Fₐₙdₒₘ-ₗᵤᵥₑᵣ @69fandom-fanatic69 - Tumblr Blog

69fandom-fanatic69

May 28

thomas-woman

Want

Team Fortress 2 - M/F - Explicit - Sniper/Reader - 9k words

loss of virginity, romantic and sexual inexperience, established relationship, fluff, intimacy

ao3 link

You wanted this, but you really didn’t know how it even went in practice.

Luckily, you happened to be in a relationship with a man who had a near bottomless amount of patience and understanding for you.

This is extremely self indulgent... 😵‍💫

You had no prior frame of reference for something like this.

Fortunately, the man you were in love with—the first man you’ve ever been in a relationship with—didn’t care about your lack of experience at all. He didn’t love you in spite of it, or because of it. It was a complete non-issue for him.

You of course had an idea of how things went; the woman—that’s you—lays down and the man—that’s Mick—settles atop her and goes inside her. Simple. Until you reached adulthood and realized it wasn’t quite that simple, and then got more confused when you tried to understand.

Sometimes the way it was described to you—whether it be from books, other people, or movies—sounded more like an elaborate stage play; saying the ‘right’ words and doing the ‘right’ things (having the ‘right’ body and making the ‘right’ sounds—) to get the desired result, hollow and devoid of any meaning deeper than that. And that put you off of the entire concept for many years, until you got older and learnt more.

You would be lying if you said certain aspects of it didn’t squick you out, too. It wasn’t until you actually got used to receiving physical affection that went beyond cuddling, holding hands and hugging that you discovered that more physically involved intimacy might not be that gross, considering how much you liked Mick kissing you. And at some point your thoughts wandered towards the idea of Mick kissing you on other places, like your neck or shoulders, then your sternum. Your chest.

You thought of his hands a lot, too. You already were familiar with what they felt like, sure—but you didn’t know how they would feel on other places. It was this growing curiosity welling up within you that led to what could be considered the catalyst for explicitly craving him sexually speaking.

It was during a rather heated bout of kissing in his van. Stars littered the night sky, and the moon was the only light provided. You had made out with each other before, but it was only one other time. This was different, because Mick was getting more handsy, and you were eager for his touch.

Eventually his hand reached under your shirt, and then you were finally snapped out of your reverie. Not only did you have no experience, you realized despite your excitement and curiosity, you weren’t ready to go there at that very moment. It was only a blink that you went still, but that was more than enough for Mick. He pulled his hand away the instant you froze up—ever perceptive of your body language—and it was then you explained yourself.

You recall how your face itched with the heat of embarrassment as you told him in a roundabout, clipped and awkward manner. You remember how patient he was while you stammered and tried to find the words. And you don’t think you would ever forget how he simply tipped his head down to look you in the eyes directly, his expression free of judgement and completely indifferent.

“Yeah, I figured,” he replied, unperturbed. You were relieved, and flustered, but mostly relieved.

The day after you worried that things may become awkward between the two of you, but it never did. Mick didn’t bring it up again. And at some point you realized that may have been because he was waiting for you to initiate that.

And so you give yourself time to mull it over.

It took two months since that night for your thoughts to sufficiently develop. And you not only felt ready, but eager—like you were on that fateful night. The only thing standing in your way was yourself, now.

The world was tinted orange as the sun sunk over the horizon. Mick had just gotten done with disassembling, cleaning, and reassembling his rifle.

‘Just do it now.’ “Mick, can I talk to you about something?”

His attention is on you in an instant. “Always,” came his immediate reply. “Go for it.” He gives you a single nod of his head, a gesture for you to continue on.

Overthinking tended to be your downfall, as it usually spiraled into you freezing like a deer in headlights. So you open your mouth to not give yourself the chance to overthink this, too. “Remember when we were, uh, kissing?”

The corner of his mouth twitches up, the ghost of a rakish smirk on his lips. It’s only there for a single blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moment. “Got to be more specific, love.”

It was a fair enough request, you have shared plenty of kisses many times since that night. You purse your lips, your face growing ever hotter. Mick doesn’t try to subdue his chuckle this time. It wasn’t at your expense—he just always found himself being endeared by how easily you got flustered.

“When we almost…When we were about to…” You fumble over your words, half-heartedly waving your hand in place of a sentence you were struggling to piece together, hoping that Mick understood your meaning.

