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evansbby · 6 months

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𝐇𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: sugar daddy!Ari Levinson x naive!reader

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: sugar daddy Ari, age gap, smutt, daddy!kink, ab riding, dirty talk.

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Your sugar daddy decides to dress you up in a costume of his choice for Halloween.

𝐀/𝐍: Random spontaneous Halloween "drabble" that is 3.8k words long lol. Inspired by the hottest daddy of them all, Ari Levinson, and his gorgeous abs. Hence the gif. Enjoy! And Happy Halloween, despite the fact that this drabble is not spooky at all.

“Twirl for me again, princess.”

Ari leans back against the headboard of his king-sized bed, his blue eyes dark as navy as he brings his glass of scotch up to his lips and takes a sip. His gaze is stuck on you as he lounges relaxedly, still dressed in his suit from work. Well, you’d taken his jacket off and loosened his tie for him before he’d patted you on your bum and sent you to your dressing room to try on the new costume he’d got for you.

You’d only been seeing Ari for two months. And by “seeing” you meant you’d only been his sugar baby for about two months, when you’d met him at the cocktail bar where you worked as a waitress. He’d come by one night with a bunch of his colleagues (all of them in expensive suits, clearly extremely wealthy). That notion had been confirmed when he’d pressed a few hundred-dollar bills into your hand at the end of the night, his eyes looking at you expectantly as if he knew you’d give him your number.

You had, of course. What followed was two months filled with expensive gifts, a hefty weekly allowance, a new designer wardrobe, glittering jewels and some incredible sex to top it all off. You’d gotten to know Ari in many different ways these past sixty days. But what you didn’t know he was so big on Halloween.

Your “costume” was for Ari’s eyes only, as he’d warningly told you when he’d handed you the shopping bag. And there was no way you could’ve worn it anywhere else: the baby pink satin negligee barely reached mid-thigh, but it was so breathtakingly pretty, so dainty with the lacy white trim and matching satin white gloves. The back was almost completely exposed, showcasing the pretty pink lace panties you had on underneath (with a heart-shaped cut-out that exposed your bum). A sparkly tiara on your head completed the look.

He'd dressed you as his little princess.

“How come you don’t have a costume, Ari?” You ask as you twirl around for him slowly, trying not to topple over in the expensive white pumps he’d also made you wear.

Ari licks his lips, beckoning you closer with just a look. He’d trained you well in the two months he’d had you, moulding you into his perfect angel who leapt at his slightest command. It was easy, since you were so cute and innocent, and so happy to please him. All he had to do was look at you a certain way and you’d jump to obey him. He watches you closely now, looking so precious and hot in your little princess costume (or lingerie, rather) and your lips part as you eagerly move closer to him, almost tripping in your heels to do so.

He chuckles, “I’m too old to be dressing up for Halloween, sweetheart.”

You pout, “You’re not old, Ari! You’re just perfect!”

He can’t help but smile at your cuteness and naivety; he really had plucked up the prettiest and most innocent little girl with a heart of pure gold.

“That’s real sweet of you, baby. Now turn around and bend over for me so I can see that cute baby ass.” He takes another sip of his scotch. You’d made him his favourite drink the moment he’d walked into his penthouse apartment where you’d been waiting for him like the delectable little treat you were – sweeter than any Halloween candy, and he could ravage you forever without ever feeling sick.

You giggle, feeling slightly rebellious. You’d had a few sips of wine before he’d come home, your anticipations running high whilst you waited impatiently for him. He was like a drug to you, with his rugged good looks and muscular body and charming smile. You were also incredibly attracted to the power he wielded; Ari owned and was the CEO of multiple companies across the globe, and for the life of you, you couldn’t imagine how he’d ever decided to ask for your number that one fateful night two months ago.

“But Ari, since I’m a princess tonight, that means I’m royalty. Which means I don’t have to follow anyone’s orders but my own, right?” You smile triumphantly.

Ari looks infinitely amused as he runs his hand through his unruly hair, his other hand inching down to palm his clothed crotch.

“Little princesses like you still have to take orders from their daddy,” he informs you, a smirk playing on his lips as he watches you teeter in your high heels. “Which, by the way, is what you should be addressing me as. You call me Ari one more time and I’ll take you over my knee. I don’t care if it’s Halloween.”

You pout harder, looking so extra cute that Ari has to pace himself from reaching over and grabbing you right then and there. He’s waited to dress you up in this costume for a while now, though, and he knows he needs to savour it.

“That’s a good little princess,” he murmurs in approval once you turn around and bend over, giving him the perfect view of your cute ass. “Look at those pretty little princess panties, hugging that cute baby ass. You like your panties, baby?”

“Y-Yeah,” you pant, and he knows you’re turned on by his words. “Thank you, daddy, I really like them.”

“You like being my little princess?”

“Yes, daddy. Wanna be your princess forever.”

Ari can’t help but crack a smile at how cute you are, and when you say things like that, he just wants to gather you in his arms and plant a thousand kisses to your face, cuddle with you and buy you whatever you please. But he has to keep a strong resolve tonight, because he’s been waiting for an opportunity to ravage you in your princess costume for ages now, and he’s been working overtime at the office and he knows he deserves this.

“Daddy? Can I stop bending over now? It’s startin’ to hurt.”

Ari swirls his glass of scotch around absentmindedly, a wicked look crossing his face, “Soon, baby. First, I want you to spank yourself.”

You gasp, and then there’s a pause.

“M-Me? Spank myself?”

“You heard me, baby. I won’t repeat myself.”

You reach back gingerly, squeezing your eyes shut because you’ve got your back to him and you know he can’t see (usually, he always demands you keep your eyes open). You give your behind a tentative little slap, feeling embarrassed to say the least.

“Harder, sweetheart. How can you be a princess if you don’t have a firm hand?” You can hear the smugness in his voice, and it just turns you on more. You know your new princess panties are soaked through, and you wonder if he can tell.

“B-But I don’t wanna have a firm hand,” you whimper, already feeling very submissive. You like it when he spanks you (although it hurts but it hurts so good). But you spanking yourself? It’s embarrassing. It turns you on because you’re doing it for him, but it’s still embarrassing.

“Are you talking back to me, baby?” Ari’s eyes are hooded with lust as he openly palms his dick.

“Sorry, daddy,” you bite your lip before giving your ass another slap – harder this time. And Ari exhales slowly as he watches your ass jiggle cutely, and he commands you to hit yourself again, to not stop until he says so. And he watches you spank yourself, turned on beyond belief at your complete submission.

“Fuck, you have such a cute ass, baby. Squeeze it for me.” He orders you, voice gruff and strained because of how horny he is.

You obey, squeezing the soft flesh through your barely-there panties. Ari’s fingers itch to touch you himself, make you mewl with pleasure just with his touch the way only he could. Because he’s the only one who’s ever touched you like that, who ever would touch you like that. You were his baby, his little princess and he’d take care of you forever.

“Stop. Now come here.”

You swallow, straightening up to walk over to him, except he stops you again by just a look.

“No, baby. On your knees. Daddy wants you to crawl.”

You decide to test your luck one last time, giving him your best puppy-dog eyes, “But daddy, I’m supposed to be a princess and not a kitten. And princesses don’t crawl.”

Ari rolls his eyes, “You’ll do as I say. Baby princesses like you still need to obey their daddy because you’re not in charge, got that?”

“Y-Yeah, I got it.” You sink down to your knees and slink over to him, making sure to sway your hips as you crawl because you know he loves that. And you love how he looks at you darkly, his eyes so blown out with lust and want. As if he’s restraining himself from just grabbing you and fucking you. Because you know how virile he is, how high his sex drive is.

“That’s my good little girl,” he coos, making you feel all special. You stop at the foot of the bed and he reaches down, petting the top of your head, stroking your hair like you’re some kind of pet. Your sparkly tiara falls lopsided, but manages to stay on your head. But you like how he strokes you, you like how affectionate it feels, and so you nuzzle up into his palm, wanting him to stroke you some more.

Instead, he grabs a handful of your hair and yanks you up, manhandling you as if you’re his little baby, till he’s got you nestled on top of him, and you can feel his hard dick underneath you. A wicked look in his eye, he straightens your tiara before patting your cheek condescendingly.

“How’re you enjoying Halloween so far, princess?”

You mull over it, trying not to focus on his hard dick directly underneath your butt. “It’s nice. This is the first time in a few years that I’ve stayed in for Halloween, instead of going to a party.”

This was true, since being at college for the past two years meant that you always went out on Halloween.

“Oh yeah? You’d rather be at a frat party right now?” Ari’s hands land on your hips, grinding you down against his dick so that you’re effectively dry humping him. Your eyes nearly pop out of your head, and you made grabby hands at him but he holds you at bay.

“No, no, no!” You answer desperately, trying to lean forward to kiss him but he holds you in place firmly, “Would much rather be with you, daddy. I love you so much.”

Ari can feel his heart melting fast. You’re just so delectable and cute, blinking up at him with those gorgeous eyes of yours. And it had been so easy for you to fall in love with him, you’d told him so only two weeks into your whirlwind romance. He’d taken you out on his private yacht, and he’d bought you the prettiest sailor outfit, and you’d clung to him because you were scared you might fall overboard because of how clumsy you were.

But you’d looked so pretty as the salty sea air rushed over your face, and how you just wouldn’t let go of his hand. You couldn’t stop smiling either, and when he’d kissed you on the deck, holding you firm against the railing as the sun set into the ocean behind you, that’s when you’d whispered it breathlessly against his lips. Like you couldn’t keep it in any longer: I love you.

You’d tried to tug away from him after that, embarrassed at how you’d let your inner feelings slip out so soon into your relationship with him. But you couldn’t help it, he just made you feel so safe, so alive, so wonderful, so you. You’d tried to make a hasty exit, making up an excuse that you had to make a phone call, and praying he hadn’t heard you whisper those three forbidden words…

But Ari had heard you, and his heart had swelled in a way he never thought it could. He’d entered this relationship with you because he needed someone to take care of, and well, you were so hot the night he’d first seen you. So pretty and innocent and lovely. And then he’d gotten to know you, and you were so lively, and made him feel so youthful, made him feel so powerful and important, made him feel like he had to protect you while you danced around his life and made him laugh and cheered him up the way only you could.

He’d held you tightly against him that night on the yacht, not letting you slip away as he’d cupped your beautiful face in his hands, and he’d told you that he loved you too, more than he’d ever loved anyone else. And the look on your face, that look of utter devotion and awe, like you had stars in your eyes – he wished he could bottle it up inside a jar and keep that look safe forever.

