that when I’ve wanted to for so long, I had to make it count.” His confession should feel like a shock, something you were not ready for and quick to play off as an after effect of the joints he’s been smoking for the past couple hours, but it doesn't.

Instead, you accept it, with open arms and without a first or second thought to the contrary.

You soak in his words willingly, knowing for certain your heart wasn’t just wishing for someone. It was always wishing, comparing, waiting…for him. And now you have him, in this bathroom, terrified you feel anything less than what he feels for you.

Before he can step back, you take his hands in yours to prevent him from taking them off of your body. How could he think you could stop now? “Han, I need you to touch me more,” you whisper.

Vernon drops to his knees and rubs his hands up and down your thighs, his eyes requesting permission to hike up your skirt. Instantly, you nod.

He raises the denim up over your hips, meeting the cotton of your underwear with his mouth. As soon as his lips are on you, the cloth barely separating him from your clit, most of your coherent thoughts become lost to the wind.

Once he takes his fingers and moves your underwear to the side, you know you’re about to lose the breath in your lungs as well. His tongue licks a long stripe up your pussy, taking in the length of you with ease to maximize your pleasure. Your body quakes from how good he is at running his lips and mouth across you. You take in heavy breaths to try and steady yourself, but it’s no use.

Your best friend is eating you out too well and you have no idea how to function properly. You clutch his head with your hand and move your hips in time with the patterns of his mouth. The throes of your orgasm are so close, and it may just break you.

Vernon prods a finger at your walls, and you feel your body shake harder. “Han, I’m gonna come. Please don’t stop.” He hums against you and takes that as the green light to insert the digit completely.

A couple of strokes to the inside of your gummy walls and his tongue lapping at your clit makes you fall apart, whimpering quietly as to not have the people right outside the door hearing you climax.

Coming down, you sigh in pleasure. The sound morphs into breathless laughter. “I love you,” you finally say with a frail tone, but those three words have never been more true than right now.

The smile on Vernon’s lips revealing his gums and teeth is almost too radiant to stare at. It reminds you of butterflies, especially the ones that still flutter in the small spaces of your chest when he looks at you so reverently. Gently, he takes your cheek in his hand and says, “I love you too, pretty girl.”

You don’t leave the bathroom for another five minutes, spending that time in awe of what’s transpired and soaking in the feelings and love you’ve expressed to each other, all while you feel the bass of a Childish Gambino song beat against the bathroom walls.

The shuffle into your apartment is so quick you don’t hear Vernon close the door and lock it behind you. Even though you spent enough time pressed against each other in Woozi’s bathroom, the sticky and sweet feelings coming back to you in flashes, Vernon did not let go of your hand the entire walk home from the party. “It was so cold outside, I’m sure my nose is red.” Looking in the hallway mirror, you frown. “Yeah. I look like a reindeer.” You pout, falling into a fit of laughter.

Vernon chuckles, releasing his hand from yours to place on your cheek, his fingers oddly warm. He kisses the tip of your nose lovingly. “You’re a cute reindeer, if that helps,” He says. Stepping away from you, he takes off his jacket and places it on the coat-rack. “A few minutes with the heater on and it’ll feel like summer in here.”

“Don’t make me sweat, weirdo.”

“I kind of already did, but noted.” Vernon smirks, and right after the next giggle leaves your mouth, you stop to watch him.

Despite knowing how he tasted and how the timbre of his laughter felt against your neck, you knew those things didn’t compare to the candid moments that made you love him. He didn’t take notice of the squinted shape of his eyes reading his phone screen, or even the press of his hand against your back to make you feel safe. But you did, every instance more clear than they’ve ever been before. They were so minuscule on their own, but when they were all stacked together in every year and tear and smile, it was a wonder how you didn’t know you fell in love with him so long ago.

You don’t have to tell him you feel that way, though. He can see it in the stillness of your eyes, in the small and tender smile painting your mouth, in the red tint of your cheeks. He has felt the same too many times to count. You claimed his heart for all the reasons he claimed yours. Of course, it took you both almost half a decade to realize it.

He steps closer, a breath separating your bodies. Taking your hand in his, he kisses each finger before pressing his lips to the knuckles. You grin wider and rest your head on his chest. It’s a tiny marvel to feel the steady thrum of his heart against your ear, all the times being strictly platonic. Its tempo is a soft rhythm that has sent you to sleep on multiple occasions during sleepovers and movie marathons. Now, it’s as if the rhythm sounds different, beating with an entirely different meaning. You suddenly feel shy with him this close, the silent actions speaking for themselves.

“Are you tired,” he asks, lips brushing the curve of your scalp.

You shake your head. “No. I’ve never felt more awake.” You look up at him, a realization at the forefront of your mind. While you may have been together all night, and your mutual confession in Woozi’s bathroom was barely two hours ago, it feels like a world away since you last touched him. Intent, charged with what needs to be spoken and doesn’t, too vivid to go unnoticed.

Like the blunt release of a bowstring, it’s a sudden rush of lips gravitating to each other. The sensation is a mix of headiness and affection. In you, it’s the pull of your hands on the brown waves of Vernon’s hair and smiles slipping in between his kisses. For him, it’s the swipe of his tongue against your bottom lip to let him in, let him guide, and the reverence of kisses across your throat saying the words he knows are on your mind because they’re on his too. I love you and I want you and I need you and I don’t know how I’ll ever stop.

You make contact with the heat of Vernon’s skin when his sweater rides up, revealing the dips of his hip bones above the waistline of his pants. You spread your hands up and underneath the material to feel more of him, the warmth you desire, and the home that resides there. In his own desperate fingers, you realize he’s also exploring the places in you where he finds comfort and love.

The two of you stumble into the bedroom, caring almost as little as you did entering the apartment. You’re both so focused on each other the rest of your surroundings seem to be background noise, but Vernon does nod when you mention birth control. The back of your legs knock into the mattress, but you don’t mind with his lips at your neck, kissing and occasionally biting. He detaches his lips from your skin to tug abruptly on the hem of your skirt, wanting it gone. He rests his hands there, the request for permission clear. Once he takes it off, you raise your arms to let him remove your top as well. Once you’re clad in your undergarments, you help him with taking off his sweater in a haste, reaching for him again when the fabric finally falls to the floor. The renewed closeness seems to snap you both from your trance.

Your gaze reaches up to his eyes, and his are filled with patience and adoration. “We don’t have to rush, you know,” Vernon murmurs. He could easily let the time speed past him like he did earlier, certain there will be more moments like this to cherish at a slower pace. However, he can't deny he wants you as close as possible, determined to not let his words or actions go unsaid anymore.

You nod, running one hand against his chest while the other curls around the back of his neck. You place featherlight kisses to the column of his jaw as he unclips your bra. Each clip feels tentatively released, as though he’s slowing the two of you down like he wants to remember every moment. Maybe he feels this will only last until the morning, but little does he know that there's no way anyone or anything could be worth giving him up, not as a friend and definitely not as a lover.

He finally unbuckles his belt with determination and lets the metal clank on the wood floor. The only clothing left between you is your underwear, still damp from your previous activities, and his boxers. Immediately, you wrap your arms around each other when the busy work is finished, a clash of teeth and tongue following. A muddled moan escapes your mouth and reverberates against his throat when his groin brushes yours and his hands find your breasts. He rolls one nipple between his index and thumb while he squeezes your other breast with his opposite hand, teasing your skin with the pads of his fingers. The skin puckers and swells at his ministrations, the sensitivity between your legs growing again, wetness pooling there and leaving you aching.

The mattress dips underneath your weight when you fall onto it. You grip Vernon by the waist, but he only takes your hands away from his body and intertwines his fingers with yours. He’s all gravity, his seriousness palpable. The faintness of a smirk sits on his lips, but he shows no intentions of smiling. His boxers seem to grow tighter against him, but you don’t look away from his eyes. “Come here, Han. Please,” you whisper, spreading your legs wider, in hopes he can see how deep the ache he’s placed in every part of you goes. Vernon kisses each one of your palms before releasing them.

“Show me first. Show me how much you want me.” You bite your lip and use your hands to lower the cotton fabric of your underwear until it comes off. Your right hand trails up your body and lands on one of your breasts, squeezing and testing. No matter how you touch yourself, it doesn’t make up for the feeling of Vernon’s hands on your chest. His breath hitches when you press your opposite hand to your clit, a garbled moan unraveling on your tongue.

You tease yourself in small circles, enjoying the expanse of wetness you feel, and press your thumb to your clit again to make your hips roll. It feels like it should, a nice reprieve from the short time you’ve spent without any physical contact. But the lust-blown color in Vernon’s eyes, turning the brown irises that you love almost black, is what makes raspy sounds of pleasure leave your mouth. You want his hands instead of yours, as well as his mouth and his body on you, but his stare is enough to keep you going for him.

To amplify your torture even more, Vernon tugs at the waistband of his boxers until they fall at his feet, his cock fully erect. With the bottom of your lip stuck between your teeth, you run a finger up and down your slit at the thought of him on top of you, underneath you, and more. You release a whimper when he runs a hand up and down his cock, the tip swollen and leaking pre-cum already. You remain there together, sharing heady gazes and touching yourselves with slow and painfully gratifying motions, suspending all of the tension of the night into the air until one of you drops it. A loud, broken groan escapes him in response to the contact of his hand against himself and your body begging to be touched. If only he would let go and touch me, you think to yourself as you feel a satisfying clench in your belly.

“God, I can’t wait to be inside of you,” he says, the last words catching in his throat.

You stop to sit up and grasp the head of his cock, running your hand up and down the girth to replace his. It causes Vernon’s body to shiver exquisitely, and you revel in the way your touch affects him almost half as much as his affects you. You whisper, “You don’t have to wait.”

Those words prompt him into action, pressing his free hand to your cheek and diving for your lips. The two of you fall flat onto the bed, and when his tongue enters your mouth once again, you can’t hold back. You grind your body against his, feeling the press of his erection at your center. “Please, I want you to fuck me so bad.” In the midst of your arduous haze, Vernon’s mouth turns into a wide smile, one you forgot you could miss so much.

You laugh at the beautiful twinkle in his eyes, lust laced into the sound. “What?”

“Aside from you telling me you love me, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to hear those words”—he brushes an index finger along your lips—“come out of your pretty mouth.” You bite on the tip of his finger, and he pulls it away with a smirk. He replaces it with his lips, using his hand to align and direct the head of his cock to your entrance.

He has no desire to rush, though, a slow, languorous push of his hips to press his cock inside of you following a soft kiss to your temple. But with a sudden jolt of his next thrust that makes you yelp in pleasure, you can tell that desire is starting to wane. “Sorry,” he says, “fuck, you just feel—“

“I know,” you agree. He’s so patient and loving, but the way he fills you and drives in and out, you want nothing more than for him to grips your hips and make a mess of you. After trailing a string of kisses from his cheek to his neck as he continues trying to restrain himself with drawn-out thrusts, you say, “I don’t want you to go slow. We have time for that later.”

“I just—Are you sure?” His eyes reveal all of the yearning he has felt and the doubts that still linger in his mind, the exposure of his feelings almost too much for you to bear. You kiss his lips once again, hoping all of your reciprocated emotions pour out of you and into his reservations to drown them out.

“After tonight, I’ve never been more sure of anything.” Vernon nods and places his hands on your hips, the pressure exemplary. You wrap yours around the nape of his neck.

With a sharp and hard thrust, you moan into his mouth, loving how he pushes himself into you to the hilt. He continues his pace without slowing, loving the smack of his and your hips against each others’ and the way his body connects to yours.

“Fuck,” you whisper in unison, dragging your nails up his biceps and shoulders as he grips your hips harder. You may find bruised skin tomorrow morning, but at the moment, you love how tight his hold is on you. You wrap your legs around his lower back so he can angle his thrusts, and it feels like drowning and burning in the same breath.

From the chest to the hips, there’s an array of points where your bodies meet. With an overwhelming feeling of fullness pervading your body, you’re certain now there was never a time for anyone else to claim your heart when he had claimed it for his own long ago. You close your eyes to enjoy the thoughts bursting at the forefront of your brain alongside the build of your release, but the press of Vernon’s hand against your chin makes you snap your eyes open.

He pushes in deep, filling you to the brim once again, hitting the sweetest spot within you that has you digging the heels of your feet into his skin. You keep your eyes locked with his, but the way he presses down against your body and the new feeling of his hand against your neck makes it difficult to keep your focus on anything besides the profusion of sensations he’s giving you. You pull him in for a deep kiss, all while you push your hips back against his. This time, you capture a groan from his mouth with your lips. The hand against your neck shakes as his hips stutter, the established pace falling off.

In the midst of his lips being attached to yours, You notice the tinge of a whine accompanying his groans and how labored his breathing becomes. You press your fingers to your clit, rubbing circles into your flesh to follow him to his release with your own.

At this point, you cannot tell which sensation feels the best: Vernon’s tongue flicking against the roof of your mouth, his cock sinking into you, his hand pressing lightly against your windpipe, or the drum of your fingers along your center. Regardless, you love the filth and sweetness of each one, and how you’re sharing the same sensations with the man you love. It’s all you could ask for. You cry out when you finally orgasm. Clenching around him, you hold on to every second of the white hot bliss that coats every space of your skin.

Vernon lets out a long string of moans when he releases, filling you up and spilling inside of you. His thrusts come to a halt, pushing his hips one last time to milk what's left of his climax. Breathing fast, you press your forehead to his. Your heartbeats are drums, beating hard and clashing against each others’ tempos. With time pressed against each other, your bodies sticky and his cock still inside of you, they slowly find their way to a soft beat that compliment each other. Vernon huffs out a breath into the space of your neck, and you kiss his temple before he can raise his head and look into your eyes.

“I love you,” he says, panting, his face lit up in the dark. It’s as though he’s found rapture in the solace of your bed and in your arms, and you would not fight him on the sentiment because your smile mimics it tenfold.

“I love you, too.” You kiss him long and sweet, the damn taste of his mouth a new and unending craving.

He pulls out of you to grab some tissues from the bathroom, but not leaving without pecking your nose, which makes you giggle more than it should. He comes back to bed and wraps himself around you, and you breathe in his scent as he rubs soothing circles into your back. Despite that, you still yearn for more of his body against yours, too touch-starved to go back. “Han?”