He tilts his head, the movement so slight it was almost imperceptible. “When we…?” As soon as the question left his mouth you knew he fully understood what you meant, he just wanted to hear you say it.

It was all in good faith; it wasn’t a bad thing that he wanted you to get used to verbalizing your wants and needs, especially considering that has never been something you were fully comfortable with. It didn’t mean that your face didn’t heat up or that you never got embarrassed when he prompted you like this, however.

You exhale heavily through your nose, narrowing your eyes at him to confirm that he really wanted you to elaborate. He only cocks his head at you, expectant.

“When we were going to—” ‘What’s a way to say this that isn’t vulgar?’ “Be intimate.”

Mick huffs through his nose, snorting, undoubtedly finding your wording odd-sounding. It actually eases some of your nerves, the fact he wasn’t nearly as anxious over this as you comforted you by proxy in a way.

Your lips form into a pout of feigned annoyance. “Hey—”

“That’s one way to put it, yeah,” he muses aloud at the same time you make your exclamation.

Whatever retort you had planned dissipates as soon Mick abruptly stands from where he was sitting. You feel your heart rate ramp up as he comes over to where you were seated on the bed.

He stops just in front of you, and even though your neck has to crane up to meet his gaze you find that you can’t look away. His hand reaches out to cup your cheek, his thumb gently stroking. “You’re gorgeous lookin’ up at me like that.”

It’s a compliment, yes—but it’s also an invitation to rekindle the passion from two months ago. Your stomach flips in a wobbly strain of excitement. His hand lingers on your face, the two of you simply enjoying the contact for another moment longer. After that moment passes he slips his hand away by gliding it off your jaw, his rough fingertips brushing as he went, leaving goosebumps in his wake.

This is immediately followed by Mick taking a seat on the bed right next to you, his hands resting loosely between his long legs, his fingers half-heartedly threaded together. Said long leg also pressed flush against yours. It was at that very moment you become aware of how your shorts had bunched up a bit up your thighs, exposing more of your bare skin. You could feel his body heat emanating through the fabric of his own clothing.

He seems to notice how the brief physical contact was affecting you, and slowly, as if not to startle an animal, reaches his hand up. Your eyes are glued to it, curious and anticipating. When neither your body language shifts nor your expression, he lays his palm over your thigh, giving it a small squeeze.

He’s done that before; sometimes while he was driving and you were in the passenger seat, but the current context made you flare up with heat.

Then, frankly; “Tell me how you want it,” the flat timbre of his voice renders your mind incapable of working right away, you have to blink to get the gears working in your head.

You swallow thickly. “Uh, well—” you now had the opposite problem; your mind was working too fast.

It made sense he’d just want to get to the heart of the matter, that was an aspect of his personality you were well aware of at this point, but the bluntness still managed to ruffle you.

Truth be told, you hadn’t thought this far. You had just assumed that he would take the proverbial reins, and you were happy to follow his lead.

“I don’t know,” the floor is very fascinating to you all of the sudden. “I just—want. You, I mean,” you splutter out.

In your peripheral you see the cool blue of his eyes—they almost appeared green in the orange glow of sunset—cast a glance at you. There’s something present in the way he looks at you, the plain admission of your desire for him being the trigger.

His hand then leaves your thigh to stroke along his jaw in thought. You find that you mourn the loss of contact almost immediately.

“Right,” you hear him mumble to himself, his mind clearly working. After a small beat he fixes his gaze back on you. “You’ve gotten yourself off before, yeah?”

That throws you for a bit of a loop. You’re able to make out ‘oh, god,’ and ‘do I really have to say this out loud?’ Through the momentary chaos of your thoughts.

You’re able to rein it in before it turns into mortification—if this actually goes all the way this time, merely talking of masturbation would pale in comparison.

Still, words fail you, so you just nod. “Good,” it was a neutral remark on his end, but it still made goosebumps rise on your skin. His voice tended to have that effect on you.

And it doesn’t lead to any further conversation on the topic like you were expecting. Instead you feel the weight of the bed shift as he moves to fully sit on it rather than on the edge, he doesn’t even have to motion for you to follow him—you do that on your own.

As soon as your settled your face is being cradled in wide palms and his lips are on yours. Mick was rather no-nonsense, so this wasn’t a surprise to you at all. But no-nonsense didn’t equal a lack of care; his kisses were slow yet fervent, his thumb stroked small circles into your cheek, the act blatantly affectionate.