That’s how you’re looking at him now, in your cute little princess lingerie, and your lips are begging to be kissed. Ari can’t stand it any longer, and he grabs you by the back of the neck and pulls you down, pressing his lips on yours in a heady kiss.

“You’ve been waiting for tonight, haven’t you?” He breathes against your lips.

You swallow harshly and nod. Of course you had, the moment he’d texted you this morning telling you to be ready for him at his apartment when he got home. That was obvious code that he was going to ruin you tonight, and the pretty princess costume was just the cherry on top of the cake.

Biting your lip, you shyly untuck his shirt from his pants and lift it up, revealing his toned, hairy abs. God, he was the most beautiful man you’d ever seen – with an amazing, buff body that was twice the size of yours. He was bigger than you in every single way possible, and you sigh as your fingers run over the deep ridges of his tanned six pack.

Ari snorts, “Like what you see, princess?”

“Uh huh. You’re so hot.” You blurt out.

“Thank you, baby. Why don’t you give me your panties?”

The way he so casually redirects the conversation has your cheeks feeling hot and your pussy clenching in anticipation. Taking your panties off while straddling his crotch proves to be difficult, but you’re nimble enough to make it work. The lace is wet with your juices and your cheeks heat up even more as you hand your panties to him.

Ari brings the lacy material up to his nose, sniffing in your pretty scent. God, he wanted to be buried with your scent if it was possible. He can’t help but find the gusset, sucking the silk into his mouth and tasting your juices.

“You’re so sweet, princess.” He mutters, before shoving the panties in his pocket.

“I’m all wet, daddy,” you pout, knowing your wetness has seeped over to stain his pants as you sit on top of his crotch.

“Oh yeah?” Ari feigns disinterest, busying himself with another sip of his scotch. “Is your little baby cunt getting needy?”

“Yeah!”

“You want daddy to take care of her? Your little cunt?”

You throb at his words, “Yes, please!”

He makes no move to put his scotch away. “I think I’d rather watch you, princess. You can rub yourself on me to make yourself cum.”

You shudder at how casually he says it, but at the same time bite your lip, “B-But daddy, I feel so empty down there. Need you inside me, pretty please?”

Ari pretends to mull over it, “I don’t know, gorgeous, your baby pussy’s awfully tight. I don’t think I’d even get a finger in.” (That was true, you were super tight, but he could work you open in a matter of minutes. He always did, after all, but he wants you to work for an orgasm tonight).

You grab his hand and push it between your legs, feeling like you’re about to go into heat by how turned on you are. “Y-You could stretch me open, daddy, I-I don’t mind! Just wanna feel you inside me.”

“Maybe later, sweetie,” Ari murmurs, indulgently brushing your hair off your face and pulling your cheek when you pout. Of course, he definitely intended to fill you up real good, fuck both your holes silly with his cock and his tongue and his fingers. But the night was still young, and right now he wanted a show while he enjoyed his drink. “C’mon, baby, it’s Halloween. Even a princess has to work a little to get her treat.”

He picks you up by your waist, placing you on his hairy abs, which are rock hard just like his cock which is still in the confines of his pants.

You grab on to his shoulders to steady yourself, before you start moving. And oh, it feels absolutely heavenly, your quivering pussy rubbing against his hard abs, the hair on his torso catching against your swollen clit and immediately making you moan.

“F-Feels so good, daddy,” you whimper, and it makes Ari smile at how cute you are. How much you love it when he makes you feel good, how you selfishly chase after your own pleasure whenever you can because he knows it’s never felt this good for you before. You don’t have to tell him that he’s the best you’ve ever had – he can see it in your eyes every time.

“Yeah? Is your cute baby cunt getting some relief? You enjoy using your daddy like this?” He mutters lowly, pinching your hip to make you move faster as he takes another sip of his scotch. His cock is incredibly tight still confined to his pants, and he’d have loved for you to grind against his cock instead but he knows he would’ve blown his load because of the friction paired with how hot you look right now.

“You enjoy dressing up like a little princess and giving your daddy a show?” He continues, feeling the beast inside him awaken as you whimper so cutely on top of him. With his fingers gripping your hip tightly, he roughly drags you back and forth over his abs, “That’s right, slutty baby, make a mess all over daddy, you like that, don’t you?”

“Yes!” You cry, getting to that point where everything that leaves your mouth is either a plea or incoherent gibberish and crying. That’s when you get so submissive that there isn’t a single thought in your head, and Ari’s sure he could make you do absolutely anything when you’re in that mindset.

His stomach is wet with your cream, and you’re grinding against him desperately now, and he knows you’ll cum any second because it doesn’t take much to get you to cum. He remembers doing this a lot with you in the early days of the relationship, when he knew for a fact you’d need a lot of prep before you could take his big, fat dick inside your pussy. So he’d made you grind on his torso instead, like how you were doing now, as a sort of practice before the real sex. And it’s like you’d never been pleasured before in your life because you came so quickly, over and over again, squirting all over him and begging for him to put it inside you.

Clearly, nothing had changed in two months.

He downs his scotch before setting the glass aside on his bedside table. Then he licks his lips, hand slipping down between your legs. He spreads your folds and you gasp, rocking your hips faster as you feel more now, your clit rubbing deliciously against his abs.

“C’mon, princess,” he urges, moving you up and down on his abs harder, “make yourself cum, baby, squirt all over daddy like the good little girl I know you can be. Like all good princesses squirt on their daddies. You wanna be a good princess, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I do!”

“Say it, then.”

“W-Wanna be a good princess for you, daddy. Wanna be so good!” Your face is glistening with sweat and tears, and you’re working so hard for your release. He knows all he has to do is rub your clit once or twice, or even just press against it and you’d cum. But he wants you to work for it, so he can praise you for it and then reward you for making yourself cum with minimal help from daddy.

“You’re daddy’s sexy little princess,” Ari murmurs lowly, pulling you down by the neck till your face is buried in the crook of his neck, and you bite at his skin and cry and moan his name as he talks, “you’re doing such a good job, baby, rubbing that baby cunt all over daddy’s abs. You’re so good for me, baby, so fucking good and I love you so much. Daddy loves you so much, honey. More than anything in the world.”

You squirt all over his stomach, your sweet cream covering ever ridge and dip of his muscular torso. You cry and cry, like how you often do when you’re overwhelmed when orgasming, grabbing at his face and kissing him, and he kisses you back fervently, allowing you to make out with him because he knows how overwhelmed and good you feel.

“That’s such a good girl,” he praises you, rubbing your back as you quiver in his arms, and he can feel your pussy quivering too, “such a good fucking girl, you worked so hard, baby and I’m so proud of you.”

“L-Love you so much, daddy,” you whimper pitifully, your poor tiara finally falling off your head, and Ari wants to chuckle at how spent you look, how exhausted you look from rubbing your pussy on him for a couple of minutes. He reminds himself to get you a bottle of water in a few minutes once you’ve calmed down, because he knows he’ll be keeping you busy for the better part of tonight and he wants you to have the energy for it.

But for now, he’ll let you rest for a few minutes. You snuggle up into his chest, breathing hard as you try to catch your breath. Ari pours himself another scotch, and lights up his cigar, taking a long drag before blowing the smoke out in your direction.

“Happy Halloween, sweetheart,” he grins wickedly, and you lift your head up slightly to offer him a weak smile. “Now put your tiara back on, princess. The night’s not over yet.”

AKSHDSAJGA WHAT DO YOU THINK???? PLEASE LET ME KNOW THIS WAS EXTREMELY SPONTANEOUS AFNKLAGNSKAL I JUST AM OBSESSED WITH SUGAR DADDY ARI AND HIS ABS BYE.

anyways lemme know what you think and pls do reblog and leave any feedback thank you ily

#ari levinson #ari levinson x reader #chris evans #chris evans fanfiction #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #sugar daddy ari

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moondirti · 1 month

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kyle yearns for his captain's approval. you're the perfect medium through which he can secure it.

featuring: gaz x fem!reader x price. very consensual. fondling. inspection. fluff. praise kink. objectification. cucking? anal play. mentions of dp and breeding. 4k words of nonsense.

when price asks gaz if he's got anyone at home, gaz answers.

truthfully. he'd be hesitant to admit that he does to anyone else – soap especially, what with his track record of worming his way into people's pants – but his captain is... his captain. jonathan price. a real force of nature, cursed with an uncanny determinism and a habit of getting what he wants regardless of if those around him are willing. gaz knows that price will find out eventually; when the ring he's been planning to purchase for months finds it's way onto your finger, and he requests a change be made to the dependants section of his paperwork. perhaps before then too, if he really did some digging. but gaz also knows that, if there were anyone to trust with this precious knowledge, it'd be him.

so, he tells him about the little number he's got tucked away in a home in south oxfordshire. it's the lazy afternoon before a big mission, and he shouldn't be drinking but he is, a tumbler cradled between his palms and the burn of rye whiskey loosening his tongue. price doesn't speak, just listens, as the sergeant gradually devolves into more and more detail about your meeting, your courtship, the work you distract yourself with when he's not around. and despite his reverence, he admits it all breathlessly, a sheepishness pervading every word. how is he expected to keep his composure when the air is so heavy? unrelenting scrutiny and the potent waft of cigar-smoke draw a hot flush to his skin, the older man humming every so often as a prompt for him to continue.

he wants to, oddly enough. gaz is a reticent man, second only to ghost when it comes to keeping his life private. but something about this circumstance has him ready to lay it all bare. he wants to tell price about how you kiss his neck, the wicked fucking ways in which you use your mouth to milk him dry. he wants to pull out his phone, scroll through the hidden album full of pictures of your tits, of home-made films that paint you in a cum-covered, dazzling light. he wants price to know that he chose right, wants to hear the praise whispered in his ear as his captain lays a sturdy clap onto his back.

instead, he shrugs.

"not much more to tell, cap."

"damn shame." price taps his cigar to rid of the ashes. "sounds like a proper match, garrick. good for you."

and it's enough. a big enough lump of wood to keep the needy fire in his belly roaring. he shifts in his seat to dissuade the heat, rubbing his jaw in contemplation like he hasn't already thought of a perfect way to reap more.