“Hmm?” He asks, raising his head from the crook of your neck to look into your eyes.

“Could you…I don’t know,” you fumble, unsure of how to get your point across. In trying to find the right words, Vernon seems to understand as a small, boyish grin spreads onto his face. You two discussed your kinks lots of times, sometimes for the fun of it, and Vernon knew some of yours were based solely on your desire for connection and intimacy. And how could he say no to you now when all you wanted was to be close to him?

Wrapping a hand around his cock, he hisses from the lingering traces of sensitivity. He strokes himself a few times before he grows hard again and sinks himself inside of you. While he shudders from feeling you take him so well, he doesn’t roll his hips and you don’t rock back against him. You only press your bodies closer together, love and fullness coaxing you to sleep in tandem with the sound of Vernon’s heartbeat.

The sun bleeds through your curtains, and normally you would trudge to the window to close them shut and fall back asleep peacefully. This time, though, you don’t mind it when you see the rise and fall of Vernon’s naked chest in the sunlight, all while feeling his arms wrapped around you. You know you could watch him sleep all day, the gape of his mouth so kissable and the warmth of his skin calling to be savored. However, those thoughts come to a halt when the sudden desire to grab something to drink hits you. Hating to leave him, you press a soft kiss to Vernon’s temple.

You take an old button-up of his from your closet and tiptoe to the kitchen to grab a glass of water. You know your bed is a room away, but you gulp down the drink to make it there faster. Of course, when you walk back into your room, you see an awake Vernon with a hand propped behind his head. His eyes are droopy, but a sugary smile sits on his lips nonetheless, taking in your article of clothing. “Is that my shirt?”

You grin, a blush creeping on your face. “You left it here, so that makes it mine.” On some level, you had worried this morning would be awkward no matter how many times you had said you loved each other the night before. Still, the ease of falling into your shared banter and routine comforts you.

“Point taken. You look cuter than I do in it, anyway.”

Vernon pats the empty spot next to him you were previously occupying, and you have no qualms crawling back into it and into his arms. “Does that mean I can wear all of your shirts when I want? I mean, since I look so cute in them,” you joke, kissing several spots on his jawline.

His hand creeps up to your shoulder, and thanks to the lack of buttons fastened together, he slides the fabric down until one of your breasts peaks out. “As long as I’m the only one who sees you out of them.”

“I think we established that last night.“ You giggle into his neck. “But, to reiterate, yes. You’re the only one I’ll share all of my terrible jokes with, take with me to Taco Tuesdays, and get undressed for.”

Vernon smirks. “That’s what we do anyway, minus the last part.”

“Well, call it an added bonus then, since we’re in love and all.”

The laugh that leaves his lips stops your heart, and you wonder if it’s possible to pack away a sound in your mind for every good and bad day, just to recall this moment. “Deal.”

With that, he places a kiss on your lips as the sun continues gleaming through your window.

You spend the rest of the early morning that way, wrapped up in each other and not bothering to dress. After another post-morning sex nap, you two spend the rest of the day cuddled up on your couch with Chinese takeout, reminiscing about the past, but ready to find out where the future takes you both. Lucky for you, with the way Vernon looks into your eyes, loses his train of thought every time you kiss him, and finds it again when you smile, the future has the potential to be pretty beautiful.

#svthub #seventeen x reader #vernon x reader #hansol x reader #svt smut #vernon smut #hansol smut #seventeen fic #svt fic #vernon fic #hansol fic

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fairlyang · 5 months ago

Text

Miss me🕷️

w/c: 734

tags: 18+ smut. so horny for ur bf, voice kink, masturbating, light teasing, phone sex, dirty talk, mutual masturbation

a/n: maybe a part 2 where its phone sex again but w mig initiating it.... maybe

imagine getting horny while on the phone with your bf miguel after not being able to see each other for a few weeks…

you couldn't help but get horny when just listening to his voice as he was talking about who knows what happened in the lab with whoever he was with. your brain couldn't even comprehend anything he was saying, just focus on how pretty his voice was.

you'd just let out little "uh huh"s and "right.." so he knew you were on the other end. meanwhile you bit your lip and let a hand fall between your thighs.

you slid your hand under your shorts and immediately started to rub your clit as he rambled on. your eyes rolled back with the instant pleasure from your fingers, miguel still talking in your ear. "mhm then what happened?" you asked, already breathless.

he continued on and you were in the clear so you kept going.

his tone changed to frustration and it was just the motivation to move your fingers faster. you really couldn't help being hopelessly and utterly in love with everything about him, his voice especially.

his voice was the only one that drove you madly insane and had the ability to have you how you were now, desperate and insatiable. his voice was not only good for giving you orgasms but amongst other things like helping you sleep. which was the whole point of this call, to help you sleep but your brain had other ideas.

you felt your wetness seep through the fabric of your panties and you slowly pulled them to the side, spreading your legs and just dipping a finger between your folds. immediately drenched.

you only prayed he couldn't hear it but that was an impossible ask given how wet his voice makes you.

he stopped talking and it was just utter silence.

you stopped for a second just to check if he hung up but noticing he didn't, you kept going slowly. somehow even that just felt loud so you went even slower.

suddenly you hear him chuckle and you realize the jig was up.

"did you miss me that bad baby?" he murmured, making you whimper and just nod your head as if he were there.

"use your words my love." he purrs and you sink into your pillow.

you started rubbing your clit and let little moans leave your lips before you respond, "fuck yes I-I missed you so bad-" you whimpered again making him awe.

"my poor baby.. getting so needy just hearing me talk huh?" he coos softly earning himself more pretty moans from you.

"pobrecita.." he whispers and you felt your wetness drip down. (poor girl)

you closed your eyes and went faster not being capable of responding. meanwhile his breath was becoming heavy and you could hear wet noises from his end too.

"también te extraño nena.. ni te lo imaginas." he moans out making you cry out. (i miss you too baby… you cant even imagine.)

you thrusted your hips up and went as fast as you could. you were already feeling close and you needed that release.

"doing so good for me nena.. don't fucking stop." he murmurs and the noises on his end become louder as well.

"need you so bad baby." you whimpered, making him groan.

"i know baby, i know. just a little while longer and you won't have to use your own fingers." he says and chuckles.

"need all of you. miss your mouth on me… your hands touching, groping me…" you murmur and grind your hips up desperately.

"yeah baby? miss me kissing your neck while i squeeze your perfect fucking tits?" he murmurs then moans at the same time as you.

"y-yes- fuck-" you let out, subconsciously squeezing your legs together and feeling that coil in your stomach about to burst.

"baby im gonna-" you start then stop, letting out a gasp as he moans into your ear, "good girl baby, cum for me.. just like that.."

you cried out as your orgasm hit you hard and he groaned along with you, his own hitting him at the same time with his load landing on his stomach. your legs shook, your heart was racing, and you could barely hold the phone to your ear. he then started whispering sweet things in your ear and you finally ended up falling asleep.

part two

#miguel ohara #miguel ohara imagine #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o hara #miguel ohara oneshot #miguel ohara smut #atsv miguel #miguel ohara x y/n

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hier--soir · 1 year ago

Text

take your medicine

pre-outbreak joel miller x f!reader

rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni summary: *tv sales advert voice* so you've been finding it hard to reach orgasm? lucky for you, our best-selling item "hunky boyfriend joel" is on sale at half price. shipping is free, and he is very determined to help you achieve your goals! call the number on your screen to buy now! OR your medication makes it difficult to orgasm so joel (and your vibrator) help make it happen. warnings/tags: set in the early 2000s aka early thirties joel my lover boyyyy, boyfriend joel, depression [nothing dark or sad], anti-depressants, brief discussion of food/eating, cigarette smoking [f], soft!supportive!joel, mentions of masturbation [f], unprotected piv sex, use of a sex toy, ride 'em cowgirl (1939) dir. samuel diege, cream pie, dirty talk, joel talks you through it. word count: 2.9k masterlist a/n: so this one is.... self-indulgent. shout out to all my friends on anti-depressants that are strugglin' to reach orgasm. me too, pals, me too. and there will be no medication shaming on this account, no there will not! so happy sunday, i hope someone else out there enjoys this short little thing with me x follow @hier--soirupdates if you'd like to be notified when i share my writing

Medication is a journey, they say. Every day will be different.

Medication is not the end all be all, they say. We can always try different avenues.

Six months on, now.

Six months since Let’s try the Zoloft for a few months.

Six months since We can reassess in April.

It’s June and summer has settled over Austin with a hot wet vengeance. April came and went with a mutual agreement that you weren’t ready to be weaned off yet. A gentle hand on your forearm and a softly spoken Why don’t we check in again in July?

A low dose. A starter dose. A you shouldn’t experience too many side-effects dose.

And she was right – for the most part. There were no headaches, no nausea, no dizzy spells, no changes in appetite. That shallow, low mood that’d been haunting you for months suddenly began to lift. Begrudging exercise in the afternoons, a three-meals-a-day regiment implemented by your boyfriend, and a happy little pill with every morning coffee.

But fuck – you can count the number of orgasms you’ve had since January on one hand.

Countless nights spent alone in your bed, tangled betwixt sweaty sheets, fingers and forearm cramping until you finally give up. Drink a cold glass of water, wet your face, and go to bed frustrated; a routine disappointment.

You’d gotten lucky a few times, of course. Vibrator on the highest setting possible, pussy all puffed up and numb from the rough speed. Frustrated tears in your eyes, lightheaded by the time you finally feel that sweet sweet relief coursing through your veins.

A few times with Joel, too, in those first few months. And ignorance was bliss—quite literally—until he caught onto what you’d been doing.

“What was different tonight?” he’d asked you on one of those nights, laid out beside each other in his bed. Chests heaving, satisfied smiles spread across your faces.

Your hand had paused against his head, fingers twisted up in his sweaty curls, and you hesitated. So quick, the briefest pause before trying to play it off, but he caught it. Always too perceptive, too watchful of an eye; especially since you’d been diagnosed.

“What’s wrong?” Joel frowned.

“I… didn’t… my…” you’d mumbled, face tucked against his pillow.

“Can’t hear you when you do that,” he pressed a kiss to your shoulder. “Baby?”

“I didn’t take my meds today,” you repeated, voice still low, still wary. But you could tell he heard you. Knew from the way his body stiffened beside you. From how when you looked over his smile had dropped, eyebrows pinching inward.

For a moment he didn’t even say anything. He hardly breathed. And then—Darlin’, why would you do that?—so painfully soft, the faintest tinge of worry in that deep, rasping voice of his.

“I don’t know,” you sighed, and something hot began to burn behind your eyes. Wet, pinching shame. “Just… I woke up and I wanted you. And I wanted it to feel like it used to for us, and I can never… you know I can’t finish when I’m on them, and I hate feeling like I’m disappointing you—”

“Baby,” Joel shook his head, strong hand cupping your jaw. His forehead knocked against yours; a tender but firm kind of insistence. The type that says look me in the fucking eyes and listen up. “You’re not disappointin’ me.”

“Joel,” you sighed, face hot, foreheads tacky where they pressed together.

“No,” he grunted. “I fuckin’ mean it. This stuff takes time, okay? We’ll figure it out the way we always do. Just… don’t do that again. Please.”

“I won’t,” you murmured feebly, nose smushed against his.

“Promise me,” Joel had urged you. “Promise me you’ll take your medicine.”

“I promise, Joel.”

You kept strong on that promise. Didn’t get frustrated when he’d stay over more nights than usual, or drag you back to his place in the evenings – all just to watch you pop that little white pill in the mornings.

It brought out something new in him, the day you’d showed him the prescription. Like some instinctual protectiveness was unlocked and he just kicked into hyperdrive.

Cutting work early to drive you to your doctor’s office, cooking up different meals every night for dinner.

Most days you wake up alone in his bed; wipe the sleep out of your eyes as you wander downstairs. Let him nudge you into a chair at the table, beside Sarah, so he can set identical bowls of cereal in front of the two of you—his girls. Hell, if you had a dollar for every time that man has said Breakfast is the most important meal of the day in the past six months, you’d have more money than you could spend.

Joel didn’t even get mad when you started smoking again in May.

Didn’t bat an eye when he found you at two in the morning, sat on the back porch in one of his sweatshirts with the smell of tobacco staining your fingers.

“Been a long time since I seen once of those in your mouth,” he’d smirked, settling onto the stoop beside you.

“I’m sorry,” you grimaced, remembering how proud he’d been when you quit. He rested his head against your shoulder, eyes watering with a yawn.

“S’late,” he grumbled sleepily. “N’you smell now.”

“I’m sorry,” you’d repeated, stamping the cigarette into the concrete. “Today was just… hard. Couldn’t sleep.”

“S’okay,” Joel told you. “Just don’t like it when you sneak out on me, yeah? You know I ain’t judgin’ you.”

The only thing that frustrates Joel, is that he comes, and you don’t.

And it’s not a frustration with you. No, it’s a hot faced guilt that spreads through him every time you fuck. Evident in those frantic touches, desperate pleas of your name, of tell me what to do, tell me how to help, of fuck I’m sorry.

Because you still want him, despite it all. Still can’t help your wandering hands, your fingers that tease back his bed sheets and then his boxers and coax orgasm after orgasm out of him, night after night.

Tonight, you thought, would be no different.

Covers strewn across the end of your bed, pillows askew, you sit astride his lap.

It’s hot; the AC in your apartment has been broken all week, and your thighs are tacky with sweat where they press against his skin. Everything wet – sweat in your hair, slick between your thighs, the soft squelching sound that raises with every press of his cock inside of you.

“Fuck,” Joel pants, hands tight against your waist. “I can’t—goddammit, I’m not gonna last, baby.”

“It’s okay,” you moan, eyelids heavy as you rock your hips over his.

It’s late, and you both have work early in the morning, but the burn is so good like this. The heavy weight of him reaching so far, pushing the limits of what your body can take. For years it’s been your favourite way to fuck him; poised above his body, admiring the way his stomach tightens and his eyes roll when you sink down on his cock.

“What can I do?” his voice is strained, the veins in his neck bulging as he holds his breath – anything to stave off the impending high.