You don’t try to restrain the shudder that goes through you this time, and this emboldens him. One of his hands drifts down to your lower back, and even though you’re mildly acquainted with his physical strength at this point you still felt a fluttery feeling in your stomach when he pushes you forward into him.

Now with your chests pressed together, he briefly pulls away from your lips to guide your head to the side before kissing your neck. You gasp, your hands clutching at his broad shoulders, and he gives your throat an experimental suckle.

Electricity bolts up your spine, a sharp gasp escapes your lips. “Mick—”

He soothes the spot with a kiss before pulling away, satisfaction glinting in his eyes. Both of his hands come to rest on your hips now, his thumb and index finger idly messing with the waistband of your shorts. “Want more?” You nod frantically.

But sense manages to cut through the arousal-induced fog in your head, and self-consciousness manages to saunter its way back in.

“Um, but I…” At your hesitation Mick’s hands glide up your arms to soothe you, and he leans his head just enough away from yours to look you in the eye. “You already know,” you mutter quietly.

Mick opens his mouth to say something, but you speak again before he can. “How do you want to do it?” You toss the figurative ball into his court. Really, all you wanted was to be guided through this; even though the purpose of inquiring about your preferences came from good intentions and genuine care for you, to be completely honest you hadn’t the faintest clue.

And you were just as interested in Mick’s preferences, too.

Mick pauses for a moment, his brows lower just a fraction. His eyes shift away from you, and it is then that you realize that your question had him feeling mildly self-conscious, himself.

You find it both endearing and comforting to know that you weren’t the only one feeling that way—even though his own bashfulness was far less intense in comparison to yours.

“You’ll need to elaborate there, love,” he eventually tells you.

“Well, I mean…Do you just want me to lay down, or—“

A flicker of understanding passes across his features. And you have this funny feeling in the pit of your stomach, a feeling you’re familiar with—the one you get when you can tell you somehow said something odd, or missed a social cue. Usually you brace for ridicule, but you never have to with Mick.

“I want you to enjoy yourself,” he somehow managed to sound soft while being curt.

A moment passes, his lips briefly purse. “It’s mostly all the same to me, on your back or wherever else, I’ll have you any which way.” Your face isn’t cooling down any.

Then his brows furrow, contemplative. You hold off on replying right away as to not deter him from continuing on this particular train of thought. Another second ticks by until he sighs through his nose, mind seemingly settled. “I’ll be honest, I’ve thought about you on your hands an’ knees, bent over.”

Your heart pounds intensely enough for you to hear it in your ears. You don’t know why you haven’t considered that he’s pleasured himself to thoughts of you before, it just never crossed your mind.

“Or flat on the belly—it’s all good to me.” He runs a hand on the back of his neck, his jaw shifting a bit. You find your eyes momentarily locked on the tendons in his throat, the way his adam’s apple bobs.

When you finally tear your eyes away, your mind tries to conjure an image of how those positions would go, and you find that they all interest you.

Your voice is still timid, but you pipe up nonetheless, “That sounds good to me, too.” He meets your gaze again, and the tension in his jaw has smoothed out along with the subtle creases between his brows. He actually looks pleasantly surprised—in his own, subdued way.

“Yeah?” He isn’t expecting an answer; it isn’t even a genuine question to begin with—just something to say, and yet you find yourself nodding. Perhaps a little too quickly, because you catch a lopsided smirk on his lips that never failed to make your heart rabbit-kick between your lungs, and then he leans in.

His nose nudges against your neck while that large of his cradles the back of your head. You exhale shakily when his lips brush over the pulse point on your throat. “You wanna be under me?”

“Yes,” you choke out. You feel him smile against your neck.

His hands drift down to the hem of your shirt, “Let’s get this off ya.”

Your heart leaps in your throat, and you make an active effort to ignore the cacophony of insecurity looming in the corners of your subconscious. You wanted this, it’s all you’ve been thinking about, and you weren’t going to let yourself get in the way of it.

And so you let him, even though your breathing comes out shaky and your hands are gripping the sheets in a bid to ground yourself. He doesn’t take it off right away, though.