"tell you what, sir. we survive this next assignment, i'll bring you over to meet 'er."

it's a hairbreadth escape, but they do manage to make it back alive, albeit a bit more scarred than they once were. gaz gets home late at night to find you awake, waiting on him despite the incredibly short notice he'd given you for his arrival. it's there – in the foyer, his nose buried in your neck as you babble on about how much you missed him, and what you'll make for breakfast to celebrate, and questions like hey, are you okay? that cut looks fresh or when was the last time you slept? – that he breaks the news. you'll be having his captain over for dinner in two week's time.

of course you're overjoyed. you've been begging to meet the people he risks his life with ever since he told you what he did for work. the planning is immediate. you're dumping recipes on him the next morning, asking for his opinion on what appetiser, main, and dessert your guest of honour would enjoy best. and what's his poison, anyway? i can get my hands on a nice bottle of scotch if you think it'd be worth it. kyle doesn't have the heart to tell you that nothing you'll do would matter much, that price has already taken a liking to you. besides, if anything, your homemaking ability makes him chub up in his pants. best not to rob himself of that delight.

the night arrives as quick as it had been put forward. gaz has to dodge your attempts to put a tie on him, stifles your complaints with a kiss and insists that it's not that kind of dinner party. you're confused (bless you) but flit around making last minute preparations in your bustier midi-dress anyway, kitten-heels clicking against the polished hardwood floors. at a certain point, he can tell that you're fussing over nothing and pulls you by the hand to stand by the doorway with him.

"there's something i didn't mention earlier." he whispers when you're finally settled, tucking his index finger under your chin. your brows knit anxiously. he pecks the canyons between them, stroking your bottom lip until the frazzled energy bleeds from you.

"why would you wait? there's not enough t–"

"not exactly something you can plan for, doll. s'just gonna happen." when you fail to push him for more context, he sighs. "price is expecting to see you."

"sure... that's the whole point, isn't it?"

"no, sweetheart." gaz's free hand wraps around your waist, lowering until it reaches the plush sweel of your ass. his touch lays breadcrumbs for you to follow, leading you down the very depraved path he's trekked a million times the past few weeks. "i mean all of you."

your lips part in realization. oh. he's scared straight for a second, heart hammering like it always does when he reveals a darker fantasy to you. but you merely smile – anxious, sure, pupils clouded with fresh concern, but a smile nonetheless – and accept his admission gracefully.

"and you want me to let him?"

gaz nods. "if you'd please."

you place a chaste kiss on his cheek, careful not to smear your makeup onto his clean-shaven skin. "okay."

he visibly slackens, an edge of playfulness cutting it's way back into his tone. "what's say we take those panties off, make things easier when the time arrives?"

"can' remember the last time i had a beef welly this good, love. family recipe?"

"yes, actually! but it took me some time to perfect for my own. the original called for sherry in the duxelle, but i always thought wine was better suited."

kyle doesn't know if he's ever been more proud of you.

you're a vision. the paradigm of charm. he half feared things to would be awkward following your conversation at the doorway, but aside from the first few minutes of price's arrival – the time it took everyone to thaw the ice of unfamiliarity – you've been anything but stilted. in fact, he worries that you missed the true implication of his request – of the direction things will take later – given the way you laugh openly. the ease in which you bridge conversation topics. your attentiveness, eyes roving over both your boyfriend and his captain to ensure everyone has everything they need. you certainly don't act like a girl who's going to be nakedly appraised tonight. all the expected clumsiness, the stumbling over your own words, replaced instead by eloquence and quick wit.

sweet girl. bloody... beautiful, darling girl.

price seems to think so too. he chuckles heartily at the stories you offer of kyle failing learning to waterski during your anniversary trip to mauritius (and offers his own insight too, something along the lines of how you'd expect the sergeant to be better balanced, given he's survived hanging off a helicopter before). offers some solid advice on how to deal with the ostentatious coworker whose been bugging you for months. and when you question him about his personal life – a line every good soldier knows not to take with their CO, which has gaz wincing internally – all your guest offers is a genuine, crinkle-eye smile. no doubt appreciative of the non-intrusive manner you ask.

he shoots gaz a look before answering, and it's one full of tacky warmth. a look he's seen several times on the field, molasses sweet and satisfying, one that invades his private thoughts too often to admit. whose effect he knows only comes off in a cold shower, a quick pump to his cock if you're not around to help relieve it. something like approval. unspoken praise.

"wish i could say i've been blessed like the two of ya. married to my work, m'afraid."

"oh." you wave your arms, standing to clear the table of dirty plates. "don't be ridiculous, john. you're a wonderful man. put yourself out there and i'm sure it'll come to you." you say it like it's breathing, and just as easily prance away to the kitchen, your voice losing to the clatter of silverware in the sink. thus, when you yell out something about dessert (price is really only able to decipher i made madeira! over the illegible chorus of cabinets closing) kyle is the one to answer you. well-trained in untangling your voice from any sort of ruckus, poor cell reception and moans and drunk gibberish and the obstructive fabric of his hoodie when you sob into his chest.

"maybe later, doll!" he voices back, scratching the back of his neck as he takes in the food still laid out in front of them. picked apart by hungry forks but still, enough to make up days worth of leftovers.

"mm. the girl stuffed me full, garrick." price stretches from his seat. "if i didnt know any better, i'd reckon you lot were fattening me up to feast on me come winter."

gaz stores the remains of your meal into nearby tupperwares then follows suit, urging his captain to follow him into the lounge. "please," he laughs, nodding when the man pulls a cigar from his pocket and twists it in a silent question. "she thinks they starve us out there. tries to make up for it by feedin' me into oblivion when i'm home."

"speak for yourself. i could do with a home-cooked meal every now 'n' then." the captain takes a puff of the maduro between his fingers, lets the smoke cloud his hindbrain. your house smells so much like you, like kyle and you – warm laundry and anise and jasmine – that he feels a quick lick of guilt at ruining the fragile balance of it. too little too late, too – the scent of leather and oily spice pervades the space.

but you don't mention it once you waltz back in, smoothing your hands across the back of your dress. "if we don't get a chance to try the cake tonight, remind me to send you home with some, john." gaz poorly conceals his laugh with a cough, sinking into the cushion when you shoot him an offended look. "what?"

"nothing," he pouts, then hides his next words behind the back of his hand, whispering to price. "i told you."

"i can hear you, you twat!" you flick his ear, brows furrowed in faux irritation as your boyfriend wraps an arm around your legs.

"i know! hey– i know, gorgeous. was only joking." his forehead nudges your tummy, restless until you comb your hand over his tight curls. "th'captain knows that too. isn't that right, sir?"

"of course."

"you laugh now, but wait until you're halfway through a month long mission. you'll wish you had me around!"

"don't i know it." kyle murmurs, the fingers at the back of your thigh slowly creeping upward. the skirt of your dress slips, climbs up your legs with the motion of his forearm, and all too suddenly he remembers your lack of undergarments.

fuck. he almost forget he pocketed your panties. and you... you've been so natural, such a good hostess despite the cold brush of air constantly on your cunt. it flips a primal switch inside him – that same trigger that'd prompted mention of this night in the first place. blood rushes to his cock so fast it hurts, desperation flooding his lungs until the only thing he can breathe out is your name.

"hmmm." you smile in return. and if price weren't here, he'd bury his nose into the canyon between your legs and take a deep inhale of your natural musk.

but he is, and so all gaz can manage is a quiet: "how about you show the captain our little surprise?"

"oh?" the man in question hums. dangerously relaxed, two legs spread and his posture curved as he watches the little display you put on for him. "what's this about a surprise, then?"

you bite your lip, raking your nails down from your boyfriend's neck to his shoulder and placing a tight, reassuring squeeze there before breaking away. nothing is said as you push an ottoman between price's knees, making sure it's steady before pushing him to rest against the back of the couch.

"do you like my dress?" you practically purr, bending over as to pronounce your tits. kyle's breath stutters, watching for the way superior's eyes take in your form. gratification swells in his belly when he just smiles, patting your hip.

"s'that really a question that needs to be asked, lovie? you know the answer."

an adorable mix between a shrug and giggle is all you give. "kyle says you want to see me."

"aye. i do."

"and i wanna make him happy."

"same for me."

and kyle thinks he could just cum in his pants if this keeps up. he feels filthy, both an observer and the main act in this spectacle. the knowledge that his captain doesn't just want you, the love of his life, but him too works away at him, hollowing him out until he's nothing but a husk of docile yearning.

"so, what'll it be?" you say.

"turn around. elbows on the ottoman, knees on either side of my thighs."

you obey instantly, lamplight catching the heated flush of your skin while you position yourself according to price's wishes. your back arcs so that your ass is prominently within his view, plump even beneath the loose material of your dress.

"kyle."

"sir." he coughs, shifting to conspicuously adjust the aching mass tucked in his waistband.

"on your knees, son. righ' here beside me. when i ask a question, you're expected to answer."

"yes, sir."

"got tha' that, lovie?" he grunts. "respond now, and then it's silence from you."

"okay!" you wiggle your hips, forgetting yourself for a moment. "sir!"

this gaz can do. following orders. grounded pragmatism, however far this is from a professional setting. he figures price has gleaned as much, has given him this task so he doesn't flounder off track throughout the evening and ruin things for everyone. the hard part is over then, all of that hesitant foreplay – of opening up, getting you to agree, of the stretch of time it took for everyone to warm up to one another – wrapped up for something simpler.

all he has to worry about is answering promptly and correctly while he watches his captain–

flip your skirt over your hips.

a low whistle. then, two hands on your backside, kneading the soft flesh there. working either globe apart like dough, the glistening seam of your most private parts spread open to prying eyes. price appraises your cunt for the first time like he would a winning showdog, or the sky on a particularly pleasant day. all utilitarian-like. if it weren't for the bulge in his trousers, your boyfriend would almost be offended.

"no panties, hm?"

"no-" you start, squeaking out an apology when you earn a firm swat to your thigh.

"i asked her to go without them tonight. thought... you'd appreciate it, sir." kyle replies, swallowing the saliva that arises upon seeing your lips flutter.

"good lad." a hot flash of arousal breaks across his chest. the captain lets go of his grip on your ass, watching how the fat jiggles back into place, then returns to squeezing it. "surprised i couldn't smell 'er, way she was dancing around us all night."

it isn't a question, so gaz stays quiet.

the groping continues. sometimes its light – brushes of calloused palms across the area, disturbing the stillness like a rock skipping over water. you ripple when he pokes, shake when he taps. other times, and increasingly once price notes your resilience to pain, it borders on rough. moulding your flesh into compact pinches, jabbing his thumb into the softness so hard it'll bruise. you take it all with grace, a low whine building in your chest that he let's go unpunished.