You only whimper pathetically, grinding your hips into his. Can feel everything in your stomach knotting up into a white-hot ball.

“Hey,” Joel urges, hand landing in a soft slap against your outer thigh. “Talk to me.”

“I don’t know,” you cry out, shaking your head. “It’s right there, but I…”

“But what?” he murmurs, hips snapping up again.

“I don’t think I can,” you finally admit, eyebrows drawn tight in frustration. Your lower lip is bitten raw at this point, incessantly gnawed at by your own teeth. His grip tightens on your hips and he drags you upward until his length slips out, falling against his stomach with a wet smack.

“C’mon, tell me what you need,” he says quickly, and you’re sure that the desperation you see in his eyes is mirrored in your own. Pupils blown round and fat, endless black—pleading.

You stare down at him for a moment. Watch the way his chest heaves with harsh, stilted breathes. How little dots of sweat have gathered at the hollow of his throat. And fuck, you want it so bad.

“Top drawer,” you exhale roughly, pointing to the side table.

Joel doesn’t question the order. Doesn’t say a word as he spreads a long arm across the bed, yanking the drawer open and shoving his hand inside. You watch him rifle around for a moment, pulse increasing as you wait for him to find what you want. What you need. And you can tell when he does; his shoulders stiffen and he lets out a choked sort of sound, pulling out the black wand and shoving it into your hand.

“Show me,” he says, eyes wild.

Your finger drops down against the button, turning your hand to show him which one to press.

“There’s four settings,” you murmur, slipping it back into his palm.

“Does this normally help?” he asks, grunting softly as you grip his cock, notching the tip back at your entrance.

“Sometimes,” you sigh, sinking down, sucking in the heavy weight of him. “Can still take a—a little while.”

He presses the button tentatively, watching as the rounded head of the wand starts to vibrate. Spread open around him, he can see your swollen little clit so easily, and he lowers the wand to press against it. Your body jolts forward, mouth splitting open with a groan as heat flares through you. Your hips stutter against him instinctively, chasing that intense feeling, and he looses a gravelly moan at the feeling of your wasted cunt squeezing around him.

“Look at that,” Joel grunts, dark eyes trained on your face. That wicked pink tongue slips out to wet his lips and he nods in encouragement. “I know, baby, I know it’s a lot, you feel good?”

“Yes,” you gasp, jaw going slack as you settle into the feeling. “Fuck, yes, it’s good, it’s good.”

It’s nothing you’ve ever felt before; nothing your past boyfriends had ever been comfortable enough to try. It has the muscles in your thighs tensing up already; the thick press of his cock paired with that unrelenting, almost overbearing, vibration.

“Can feel it,” he hisses out, head tilting back into the mattress.

“Yeah?”

“Mm,” he nods, expression grim. The muscle in his jaw twitches. “So fuckin’ tight like this. All wound up, y’need it so bad, I know.”

You moan, eyelids fluttering as he presses the button again, notching it to a higher speed. You lift up slowly and then press back down over him, and the two of you groan in unison. His free hand falls against the curve of your ass and he squeezes, encouraging you to rock against him, starting up a steady pace.

One of your hands settles on your chest, fingers twisting and pulling at your nipples. You need more, always more, something, anything.

“Look so fuckin’ good like this,” Joel mutters, and you can tell how fucked out he is already as he watches you. Dark eyes glazing over, mouth hanging open deliriously. “My pretty girl, so damn good for me.”

Your heart stumbles in your chest and you whimper, appreciation for him flooding your senses. He’s been so close for so long tonight already, teetering precariously on that edge but holding off for you. Fucking you into the mattress before pulling out and tucking his face between your thighs, doing his damnedest to get you to that same place. Urging you to get on top, to take what you needed, to use him to get yourself off.

“I love you,” you mumble breathlessly, eyes pinching closed as something sharp starts to tingle at the bottom of your stomach.

“Fuck, fuck,” Joel snarls, hips snapping upward.

“What ar—” your words cut off with choked moan as he clicks the button again, and then again, taking it to the highest speed. Your shoulders shake and you tilt forward a little, hand gripping his shoulder to steady yourself.

“Joel,” you cry out, chest heaving and stomach tightening.

Your fingers wrap around his wrist, searching for something to ground yourself against. That firm press against your clit doesn’t falter for a second, and you let out a rough moan.

“Good,” he grunts. “Good girl, give it to me.”

The muscle in his bicep spasms and strains beneath the skin, everything pulled taut as he keeps the wand pressed firmly against you. And it’s almost painful, the way you can feel your high coiling inside you, burning, but never quite reaching fever pitch the way you need it to.

A symphony that builds and billows and writhes within you. Sloping swells of violins and cellos and trumpets. Up, up, up to that shattering crescendo you just can’t seem to reach.

“Joel,” you mewl, and there’s tears in your eyes, on your cheeks. Hot, fat tears that stain your face now, dripping from your chin to splatter against his chest.

“C’mon now,” he grunts, hips shifting up off the bed, meeting you thrust for thrust. The stretch of his cock is so wide, so deep, and every shift of his body punches the air from your lungs.

“I don’t know if I can,” you shake your head, stomach on fire. The vibrations are so intense, the speed so fast, you can feel your clit going numb beneath it. But Joel doesn’t pull away, doesn’t stop the fast pace of his hips. The muscles in his abdomen twitch under you, tan skin glistening with sweat.

“You’re so close,” he goads, jaw tight. “Don’t fight it, baby.”

“Stop moving,” you beg then, your voice a high keen. Joel stills instantly, wary eyes darting across your face. He doesn’t pull the vibrator away though. Not yet.

“Fuck,” you cry out, hand firm against his stomach. “Just let me-just—”

Knees on fire against the bed, you grind your hips down into his. Gasp as his cock presses hot and heavy against something deep inside of you that sets your entire body shaking, vibrating against him; buzzing at the same high-speed rhythm as the wand between your legs. You rut against him again and again and then something pulls tight and hot at the base of your spine.

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp, eyes widening. “Oh god, Joel, I think—”

“Shh, I know, I know,” he moans. A bead of sweat rolls from his hairline to his chin. “You’re okay, let it happen.”

“Touch me,” you say, breathless and needy and so so desperate. “Fuck, please.”

Joel groans – a deep, guttural thing. A sound that comes from somewhere in the base of his stomach. It rattles your bones and has your fingernails digging into his stomach, and then his hand is on your chest. Rough fingers squeezing and stroking and pinching and you’re gasping, keening his name as he whispers frenzied words of encouragement and it’s building it’s building it’s building and and and—

Everything goes silent when you come. It’s all blurred vision and deafened ears; an intense ache in your jaw from the way your mouth hangs open. You can feel a vein in your neck, raging beneath the skin; a staccato rushing sound that echoes inside your head.

And you think you can hear Joel’s voice, somewhere beyond it all; Fuck, there it is, good girl, good fuckin’ girl.

When your eyes flutter open, you can only see Joel’s face swimming in your vision. His eyes rolling back, lips parted as he snarls your name.

“Fuck,” he spits. “—yeah, that’s it, there we fuckin’ go.”

You feel his cock kick inside of you; fast jerking spasms and then a warm rush as he starts to come. Your hand wraps around his, pushing the wand to the side of the bed, but he doesn’t fucking stop. He grips your waist and fucks up into you, spitting curses and warbled slurs of your name as he pumps you full of his hot spend.

It’s obscene – a mix of your come and his, squeezing out around his girth and smearing against the inside of your thighs. It pools around the base of his cock and you whimper at the sight, swollen cunt still tightening around him. Only when you start to sag down against his chest does he rest, his thighs twitching and tensing with the aftershocks of his high.

Joel raises a hand, calloused thumb brushing the tears from your cheeks. Then, carefully, he grips the back of your neck, guiding you down to rest against his chest.

Your shoulders slump and you press a lazy kiss against the jut of his collarbone. And for a moment there’s just this. No sounds but that of heavy breaths and a soft buzzing, forgotten somewhere in the sheets. The swipe of his fingertips down your spine, your lips against his salty skin. A gentle tap against your waist and he’s slipping out of you with a sigh, but not letting you pull away, not letting you move from where you’ve collapsed directly on top of him.

“Missed that,” you slur sleepily, fighting to keep your eyes open.

“Me too,” he mumbles. “Did so good. Made me proud.”

“S’that right?” you smile against his skin.

“S’right, baby.”

You hum, dragging your head up to press a kiss against his mouth. Both of you so exhausted that it’s just a brief, lazy swipe of your lips, but it’s enough. It’s thank you.

“Shower?” he suggests softly, smiling up at you.

“Or… cigarette?” you respond, eyebrows raised, teasing.

“Watch it,” he smarts, laying a quick smack against your ass before nudging you off of him. He stands and holds out a hand to help you off the bed, tutting underneath his breath. “Although I guess you’ve earned it.”

a/n: in hindsight, idk why the fuck i wrote that it took them six months to try this but what can you do lmao.

thank you for reading! x

#my writing #fic: take your medicine #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller one shot

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predestinatos · 6 months ago

Text

hungry for life - MV1 (18+) ༄˖°.🪐.ೃ࿔*:･

pairing: max verstappen x female!reader

summary: it could've been a dream trip. if it hadn't been for the nightmare of the company. (also i didn't proofread i'm sorry)

tags: enemies to lovers, smut, lots of smut, filthy really, p in v, fingering, reader swallows, idk what to say.

word count: 5.2k

MINORS DNI!!!

Monet’s Water Lilies occupied the entire room, listening to your conversation intently.

“It isn’t that big of a deal” you friend said, whispering and pointing to the painting as if she was commenting on it.

Your gaze remained on the careful brushstrokes, head tilted as you replied, “Easy for you to say. I mean, seriously? Max?” your hand raised to a specific part of the painting that really wasn’t as impressive up close as it probably was from afar - but there was no other way to have this conversation.

“You’re in Paris, looking at a Monet, with your best friend” she continued, a hint of a smile in her tone of voice. Her amusement only frustrated you more as she walked a few steps to the right, trying to inspect another part of the mesmerizing painting.

“And my worst enemy” you rolled your eyes as you followed her. “It’s not fair. When you said it would be you, your boyfriend and a friend of his, I didn’t expect this. I was thinking more of a double date.”

She looked at you, shrugging, causing her beautiful hair to bounce with her. “It can still be” she joked, to which you could only reply by turning your back to her - and consequently, Monet himself, muttering a ‘fuck you’ to her giggling frame and to the lilies who stood motionless in the still water.

You stood, alone, in front of Sam Francis’s In Lovely Blueness. You felt unlovely blue yourself, though you knew you couldn’t let this ruin a dream trip for you. Your excitement might have died down the minute you met Max at the airport and put two and two together, but you were sure it was mutual, which did make things better. At least he wasn’t particularly amused himself, falling for the exact same trap you fell into.

As if manifested by your own thoughts, his frame appeared on the corner of your eye, big eyelashes adorning his eyes as he stared ahead, almost as if he had no intention of acknowledging you whatsoever. “This is inspired in a poem by Hölderlin. It has the same name and everything. In Lieblicher Bläue. It’s a representation of-” he started, shocking you at first but then angering you just as well.

“I am an art major. I don’t need you to explain this to me” you spat, a fake smile adorning your lips as he looked at you, your annoyance, and chuckled. It was brave of him, you had to admit - to intentionally go out of his way to annoy you by explaining something you were sure he knew you knew.

Crossing his arms across his chest, his head slightly tipped to the side, he admired how easy it was to get under your skin. He wanted to be nice, to engage in a conversation and try to achieve some type of neutral ground, but he found it impossible to do so. “Since you know so much, why don’t you guide us?”

The comment came out aggressive and petty, which wasn’t particularly intentional but he also hadn’t made any effort to hide what he felt towards you anymore. You stepped closer to him. It surprised him, how daring you were all of a sudden, but also how much you actually seemed to dislike him, to the point where this was something you did publicly, unashamedly.

“You want me to guide you?” you asked, whispering while looking up at him. You were smaller than him, his frame towering over you even unintentionally, but that factor didn’t stop you.

“Sure” he said, swallowing dryly, jaw clenching as the tension between you both rose. The red on the painting seemed to stand out even more and spread on the corner of his vision, inundating the whole painting.

“Okay” you replied, taking two steps back away from him, opening the distance between your bodies, carrying the red color with you as the painting seemed to fill with blue again. But not for long, for you walked and looked at him as if urging him to follow, which he did, curiosity winning against irritation.

After a couple of steps, you reached the end of a hallway, secluded and stripped of any painting, walls too bare, contrasting with the previous setting.

He was confused. He really didn’t know what you would do next, though this whole scenario just proved you were just as childish about your feelings as he was. “And, to your left you have the exit sign, which will take you right where you belong” you said, moving your arms like a museum guide, overly cartoon-ish on purpose, knowing it would only annoy him more.

“You’re such a child” Max said. Indignation wasn’t something he felt often, yet this time he felt it appropriate. But he was also thankful - thankful that his attempt at being nice didn’t work, for he did not have to pretend to like you for a week when he absolutely did not. “I tried, at least.”

At this, you could only gasp in surprise at his courage to make such a statement. “You tried? By mansplaining a painting? Oh, that's new!” it was almost funny how you two were whispering in shots, or shouting through whispers, the empty hallway echoing your words as if to emphasize them.

“It’s more than what you’ve done so far! I’m not the one walking around looking all bitter and bratty.”

You stood, motionless, looking at him. His green eyes fixated on yours and burned as if they were scorching red, and as much as you wanted to lash out even more at him, you figured walking away was the best solution. Once again, turning your back on someone in Paris. It had to be done.

“Oh, yeah, walk away. Good luck doing that at the hotel” Max said, the comment a nail in your coffin, a way to affirm that yes, he had won, yes he was right, and the points had been made - you were to avoid each other at all times.

You, however, stopped. His last words echoed in your head. What did he mean, the hotel? The moment you closed the door to your room and he closed the door to his, you two would be out of each other’s sight. So what did he mean by that? That he would annoy you further, being noisy, screaming, to the point where you couldn’t sleep? You were about to ask when you decided that would admit some sort of defeat - asking someone to clarify a point you hadn’t understood in an argument seemed weak, frail and ridiculous to you, so you kept walking, desperate to find your friend again.