Instead his hands—those calloused, big hands of his—goes up underneath and feels up your bare skin. Your breath audibly hitches, and he stills for a moment before continuing on. His thumb brushes over the band of your bra, and his other hand fondles your side. It takes everything in you not to visibly tremble with nervous excitement.

“Raise your arms for me,” and you do without a second thought—or a first one, for that matter, lest your insecurity get the better of you. You squeeze your eyes shut while the article of clothing goes up and over your head. Mick tosses haphazardly.

“Just look at you,” his voice was so low in tone that you weren’t even sure if he was speaking directly to you or not. Either way, your stomach flutters. Mick wastes no time at all divesting you of your bra, the swiftness in which he unclasped it indicated he had done this enough times before in the past, it reminded you of the gap of experience between the two of you.

He doesn’t rush actually removing it from your body, however. His head dips forward to plant kisses on your shoulder and collarbone, pulling the straps down and off of you at a leisurely pace. Your fingers run through his short hair, giving yourself something to do other than grasp at the sheets.

When it finally is off, you become acutely aware of how your nipples have long since pebbled just from his affections thus far. Mick isn’t so careless with the undergarment, he instead places it behind him somewhere on the bed. And now you were topless in front of someone else for the first time.

You’re not quite able to look him in the eye, but you’re too curious of his reaction to look away entirely, so you settle with staring a little bit off to the side of him so that he remains in your peripheral.

You hear Mick cuss under his breath and whisper to himself; “Bloody gorgeous.”

You shift a bit from where you’re seated, not sure what to do under the intensity of his gaze yet wanting even more of his attention all the while.

His palms run up your sides again, and this time you visibly shudder, a shaky exhale escapes your lips. Your emotions were a flurry and you have to remind yourself to just breathe. And Mick—he knows you, knows that you, in your own words; could ‘get all jittery.’ All just from physical affection. He’s seen it for himself, too, many times in the past when you very first got together.

It took you a little while before you no longer needed to wiggle your hands or legs to shake the trembles off while you were cuddling together. Mick reasoned it was just symptom related to a lack of overall physical contact and a sensitivity unique to you. So he doesn’t misinterpret the shivers that run through you as a stop signal. Something you were grateful for, considering how desperate you were for him at the moment.

You were nervous, yes—but that didn’t put a damper on your ever growing desire. Nor did it change how much you wanted him to have you wholly.

Still, you jolt a tad when his hands gingerly cup your breasts, the sensation of someone fondling them was foreign to you, and gave you a bit of a startle. “S-sorry—“ You sputter, sheepish.

His hands still retreat to rest on your waist instead, giving you a small reprieve from the new stimuli. “Nothin’ for you to be sorry over,” he rumbles, squeezing your hip reassuringly.

Mick nudges his cheek against yours, his mouth shifting to press an indirect kiss by your ear, “Not like you’ve ever been touched like this before, eh?” And just like that you relax again.

It was remarkable how good he was at that—then again, maybe you specifically were just particularly receptive to his manner of comforting.

You breathe out a hesitant chuckle. “Yeah, well, I mean—I liked it. A lot.” Your voice got increasingly smaller as you spoke, ending in a whisper. His the corner of his mouth twitches up in a half-grin, his slightly crooked teeth peeking past his lips. It was the sort of grin look almost never failed to make your face grow warm. He wore self-satisfaction very well.

You really wanted him to undress now, too.

Before he could reply, you tilt your head towards his shirt, gesturing to it sans hands, “Y-you too.” You mentally kick yourself for stuttering, but Mick is completely unbothered.

“I s’pose that’s only fair,” a peck is given to your temple before he shifts back on the bed to comply with your request. You actually wanted to take it off for him, but his own enthusiasm is made obvious when he immediately reaches for the back of his shirt collar and tugs it over his head in one fluid motion, swiftly balling it up and tossing it in some forgotten corner of the van with the same nonchalance as he did your shirt.

You can’t help but admire him, just because you’ve seen him shirtless before didn’t make it any less worthy of admiration. Just as you always appreciated stars in the night sky or the colorful pastel tones of the sunrise or sunset.

He’s lanky—that much was obvious even with his clothes on—and with sinewy, lean muscle. There’s scars on his torso and abdomen, his arms, too. His chest and limbs are fuzzy with hair, and there’s a tantalizingly thick thatch of hair that begins underneath his navel and disappears beneath his pants.