"she's taking this well. you rough her up often?"

"when she asks, sir." he thinks for a moment, catching your wily smile from the corner of his eye. minx. "likes it more than i do giving it to her."

"need someone to take care of the both of ya." price chuckles, then moves on, oblivious to the way the sergeant's hips buck at his implication. or, maybe he notices – probably does – and stores it away for another time. "looks like a greedy little pussy to me." his thumbs hook onto either side of your labia, pulling it apart like fresh bed to reveal the sloppy mess between. your clit is enflamed, angry for being neglected for so long. if you were allowed to speak, kyle can guarantee with almost a hundred percent certainty that you'd be whining to be touched. "look a' tha'." price's accent grows thicker. "fat little thing just jumping for attention."

he curls a finger, then flicks the swollen bud. a loud moan bursts from you, your face falling between your forearms as you hold yourself back from begging. gaz would've acquiesced by now, would've rubbing the bundle of nerves raw the second you fanned your pretty lashes up at him.

but price snaps it three more times in rapid succession, which apparently is too much for you to handle because you yell. "p-please!"

he remedies your slip up with a slap to the same area. the crack on impact echoes long enough to tell him that one hurt. "shhh. so spoiled, sergeant. how often do you make her cum?"

"a-at least three times a go, sir."

"what's the record?"

"eight."

"and the longest you've held off?"

kyle hesitates, bowing his head for the reprimand he knows is coming. "never... never tried. sir."

"tch."

a precision blow. swift but petrifying. the captain's managed to find both your loose strings in a matter of minutes, tugging to see them come undone on his lap. gaz has got the unwavering urge to rest his chin on his strong thigh, put it on the record that he isn't weak willed, just indulgent. something that can be easily remedied, with his guidance. if he'd let him.

and you...

you're gyrating your hips, begging for some pressure on your aching centre. price gives it to you, though not in the way you expect, pinching your clit and tightening his hold until you're motionless, muscles trembling but otherwise perfectly poised.

so the inspection continues. he fans out your vulva, exposing the hole that clenches around nothing. a laugh wracks his frame at the sight, the aftermath of it husky. amused. "begging to be filled, a'right. how many cocks has she had in 'ere?"

"just mine, sir. and her toys."

"how about at once?"

kyle's never been so bold with you; has always held back that godless part of him, that needy dog he sees his comrades often embrace. pure, unfettered degeneracy. you're soft, and pretty and good and a high-functioning member of society. and he's never once wanted to see you hurt, uncomfortable or bite-mark-bloodied, despite the way his mind screams at him to at least ask. see if you'd be willing to appease that side of him.

yet you visibly shiver at the thought proposed by price, gooseflesh pocking your skin, and he knows he should have thrown caution to the wind.

"one, sir."

he watches the man's finger outline the circumference of your opening, dipping in by the millimetre to test the waters. "shame. could probably stretch her out. get 'er nice and loose for whenever you wan' something to keep you warm without the commitment."

the finger plunges in.

gaz watches you swallow his superior to the last knuckle in what must be a world-record, no time to blink lest he misses it. price goes with the motion, setting his free hand onto your ass to keep you steady as he wiggles his digit to make space amidst the tight embrace of your walls. or, that's what he thinks is happening. the only indication he has of things are the lewd squelches your cunt emits and the face of pure ecstasy you pull. but he's well-versed enough in your bodily functions that he's sure of his estimate.

"scratch wha' i said. nothing beats this." his superior groans, and for the first time that night, adjusts himself in his pants. kyle wishes he would pull it out, allow himself the relief of freeing a raging hard-on from its confines. but kyle also wishes that he could be given something to do, something with his mouth perhaps, to sate the unaddressed thrill in his bones. it wouldn't take a smart man to figure out that both wishes are very much correlated. "fucking suffocating clutch. wouldn' pull out if my life depended on it. pussy like this isn' made for that, garrick."

"sir?"

"you cum inside her, lad?"

"i- yes. i-i do. she's on birth control."

"best to see to that, then." he says, like the contraceptive is an obstacle and not a consolation. you release another, long-winded moan, to which price pulls his finger out to pat your vulva. like taming a wild animal. "though what i said still stands. could always do with a loose hole."

his hand inches up.

this time, it's gaz who groans.

loudly. his eyes fluttering halfway shut, hands tugging at the tight fabric over his groin. you throw a curious look over your shoulder, concern glossing your pupils until you confirm that the source of the sound isn't pain, but pleasure. ecstasy at finally having his wants vocalised, that incessant impulse that nags and nags and nags anytime he's fucking you from behind, tight rim practically leering up at him, tempting him to thrust upwards and 'accidentally' slip in.

"you like that, sergeant? hm? ever use this asshole? it looks unbroken to me."

"y-you're... not wrong, sir. i–"

"but you want to?" he finishes for him, scooping some of the abundant slick from your cunt and slathering it onto your back entrance. it's not enough lubrication to do anything but press one thumb in, but he repeats the process to push the other in alongside it.

"yeah."

you give him a look that can't mean anything except we'll talk about this later and he can bloody kiss price if he was given permission to, if not for anything but helping him open this impossible subject with you.

"we'll see to tha' some other day, then."

his thumbs retreat. your hole winks shut again. gaz is torn between looking at you or his captain, but the latter man robs him of the indecision by bringing his dominant index and middle fingers to his lips. they're shiny with the remnants of your fluids, as if he needed any incitement to wrap his mouth around the digits. he works at them until price's fingers prune, laving his tongue around the knuckles, against the nail beds, all the way through to the fold of skin between them.

so desperate to please, to see to it that 'some other day' is everyday henceforth.

a future with price by your sides. beyond just the field. the bite in your supple existence. spice supporting anise and jasmine, some aphrodisiac blend that'll carry you through to the end of your lives, happy. sated. a mediator. commander. captain. his captain.

"that's a good boy."

he could really get used to this.

#unedited!#this idea's been over my ass like a symbiote #cackling and rubbing its greedy little hands together #kyle 'gaz' garrick x reader x john price #kyle 'gaz' garrick x reader #john price x reader #john price x kyle garrick #pricegaz #kyle garrick #gaz garrick #captain join price #john price #x reader #female reader #call of duty

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leclsrc · 8 months

Text

wanna be nearer ✴︎ mv1

genre: 18+, fuck buddies ahhhaha, smut, porn w/o plot basically...

word count: 3.6k

It seems every time you tell yourself to stop, Max comes back into your life and all sense of resolve crumbles. title from this

auds here… hiii :) req'd by SO MANY PEOPLE i can't even start compiling all the asks hahah but if u asked for this here it is! writing's been tuff for me lately but this was the one thing i could continue daily (weird) also there is a case to be made re: max's hottest pictures being like 1 pixel in resolution... hope u all like it!!!

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+ because... sexual tension, penetrative sex, some vague sexting/a sex tape being watched, praise/dirty talk central, size kink, unprotected sex, handjob (f receiving), max being a meanie

It’s busy today. You haven’t seen him all day.

To be fair, you weren’t necessarily looking—not at first, anyways. How many days had it been since the last time, now? The one in your hotel room? Almost two weeks, you think. The real answer’s blurry in your head, especially when you count the close calls, but this should be a record for you two at this point. Neither of you acknowledge that the only reason you’ve been so good at staying away from each other is because when you’re not roped into the same media junket, you avoid each other at all costs.

The media pen is full; everybody’s shoulder-to-shoulder because a few other networks bought their way into the space for the Singapore race. Right when your mind settles back into the focus of work, though—

“Here,” he says, his voice rough and tickling your ear. You nearly stumble forward, shocked at how his voice almost vibrates through you, a low trill that ripples top to bottom.

His hand settles at the small of your back, like his verbal confirmation wasn’t enough on its own; it’s big and his thumb rubs softly at the smooth strip of skin in-between your low skirt and your top. “Passing through.”

“Sure,” you say, dry. “Sorry.” You clear your throat and cant backwards into his touch—briefly, before you step forward and allow him to pass fully. Across you, Lissie looks up from her phone and you sense her trying to gauge why you’re so close to Max.

You blink and wait for him to disappear, wondering what you’ll tell her—how, more like. How the conversation even opens. How you’d phrase the truth, which in itself is a horribly grey area. Well, Lis, if you must know, Max and I have casual sex. A lot. It’s actually not very casual. We stopped now, but—yes, Max. That Max, yes.

“What about Max?”

Your eyes snap upward and then to your left, where you can see Max’s figure disappearing into a crowd of engineers. They return to Lissie and you feign confusion to mask panic. “What?”

“You were spacing out and then suddenly said his name.” She presses the tip of her pen onto her chin, humming. She doesn’t look at you and you thank God for it—eye contact would’ve rattled the truth out of you in seconds.

“I…” You shake your head. “I was irritated with—I’ve been irritated with him all morning. It’s. Yeah.”

“Oh,” she says, nodding, looking away for a second but not pausing. “Oh, okay. D’you wanna go over this edit again?”

—

The stale air of his hotel room, alleviated only by the vaguely fragrant linen spray they use when he’s out, is what greets Max when he arrives in the afternoon.The first thing he does—the only task he’d even thought of en route here—after the door clicks shut is pull up his Messages app and type.

Just got to hotel. He tosses his phone onto the bed while he waits, tugs his cap off and rakes reckless fingers through his hair. His new stylist’s got him onto jeans that don’t “look painted on” (you once said, verbatim), but he’d rather die than lounge in denim, so he swaps them out for just his Calvins.

His mind’s lethargic, but even his version of lethargic is high-drive for others—his brain has the silly tendency to work in absolute overdrive. He itches for a drink and orders a Scotch on the telephone. He checks his phone, which is lying facedown still, and as soon as he picks it up it chimes with your reply.

OK, nice. Did u need something?

No, just wanted to let you know. He hits send, then adds another. You’re off @ 8?

Ended early, I’m in the car. He’s in the middle of drafting a response when you send a follow-up.

I thought we agreed no contact unless business

He scoffs out a dry laugh. Despite himself, he reads the text in your voice, his brain completing the image of the bossy tone with crossed arms and a wickedly arched brow. In response he types: Can’t even update a friend nowadays? I am very tired you know.

Rules are rules, he reads. Then, Get some rest.

Yeah. Got a drink.

I said rest, not drink. Even then he can hear the exasperation in your voice.

How was work? I hurt a muscle doing training. That’s why I’m at the hotel early.

Feel better soon, you send. Had some press stuff today. Boring shit

Yeah? I missed you today.

Really?