“No,” you said when the room card was handed to you. “Fuck no” you kept going, your best friend’s hand raised towards you as she tried to contain a hint of a smile.

Now you understood Max’s comment. Now you were angrier than ever.

Why did you let your friend handle the hotel reservations? Because you trusted her good judgment. Which was bad judgment from your part, apparently, as she reserved two rooms - one for her and her boyfriend, and one for the friends they brought - you and Max.

“It has TWO beds” she tried convincing you, as Max had already gone up angrily, snatching the card swiftly without saying a word. “I wouldn’t put you two in a king sized bed. I am not crazy” she kept going.

The more you thought about it, the more ridiculous it sounded.

Max prided himself on his fast insticts and reactions to any unforseen events that might come his way. It was probably one of his best traits, one he always mentioned when asked about his favorite psychological aspect of himself.

But all that was put into question as he stood motionless in the middle of the hotel bedroom, towel wrapped lowly around his waist as the air conditioning hit his bare back and he heard the door click open.

He stood in the same place as you closed the door behind you and ran a hand through your hair as you exhaled. He had those brief seconds of you unaware of his presence to hide in the bathroom and get dressed quickly, or lay underneath the covers discreetly. Anything at all.

But he had no time to make a decision as your eyes met his, panic written across his green irises.

You prided yourself on your fast insticts and reactions to any unforeseen events that might come your way. It was probably one of your best traits, one you always mentioned when asked about your favorite psychological aspect.

But all that was put into question when you opened the door to the hotel room and saw a Max's frozen frame, towel wrapped lowly - too lowly, you thought - around his waist, swallowing hard as droplets of water ran across his bare skin.

No thoughts crossed your mind before you cursed, a hard "for fuck's sake" escaping your lips from accumulated stress over the events of the past 24 hours.

This was not how you wanted your trip to go. This was not what you had planned. It wasn't just sleeping in two separate beds.

This proved it clearly.

During this time, Max's brain found the opportunity to adapt to the situation, adopting an arrogant attitude that contrasted from his initial shock.

"Come on, I'm not fucking naked" he said as he turned his back to you, heading to the bathroom.

"You are underneath that towel" you pointed out, starting to follow him before stopping yourself, realizing it was best not to do it. "I mean, you knew I was coming"

You heard him chuckle - really, he made sure you would - and his head and bare shoulder showed up from behind the open door. "Yes. Hence the towel. Otherwise I'd be naked. Which I'm not. Don't be such a child."

You could only throw a middle finger at him in response - one that he found gave him the victory, the upper hand. One that signified the discussion was over and he was right.

He grinned to himself, closing the door as he undid the towel around his waist in order to put on his underwear and a t-shirt.

Max's hand reached for the small hanger where it was placed and his fingers wrapped around nothing. He looked at the empty hanger and then at the floor, completely empty of what he needed the most in that very moment - his boxers.

"Shit. Shit. Shit Shit" he cursed, looking around for an answer. He knew his only choice was to ask you to bring them to him, but he only knew it cost him that final victory he enjoyed so much, his ego and pride mixing with each other to create a selfishness that surprised even him sometimes.

You heard your name being called out from the bathroom. At first you thought you had imagined it, like in horror movies where it seems to be coming from everywhere, but when it sounded again you knew that wasn't the case, though it was equally as terrifying.

You jumped from your bed and went over to the bathroom, ear pressed against the door in search of a sign of danger.

"...Yes?" you asked.

"Can you bring me a pair of boxers? They're in my suitcase. That is if you don't want to see me naked for four seconds while I get them myself."

You groaned loud enough for him to hear, your steps heavier than usual so he could notice your discontentment even if he couldn't see it.

Walking over to his suitcase, you opened its zipper almost carelessly, searching for a pair of underwear in the midst of the collection of same colored t shirts and same fit jeans.

Max was walking around the bathroom like a mad man, realizing how ridiculous this situation was, and how ridiculous it was that he had accepted it without asking who his company would be first. Maybe this was a lesson, yes, from the ghost of vacations future warning him about being careful who to trust, or to spread kindness, or something.

Before he could dive deeper into thoughts of madness, a knock sounded on the door. He grabbed the towel quickly to cover himself, although he did not bother wrapping it around him. He was not planning on opening the door entirely, not after the scene you caused.

As he opened, he saw an outstretched hand - yours - holding a pair of underwear. The fabric dangled in your pointer finger as if it was made of a burning material that you needed to get rid off, and fast.

He grabbed that from you, but as he was closing the door, your arm remained in place.

"I'm childish but you brought like two packs of condoms for this trip?" you said accusingly, and he could hear your smirk, as if you finally had something to hit him with.

"Don't flatter yourself, I didn't know I'd end up with you" he said as he pulled his boxers up and opened the door once again. "Is this less offensive than the towel?"

He was close - closer than you had expected - and though he hid his own surprise at seeing you at the doorframe, he couldn't deny that he didn't exactly measure the consequences of not checking where exactly you were before opening the door so fast.

His chest was close to yours, so close part of him almost felt as if you were touching, the proximity making him feel unbelievably taller than you, though he was sure the difference couldn't be that big.

You tried not to stare. Really, you were trying really hard. But he was so close to you he occupied your entire line of vision, his pale skin appearing so smooth in front of yours, contrasting with the dark color of his underwear - that you unconsciously had picked.

He towered over you, head low so he could look at you in the eyes, though the view wasn't particularly bad from up there. Your pajama top was loose - too loose - in your frame and your shorts were the very definition of the word.

"You wanting to sleep with me would be an insult" you said, moving away from the doorframe so he could pass, though he didn't move, merely crossed his arms across his chest, muscles tensing slightly at that. "And sure. It's an improvement" you continued, staring him up and down - taking his frame in but disguising the act as disdain.

Max's head leaned to the right, a smirk growing on his lips as he realized he got you for a second time. Nonchalantly, eyebrows raised, he decided to act.

"That's not what you said a year ago." There. He had you. And while before this bickering came from a place of anger and hatred, he was growing increasingly more amused at how you matched his own pace.

"Yeah, but that was before you opened your mouth" you retorted, focusing hard - too hard - on his face and not on his body, though it did not help either. His hair was messy and slightly damp from the shower, and his stubble had grown in a way you could only describe as attractive - not perfectly shaved but not entirely messy either.

He bit his lip then, mostly because he knew what to say to you after your words and was trying not to smile. Also because you had admitted to feeling attracted to him, even if only physically, which added to his confidence as he stared at you and ran his eyes down your body. "What's wrong with my mouth?"

You were dumbfounded for a few seconds, mouth opened at the ridiculousness of his comment, what it implied and the line it had crossed. "You're such a piece of shit" you said, while his grin grew to his eyes.

"You want me" he sounded so matter of factly, as if he had commented on the weather or said the sky was blue.

"I hate you."

"Never said you didn't" Max took a step forward towards you, and you found yourself unable to walk away. Something about his deviance pulled you in, and part of your brain told you you could leave, though another tried to convince you you were only staying because this was your room, after all.

"Then how could I possibly want you?" you asked, though it was more directed at yourself than at him this time.

He looked away then, as if the answer was obvious, his body moving closer to you but never touching you, both decreasing and increasing the distance between the both of you.

"You want me but I'm a piece of shit. And that's why you hate me. Because you know, deep down, you still want me to fuck you" as he said this, he moved away, almost as if the conversation had never happened, though it had, just now.

"I don't want you anywhere near me" you tried to sound assertive but part of your voice had failed by how taken aback you were, still wondering if you had imagined his words.

He stopped and turned to you once again, battling his own brain on whether or not he should push you a bit further.

"Define near" he said, as he walked closely towards you, like a predator slowly approaching its prey, defying them.

Your chest rose and fell as he moved, and you found yourself unable to tell him that that was near enough, mostly because it wasn't, not even close.

The back of your legs hit the bed - his bed - and you fell backwards, sitting on it as he moved as close as he could towards you. "Is this near for you?" he asked, though his tone had changed into something darker, raspier and more filled with lust than flirt.

You swallowed, refusing to break eye contact, aware of how you looking up at him provided a view for himself as well.

"Who wants who now, huh?" you asked teasingly, a smile spread across your lips as you noticed his body tensing up - with a bit of anger but maybe a bit of arousal too.

"Is this wanting you?" he asked back, finding your language had moved from insult to rhetoric, questions that needn't answer - not when he could see your eyes shining as they looked up at you from your eyelashes, not as he saw you crossing your legs despite your attempts at discreetness.

You shrugged at his question, not wanting to back down on your claim but also not wanting to give him the chance to refute it.

His hand cupped your face with firmness, holding your stare as he lowered himself towards you, bringing his lips close to yours, so close you felt his skin brushing against yours although he broke away before you could indulge in his initiative.

"What about this?" he asked, testing you now, though he knew the answer himself, felt it in his body as his boxers felt tight against his erection.

"I'm still unsure" you replied, and as if awaiting for that sign to keep going, Max exhaled and ran his hands through your bare thighs, pinching softly at them, causing you to hiss and giggle from his contact.

"Do I have to keep asking?" it was his time now to look up at you, something close to desperation rubbing at him as he knelt between your legs.

"Not if you admit it" you leaned to kiss him, to - admittedly - give him some kind of upper hand, though you weren't sure if you were playing anymore, not as his tongue hungrily explored your mouth, so desperate it was almost sloppy yet so warm and arousing and fulfilling.

"Fucking hell you're stubborn" he managed to let out during the brief instances where you weren't pulling his neck towards you, making sure his lips remained on yours.

His body moved on top of yours as you laid down in his bed, his hips pressing against yours as you felt his cock against you, a moan escaping your lips and a sigh leaving his at the contact.

"Is this, huh?" he asked again, mouth now moving to your neck, kissing it so lightly you shivered, only to bite you afterwards, the sensations overwhelming you with need for him.

Your body felt hot, burning intensely; and Max's body against yours only fueled that, his voice making you feel more than you wanted to admit even to yourself.

You wanted him to feel like you were feeling in that moment - unaware he was already as on the edge of completely losing himself as you were. So you held his hand with yours and brought it in between your legs, allowing him to get his response.

Max had to steady himself. Really, part of his brain froze and only his body worked, mouth watering as he felt how wet you were, mind going completely foggy at the fact that you had done it, at how hot what your simple gesture had been - at how strongly he reacted to it.

His cock was so tight in his boxers it felt almost painful, especially when he knew how comfortable he could be, inside you, feeling your entire body react to him and him alone.

However, he craved to drive you mad as well, convinced you would probably lose your minds together in that hotel room. "Use your words" he said, pulling your shorts down in order to get better access to you.

His fingers teased you gently, brushing over your entrance and pulling away just as you were ready to take them. "Tell me, is this wanting you?" he insisted, his voice breathy and hoarse.

You wished you could answer, could say more than his name which came across as a whine for more of him inside you. It took all your strength to focus, on winning, on seeing him crumble before your eyes, losing his composure which was so so close to fall apart.

You bit your lip while staring at his eyes - once so bright but now so dark, so filled with something you hadn't seen in him before - and took him completely by surprise as you ran your hand across his erection through the fabric of his underwear.

Max closed his eyes and his eyebrows were now close together in an almost frown. "Fuck" were the words he let out as he dropped his head.

"Admit it" you demanded, not only because you wanted to win but because you couldn't wait any longer - you felt empty, his teasing frustrating you to no end.

Without warning, his fingers dipped inside you, filling that emptiness, even if just slightly. He moved them painfully slowly, savoring every inch of your moans as you kept your hand on his hard cock.

You could feel its length and thickness, making your mouth water at the mere thought of having it inside you. You started moving your hips against his fingers, craving more of the pleasure, more of him.

Max was just observing you at that point, how desperate you were for him, how beautiful you looked with flushed cheeks and swollen lips with barely anything being done to you yet.

"I would never admit something like that" his words contrasted so much with his thoughts, but he knew one fed the other both for you and him, this back and forth the main reason why you both felt an incessant pull towards one another.

"You're ridiculous" you managed to reply, though the words came out muffled and confusing, earning you a chuckle in response.

"You're being fucked stupid and I'm ridiculous?" he asked, grinning as he used a hand to removed his boxers, freeing his erection. You couldn't help but whimper at the sight, the sheer anticipation of what was to come, at the opportunity to having him buried inside you.

However, letting him win this easily wasn't something you were willing to do - and though your mind was cloudy and your judgment blurred, you stood on your elbows, face almost touching his. Your hand caressed his tensed arm which kept its movement inside you, and he couldn't help but look at your contact.

You tilted your head, biting your lip as you stared at his face - the desperate attempt at remaining composed, the rosy cheeks and disheveled hair, lips wet and eyes so dark they looked almost black.

"Who's stupid now?" you asked, hot breath against his neck. He could hide many things, but he couldn't control the goosebumps spreading across his entire body, he couldn't hide the way his shoulders tensed even more, how his throat bobbed up and down as he swallowed.

This was thrilling. Maybe too thrilling, if such thing existed. He thought of the painting, of the colours spread across the canvas and somehow, in that moment, that seemed to increase every emotion he was feeling, and he had to close his eyes to control himself and steady his breath.

He had to keep it going. He knew he had to - he knew this was precisely what he wanted, to drive you insane, to keep the tension running across both of you until one exploded.

So he removed his hand from where it was - so comfortable, so hard inside you - and he could see you pout slightly before returning to your previous cold attitude. "You want me to stop, I'll stop" he said, climbing fully on top of the bed, both hands on either side of your head, hovering above you.

"I never said that" you bit back, though it was hard to focus as he started leaving trails of kisses on your neck, going down to your chest, and on your navel, biting your shirt and pulling it - removing the last layer of clothing you possessed.

"Then what do you want?" he asked, face in between your thighs, just above where you wanted him to be buried. Max's grin didn't hide the fact that he knew exactly the answer to this - but, just like you, he was stubborn, loving to hear the words escape your lips, to know that you wanted him to ruin you completely.

His hand now caressed your thigh, fingers softly moving up and down, drawing invisible nothings on your skin.