You really want to let him know just how much you liked the way he looked, too. Unfortunately this desire did not translate into anything remotely eloquent. “I’m so attracted to you,” you blurt out and mentally slap yourself the second it exits your mouth.

Mortification doesn’t get the chance to settle in thanks to how, fascinatingly, Mick’s expression is blank. Not from insecurity, and you’re certain he’s received compliments before, and he seemed rather at ease with himself physically speaking—maybe he just wasn’t expecting such a thing from you. It wasn’t like you made a habit of verbally expressing your more intimate thoughts and feelings.

He scoops you up in his arms suddenly, shocking a shrill laugh out of you. You feel more than hear his responding chuckle, his chest rising and falling in short bursts against yours. It was an odd sensation, the hair decorating his pectorals brushing against your nipples, but it wasn’t unwelcome—just new.

Mick sits you in his lap, and locks lips with yours. He begins slow, then steadily ramps up in intensity. Kissing you with such fervor all you could think of was it. He draws gasps and bitten off whines out of you. Your arms, once loosely draped around his wide shoulders, begin to squeeze as he becomes increasingly passionate. Desire further builds in the pit of your abdomen whenever a grunt or uneven sigh is eked out of him.

His hands run up and down your spine, your hips, fondling there and occasionally your ass. Warmth floods your face and chest from the ardor in his grasp. Your body heat intermingles with his, he’s holding you so tight you swear you could feel his heartbeat against your own. You’re subconsciously pushing yourself into him—even though there’s no space between the two of you left, even though the strength behind his grasp kept you practically still.

The rough texture of his callouses made you shiver in the most delightful way, and your stomach flopped with butterflies.

‘His hands are big,’ the thought passes your mind helplessly for what felt like the umpteenth time this evening. You consciously knew his hands were big, you had eyes after all—but it was so different to actually have them on you. Touching you and holding you while you were bare and vulnerable, like you were something to be cherished.

You didn’t feel trapped. His hold was impossibly tender, and you felt your heart flutter beneath your ribs. It all served to fan the flames of your arousal, to the point where you felt a dull ache between your legs. Pulsing and wanting.

You don’t even realize that you were pressing your hips against him until he audibly groans, and you feel an unmistakable hardness press against your still clothed crotch. “Augh, fuck—” Mick fully groans out against your mouth.

Just the sound of him, the feel of him—

His fingers curl into your hip, effectively pinning you in place and keeping your hips still. And you find yourself almost intoxicated by how, if he wanted, Mick could simply position you however he desired.

His voice is all but a rasp. “I’m gonna get you ready for me, then I’m gonna fill you up.”

You take a few greedy gulps of air, mostly to steady yourself than to actually catch your breath. You felt quite ready right now. “I thought you just did,” your voice is weak and slurred, lips pleasantly tender, you almost don’t recognize your own voice.

Mick simply gives you that terribly rakish smirk, his unusually cuspid canines peeking from under his lips. “Nah, not by a long shot.”

Your musing from earlier was confirmed when Mick lifted you up in his arms with a stunning lack of effort to have you sitting upright on the bed, propped up against the wall. He could move you however he liked, and some buried, long forgotten and primitive part of your brain takes delight in that.

Mick takes your shorts and underwear off in one single movement. And in a way, you’re grateful for that—drawing it out would have given your mind too much time to foster thoughts of internal chastisement over your body.

You still felt an itching scorch crawl up your neck and coil around your cheeks now that you were fully naked in front of him, however.

You knew the hair on your sex didn’t bother him—quite the opposite, in fact; you discovered Mick preferred hair on women, unlike the vast majority of men who would never have it any way other than shaven.

You remember the revelation shocking you at the time for that very reason, but in hindsight you probably shouldn’t have been so surprised that Mick, of all people, had an active preference for it. The topic at the time was in regard to the hair on your legs and pits, but it was obvious Mick meant everywhere on your body, not only those two areas.

Despite that, you were still bashful. Logically speaking you were aware of his attraction to you, and that it was mutual in both depth and magnitude, but you still were only human.

It dissipated quickly when Mick began to fondle and paw at you with such enthusiasm that you almost felt tender—it was the most delightful sensation. And that wasn’t even mentioning the sweet murmurs of praise and affection he gave you.

So your nerves were already alight by the time his hand drifted between your legs, calloused fingers brushing over your pubic mound. You gasp, your back straightening on reflex, and Mick soothes you with a kiss to your temple.