A lot. He hums and leans backward, lets his head settle into the pillow, the smell of the linen spray consuming his nostrils. He waits for his phone to buzz, vibrate softly on the hard surface of his chest. It does, after a few minutes, after he’s let his eyes shut and let himself rest them for a bit, after the room service comes knocking and gives him the Scotch he’d requested while ago.

He’s back sitting on his bed when it vibrates. He picks it up and reads: How much?

You’re awfully easy to rile up. He smiles around the rim of his glass—he knows exactly where this is heading.

So much I think I’ll watch some videos of us.

The only caveat of casual sex as two people who essentially dislike each other is the fact that it’s all under wraps—which means if you two try to sneak off together, or are even caught in the same vicinity, people raise suspicions. And that means there are weeks where you barely get to fuck.

And that means you both grow antsy for it. He makes fun of you for being needy, when you’re tipsy and palming at the denim of his jeans or when you bend over when you know he’s looking. But the truth is he grows needy for it, too, craves you like you’re all that matters—he gets extra handsy, drops another innuendo when he knows you’re listening. There is a case to be made that he’s worse, in fact, because fans sometimes skirt around his words and wonder why he sounds so flirty when you’re the reporter in the room.

It was difficult but eventually he found a minor workaround: sometimes he films the two of you. There’s none of those propping his phone up kind of stuff, he just fishes for it in the middle of fucking you so he can store it for himself. It’s locked on his phone and he only has a few (the few has grown in number lately), but God it gives him release when he needs it and you’re not there.

I’ll call you when I’m at the lobby, comes the response. It’s always futile, the attempts to stay away from each other.

He pulls up the folder and lets his eyes skate over the thumbnails, squeezes himself through his boxers. Fuck. He can’t seem to decide what he wants to watch—the ones of you sucking him off, the ones of his fingers stretching you out. He recalls the whine in your voice in each of them, the pleads that escaped you for him to fuck you harder.

So Max, for the life of him, can’t even count how many times these videos have made him cum. But there’s one he hasn’t seen yet—the one he took the night before you two parted. You’d become extra needy on this night, preceding the season, he supposes, the separation. You already were anticipating the deprivation, starved for him more than usual. He’d have kissed you pretty, given you one orgasm after another and still you’d want more. And on this night it was you who asked him to film, you who wanted all of them on tape, so you’d both have something to tide you over until he got to fuck you again.

He pulls his cock out and strokes over it. And with his other hand, he presses his thumb on that video.

In it he’s fucking you in the dark, keeping the phone’s flashlight on your pussy as he sinks his cock into you. When he pulls back out the light reflects on the slick coating his dick, makes it glisten. It looks so wet, sounds so wet, with each thrust into you. He remembers just how it feels; he imagines that he’s back in your bed, fucking you again; that his fist is your pussy, and the spit lubricating it is the wetness that’s drooling out of you on camera.

He can see how tight you are—the way your pussy grips the shaft each time he pulls his cock out, greedy for him. Just like you.

The two of you were supposed to be quiet, too. You were at a hotel, your room beside another driver’s; you were supposed to be careful not to stir anyone. But your moans are louder than he remembers; so is the way you say, breathily, between gasps, Right there, Maxie, m’so close. Max inhales through his teeth, his cock throbbing at that—that Maxie, the cute little whimper out your mouth.

He strokes himself faster, watches the way your fingers slip into frame to rub at your clit, his thrusts getting sloppier and sloppier. He can see, hear—feel how wet you are, the sound of your cunt growing wetter with every thrust. He hears his own voice again, mutter out So good for me, yeah? And your babbled affirmation in response.

You cum hard, your slick getting everything wet and shiny and Max watches himself cum next. His dick’s already spurting when he pulls out and lets himself release on your lower stomach, some of it shooting onto your tits. He blinks, anchors himself back, quickens his wrist and digs his heels into the bed to keep himself from coming. Just a second longer. He knows what comes next and he needs to see it.

Like clockwork, he watches two of your fingers swipe through his cum, bringing them up to your lips. You blink up at the camera and smile. Quit it, your lips mouth, pink and cum-slick. Put it down, Maxie… fill me up again. He releases in weak spurts over his fist, a damp, flushed grunt escaping him as he does. He feels like the air’s been knocked out of him.

His phone rings and he presses it to his ear. “Hey, angel. Come on up.”

One week later

“Vodka,” you say to the bellboy when you get to the elevator. “To my hotel room. Very cold. Please. And thank you.”

The guy scurries off to fetch it for you, and five minutes and one elevator ride later, you're wrestling himself into your room, flexing your sore foot. Japan does hotel rooms well. The leather of your Manolo digs into your foot the way it does after you’ve walked the entire day and you can feel a blister forming on the back of your right heel but it doesn’t really matter, you guess, if you’re already home. Hotel-home, anyway.

You expect to find solace lounging on your bed, waiting out the hours to your morning briefing for the race and throw back a glass or two of vodka.

Instead, you find Max on your couch. He’s sipping ice-cold vodka—your ice-cold vodka.

“Hey, pretty,” he says. “Good vodka. I got staff to wire my FIFA on the TV.”

You just stare. “My TV. What,” you say, your eyes spotting the bottle of frosty vodka by his glass, “are you doing here?”

“I hadn’t seen you all day and I wanted to,” he explains simply. “Do you want food or something?”

“Food? I—nevermind,” you shrug. You’re frozen by the door, only just warmed now from the cold air that bit at your bare legs. “Max, how long have you been here?”

“Since Will Buxton started the post-FP debrief,” he huffs. He fiddles with the remote in his grip and extends it to the TV, where FIFA comes to life. “Aw, come on, angel. I know, I know. No sex and all that. I just like your company, you know?”

“Please. Go fuck yourself,” you scoff, toeing off your shoes and wiping your hands on the fabric of your skirt. He says one thing but you expect another—it’s only natural, given all the other times one of you had failed to keep a similar promise. But still you walk yourself beside him, fix the strap of your short dress, and allow him to pour you a drink.

“You know what I’ve been thinking about lately?” He asks absently. “About how you’re always having these talks with me about… about not having sex anymore, but you never even last two days.” He raises you the glass. “What is it, relapsing?”

“Fuck you,” you mutter. “It’s only because you keep trying to get me all hot and bothered.” You recall each time: in Monaco, in Madrid, in France. “Maybe if you got off my back once in a while, we’d be back to normal.”

He shrugs. “You just don’t have strong resolve.”

“Excuse me?” You scoff, irritation scratching at your throat.

“Wanna test that out? Come play.”

Your eyes flit over to the bright screen, all exhaustion cleared from your system. An animated Kylian Mbappe kicks a football in a loop. “Fine. One round and you’re out of my room.” He throws his hands up in surrender and you make a move to sit next to him. Max puts his hands out towards you then, nodding. You mistake it for some handshake, accept them, and then he’s wrangle you onto his lap facing outward. You feel your pulse at your throat as he pulls you tight against him.

“This is cheating,” you say, your voice dry.

“You got it wrong. Teaching.”

He moves his fingers atop yours, explaining what to press, what goes where, what to do for this or that. He can smell your perfume, hear your stilted breaths, and when he peeks over your shoulder he can see where your dress falls loose, showing the lace of your bra and your tits underneath them.

If he had it his way, he’d hike your dress up and have you ride him. But he’s given you a challenge.

You play a practice round and end up scoring a few goals, fingers making quick work of the buttons. Behind you, Max watches, content, answering your questions when you ask them hurriedly—how do I do this? That? Did I just score?

You score once, then twice, then three times, and before you know it you’re scoring in quick succession. The game is fun—it’s easy. If Max was trying to give you a hard time, he failed. You grow determined, competitive within seconds (something he really should’ve anticipated), and you’re scoring goals with skill that you’d confidently say rivals Max’s.

Max. You almost—almost forget he’s there, and then you sit up straighter and you’re hit with the sensation of his dick pressing into your ass. You inhale sharply and the controller clatters to the floor.

“You okay, pretty?” His hand comes up to rest on your knee, inching closer and closer with every hitch of your breath. Your hand, now free of the controller, seizes his, stopping it right at the middle of your thigh.

“I’m fine.”

“Yeah? You look stressed.” He doesn’t move. “You were so close, too, weren’t you?” The score stares you right in the face: 4-5. “Maybe you just need to get your mind off it.” It’s so bullshit, so extremely obvious, but he’s right in your ear and his hand is so near where you’ve missed its presence.

You’re usually competitive. You can usually hold your ground. But with this and him—

“Maybe,” you breathe, loosening your grip. He spreads his legs, spreading yours in the process, and brings his hand closer, running slender fingers over the lace material of your underwear until you’re squirming. It grows damper the more he touches, your mouth hanging open with stunted whimpers.

“You always come back to me, schatz, don’t you,” he says, whispers against your ear. You wrench a moan out. “Remember the first time? You interviewed me in Abu Dhabi… you teased me the whole day and begged to come thrice in my room. The time in Monaco you touched yourself to me when I was in the next room. The time we almost hooked up in Miami…” He groans, to himself more than you. “You’re a dirty girl.” He’s curling two fingers inside of you now, grazing against the sweet spot pulls the most delicious moans out of your innocent mouth.

“Every time… you go, that was the last time.” While your mind recaps the memories he’s busy spelling into your ear, Max’s fingers are curling inside of you against that sweet spot just right, and your moans are getting louder and louder.

“Fuck,” he huffs, watching your flushed face get more and more euphoric.

“Aw, pretty, look at that,” Max laughs. He’s looking at your thighs, watching the way they tense and shake as his fingers stroke your g spot. Each pump and curl into your twitching pussy feels better and better, and your dripping walls are starting to clench around his fingers.

“Wait, I—I can’t,” you pant, lolling your head onto his shoulder and involuntarily bucking your hips upward.

“Yeah you can,” he orders. “It’s so easy to get you to cum, isn’t it? Or is that just for me? The driver you hate the most?” He laughs. “Get all wet for the guy you couldn’t care less about. Say you hate me and get my dick nice and wet the next day.” You’re grinding onto his three fingers now, shameless with it.

“Are you gonna cum?” He asks.

“Oh,” you whine. “Yeah, fuck—yes.”

“Tell me what you’re gonna do,” he says wickedly. You can hear him smile.

“I’m gonna—please—I’m gonna cum,” you pant, tension coming to a halt and then bursting all at once out of you. His other arm holds your hips down against him, and you spend a minute and another twitching, your skin sticky with sweat and slick.