You fought against your will to just say it, although you wanted to give it up and just admit it. As if reading your thoughts, his eyes pierced yours with amusement as his cheek rested against your thigh, stubble scratching your skin pleasurably. "We don't have all night, sweetheart" he whispered.

The nickname caused your heart to race, but what came out of your mouth was a scoff, arrogance still coating your actual feelings despite the situation you were both in. "You're just as desperate as I am" you told him, lifting your right leg to caress his bag with your foot.

"Desperate for what, hm?" he asked, biting the inside of your thigh as he climbed back up, facing you.

"To fuck me" you finally replied, knowing it was less of an admition and more of a dare.

"Is that what you want me to do? To fuck you?" the question was rhetorical, almost mocking, but at that moment you didn't quite care. Not when the tip of his cock rubbed against you, not when he tried so hard to steady his breath.

You could only nod, carnal insticts getting the best out of you. That was all he needed to let himself go, to let go of all restraints previously holding him back - if there were any.

He sinked inside you slowly, as if to prolong your pain and your pleasure simultaneously, savoring your reactions - your whine of pleasure, your closed eyes and teeth biting your lip, your eyebrows furrowed. You felt and looked so good it took all of his strength to focus on being the stronger, composed person in the room - something he never struggled this hard to achieve.

He dropped his head low, his forehead against yours as he steadied himself. "Fuck" he managed to say, along with a loud exhale. "You feel so fucking good" he continued, words leaving his mouth almost impulsively.

"Then don't stop, Max" you demanded, almost aggressively, as your body ached for more of him.

He pulled himself almost fully out and slammed back inside you, harder now, making you let out a loud whine - one which you rapidly covered by placing your hands over your mouth.

He kept going, hips slamming against yours with a steady rhythm as you uhmed in pleasure, eyes teary already as they rolled to the back of your head.

He wanted to hear you. In fact, he wanted to know others could hear you, hear how good he was making you feel, hear how his cock drove you absolutely insane. With an assertive movement, his hand grabbed yours and pulled it away from your mouth, then held your cheeks tightly as he made you look at him.

"Don't cover your mouth" he ordered, hungrily, feeling you tighten around him as he said it. "Let everyone hear how well you take it" he continued, speeding up his pace and laying on top of you as you wrapped your hands around his waist, caging him.

"F-fuck, Max" you started, unable to resist much longer, feeling his hot body against yours, your hands pulling his hair as he moved almost animalistically, so focused on your sounds he could only get off to them.

"You sound so pretty" Max growled, close to exploding as well. "So fucking hot" he continued, and you had to bury your teeth in his shoulder to keep yourself from screaming - all you could let out was his name as you felt him inside you, and his hips rolled against you, unmatched amounts of pleasure running through you.

"I'm so close, Max, I'm so close" you said, not realizing how often his name was being uttered by you, how it seemed like one of the few words you had left to say.

Driven to a state of total lack of control, Max let moans escape his own lips, his animal vulnerability resulting in your own orgasm.

Feelings you tighten and pulsing around his cock was the tipping point for him, as his body shuddered, pulling himself out of you as fast as he could.

“Open your mouth” he said, gesturing at you to sit back. You did as he demanded, still drunk from your orgasm, still completely at his mercy, and he came finally, warm come filling your mouth.

The view was Max’s dream come true - your mouth wide open and filled with him, so obediently taking his orders and so beautifully contrasting with your previous attitude.

“Now swallow” he said, tapping your cheeks slightly with his hand as you closed your mouth and did as he said, the slightly salty flavour filling your tastebuds.

You laid down on his bed, exhausted and completely fulfilled, while also dizzy with the amount of emotions running through your head. You closed your eyes, but felt and heard him laying down next to you, his arm brushing yours shyly now.

“Was that close enough?” he asked.

#f1 #formula 1 #formula one #f1blr #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 fandom #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen smut #max verstappen fic #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen #f1 smut #formula 1 smut

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theorist-fox · 3 days ago

Text

Paint

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Crossposted on AO3

Part 1 >> Part 2 >> Part 3 >> Part 4

Word Count: 5.3k

Summary: You and Simon share a cigarette. He slips up, and shares something more.

18+

CW: smut, not explicit. angst. hurt/comfort. miscommunication. mutual pining. sexual and non sexual intimacy. and guess what, my favorite tag, simon ghost riley is bad at feelings.

Masterlist 🦊

𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬

“Need to rest?”

You doubt he hasn’t heard you arrive, even if he’s facing the opposite way. It’s true, you could’ve gotten rid of at least the Kevlar vest or taken off your boots—but being in a safehouse doesn’t mean it’s literally safe, and you don’t like taking risks. Plus, there’s no time for getting dressed if there’s an emergency.

That's why you're sure he's heard you: boots thudding against the floor, the bulletproof vest scraping on the cotton of your uniform, the carabiners hanging from your tac belt, or the gun on your hip that clicks when you walk.

Normally, those sounds are muted; muscles and bulk don’t necessarily mean you move like a bull in a china shop. But you know the beast, now dormant, that is sitting on the floor right at your side.

Fucking bat.

He could move exclusively through echolocation, eyes closed shut; who knows? You wouldn’t put it past him.

You think you should start spreading the rumour, just to watch people shit their pants even more when he walks past. It’s already a sight you swear by, the way their faces pale while you stride beside him, dipping your chin to your chest to hide the quiet giggles—why not add some spice to it?

However, your fun thoughts are interrupted by the man himself.

“S’my turn tonight.” He replies listlessly, eyes locked on the door—armoured, triple-bolted, locked handle, and trip wire at the entrance, courtesy of Soap. He wanted to be safe, he said. Sure—being in a safehouse doesn’t necessarily mean you’re safe, you agree, but Simon always likes to take things to the next level. And Price only feeds that urge, twice as paranoid as your not-so-friendly Ghost.

His watch has started three hours ago, and would you look at that? The door is still there. Closed. Bolted shut. Unexploded. Shocking.

You wonder why the five of you are even bothering with rotations when the place is quite literally a bunker a few feet underground, and if someone were to walk in unannounced, their arse would blow up to bits thanks to Johnny’s intricate wire trap.

But oh well. Simon is like that, and Price is even worse, so you’ll give in to their wishes like Kyle and Johnny did and take it the way it comes.

Then again, sleep isn’t apparently in your plans, and four eyes are always better than two, so you plop on the floor next to Simon, legs outstretched in front of you, mimicking his posture.

You nudge his ankle with the tip of your boot, because he’s freakishly tall, and your foot won’t quite reach his. He bends his knee enough to nudge you back.

“I can take over,” you tell him, knocking the back of your head against the wall. “Can’t sleep anyway.”

You feel his eyes on you, lingering like the muzzle of a gun to your temple, but it’s just a threat—you know he won’t shoot. Though hatred is permanently carved in his eyes—some leftovers of a past life—it feels more like a burning weapon poised to pierce your head, one that never quite follows through.

He’s kinder than he looks.

“Nightmares?”

“No.”

“Go on, then.” Simon says, with a jerky nod of his jaw your way.

“Feel a little restless, I guess.” You reply with a shrug, as if this is your daily routine by now. “Not exactly a comfortable place, this one. Plus, cap snores.”

He snorts. You smile.

“Loud engine, tha’ one.” He comments, returning his eyes to the door.

“You do too, y’know? Well, you don’t snore much, but,” you gesture with your finger at your mouth, “you grind your teeth at night.”

“Ain’t snorin’, tha’.”

“Still,” you purse your lips in a cheeky smile, “Annoying—that.”

You watch him give you the side-eye of the century. The blueprint of it. But it lasts a second before he returns his focus to the door, as if afraid it might run away or something.

"No one’s makin’ ya, y’know?" he drawls. "Don’t have to sleep over—could always jog on after you’re done.”

After you’re done, he says—as if it’s a chore.

You hate when he takes ten steps back after he’s taken one forward. One day he’s all up in your business, worrying his mind and his heart, and the next he tells you to go take a hike after you’re done.

It makes your belly churn and melt like he’s pouring acid over it—you’re in too deep, and you know it. But you're too much of a coward to drag yourself out of the muck of this relationship. You’d rather sink into its depths and be swallowed whole than face the thought of never seeing him again. You’ve already come to terms with that truth—it doesn’t get easier at all, though.

Instead of biting back, you roll your head his way and smile, small and genuine.

“I like sleeping with you.”

His shoulders tighten as if he’s startled by the way you replied so transparently, but he keeps his eyes on the door, giving you nothing else to work with.

“You don’t?” You venture.

No feelings, Sarge—you can practically hear him say in the silence that hangs tersely between you. Simon will die on that hill; you’re sure of it. Even if sometimes he slips and cares, says words you’d never think to hear from his mouth, fucks you too slowly for it to be considered just sex, it’s just the way it is, the way he says.

You know he’ll never leave his shell. Where he’s comfortably lonely, where he’s secure and safe. Whether he cares for you or not, the wall’s too high to climb, too thick to blow.

But the awful person here is not him for behaving the way he does; it’s you for putting your heart through the meat grinder knowing fully well it’ll come out like butchered meat.

If you're looking for someone to hate, Simon isn't the one.

“Negative.” He drawls.

You shift uncomfortably next to him, subtly pulling away a few inches from his leg.

But then he adds, “Toss an’ turn too much. Hog the covers.”

You stiffen and scowl. “I don’t.”

“You do.”

“Well, you could always yank them back,” you reply, sounding a little too petty for your age.

Simon finally turns his head your way, but now it’s you who’s glaring holes into the (shockingly) still unmoving door. His eyes linger on your profile for a second too long, and you’re just about ready to bite back with some snarky comment about him taking a picture so it’ll last longer when he speaks first.

“Don’t have the heart to wake you up.”

You feel something inside you soften and melt. Gingerly, you turn your head his way.

Your eyes lock, and his are creased at the corners—not with a smile, but with tender attention, as if he’s taking in the details of something worth his time, his concentration.

You plaster on a smile that’s both embarrassed and pleased, as your cheeks warm over.

A soft huff to blow out the heat gathered right under your skin, and then you’re nudging his shoulder with your hand. He dramatically lolls sideways.

“That must be the nicest thing you’ve ever told me.”

He nudges you back, and you dramatically flop on your side. He snorts.

“Don’t get used to it.” He says, and gently curls his fingers around your forearm to lift you up.

You’re unexpectedly pulled in until you’re tucked in his side. The team is right behind a thin wall, and the knowledge initially turns your body into stiff marble. While their snores signal that your privacy is safe, you don’t want to repeat past mistakes. No matter how alluring those memories are.

But still—you don’t fight Simon’s hold around you; you don’t dare.

You trust his judgement and progressively melt into him, nestling your cheek on his chest as he drapes his arm over your shoulders. Nice and comfortable, in spite of how hard it is with all this stupid gear strapped on both of you. The Velcro on one of his front pockets scratches your skin, but the rest of you is so cosy that you don’t care. You toss one leg across his, and he doesn’t flinch or pull away.

“Can’t wait for evac to come get us,” you sigh. “I’d kill for a smoke.”

Simon squeezes your shoulder. You decide to take it as a green light to rest; your eyes flutter closed almost automatically, as if he’s pressed a button the moment he pulled you in. Grateful, you bask in this brief show of care—allowing Simon to take that one step forward, fully knowing he’ll just take ten steps back the next chance he gets, because that’s simply how he is.

He doesn’t add anything to your comment, probably registering it as further small talk, and you know he doesn’t care for that. He has a sort of internal threshold about how much mindless chatter he can tolerate in one sitting. You're aware of it, and you don’t mind, instead taking the quiet moment for what it is: a fragment of peace.

His heartbeat is faint to your ear, too many layers between you and his chest for you to hear it clearly. His thumb swipes softly on the fabric of your uniform. And he’s warm, like a furnace rumbling with rekindled fire. Suddenly, sleeping sounds much less of a hassle and more of a treat.

Simon’s chest rises softly under your cheek. The buzzing of the neon lights overhead turns into pleasant white noise, much like the obnoxiously loud snoring coming from the bedroom behind the wall where you and Simon are leaning.

It’s only after a few moments that he shifts—imperceptibly, like the subtle man that he is. But you catch it anyway. Spec Ops and their senses, right?

Yet you trust him, so you don’t bother opening your eyes. You count your blessings, and they are few: Simon holding you to his chest while hostiles run rampant right above your heads is at the top of the list right now, and you won’t let it slip.

But then—a tap on your nose. A featherlight touch of something papery that finely crinkles when it meets your skin. You scrunch your face and force your eyes open to see…

…a cigarette.

You blink yourself awake, though you hadn't fallen deeply enough into sleep for it to be startling.

“For me?” You ask, craning your neck to look up at him, only to find him already gazing down at you.

“If you’re polite ‘bout it.” He replies, tapping the tip of the cigarette on your nose again.

You smile. “Please?”

He hums approvingly and slots it between your lips. Plucks the Zippo lighter from one of the front pockets of his vest. Swiftly flicks it open.

The flame dances before your eyes, blue hues growing into yellows and oranges. You lean closer, allowing the tip of the cigarette to hover right into it, until the white paper burns dark, until it finally glows red.

The first drag you take feels like a warm hug. Not often do you have the chance to sit back and smoke while on the job—the glowing cherry is like a big, fat, neon arrow pointing at your head for eventual snipers. Too dangerous to even try.

But six feet underground (quite literally), inside a windowless, armoured bunker, you’re safe from unwanted scopes and deadly bullets. And your cigarette is your prize right now, so you savour it like you should.

You groan in bliss, smoke leaving your lips in foggy curls.

“Lifesaver,” you murmur, returning your head to his chest.

He squeezes your shoulder. “Easy to please.”

You snuggle closer, and he holds you there in comfortable silence. But he’s incredibly tactile tonight: fingers draw mindless circles on your shoulder, while his other hand has found purchase on your thigh, thumb swiping back and forth along the inner seam of your trousers.

It’s not sexual. You think you’d recognise when Simon’s touch turns into something carnal and covetous. No, now he’s just… touching. Sensing. Testing the softness of the meat of your thigh between his fingers, feeling the curve of your shoulder with his pads. It feels like he’s blowing softly at the cinders of a fire that’s been smothered by the more grievous events of this long operation. It torches your belly; rekindled flames gently lick at your skin, until you feel soft and malleable, warm and weightless.