“You’re gonna have to spread ‘em for me,” he mutters against your skin, you’re not given the chance to do so yourself as his other hand is already parting your leg for you.

There’s no preamble to it, he just slides his hand down to cup your sex properly. A strangled noise is punched out of you, Mick’s mouth only twitches upward.

Wetness slicks his palm instantly. “Oh, this won’t take long,” he lowly murmurs to himself. You hear it regardless, and your face is awash with heat.

Mick languidly drags his fingers up through your folds—not bending them to push inside, just feeling you up. Your breath stutters with a gasp, and find yourself grabbing at his vascular forearm just to hold onto something.

You feel the tendons there flex and roll with the movement of his wrist, and he leans forward slot his mouth with yours. It’s deep, gentle. Your mind goes momentarily blank and your jaw slackens when the upwards path his fingers were on ends at your clit.

He was barely touching your sex, yet you were already responding in such an apparent way.

Mick carefully presses the pad of his finger to the sensitive nub, and the reaction is instantaneous. You manage to bite off a cry from slipping out, but the hand you had on his forearm grips tighter, your legs wobble a tad. Mick hums in what you detect as approval. The contact is short-lived, and it leaves you aching for more.

But not for very long; his finger glides back down until it prods at your hole, rubbing small circles around the rim to coax you a bit. You breathe out shakily, the sound almost tapering off into a moan. His finger slides in and the muscles in your hips flex, tensing due to the new sensation.

You hear a single hum come out of Mick, a crease forms between his brows. “You’re bloody tight,” he muses in a hushed tone against your parted lips, experimentally pushing his digit in further. In the back of his mind he was thinking of how perfectly you would squeeze his dick.

With how wet you were, the push and pull quickly became smoother. You were writhing all the while, your chest visibly rising and falling with heavy breaths. His fingers are proportional with the rest of his hand—large—so you did feel your walls stretch a little to accommodate the entry.

It didn’t hurt, just felt a bit odd—new. Soon he was pumping his finger in and out of you at a lazy yet steady pace. “You’re gonna take me real nice, I reckon.” You could practically hear the smirk in his voice.

You feel your cunt pulse and clench around the digit, each time sending a wave of ice hot pleasure through you, all the way to your toes. You keen against him, your hips twitching upwards on impulse. He captures your lips again, greedily taking all of your moans into his mouth.

Mick wastes no time at all rubbing at your clit again. His finger pulls out, seemingly satisfied with how wet and willing you already were, and found your clit to begin drawing lazy circles on it with his middle and index, causing you to sharply gasp.

He only chuckled warmly in response, which only served to fan the flames of desire within you.

Mick doesn’t break his lip lock with you as he continued his ministrations, the rough texture of his finger pads making the most pleasant frisson go up your spine. Your legs are shivering, and incoherent sounds of pleasure emanate from you. You whine out his name, he takes the opportunity of your open lips to push his tongue into your mouth.

Kissing with tongue was still something you were getting used to, but you think you liked it in moderation.

His free hand cups your cheek to guide your face closer to his as he unashamedly lolls his tongue further in, immediately finding yours and running over it, over your teeth. All the while his fingers begin to apply a bit of pressure to your clit in addition to picking up the pace a bit more.

Your heart was racing, the throbbing between your legs growing in intensity, and you’re certain Mick could feel it on his fingers. He could tell you were just about there, too.

“That feels good, doesn’t it.” Mick murmurs, the words rumbling out of his throat. All while his thick, textured fingers stroked at your tender clit. Your legs tremble, fawn-like.

He begins circling smaller and faster. Your legs tense, your eyelids fluttering the muscles in your abdomen jump and flex involuntarily. You writhe into and away from him, a reflex you had no real control over. Your body is shivering and your breaths are coming in short and gasping. You feel yourself barreling to an end, sweet and taut.

Your legs seize and shiver. “Mick—” You gasp out, an ending in a high-pitched whine.

“There it is, c’mon, roo,” his voice is low and soft, egging you on.

Your heart skips a beat at the term of endearment, he kisses you again with the same slow passion as before, and finally the ache you feel reaches its peak; pulsating hard again and again and again.

His name is spilling from your lips in short, breathless huffs. “That’s it.” He coos, his fingers still working to ride out your orgasm.