It’s not long before you’re whirled back to face him, your hands making quick work of his jeans. It’s a skill you’ve both mastered, the art of the quickie—in closets, hotel rooms, with sweaty, open-mouthed kisses pressed along the column of your throat, moans swallowed.

He hikes your dress up and your panties to the side, immediately bullies his cock into you—the glide is slow, but easy. You’re so fucking wet.

“Fucking big,” you gasp out. “Jesus, Jesus—fuck.” Your head drops and presses against his; he uses the opportunity to kiss you. You moan into it, feeling the stretch, your slick wetness dragging down the length of him as he thrusts up, up, further. “Been a while.”

“Feel good, though, yeah?” Your toes curl and you nod; you’re flushed all over and you need him to hurry up. You grind downward, onto him. He does, then, fucks you hard and fast, like he’s thirsted for this for way longer than he did. You’re squirming, all wet, and it tempts him to go harder. Your face is shiny with sweat, lips drawn in between your teeth.

“Slo—slow down,” you manage, babbling; he doesn’t, speeding up his thrusts until you’re moaning his name. “Max—wait—fuck, you’re so mean,” you whine, wrapping your arms around him and letting him take control.

“You’re fine,” he grunts, pulling out almost all the way. “You take my dick so well, schatz, every fucking time. Don’t you?”

“I do,” you gasp out, and he’s slamming into you gain. You cry out loudly, sniffling from the overstimulation—you’d barely recovered from your initial orgasm and already you’re hurtling into what feels like three at the same time.

“For someone who doesn’t like me,” he sneers, “you sure do moan like a slut, huh?”

His words get you more turned on than you’re willing to admit, but you shake your head.

“No?” He laughs, breathy from the effort. “Maybe I should film you now. Send it to your boss, let him see his stellar reporter’s getting Verstappen’s dick wet.”

Finally, the tension building inside of you reaches a head, and your pussy starts to twitch around his dick. He notices, grunts sharply and leans forward, shuddering as he releases into you. Your moans are choked and tapering into whimpers as you release slick all over him, and you attempt to catch your breath, collapsing onto his still-clothed, now-sticky chest. You scratch at the dri-fit material and inhale him, the smell of his cologne, his sweat. You bite at his earlobe, laugh when he flinches.

“That,” you say into his skin, “was the last time.” It’s both seriously and as a joke, playing off of what he’d remarked earlier.

“Jesus, princess. I’m still inside you.”

You giggle and drum lightly along the plane of his chest. In a few minutes he’ll pick you up to shower, but now you’re content to inhale him in. Quietly you wonder why you just can’t get enough of him—if you were in better senses, you’d have realized he was thinking the same thing about you.

#f1 #max verstappen #max verstappen smut #max verstappen imagines #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen x reader #f1 x reader

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erwinsvow · 1 month

Note

i thinkkk all 3 boys have a thing for r but she only has a thing for rafe (realises when sofia shows up) 🤪 #kook trio reader

this would play out so funny seriously timeline not making any sense but oh well

you watch, jaw clenched and chewing on your cheek, rafe talking to the girl he's been with recently. normally you can push your feelings aside, but it stings this time, since she's been around for weeks. he never stays with one girl for this long, no girl besides you, you think bitterly.

"does she really have to come every time?" you ask, not realizing how jealous you sound. topper and kelce exchange a look. they saw this coming from a mile away.

you are a little oblivious, they discussed one night, not catching onto the way kelce has been suggesting the two of you go to dinner alone for the past month. no, you always agree and then tell him you're inviting rafe too.

you think topper coming over for ice cream and movies is the way he's deciding to cope over breaking up with sarah. you don't even realize this isn't a communal activity, texting rafe and telling him to pick up the ice cream.

it's fine, they've decided, except now you're getting upset, since rafe is doing to you what you've been doing to them.

"it's been like two weeks," top comments, taking a swig of his beer.

"seems like forever. what's he see in her anyways?" you hate that you even asked the question—envy didn't suit you, especially not with your best friends. she's nice, and pretty, and if she's good for rafe then they should be together.

you should be happy for him. it stings even worse because you're not, not at all.

"don't answer that," you follow up, shooting one last dirty look at them and turning away.

"hey! christ." kelce says, while you pick up his scotch and finish it in one drink.

"i need another drink," you huff.

"stop moping," top says.

"yeah, we all know he can't stay away from you. give it another week," kelce snickers, laughing with top.

you don't catch his sentence, a new idea coming to mind.

"what's that pogue's name? the one who sells weed? jj?" you turn to kelce and top, eyes wide and eager, smiling for the first time in an hour. "anyone got his number?"

#THIS WAS SO FUN I HOPE YOU LOOOOVE #i hate writing jealous reader feels wrong... rafe is her one and only <33 #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #kook trio reader

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yanderenightmare · 3 months

Text

TW: nsfw, noncon/dubcon, pet play, collaring, degradation, Daddy kink, hints of abuse

gn reader

Thinking about being an older guy’s pleasure pet…

He sits down with a labored huff, manspreading widely with his cock hanging freely between his thick thighs. It’s too heavy to stand on its own – chubby and veined from hilt to bulbous tip, dripping white coins on the floor.

He pets the bed next to him, curling his finger at you, beckoning you to crawl over with a gentle smile as he tells you it’s time for your midnight feeding.

You obey, coming to kneel before him, letting his large hand cup your whole face in a warm and calloused hand.

“Open up, baby.” He hums, and you drop your jaw to receive the slow drop of spit he lets go into your mouth – it’s thick on your tongue, sliding slowly down your throat with a taste of scotch and tobacco.

It takes everything in you not to gag – but you know a slap from his hand is enough to pop your lip and make your jaw feel broken – so you swallow with a happy sigh as if it were delicious.

“Good baby~” He praises, pinching your cheek softly while picking up your leash in the other hand – tugging it just a bit to pull you closer until you’re smothered in his fat manhood.

His strong thighs are spread just wide enough to allow you to fit between them and just close enough to still hug and nestle your head snugly. He lays the length of his cock on top of you, awing at the sight while measuring it with your sweet face.

“Begin.” He’ll say – his lazy gaze heavy with heat, hooded and soaked with enjoyment as he watches you wet your lips before kissing his weighty set of balls, his precum sticking to you in pretty pearl necklaces.

He’ll groan loudly, keeping his eyes on yours and how big and pretty they are, looking up at him so submissively while he tangles his hand in your hair – promptly angling your pretty face up and down his shaft.

“I want your tongue, baby.” He might say if you waste his time. Giving your collar a lax pull and your scalp an eager tug, prompting you to finally taste that thick heated mess you’ve made – pilling from his dickhole – shuddering with his head thrown back as you clean it with a sweet kitten lick. “Yesss, baby- drink Daddy’s milk~”

He’ll lock his hairy thighs around your face – keep you there – wearing your throat like a sleeve with your nose buried in his belly chub – with no air – just the intimacy of his heavy leer, endeared by the sight of your pretty eyes welling with tears as you try your best to please him – sucking and hallowing your cheeks, moaning to show him how much you enjoy it.

When he finally cums, his broad chest heaving in an arch and a loud moan of your name, he’ll tug his cock against your face, with his leaky tip slapping your tongue and his balls swinging against your chin before spurting his batter right into your gaping mouth. Shuddering from the bliss of it when painting your face in the white thickness.

When finished, he’ll sigh happily – his head lolling back, slanted to the side while looking down at you with a peaceful smile on his lips. “Thank you, Baby~ I needed that. My balls were so full I thought they’d explode. But you drank it all like a good cum-junkie should, didn’t you?” He coos proudly, petting your hair slowly – still with his softening cock resting on your face – looking so cute, all dewy with sweat and cum – his thick thighs cradling you just lax enough to allow you to pant for air again. “For your reward, I’ll let you pick which hole I stuff first in the morning~”

He enjoys the sweet curl his promise elicits between your brows. Makes him want to sit on top of you and fuck the pretty expression for another hour.

But it’s getting late.

“For now- clean me up so we can go to bed, baby~”

BNHA – Enji, Aizawa, Bakugou, Deku, Kirishima

JJK – Nanami, Geto, Toji, Kenjaku

AOT – Erwin, Zeke

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thethingswedotomorrow · 7 months

Text

I love the Good Omens 'Night at Crowley's Flat' trope where after stopping the apocalypse in season 1, they go to Crowley's Flat and talk and kiss and fall in love and have a peaceful night, I do.

BUT

What if the night became 'The Night an Angel and a Demon Get Insanely Drunk and Teach Each Other How to Act'

Because honestly

They go to the flat, and ALL they know is they are going to have to swap themselves if they want to survive and finally be free from Heaven and Hell

But they have absolutely NO clue how to pull it off successfully

Sure, they know each other in and out.

Aziraphale has Crowley's eye color committed to memory (and also to paper, since Aziraphale spent 4-5 years in the late 80s trying to find a craft store in London that could help him do the color justice)

Crowley could find his angel in a crowd of millions (and not even just because only one single person in that crowd would be dressed in that ridiculous shade of tartan)

BUT they know they have to truly get this right, down to the exact detail.

So, naturally, they start by promptly opening the closest bottle of scotch that Crowley had available

Crowley was convinced this would be the easiest thing they've ever done

"Only you, Angel, would find a way to worry yourself to death AFTER stopping an apocalypse"

They begin with the easy part, switching corporations and clothing.

It was easy. Until Aziraphale realized he had to actually physically move in the very, very tight pants Crowley prefers.

The first three times he tries walking, he falls face down. And each time, realizes how it's equally hard to get back up again.

Not to mention that Crowley's corporation had learned that after 6000 years, it didn't really need all those vertebrae and bones since he never used them anyways

So now Aziraphale is just laying on the floor in terribly tight pants, very confused on how Crowley has managed all this time

(Crowley is also on the floor, having dropped there laughing after the 2nd attempt)

After they both get up (one much faster than the other) Crowley tries coaching the angel on how to walk like him

Until Crowley realizes he doesn't actually know how he walks, he just sort of wills himself forward and hopes his limbs keep up with him along the way

Eventually, after enough drinks, they settle on a technique called "Just pretend all your limbs are snakes. And you're a snake. Honestly, just as snake-y as you can manage, Angel."

Aziraphale, as difficult as this was for him, figures out that he may have gotten the easy side of this situation here. Crowley very much disagrees.

"Once an Angel, well, definitely not always an Angel, but close enough right?"

He very quickly realizes he may be wrong when Aziraphale asks Crowley to copy his walk

"Dear Lord Crowley, it cannot be that hard. You simply have to walk in a straight line"

It was indeed that hard.