You smoke peacefully, eyes occasionally fluttering closed. Subtle shivers run through you when his hand travels to your side, right where the bulletproof vest doesn’t cover.

Three or four drags in, a gloved hand appears before your eyes. He beckons with his fingers.

A breathless chuckle. A fond roll of your eyes. You tap the column of ash off the tip and place the cigarette between them.

Simon uses his thumb to lift the mask off his face until it bunches up on his forehead. You shift enough to sit upright and tilt your head his way.

His cheeks are flushed red, irritated by the continuous rubbing of the balaclava. Slivers of paler skin stretch across his cheekbones and upper lip—knotted scars that have always been there, disrupting the growth of his stubble and the smoothness of his skin. Yet now, after tracing them time and time again, they blend in so seamlessly that you have to focus to even notice them at all. Lost their shock value, they have. Now, they’re just small pieces of a puzzle—insignificant in the grand scheme that is Simon.

He brings the cigarette to his lips. His cheeks hollow as he takes a lungful of smoke. It puffs out of his lips a moment later, as he sighs with the same relief you did moments earlier. Just like that, his apparent tranquillity infuses you with the same peace.

“Don’t finish it.” You murmur, very aware that if he did, you wouldn’t mind.

His mouth twitches, and his pupils swivel down to where you’re nestled in his side. Honey lashes fan his cheekbones, eyelids smeared with black greasepaint that makes the chocolate of his eyes look like the warmest of browns. Dark ripples mottled with gold.

“Learn to share.” He drawls, but contrary to his words, he brings the cigarette to your mouth.

You wrap your lips around the orange filter, brushing briefly with the pads of Simon’s gloved fingers. Another intake of smoke has your shoulders relax, but before you can breathe it out of your system, Simon tilts your chin up with his thumb and leans in dangerously close.

Not that you haven’t been this close before, of course. You’ve had him kissing you silly, mouthing at your skin, or drowning between your legs. But to your poor battered heart, every time feels like the first. A blessing, because you’d never trade this feeling for anything in the world. A curse, because it’s a lonely one.

Smoke billows from your parted lips into tendrils that travel upwards and sting your eyes. You don’t close them, but your eyelids fall a little heavier—though you don’t blame it on the smoke.

He nudges your nose with his, instructing you to tilt your head back.

You do.

His thumb tugs your chin, gently forcing your mouth to part. Your stomach flips and twists, leaving you dizzy and unsure of which way is which. The flames from before are melting you inside out now, burning liquid pooling at your lower belly. It makes you muscles clench, your thighs squeeze.

Simon’s eyes stay on yours as he brings the cigarette to one corner of his lips. He takes a purposeful drag. The burning paper crackles. The sound is ten times louder to your ears.

Your blood pumps madly—you feel it run and collect in the apples of your cheeks, in your head, spinning and spinning, until your thoughts are blurry and disconnected.

The arm coiled around you curves so that he can trace your shoulder, following the outline of your gear, and then his hand settles around the side of your face. He keeps you still, fingers flexed at your jaw and thumb dimpling your cheek. The cold leather of his glove should counterbalance the warmth blooming right under your skin, giving you some sort of comfort, yet it’s such a jarring contrast that it only causes the air to lodge in your throat.

The intensity in his eyes, masked by the usual indolent display, is not lost on you; he makes it impossible, unthinkable, to look away. The air around him is stuffy, almost suffocating, and the haze of the smoke, with its pungent smell, doesn’t help. Yet somehow, it makes him look so unbelievably soft, like everything around him is dimmed and unimportant. Like his eyes are all that matters, or the shape of his lips and the slight crook of his nose.

The hand holding the cigarette goes to rest on your thigh. It tenses under his touch, and he squeezes it until it softens right under his palm.

Smoke leaves his lips, then, billowing right into yours. It travels down your tongue, pungent and hot, even richer in taste after it’s been in his mouth, too.

Something tightens in your belly. Makes your head spin further and your hands tremble, as they lie rigidly at your sides. Tension spreads through your body something fierce, muscles coiled in beautiful anticipation, but the lines in your face are smoothed down when Simon brushes his thumb on your cheek.

You inhale. Nicotine travels down your lungs and inflates them with the earthy notes of tobacco, the subtle hint of mint of a gum he must’ve chewed on before, the humidity of his warm breath.

“Like that,” he breathes hoarsely, abandoning the effort of sounding even remotely unaffected.

You blink slowly, exhaling a fleeting cloud of smoke back into his mouth.

“What?” You ask, so quietly you can’t even hear it over the sound of your own heartbeat.

The cigarette is presented right next to your face, once again. The column of ash at the tip is longer than the portion still available to smoke. As Simon brings it to your lips, you see it crumble onto your trousers in your peripherals. You don’t care.

“Learn to share,” he repeats hoarsely. “Just like that.”

And he nudges your lips open by slotting the filter between them. His gaze falls on them like it’s inevitable, like his eyes are metal and your mouth is a magnet.

You take a slow drag, watching his face with hooded eyes. Simon follows raptly the way your cheeks sink, how your lips curl. He’s lost his subtlety now, more obvious when you notice the heaviness with which his throat bobs.

Gingerly, you raise a hand to hook your fingers at the shoulder straps of his vest, pulling him in. He slowly follows your lead, inching closer once more.

Smoke flows from your mouth to his, a wave of soft grey tendrils that tethers Simon to you. And he breathes it in, breathes you in, closing the gap.

His lips meet yours in a kiss that couldn’t be considered one for how faint it is. But his arm, still curled around your shoulders and holding your face steady, tightens just a fraction.

Simon brushes his nose with yours. His head cocks sideways, and he presses his mouth to you again.

You feel like every nerve ending that’s being touched is set ablaze, synapses overriding in the poor attempt to concoct a thought, a word, a breath. Nothing leaves you, if not a trembling sigh that stings with nicotine.

Simon pulls back. You whine pathetically, and you don’t care, as your eyes flutter open—you hadn’t even noticed you’d closed them at all. You trace a path from his lips upwards, studying intently the lines in his face and the way the camo paint hasn’t managed to settle in the wrinkles around his eyes, in the furrow between his brows.

Pinched, they are. As if that kiss has worried him more than any bit of sex ever could.

Your heart clenches at the thought. Writhes pitifully, as if it could talk him out of his spiral, bring him back to you, burn his lips to yours until they merge into a single fucking entity that’s impossible to tell apart.

But he nods softly, then. Your chest unravels, lightens. You nod back.

The cigarette in his hand falls forgotten on the dark concrete floor. His palm lands on your waist, fingers delicately tugging at the bulletproof vest.

His lips find you again. Softly, like he’s testing waters he’s already more than navigated—conquered, even. Mouths slot perfectly like they’ve been trying to do this thing all this time, all along.

You return his kiss with the same caution, trying to quell that fire ignited in your belly. Soft pecks echo in the quiet room, drowning the sounds of your teammates sleeping just behind the wall, the flicker of the lights overhead. Focusing on Simon’s lips, on his taste, and the slight twitch of his brow pressed to yours.

You busy your other hand by hooking it around one of the front pockets of his vest, where a magazine sits. His chest rises heavily under the press of your palm.

Without ever breaking apart, you shift until you’re on your knees, gaining the rare advantage of height. Simon tilts his head accordingly, resting it back against the wall. Your hands initially settle on his shoulders, then on the slopes of his neck, thumbing gently at each side.

He holds you uncharacteristically tender, a hand on your waist and the other on your thigh, where he pats once, twice, until you’re following silent instructions and end up straddling his lap.

Simon’s kiss never stops, nor does it deepen. He teases your lips with his own, leaving gentle pecks that have your stomach erupt in butterflies, your throat tight and suddenly parched.

You wonder if this is the moment in which he slips one hand under the waistband of your trousers, like he always does. Whether he’ll settle on teasing the blooming wetness on your knickers until he’ll feel merciful enough to travel past the cotton and plunge his fingers into you. Or if he’ll simply skew the gusset of your panties to the side and touch you, formalities set aside.

He does none of that.

Instead, his hand settles at the back of your head, the other one on your waist. You flutter your eyes open, only to find his completely shut—and if Simon Riley dares to look so peaceful, you’ll allow yourself that blessing too.

You lose yourself in him, sharing unhurried kisses only framed by the ripping sound of velcro being unstrapped—his fingers working deftly with your tac vest at your sides. You help him out, lifting your arms so he can take it off.

Simon tosses it behind you. Pulls you back down to him again, with long fingers keeping you still by your nape, while other hungry ones untuck your shirt from your trousers so they can feel your skin. Your stomach ripples when he touches it.

His palm explores, follows the curve of each fold, of each line, tracing a path that warms up under his hand and pitifully freezes when he leaves it unattended. Until the tips of his fingers reach the underline of your bra. You sigh softly in his mouth.

“Yes?” He breathes.

“Yes.” You reply.

It must make something tick in his brain, because his painfully obvious tent pressing up to you twitches under your weight.

Simon kisses you slowly as he palms at your breast right above the cottoned bra, causing your sex to flutter around nothing, yet not in a way that feels unfulfilling.

He spares no more seconds to hook his fingers around the central seam of your bra, pulling down.

He cups one of your breasts as it spills out—feeling its weight in his hand, thumbing softly at the nipple until it hardens, until you feel just enough out of breath.

You think you feel him tremble when he leaves your mouth to travel with featherlight kisses down your jaw, nipping right under the bone, where your flesh is plumper. You shiver and tilt your head to give him more room to work with, offering your neck to satiate his appetite.

His kisses are open and wet, but no less patient, as if he thinks he has all the time in the world to savour you until he’s content. He doesn’t; you know it, but you can’t summon the courage to remind him of where you are, of the possibility of onlookers.

No, because he’s tender, he’s kind, he’s bordering on reverent, as he kisses your neck, as he touches your chest.

His hand follows the indent of your spine, settling at the base of it and toying with the hem of your shirt only to lift it up and brush your skin. Hairs all over your body stand on end. You breathe heavily and slow, steadying yourself with your hands on his shoulders—your fingernails digging in as if that might help you quiet down.

“Y’ taste good," he whispers to your skin.

Your lips twitch in a smile.

“Haven’t showered in days,” you reply just as quietly.

He bites into your neck. Your spine arches in brief shock, and he keeps you from falling backwards with his palm at your back.

“An’ yet,” he drawls, pulling back just to lift those dark eyes at you, “Sweet as a peach.”

The softest grin spreads on your lips almost reflexively.

“Flattery will get you—”

“Anywhere,” he interjects, lifting your shirt to expose your chest until the fabric bunches right above your breasts.

You let him, perhaps proving him right. Even so, you cup his cheeks when he eases in closer, leaving open kisses at your sternum. The paint over his eyes transfers to your skin, leaving darkened streaks of sweat and black grease.

You briefly wonder if your neck looks the same, or if there’s any residue left on your face. If he’s unknowingly marked you in such a spontaneous way, simply because it was meant to happen. The quiver in your chest becomes easier to understand then—a sense of belonging in the shape of messy grease marks left in Simon’s wake.

He murmurs something you can’t quite place, hushed and lost in the haze that has been building in your head, in the thunder of your heartbeat. You hum inquisitively, brushing your hand through his dampened hair.

He repeats himself. You hear him now. You do—quite clearly, actually.

“Missed you,” he says.

The poor thing that’s your heart cracks fiercely. You wish it were a neat fracture, easier to piece back together, but it’s jagged and dangerously sharp instead.

“You didn’t,” you whisper. It’s a plea, because there are only so many lies you can take in exchange for a fuck.

His hands connect with each side of your waist, grasping at the flesh to keep you still. He doesn’t use that grip to grind your hips to his own, he doesn’t use it to relieve the tension of his hardened sex.

He uses them simply because he can. Because he wants to. Wants to feel you, touch you, sense where you are, while his lips explore somewhere else, where your flesh is softer and plumper, more sensitive.

“I did.” He insists breathlessly, careful not to raise his voice. “Fuck—I did.”

You push at his shoulders, but he doesn’t let up.

“You didn’t,” you repeat through gritted teeth. Tears build in your eyes much too rapidly, fuelled by the frantic beat of your heart.

He latches on to your nipple. You choke on a whine as he tugs at it softly, grasping it between his front teeth. His arms come to hold you entirely, wrapped like vines around your middle. Slowly, you surrender, ceasing your futile attempts to push him away.

But you cry. The sting in your eyes finally finds relief as you allow fat tears to roll down your cheeks. Simon doesn’t look up at you, maybe because your sorrow translates into his guilt. However, he stops tasting you with a weary sigh, gently resting his forehead on your chest as he holds you steady.

“I did,” he croaks. "I do."

You hold him too, encircling your arms around his head and resting your cheek on top of it. His hands go from still to hesitating until he is the one who gives in, this time, and brushes them soothingly down your back.

You stay like that for what feels like hours, but judging by the lack of movements from your teammates behind that thin wall, it’s probably been only a handful of minutes. Regardless, Simon holds you through all of it. Until he feels the soft stutters in your chest quell, the sniffles abate.

Only then does he lift his head. Only then does he cup your face in his hands. Thumbs brushing your cheekbones, collecting dried-up tears. They glide on smoothly, which makes you think that maybe his greasepaint has transferred onto your skin there as well.

It shouldn’t, but your heart flips at the thought anyway.

“I'm not a good man, love.” He murmurs, eyes dark and unusually sad. “But I'm no liar.”

The earnestness in his voice almost makes you choke up again.

You swallow it down. Inhale.

Recollect yourself. Exhale. Lean your cheek in his hand.

Your eyes are downcast, staring at the dark streaks of camo paint fading and blending on your chest.

“I know,” you croak, unsure but wanting to believe him. Almost needing to.

Simon’s hand leaves your cheek. It’s so much colder now that the air brushes your damp skin, but the ice sublimates suddenly when he taps your chin.

You lift your head and lock his eyes. They shine with something unshed, perhaps tears, perhaps words he can’t place, ones he can’t say.

“No lies.” He subtly shakes his head. “Not to ya, ya hear?”

You nod softly. “No lies.”

"Missed ya," he says again, his voice cracking in a way that makes you think this is harder on him than it is on you. "You gotta understand that. There ain’t a day goes by that I don’t."