Crowley has all his vertebrae now, but no knowledge of how they should be used

He tries to hold his hands behind his back and march forward, walking in what he thinks is probably, on some plane of reality, maybe a straight line

He's convinced that he's the perfect image of a stereotypical angel, head held high, an air of 'holier than thou' surrounding him

When Crowley asks Aziraphale, he only says, "Well, I suppose it will have to do for now."

Internally, Aziraphale thinks of the fact that Crowley looked identical to a bumbling penguin walking on ice.

When Crowly sits down, very pleased with himself for an impeccable performance ("As always, Angel. I've still got it." Aziraphale uncaps the vodka and drinks straight from the bottle, just staring into the distance.

He has just realized that their existence hinges on whether Crowley can figure out how to sit on a chair like a proper being with appendages and a spine.

And the odds are not in their favor, if they way the demon is sprawled out on the couch (reminding Aziraphale suddenly of a very well-done noodle, and suddenly he's starting to wonder if humans had the right idea with stress eating) is any indication

Crowley announces that he refuses to utter the words tickety boo, even if faced with destruction

"Honestly I think I'd rather have the holy water at that point" "Crowley." "I swear you just make sounds up sometimes, those aren't even real words"

4 bottles (and a very large order of takeout) later, they've got the act down well enough that it's starting to weird Crowley out

"Angel, seriously, enough with the nose. When have I ever done that with my nose? Exactly zero amount of times. I'm not a rabbit"

2 bottles later and Aziraphale has miracled Harry the Rabbit into the flat for a reason they can't quite remember

But they've got music playing from somewhere in the corner, and plenty of drinks, and the night goes on into the morning, and then they're sobering up and marching out for the most dramatic acting of their lives

And the world hasn't ended yet, so they'll probably be fine. Probably.

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marcsburnerphone · 3 months

Text

And they were roomates

(Captain John price x F!reader)

Summary: the captain wants somewhere more homely to settle down and when an offer like yours comes alight on Zillow he must take up on it.

Warnings: angsty (very minimal), smut, jealousy, possesiveness?

part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - part 4 - part 5 - part 6- part 7 - part 8!!!!!

------------

When you get to the restaurant he has a large hand resting on your lower back. This spot is in the most crowded part of the city, meaning the ride was a bit over half an hour. He opens the door for you, stepping aside to let you in first. You sigh at the heat that radiates from inside as you step onto the hardwood floor of the very extravagant restaurant.

“John, I don't think I’m dressed for this kind of place.” You should’ve asked where you were going, god why didn’t you ask.

“What do you mean?” he asks confused, he looks down at you noticing the way you slightly sink into his side.

“I mean I’m underdressed for this place.” You whisper up to him, he looks around then back to you not seeing the problem at all.

“I actually think you're overdressed.” He says winking at you, making you look away bashfully.

“John, I'm serious.” His eyes remain on you admiring the way your hair falls just above your collarbone, how you have your gorgeous legs on display for everyone to see. He simply doesn’t know what you’re on about.

“You look beautiful, cut it out.” He says softly kneading at the meat on your hip, you pass up the long line of walk in groups and wait for the hostess to return which she quickly does.

“Reservation for John.” He says in his usual deep tone. Every so often you swear he lightens it for you.

“Okay follow me.” She gives you both a wide smile and collects two menus.

John follows her and leads you through saying his ‘excuse me’s to the servers you pass by, keeping you tucked firmly to his side. Although it’s an intimate spot it’s also bustling with business inside. You realize this place is probably hard to get a reservation at as the walk in line piles up.

Once you’re sat and given menus she lets you both know your server will be with you shortly before leaving.

“Have you been here before?” You ask as he glances over the drink menu.

“I have actually, Laswell and her wife got engaged here.” He smiles and remembers the very eventful night. Him and some old friends had hidden in a booth so they could watch it all take place and ended up getting caught in the end.

“How long has she been married for?”

“Nearly a decade.” You sigh with a smile. You want that. You want that terribly.

“Hi, can I get drinks started for you guys?” The server asks, John orders himself a scotch as you decide on what you want.

“I’ll just get an iced tea.” You say before looking up. But when you do you’re surprised to see an old friend.

“Adam?” You say with an awfully wide smile.

“I knew that was you.” He says leaning in for a hug that you gladly reciprocate.

“I’m so happy to see you.” You exclaim, last you heard of him he was in America. You wonder when he got back to the UK and how long he’s been back for.

“Me too, it’s lovely to see you. Anyways I’ll be back with your drinks.” He leaves as quickly as he came, stopping by other tables to check in.

“How do you know him?” John asks, you notice his gruff voice has an interesting pitch to it.

“Childhood friends.” You reply.

“Ah has it been awhile?” He asks curiously.

“A long while, he moved to the states and now he’s back I guess.” You shrug not really knowing what else to say.

“interesting.” You notice the way his eyes slightly trail your old friend as he walks around.

“Okay, do you know what you're going to get?” You ask him to regain his attention.

“I think so, you?” You nod your head also looking over the menu once more before making your final decision.

“Here you guys go.” Adam says setting the drinks down at your table.

“Are you ready to order?”He asks, keeping his eyes firmly on you. You don’t notice it but your very watchful date does.

“No actually, could we have a couple more minutes?” John says, catching your attention as you give him a puzzled look.

“Yeah, take all the time you need, by the way I heard from your sister not too long ago she told me you and Brian broke up. I was shocked, truly we all thought you guys would get married .” He says turning back to you.

“Well they didn’t.” John says lowly beneath his breath. You and your old friend look at him for a second before you reply.

“Yeah, it just didn’t work out.” You reply a little awkwardly in remembrance of the breakup. Brian had also been a childhood friend and a highschool sweetheart.

“You were always too good for him.” you can't think of an appropriate way to answer that so there's a second of silence before he takes the hint. “ Okay then I’ll be back in a bit.”

“He’s flirting with you” John says once he walks away.

“You think?”

“You don’t.” He feels like he just watched the man’s pupils turn into hearts at the sight of you.

“Are you jealous?” you ask, trying to read his expression.

“Of the childhood friend, or possibly family friend that's flirting with you, no.” He feels like it’s childish but in the end he’s just a man.

“John.”

“Please doll, don’t.” You can't believe your eyes as you watch his jaw tick.

“Okay.” you try to suppress the smile that makes its way onto your lips. John has absolutely nothing to worry about but nonetheless is pent up.

He changes the topic and asks you about your next painting project, what you think it’ll be and where you think you’ll put it. You ask him about his own work, where did he meet his task force or rather how until Adam is back for your order.

You guys go back and forth on whether princess diana's death was an assassination or simply a horrible accident you say it was an assassination while he calls you crazy till your food is brought out to you.

There’s still light conversation between bites and sips. He’s not jealous, he tells himself, just bothered, bothered that you’ve known that man longer, how he knows your sister and had recently spoken to her, how he looks at you like you're more than friends.

When dinner finishes up you offer to pay out of kindness and he just laughs shaking his head. When the check comes and he reads it he notices how your items have been paid for and prays dearly to remain collected.

“Did they double charge you or something?” You are confused at the subtle scowl on his face.

“More like undercharged, do you see your friend anywhere?” He says looking around and you do also.

“No.”

“It looks like all your items are paid for.” He’s clearly upset and although you sort of understand why, you can’t completely understand.

“It’s probably just a nice gesture John.” Why did he have to do that?

“Doll I’m a man, I know what this means.” He sighs, jaw clenching.

“Okay but we’re old friends.” You say trying to calm him down but failing miserably.

“Oh you don’t say.” He says pressing his lips together.

“Let's just forget about it, come on.” You softly plead.

“I’m not leaving without paying for your meal.” And he means it. When your unfortunate friend comes back around to collect the check, John's talking before he can get a word in.

“I’m sorry but I’d like to pay for these items.” John says to him with a husky deeper, irritated tone.

“I thought I’d treat an old friend.” Adam says looking to you while John’s holding onto every inch of his patience.

“I’d like to treat my girl if you don’t mind.” Adam looks back to you for whatever reason but your eyes are stuck on John like you're in a trance.

“Okay sir I’ll um I’ll rerun this.” He says walking away. It’s awkward silence and he’s still breathing in an unnatural pattern. But my girl, my girl, my girl. Is all you could think about.

“Here you are sir.” He says handing back the check. John gives it a quick glance before placing his card inside and handing it back.

When he comes back around to give John his card back and a receipt for a signature you guys both get up to leave.

“It was nice seeing you, maybe we can hang out soon?” Adam says facing you.

“It was nice seeing you too.” John patiently waits for you to join him at his side.

“Maybe I can get your number?” The tone is one you’d only identify as flirtatious. You shut your eyes for a second realizing John was right but regardless of that he has nothing to be jealous about.

“I'm sorry if you hadn’t noticed but I'm actually here on a date and I think that would be a little inappropriate.” You say politely while walking away. Once you're next to John his hand is around your waist as he is now the one trying to suppress a smirk. You walk out into the cold air huffing as you tighten your hands around yourself.

When you get to the car John opens your door as he always does, waiting for you to sit before closing it. He gets in quietly turning the key in the ignition as the car hums to life, you look towards the window and out into the city, in another life you're definitely a city girl who sits at bars with friends and smokes cigarettes on fire escapes. As he’s driving he can’t help but notice the pout on your face. He fears he upset you in some way as your eyes stay on the road.

You can’t help but feel like he’s upset with you for not shutting it down sooner. His silence only leaves room for your mind to take over. This is the common dance between you two. He feels bad for how his jealous tendencies may have affected your first date and you feel guilty for letting this man openly make a pass on you infront of John.

“Doll.”

“Hmm.” You reply not looking towards him. You’ve entered the long highway that leads home. The city is now in the rearview mirror getting smaller and smaller. With his right hand he caresses your chin turning you to face him.

“What’s with this look?” He asks softly as his eyes bounce from you to the road. The hand that’s on your face makes its way to rest upon your upper thigh.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, I’m genuinely asking.” He says a little confused.

“I truly didn’t think it meant anything.” He sighs realizing you're overthinking, that’s why you're quiet.

“Don’t let that bother you, it’s okay.” He reassures you.

“I just don’t know what kind of man sees a woman who’s clearly on a date and is still so bold. Although when it comes to you I fear I’d be the same way.” John says and you scoff with a small smile looking away.

“I would, you're gorgeous, a gem. But my gem.” You can’t help the rise of warmth to your cheeks. You realize John is always complimenting you, always making sure you know how valuable you are. Does he not realize how you feel about him?

“And how do you think I feel about you?” You say in a tone close to a whisper. His eyes search yours wondering where this is going.

“Getting jealous over a man who doesn’t compete with you and never could is beyond me.” You continue when he doesn’t respond.

“John, you're the most attractive man I’ve ever met, and I’m gladly all yours. My mind is too full of john price to think about anyone else” He groans quietly at the admission, not quite enough for your sensitive ears to pass up on though.

“Yeah?” He says shifting in his seat as your words go straight to his cock.

“Yeah.” You gaze at him with the widest eyes, his hand clenches and unclenches around the steering wheel as he tries to remain gentlemanly.

You unbuckle your seatbelt causing him to turn his head at the sound. You’re still about five minutes away from home so he's slightly confused. Though all that dissipates when you lean up against the center council placing a hand on his thigh grazing over the growing erection he knows you know is there to plant a kiss on his cheek then one on his lips before sliding back into your seat.

“Thankyou for dinner.” It’s laced with seduction.

you approach home at a faster speed than usual. He’s out of the car the second it's set in park rushing to your side to help you out. You can’t read his current expression as he practically drags you inside.

“Are you alright?” You ask, he scoffs at your audacity, fumbling with the keys to get the door unlocked. He’s ushering you inside quickly so the heat doesn’t escape from inside the home. You remove your boots by the door as John locks up. When you look up he's closer than you expected and his eyes are staring at you hungrily.

“Have I ever told you that you have a staring probl-“ his mouth is on yours before you can finish. There’s no easing into the kiss this time. He’s forcing his tongue in your mouth taking you by a welcomed surprise. He lifts you up like it’s nothing, hoisting you firmly around his waist.

His lips drag messily down your neck as he pulls your sweater down further, any and all access to your skin available to him he wants to taste. You’re pressed up against a wall one second and then being walked towards his room another. He’s impatient and it's unlike him, yet he’s never felt more like himself.

Your hands are in his hair pulling up his mouth to meet yours. His pants are so strained in the crotch area that he’s bucking his hips unintentionally searching for any kind of attention. You've grown embarrassingly wet in a matter of minutes, being turned on doesn’t describe how you feel. Your skirt has become scrunched above your bum from all John’s touching and kneading.

“Please.” You whine. He meets your lustful stare, smiling at how submissive you’ve become from just a little touching.

“What do you want?” His voice has dropped octaves and his accent sounds extra thick as he says it in the short space between you. When you refuse to answer he presses more into you sparking friction so intense and so needed that your eyes shut softly.

“What is it, hmm?”

“You John, I want you.” You admit, you’re truly trying your best given what you want sounds too raunchy to speak aloud.

“Well I’m right here, gonna need more of an explanation.” He’s trying his hardest to not just give you it all.

“Your fingers.” You can’t look at him as you say it. But the smile that forms on his face is so large and proud.

“Don’t be an ass.” You say watching as your words definitely go to his ego. He knew you had a thing for his hands as he often caught you glancing at them when you got the chance.

“You’re making my greatest wishes come true, why can’t I just be happy about it.” You smile now as his lips return to yours. He walks more down the hall this time you believe he’s heading into his room until your backs pressed up somewhere else. You open your eyes confused looking around before you notice you’re up against the candlelight painting, before you can question him he reads your mind.

“Don’t think I ever told you how much I love this one.” He says as he begins to remove your top. You raise your hands for him as he throws it to the floor beside you. You feel his hips stutter a bit when he sees the black Lace bra that adorns your chest.

“You’ll be the death of me.”

“Promise?”

His hands waste no time in finding the space between your thighs as he rubs an experimental finger over the damp spot that’s soaked through your tights. He nearly drops to his knees for a taste when he realizes just how wet you are.

“Is this all for me?” he asks, pressing more firmly into the area.

“Yes.” it lacks that poised tone you always have. He grips the thin fabric and rips it in the crotch area and just like all tights, once one thread becomes undone the rest basically tears itself. He peers down looking at your matching panties clicking his tongue. His eyes go immensely dark at the sight of your arousal smeared on your plump thighs. He pushes your panties to the side shamelessly dipping a finger into your glistening cunt. Your back arches off the painting at the new sensation, mouth dropping a bit In anticipation. You hear how wet you are as he slides a finger up and down through your folds simply getting familiar with you, committing this to memory.

“Please john.” you whine. His eyes find yours as his index finger begins to prod at your sopping entrance. He watches your face intently as he slides it inside, groaning at the way you clench around the single digit. His fingers are thick and coarse and your newest obsession. He can't get enough of the look of pleasure on your face as he begins to pump it in and out of you. You've sucked your bottom lip between your teeth to keep your moans mostly muffled trying your best to make little noise but that just doesn’t work for him. He leans in sucking it into his own mouth before kissing you deeply as you try your hardest to reciprocate. He begins to introduce his middle finger slowly easing it inside next to his other, your mouth falls open as a sound of pure pleasure escapes at the stretch.

“D’s that feel good?” he asks breathlessly as the nearly painful erection in his pants twitches. You can't bring yourself to answer as your eyes fall to the hand that’s delivering you this feeling of ecstasy. He too watches in awe as your arousal leaks into his palm.

“S’good all yours john.” you cry out as he presses his thumb to your clit. He can feel you getting close by the way his fingers are fighting to keep pumping inside your tight hole. He keeps the pace as he places sloppy kisses on your breasts sucking a little roughly on the soft tissue and watching the little bruises that immediately arise.

He watches you in admiration, this is a paramount moment in his life. He curls his fingers towards that spot that makes you mumble incoherently, creasing your eyebrows in diversion.

“John, I'm close.” you're not close you’re practically there and he can't wait to see how pretty you look coming on his hand.

“Come on doll.” he wishes his eyes were cameras, he wants to keep the look on your face as you moan out his name forever. How your hands are holding onto his shoulders for dear life as if he’d drop you. And the way your long eyelashes flutter close. You're a dream, an absolute spectacle. His fingers continue to fuck you through the intense feeling, making sure you’re more than sated.

He waits for your breathing to slow as he pulls his fingers from you. You whimper at the empty feeling. Your eyes that are struggling to fully open don't miss the moment he sucks them into his mouth gathering every ounce of spilled arousal. He moans loudly around them and you feel that switch come back on as quickly as it did the first time. He takes you to his room kicking the door open and setting you softly onto his bed. He removes your panties discreetly tucking them in his pocket as you still struggle to fully regain awareness.

“May I?” He asks kindly, leaning down as he begins to hook your thigh around his shoulder.

“Oh John I never you don’t-“

“You never what?” He questions in absolute disbelief.

“You know this.” You gesture down to him with your hands, slightly embarrassed.

“I won’t if you don’t want me too.” He wants a taste desperately, truly doesn’t know what he’ll do if you deny him.

“It’s not that I don’t want you too, it's just don’t feel obligated.” He laughs and you feel the air of his breath fan against you.

“You're the one doing me the honor here, if you don’t like it just nudge me with your hand.” You nod nervously at him as he gains some focus onto the matter at hand.

He’s eye to eye with the most mouth watering sight on the planet. You’re perfect in a way that would seem unachievable if you weren’t a living testimony that it is.

He opens his mouth laying his tongue flat against your folds, your hips buck unintentionally and he moves to grip your hips and hold them firm.

One taste and he’s sure you will truly be the death of him. He immerses himself in you, lapping at everything you're willing to give. You moan softly as your hands find their way into his hair. It’s good, better than anything you could’ve expected. His beard burns the inner part of your thighs and that mixed with the way John has his eyes on you while his tongue finds ways to make your back arch off the bed is mesmerizing. You try your best to not grind down onto his face every time his nose makes contact with your clit. You wonder if he can breathe, deciding he probably can’t by the way his face is snug against you, the ungodly sounds of slurping and grunting is making you woozy all around.

“tastes so good, all f’me.” He says as he eats you out. It’s muffled into your folds, like if it wasn’t meant for you to hear. You feel that familiar build up of something hot and liquidy poor into your lower belly. A hand of yours kneads at your breast adding to the overwhelming senses of pleasure, with your other hand you pull on the locks of John’s hair, when he looks up he can’t contain it, the way his cock senselessly grinds into the mattress begging to be touched, he removes a hand from your hip carefully sliding it down the bed to release and stroke his aching red cock. He watches you lose yourself in pleasure as he fucks you on is tongue, your needy cries are melodic too him, they make him hungrier than ever before as he fucks his fist in fervor imagining the day he can split you open with it. Before he can think correctly he’s spurting loads more than he thought was possible onto his hand and dress shirt. The groan that he pours into you sends an intense feeling through your body, like thrashing waters that pull you under and keep you there before letting you back up. You don’t mean to, didn’t even expect it so soon but once the vibration hits you your clamping down onto his face. He doesn’t seem to mind, just continues to lick and prod at you letting your hips move slowly on his face.

“John I’m-” you try catching your breath.

“You better not say sorry my love.” He can’t comprehend that this is real life. He tries to drink up all of what’s left of you before you push him away from over sensitivity.

You lay there breathless and heavy as he climbs above you planting a kiss onto your lips. You moan softly as you taste yourself from his mouth. When he pulls away you look at him with his wet beard and glistening stache.

“What about you?” You say looking down towards his now unbuttoned pants.

“Finished about five minutes ago.” He says smugly.

“What?”

“What can I say doll, you're divine.” He’s not even phased by it and you’re in complete shock. He presses his weight down into you once more for a kiss then gets up and heads into the bathroom, you’re not sure what he’s doing till he comes back with a warm cloth and cleans the mess you made up. You’re unfamiliar with your partner doing aftercare but it’s nice.

“D’ya want a pair of boxers or sweats, and a shirt or sweater.” He says while going to his dresser.

“Boxers and sweater.” You answer quietly, you’re spent, as sleepy as can be. When he approaches you with both those things he helps you dress and opens the comforters for you to get inside. He himself is dressed in pajamas as he scoots in next to you pulling you firmly to his chest. You scoot impossibly close and intertwine your legs with his, your face is in the crook of his neck inhaling him as you fall asleep. He doesn’t want to lose this moment so quickly though so he tries his best to keep himself awake for as long as possible just to savor having you in his bed entangled with him physically and mentally. Although it doesn’t last as long as he’d like it’s enough to get him through the hard nights, his eyes drift closed as he too falls asleep.

——————-

I too am ashamed of myself🫶

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