You swallow thickly. Throat dry, tongue stuck to your palate. Eyes fixed on him, once again unthinkable to look away, but for different reasons entirely. Perhaps this is more than one step forward; perhaps this is a whole new path from which he can’t backpedal. You don’t raise your expectations, you don’t dare—but hope is as much of a bastard as it is beautiful, and it flickers back to life.

“Okay,” you reply, not feeling like you can say it back, not feeling like it could stand in front of the way he’s said it—so viscerally that it ripped at your heart.

He kisses you again, soft like before. His hands return your bra to its place, your shirt down to your hips.

You kiss for a moment more, saying everything your voices can’t, as touch returns to be the only language you both understand.

He helps you off his lap. No more words are exchanged as he dresses you up—tucking the shirt back in your pants, putting the vest around you again, making sure it fits just right when he tightens the straps at your waist.

Wordlessly, Simon invites you back to where it all started, that night. Next to him, with his arm around your shoulders, your leg across his own, and your head on his chest. His eyes on the door, focused. His watch is not over yet.

You fall asleep, coaxed by the soft brushes of his hand on your shoulder, the rise of his chest each time he breathes.

Your hand in his own, his paint on your cheek.

#simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #call of duty modern warfare #cod #cod mw2 #fanfic #archive of our own #ao3 #ghost x reader #smut #cod smut #x reader #call of duty #Simon Riley is bad at feelings #yes that tag makes a comeback!!!

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spatialwave · 1 month ago

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just one more.

➸ ask: “Hey! How about “one more kiss, please” from the prompt list for Jayce. I just need him desperately yearning for reader” – ➸ pairing: jayce talis x gn!reader ➸ word count: 1.3k ➸ tags: mdni! fluff, kissing, yearning, mutual pining, gender-neutral reader, no mention of y/n. ➸ notes: tysm for asking! ask came from this prompt!

You couldn’t count on ten fingers how many nights you dreamt of Jayce Talis, the Man of Progress himself. The image of him rattled through your mind at every waking hour, that stupid smile you always wanted to wipe from his lips with your own.

What you hadn’t known was how he reciprocated the sentiment. Jayce would find you at your workstation, dirt on your face and welding goggles on as you carefully put together pieces that would host the hextech gemstones for further research. You had become a treasure to him, someone he could rely on when his days were busy, which were more often than not.

There were plenty of times you hadn’t been aware of his presence, he would stand in the doorway watching you work. Hearts for eyes and forcing himself to turn away before his heart ached too much, knowing that you weren’t his.

He yearned for you each day, staying up into the late hours, wondering if you felt the same.

How could you? You were too…perfect.

It was the night of one of Piltover’s illustrious charity events that brought in only the richest of citizens. Any and all who put in their well-earned money for the academy, and you, had been invited by Jayce himself. Viktor had decided against it, not so much inclined to spend his night at another event when he could be spending his evening in the lab with Sky.

So, you took his spot – and you did not belong.

With your hand wrapped around an empty glass which once held a darkened liquor, you stood off to the side in the large area that had been decorated so elegantly. The tunes of the live music and sounds of chatter filled your ears, eyes looking amongst the swarm of rich Piltovians sharing conversation about gods knows what.

Jayce had been everywhere and nowhere, the Golden Boy was easily the most important icon of the evening. Everyone wanted to talk with him, ask about his research and his plans for improvement of the city.

It was irritating to be stuck alone, but at least the invitation filled your stomach with top-shelf food and liquor you wouldn’t be able to afford yourself.

There Jayce stood amongst a group of rich folk, eating him up, just like you knew they would. He was surrounded, a big smile on his lips as he moved his way through each conversation with his natural knack of charisma. You wondered what he was talking about, watching his lips move as he spoke so goddamn passionately, hands flying with each word.

His eyes connected with yours at one point, lingering on you for a quick moment with that stupid smile, before his attention was enraptured by another generous donor.

After a few more minutes of watching, you gave up. There was nothing else for you here.

Footsteps clicked along the surface of the tiled floors, the empty halls more inviting than the gala ever was. Your fingers dragged along the surface of the brick walls, the liquor having left you in just the perfect amount of bliss as you made your way home, knowing you could sleep the next day away.

“Hey!” A voice called from behind you, startling you with a soft gasp.

You snapped your head around, eyes widening when they settled on Jayce hurrying down the hall behind you. He wore a smile, wearing too fancy of clothing to be chasing you down.

“Why are you leaving?” He asked once he reached a few steps away of you, breathing a bit heavy, “Sorry… out of breath,” he chuckled through deep inhales, “I didn’t think I’d catch up to you.”

The thumping of your heart against your rib cage didn’t go unnoticed, stilled in silence over the fact that he chased after you. A tiny smile spread across your lips.

“It’s not really my style,” you finally replied, hands landing on your hips, “why do you care if I leave?”

“Why do I care?” Jayce’s eyebrows furrowed together, “because I invited you here. I… I want you here.”

You hated how sweet he was.

“You’re a busy man, Jayce,” you smiled, offering a slight shake of your head as you stepped toward him, better seeing him under the dim lighting of the empty hallways, “I’m not too fond of just standing around watching you get swarmed by every wealthy person from Piltover. As inviting as that sounds.”

He snorted out a laugh, eyes watching you closely as you stepped directly below one of the overhanging lights. It illuminated your features perfectly, made you appear like a glowing angel.

“So, you’re just going to leave me here by myself?” He asked, those big eyes of his making you want to melt right into the floor beneath you.

You laughed in disbelief, raising an eyebrow, “you’re not alone.”

“But I want you here,” he was adamant, eyebrows furrowing again, “come on. It’s not that bad.”

“You’re annoying,” you groaned, trying to act like this was worse than it was. You had a flair for the dramatics when you needed to pull something out from your sleeve, “I’ll see you tomorrow anyway, it’s fine,” you brushed him off with a wave of your hand, “plus, you’re going to be busy all night, so if I stay, I’ll end up getting drunk by myself and that’s never turned out well for me.”

Jayce’s eyes flickered over your face, studying your expression carefully. Neither of you had realized how close you had gotten, close enough that he could tuck back some of your hair behind your ear. The movement of his hand made you both tense up, a fleeting touch that he hadn’t realized he’d done. Fingers brushed against the shell of your ear as he pulled his hand away, redness tinting his cheeks.

“Oh, uh–” he forced out an awkward laugh, eyes now looking anywhere other than your face, “you had some hair… in your face.”

Lips parted, but you couldn’t speak. His touched left you stunned in place, eyes big as you watched him. You watched as his eyes focused somewhere along the walls, hands balling into tense fists and teeth biting at his lower lip.

Maybe it was the alcohol, or the late hour of the night, but you hadn’t the slightest care in the world anymore. All you wanted was Jayce, and it was his fault that he made you feel this way, so you were going to pull him into the mess that was you.

Even if it ruined the friendship you worked so hard to maintain, all these years.

His amber eyes landed back on you when he felt your hands reaching to his cheeks, cupping his face oh-so delicately. They widened as he watched you lean closer, noticing the way your gaze flickered down to his lips he’d been habitually chewing on all evening.

Jayce’s heart fluttered, and he acted on what felt right. Meeting you halfway and sighing when your lips touched after years of imagining what this would feel like.

Both hands reached out for you, resting on your waist as he pressed forward. The kiss developed slowly, lips moving together a bit clumsily as your patience wore thin. Hands explored each other, touching hips and shoulders, and your tongue slipped from between your lips, and that’s when you froze.

“Fuck,” you whispered as you pulled back, taking a slight step away, “sorry–”

“No, don’t,” he whispered, closing the distance with a forward step until your chests were pressed together. He stared deep into your eyes, his own full of love as his gaze continued to flicker down to your lips that he needed to taste again, “one more kiss… please.”

You smiled like an idiot.

“Just one more,” you murmured, rolling your eyes affectionately, before he pulled you back into another kiss that took the breath from your lungs.

Jayce would be the death of you.

#jayce talis x reader #jayce x reader #jayce talis #jayce talis x you #jayce x you #arcane x reader #arcane x you #jayce arcane #wordsbyspatial #spatialanswers

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jpbpxma · 8 months ago

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pour some sugar on in me;

content warnings/tags: very nsfw, contains smut, breeding kink, pre/no outbreak!joel miller x f!reader, age gap (as you want it).

It originally started off as a scare. You both got drunk after a New Year's party and ended up having a passionate night of sex- without protection, leading you to think you've gotten pregnant. Although it's been a year and a half since you got married, it had been a mutual agreement that kids were not in your future plans; Joel, thinking he might be too old for it and you, just not wanting that type of burden/responsibility in your life. However, when you found out you were not, in fact, pregnant, Joel found himself oddly disappointed and told you about it. "I dunno, it just felt nice to think of having a little one running around, being all cute 'n all," he had said. Surprising yourself, you agreed with him. So you decided to officially to start trying. And now, he couldn't get enough.

He's never been able to have sex with you raw like this before so every chance he could get, he found himself getting worked up and ended up taking you right then and there, no matter where you were or what time is was. Whether it's right when you woke up in the morning, when you were in the shower, when you were in the car, in the kitchen, and even a few times when you were in public. Not that you were complaining, you were enjoying it as much as Joel was. You loved the feeling of intimacy and you were constantly in a state of post-orgasm bliss.

"Hey, what you up to? " You hear Joel say from behind you, shuffling closer to put his arms around your shoulders and rest his chin on your head. "Finishing this dreadful assignment, why? " You question him, raising an eyebrow. "No reason, you're just looking really sexy right now," he hums as he places a kiss on the top of your head. "Joel, I'm literally in an oversized sweater and pajamas," you deadpan, even though you felt butterflies at his words. Ignoring you, he massages your shoulders under your sweater, his touch as electrifying to you as it was the first time. When you involuntarily let out a soft moan at a particularly sensitive spot, he reaches over to close your laptop and spins your chair around.

"Okay, that's it. You're coming with me," he announces. Before you realize what's happening, he has you in his arms, carrying you over his shoulder to your bedroom. He smacks your ass hard, making you yelp, before throwing you down on the bed. "You're crazy," you laugh out. "Uh yeah, crazy for you, baby," he counters, clearly proud of his comeback. God, he was such a dad already. He chuckles when you roll your eyes, taking his shirt and shorts off in the process. Now that you were in bed and after seeing those delicious arms, thighs, just everything of his on display, you were definitely getting in the mood too.

You run your fingers up his soft tummy, getting up to kiss along the little hairs that lead down his happy trail, smirking when you feel him let out a shaky breath. You pull down his boxers, his already stiff cock springing free, hitting his stomach. Licking your lips, you get closer to take him in your mouth when he pulls you back by the hair to meet his eyes. "Maybe another time, baby girl, right now I need to be inside you," he says impatiently, pushing you back into the bed before taking your pajamas and panties off.

Climbing on top of you, he cages you in his arms, kissing you fervently. You kiss back with the same intensity, your hands on either side of his face to hold him in place. He pulls away from the kiss, pressing one more peck to your lips before lifting himself up to slide between your spread legs. You can feel every ridge and vein of his length as he pushes into you- you could never get used to how much more pleasurable it felt uninhibited by a condom. "Oh my-" he grunts in a low voice, you know it feels worlds better for him too, "Fuck, you feel so good, baby." You squeeze around him at the compliment, biting your lip to muffle your moans.

"Joel, please, move already," you whine desperately. He takes your ankle and hooks your leg over his shoulder, shifting closer and pushing in to bottom out completely. You watch, enraptured, as he pulls out to the tip, and slams back into you. You cry out, gripping the bedsheets tightly as he smirks, pleased with your reaction. He sets a fast pace right off the bat, hips working into overdrive as he fucks you the way he knew both of you liked.

The only sounds resonating through the room were the sounds of skin slapping and the moans and groans you were both letting out. At this angle, he connects with your clit with each thrust. You wiggle your hips just a little and he hits it square on and that's when you really scream. "Oh fuck, you like it that much? " Joel asks earnestly. The corner of his mouth lifts smugly when you nod frantically, slowing down a bit to make his thrusts hit your sweet spot more accurately.

You're beside yourself with pleasure, he knew exactly how to get you to your peak and in the most ecstasy-filled way possible. He could tell you were close by the sounds you were making, lowering himself down, still slamming just as hard into you. He messily kisses your neck, your jaw, then moves up to nibble on your earlobe, whispering, "Want me to fill you to the brim with my cum and then fuck it all back into you again? Want to get pregnant with my children? Be my good little baby maker, hm? You'd like that, wouldn't you? "

His words combined with his thrusting send you careening over the edge and you convulse without warning, orgasm washing over you as you grip his shoulders for support. You clench around him involuntarily and he's so caught off guard by your sudden orgasm that he's sent over the edge into his, too. You feel his cum, hot inside you, pumping into you with every thrust. Joel is still deep inside of you as he finishes, his hands caressing all up and down your body.

"Well shit, we're really good at this, aren't we? " You nod, still out of breath and voice lost from all the screaming. He snorts at your inability to reply verbally but hums and bites along your neck as he nestles himself deeper into you and gathers you in his arms. "My beautiful girl, I don't think we're going to have any problem having kids." You couldn't help but smile. You didn't think you are, either.

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hawkinsbnbg · 8 months ago

Text

gasoline

When Eddie lunged at him for his teasing, Steve let the momentum land him on his back with Eddie on top, pinning him to the floor.

For all Steve knew, it was just a mock wrestling match, innocent and harmless.

But Eddie’s unexpected strength left him thinking. About what, he couldn't figure out yet.

By the time Eddie released him, he was already half-hard. He had returned to his room and jerked off to the feeling of being pinned down by Eddie.

The next time when Steve was on his back and with Eddie above him again, he just… opened his legs slightly wider than necessary.

He wrapped them around Eddie's waist, welcoming the other to get in closer. He had no excuse other than the heat that pooled in his stomach, anticipating what was to come.

Eddie didn't disappoint. He ground his crotch into Steve's, prompting them both to moan breathlessly.

“Sorry–”

“Don't,” he cut Eddie off and dug his heels into Eddie's lower back. “We're just having fun, okay? So don't think too much about it.”

Eddie gave him a searching look. Whatever he found on Steve's face must be convincing enough, because he had doubled down and thrust his hips until they both came, moaning into each other's open mouths.

Since then, they started wearing only boxers in the privacy of their apartment.

It kind of escalated from there.

Every time, he would let Eddie tackle him to the floor, the couch, and even the bed.

When his boxers ended up soaked with their mixed release, he would try to pretend it didn't turn him on like no other.

But when he ran into a naked Eddie in their bathroom one day, he started having thoughts. Dangerous thoughts.

“What are you doing?” Eddie gaped at him.

Steve threw his boxers aside with a nonchalant shrug. “Just tired of having to wash it all the time.”

Eddie only stared at him, flush pink and leaking, for a few seconds before taking off his boxers as well.

“You're right, we can save more water this way.”

Stifling a laugh at his seriousness, Steve nodded. “Yeah, for the water bill.”

“For the water bill,” Eddie echoed in amusement and settled over Steve, trapping their rigid cocks between their stomachs.

This close, Steve could see the freckles on Eddie's nose, the caramel in Eddie's eyes, and the blazing desire they both shared.

It was a wildfire, this feeling he had for Eddie, spreading in his chest and consuming his every fiber.

Sometimes, he felt like Icarus, flying too close to the sun.

But Steve was a moth drawn to the flame, a burning star that was Eddie Munson.

“Kiss me?” He whispered, hopeful.

Eddie moved faster, making him moan and tremble in mindless pleasure.

Then, hot lips were on him, eating the noises he made, sucking the breath out of his lungs.

“Sweetheart,” Eddie pecked his lips softly once they finished. “Go out with me?”

“It's a date?” Steve perked up.

“It's a date,” Eddie smiled fondly and kissed him again.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #babygirl steve harrington #smitten eddie munson #steddie microfic may #sionewritesatmidnight

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megwritesriddles · 2 months ago

Text

Call Me (Anytime!) ༊*·˚

18+ MDNI !!!

Pairing: Mike Schmidt x Fem! Reader / You

Summary: Kinktober 2024 Day 17 - Sexting/Phone sex. Reader and Mike only ever text about work but they both want to change that. Once they do, things escalate very fast and Mike can only hope to keep his head.

Tags: Sexting, Phone sex, Masturbation (f and m), Dirty talk, Flirting, Coworkers, Friends to lovers, Developing relationship, Not canon complaint (no evil animatronics).

Word count: 2.6k

Read it on ao3! | Masterlist

Authors note: Your texts are purple, Mike's are blue!! Yes, I switched this around with my Spencer fic because I needed more time on it, sorry!! Hope you like it anyway mwah ( ◕◡◕)っ ♡

PART 2 HERE !!

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You had his number purely for work reasons. To let each other know when you were running late or calling off sick. A mutual agreement, to make sure neither of you came to work one day and had two people’s jobs sprung on you unannounced. A show of worker solidarity. Texts were few and far between, especially because you saw each other almost daily, but mostly because there wasn’t much to talk about.

“Hey, problems with Abby’s sitter, running ten mins late. Cover for me,”

“Off sick today with the flu! Hope you didn’t get it from me yesterday! Cya!”

“I got the flu from you. Now it’s my turn to take a few days off. Thanks,”

“Did you see they are changing our insurance provider?”

“Cheapskates,”

“Tell me about it!”

The conversation was never about anything but work, occasionally you heard a little about his sister Abby, but only if it was in some way related to him needing to miss work. You liked Mike a lot, you had fun working with him. Although your job was to watch the monitors in the office and his to patrol the building, you saw a lot of one another. He stopped by the security office much more than was strictly necessary, but no one was there to chase you up about it. As long as he could still respond to a threat (not that any ever came), you were fine. He was not very talkative, but would still hang around in the doorway of the office, expecting you to speak to him. So you did, and he listened well, whatever it was you landed on. Sometimes you liked to gossip with him since you had no mutual friends and he couldn’t spread the word. He pretended not to care about the drama you provided him with, but would always subtly try to enquire more about it. He didn’t have much going on in his own life. Or rather, he had a whole lot going on, which meant he had time for nothing else. Working nights and taking care of Abby took up all his time, and he’d always been a bit of an introvert, so socialising had fallen to the wayside for several years now. Living vicariously through the stories of your friends' love lives was fun for him, as much as he loathed to admit it. He was grateful for you, that you were kind and willing to talk to him while on shift, even if he was a bad conversationalist. He considered you a friend, perhaps his best one, even though he knew he was far from the same thing to you. He was your coworker, considered a friend if he was very lucky. Unbeknownst to him, you did truly consider him a friend, even if you weren’t quite in the desperate position he was.

Every time you picked up your phone, you debated texting him about something not work-related. You talked about plenty more than just work at work, so why did this seem like such an impossible boundary to cross? You’d always thought he was cute, from the moment you’d started working together and from all the information you’d gleaned from him over time at work, you knew he was a lonely guy. You were sure he would want your friendship and maybe even more than that, but the transition seemed impossible somehow. You wanted him to feel less lonely, whether through friendship or more. So one day, after he texts you something innocuous about getting to work late next week due to Abby’s school play (you found his dedication to his sister very sweet and were always happy to cover for him so he wouldn’t miss important things like this), you bite the bullet. You start small.

“Cute! What’s the play?”

“Robin Hood. Abby’s shy so she only made the sets, but still wants me to come see,”

You’re happy he doesn’t immediately shut you down, but you’re aware he might simply be being polite, or happy to talk about his sister like he always is. You think for a moment then text back, even though you’re sure he assumes the conversation is over now.

“I suppose I’ll have to miss this one :( Hold me a ticket for the next one!”

You immediately wonder if you’ve gone too far, trying to insert yourself into his life, into his future like this. No, you tell yourself, you’re overthinking, he’ll just interpret you as being polite but not serious. It would be fine. It’s a while until he texts back, so long that you assume he isn’t going to and continue about your day.

“Sure thing. What are you up to atm?”

Mike’s heart pounds as he sends the message. He’s not used to carrying a conversation forward like this, but he’s also not used to you talking to him about more than work, he has to take this chance. The fear of rejection consumes him for the next few minutes as he waits. He knows it’s barely anything, that there were a hundred riskier options for what he could have texted you, but he’s still anxious.

“Folding laundry! You?”

Mike immediately wonders what sorts of clothes you might have. You dress very plain for the security job, jeans and hoodies, the occasional t-shirt when it’s a little warmer, but he’s always felt your body looks too good to be dressed like that. You must show it off at least a little, and god, he’d love to see it. He’s occasionally caught sight of lace at your hips when you’ve bent over at work. He imagines you touching those panties while you text him and hates that the thought excites him. He really ought to get out more.

“Watching TV.”

He responds and realises he’s been a little too short with his answer. He racks his brain for something more to say.

“Girl on my show looks like you.”

He adds, although it’s not even true. He has the news on, but he wanted an excuse to say something more, without having to comment on the miserable contents of the news.

“Is she cute? ;)”

You text back, unsure what possessed you to be flirty, you hope to God you can play it off if he reacts poorly, like you’re just messing with him and stroking your own ego. You’d sent it without thinking, the reply popping into your mind and onto your screen in mere seconds. Mike is just as shocked. You can’t really be flirting, can you? He hasn’t flirted in years and was never good at it to begin with. He really doesn’t want to mess this up with you, not only because you work together, but because he genuinely really likes you and he’s hopeful that now things have settled down a bit with Abby, he could maybe try and find some romance. Abby needed a feminine presence in her life, especially as she got older, and, selfishly, Mike wanted to be loved, someone to hold on cold nights. He also really really wanted to get laid. He was only a man, and as much as other concerns had dominated his mind for a long time, you had brought back long-dormant urges. This is the thought that drives him forward as he sends his next text.

“She’s cute. But, she hardly compares to you,”

It’s another big risk, but he wants you so badly that he’s willing to take it. He’s not thinking with his head anymore.

“How so?”

You retort, your heart fluttering a little at his compliment. But you want to be sure of how he feels, you don’t want him to beat around the bush. You need to know that he wants you.

“You’re too beautiful for anyone to compare,”

He responds earnestly. This is it, he’s been transparent, this would be incredibly hard to play off as a joke. If it was a joke it would be a cruel one, so his plausible deniability is gone, his cards are on the table. He waits with bated breath. You take a long time to respond, unsure what to say. Your instinct is to thank him, but it might end the conversation there, you need this to keep going.

“You think I’m beautiful?”

“Of course you are, no need to be modest. You could model,”

“Haha! No, I couldn’t model, certainly not runway, but thank you anyway :)”

“Maybe a magazine? Star in a film at least?”

“I could star in your fantasies ;)”

The text takes both of you off-guard, even though you’re the one who wrote it. You had been texting so fast back and forth that you once again hadn’t thought before sending. You nearly send a message back, taking back your words and apologising, but your confidence has inspired Mike’s as well and he shoots back a text while you’re formulating an apology.

“You already do,”

Mike feels hot all over when he sends the text, having to shed his hoodie before he starts properly sweating. As out of his depth as he feels, he’s positive by now that you’re flirting and he can’t lose this chance. He needs you, he needs you to want him too, and he’s finally allowing himself to believe that perhaps you do.

“How often?”

“Every night,”

He can’t understand why he’s being so brazen, he could have easily scared you off by now, but you’re still texting him. He’s not thinking with his head anymore. His words make you excited, to know he thinks of you in this way, and every night is thrilling and arousing. You figure based on his last confession, that you can throw caution to the wind. You want him, he wants you, that much should be clear by now to the both of you.

“Me too! I imagine you fucking me over the security desk,”

Oh my god. Mike’s hands shake violently as he reads the text, he can’t help but let out a strangled moan, incredibly glad he’s alone right now. Has he died and gone to heaven? Are you playing a cruel prank on him? No, you’ve always been too kind and this is a long way to go for a prank. You must want him like you say, the thought makes his head spin and his pants tighten even more. For the first time ever, he can’t wait to go to work.

“Yeah? I think of that too,”

“Shall we? ;)”

“God, yes. I don’t even care if I get fired for it,”

“I won’t tell if you don’t!”

“My lips are sealed,”

God, he wants you so bad. He wishes he could come visit you and stop this agonising waiting game that’s begun, but his car is in the shop and the public transport nearby is virtually non-existent. This has all escalated so quickly, he had only hoped a few minutes ago for a brief non-work related chat, and now you were making plans with him for him to fuck you. He had to be in heaven, there was no other explanation. He was not going to get a single minute of work done next shift, or perhaps ever again. That poor desk doesn’t know what’s coming for it if he can have it his way. He prays you’re willing because he has about a million things he’d like to try with you.

His phone rings and he tenses. He doesn’t know whether to relax or tense further when he realises it’s you calling, but he quickly picks up anyway. As soon as he hears your voice, lower and sultrier than usual, he can’t help but buck his hips into the air slightly.

“Hey Mike,” you whisper seductively. You’re lying back against your pillows, trembling with nerves and excitement.

“Hey… uh… beautiful…” he tries his best to be suave. You giggle softly, but not mockingly at his awkwardness.

“Thinking of me?

“Fuck, you can’t even imagine,” he groans.

“Touching yourself?”

“No, but… good idea… you don’t mind?” he exhales, although he’s already palming himself through his boxers, his jeans having been unzipped sometime a little while ago. He’s lost control of himself. You’re softly running your hand up and down your stomach, warming yourself up, eager to hear more.

“If I was there, I’d do it for you,” you purr, enjoying the choked breath you hear on the other end of the line. He grips himself through the fabric, starting to stroke gently.

“How long have you wanted me like this?” he groans into the receiver, embarrassed knowing he isn’t going to last long, the high of being wanted like this, by you of all people, really getting to him.

“Since we met,” you reply, your voice a little breathy. He can guess why and the thought makes him whimper.

“When I get my hands on you I am gonna worship you,” he promises, his voice low and hoarse, his hand now inside his boxers. “I don’t deserve your attention but God, if I have it, I’ll make sure I don’t lose it, I’ll please you all day and night,” he pants harshly between words and he can hear soft moans from your end that only spur him on. “I want to make you happy,” he groans. He means it in many ways, but right now, you hope you only interpret it as lust, he won’t let his stupid heart ruin this for him right now.

“I wanna make you happy too,” you whimper. The words hit him hard, his eyes squeezing shut and his whole body erupting in pleasure. He throws his head back against the couch, groaning loudly, hearing your moans pick up as a result is unendingly thrilling. He spills all over his hand, thick ropes of his need for you. He gasps for breath and listens intently as you fall apart on the other end. Your moans are like sweet music, and somehow you have his cock swelling again already. He wills it away as you come down from your high, gasping for breath, not wanting to push you too far. He needs this to not be a one-time thing, he needs you in person. In his mind, he pulls you into his arms and kisses your forehead, telling you how happy you’ve made him.

“I wish you were here,” he says instead, figuring it’s a little safer. You laugh a little, but it seems more like a laugh of surprise than anything.

“Still? Even though you finished already?” you tease.

“Of course, I… I could never just be done with you like that,” he insists softly, hoping you feel similarly. It seems, now more than ever, that he’s craving love and connection and now he knows that it has to be with you in order to fill what’s missing in his life. You are perfect. He knew it before but he knows it completely now. You are everything. “I care… you know? This wasn’t just a horny thing for me,”

“You seemed pretty horny,”

“You know what I mean!” he protests and you giggle. He laughs too, though he’s still anxious about how you felt about his confession.

“I care too, Mike,” you admit with a soft sigh, rolling onto your side. “I also want you here… Would you spoon me?”

“Of course, I would, gladly,” he promises, inwardly ecstatic that you want his affection. He wants to keep you warm and safe, tucked up against his chest, safe from harm. He imagines kissing your neck and he hears you sigh happily, he wonders if you share his fantasy. “I can’t wait to see you again. I’m so… grateful for all this… that you like me like this,” he hums, slowly tucking himself away and zipping up. He makes a mental note to buy you flowers for when he next sees you, hopefully, accompanied by the courage to ask you to be his girlfriend.

“I’ll see you at work,” you smile, blowing a kiss into the receiver.

“Yeah, see you at work,”

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xoxoxo

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