Your moans become more quiet and less drawn out as your orgasm mellows and dissipates into welcoming warmth across your body. Once your body relaxes Mick slows his fingers to a stop.

“That’s my girl,” he presses a kiss to your cheek, you feel your heart flutter, as well as feeling delightfully boneless.

He then gives you another—this one brief yet no less sweet—on the corner of your mouth. “Love you,” he mumbles against your skin, low enough only for you to hear.

Your insides feel warm and fuzzy. “Love you, too,” a peck is laid on his cheek, the stubble there tickling you.

“That was real quick, huh.” You couldn’t tell if that was more of a question on his part or an observation, there’s a lilt in his low tone. You were unaware of what the average times for things like this was, but it was certainly faster than when you touched yourself, so you find yourself nodding anyway.

Mick remains close, cradling you in his arms around you and peppering lazy kisses wherever his mouth could reach while your breathing evens out. When it eventually does he gives you one final kiss on your temple, a smile appears briefly on his face—small and gentle. The affection in his eyes plain to see.

His arms release you to sit up on his knees. You watch him, rapt. His thumbs loop under the waistband of his pants, the position he was in allowed you to see the bulge between his legs, and the sight alone is enough to make you dully ache with want.

You swallow harshly. “Can I touch you too?”

“To get me off?” Mick chucks off his pants, leaving him in his boxers. The outline of his arousal is clearly defined now. You forget to take your eyes off of the visible tent there—you’ve never seen that part of him before, after all.

Immediate was your hushed reply, “Yes.” The desire stoked within you was enough for you to be blunt, but your own bashfulness tempered it into a something quieter.

Mick notices where your eyes are laying, and only then do you remember yourself and focus on something else. There’s a deeper hunger that makes itself known momentarily in his gaze, then it’s gone the next blink. Self-restraint.

“We’ll do that another time. I wanna get off in you.”

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel just a little bit mortified at positioning yourself on all fours like this, practically presenting yourself to him. Just a little.

The moments preceding this, Mick did let you touch and fondle him, just to help de-mystify that part of himself for you before going inside you. (You were particularly fascinated—and aroused—by how his foreskin moved up and down his cock with your hesitant, gentle strokes. You gave his balls ample attention, too.) But it was only for a little bit, with how his throat bobbed and redness crawled up his chest and neck, it was obvious his patience had finally worn down.

Once Mick felt your curiosity was sated, he murmured into your ear, his hand squeezing your ass, telling you how he wanted you.

And so with a bit of guidance from Mick, you find yourself with your face resting against a pillow, on your knees, with your bottom raised into the air—and you really had to arch a little due to the difference in height between the two of you.

The embarrassment is dimmed somewhat when you feel his palms fondle your ass and thighs appreciatively. Mick spread them apart, and spat out a hushed curse upon seeing your glistening core on display for him like that.

Mick mumbles something that sounds like ‘one second,’ and the weight of the bed shifts as he leaves it, but he returns as quickly as he left. A crinkling sound meets your ears, and realization flashes in your mind. You were so caught up in this that you had forgotten all about a condom.

Mick wastes no time at all in sliding it on himself, and the bed dips once more when he settles behind you. His open eagerness amplified your own, but you were sobered when his hand came on your ass to spread you open for him again.

“Um—” you blurt out, shifting a bit, not quite sure of what you even wanted to say. Mick stills, and when the moment passes in silence he prompts you; “Yeah?”

Your cheeks itch with heat, “Mick—I’m nervous.”

His hand moves to stroke up and down your side, soothing you. “Worried it’ll hurt?”

When his fingers were inside of you it didn’t hurt, but... “I think so.” You didn’t want him to stop, not at all. But it didn’t feel right to bottle up how anxious you were beginning to feel.

Mick’s fingers curl to massage your side a bit, and you melt into his touch. “I’m gonna be real careful with you, we don’t have to rush it,” he murmurs, you feel yourself relax further.

“You still wanna give it a try, love?”

You did. You’ve been wanting this for months. “Y-yeah. Yeah, I do.”

Mick makes a noise of acceptance, then drags his hand back to grope at your cheek. Nothing happens right away, then you feel the head of his cock, heavy and hot, brush against your folds. Your breathing stutters. He guides it up and down, not entering you yet, or even directly teasing at your hole. Just leisurely rubbing the tip of his dick against your aching, slick sex.

You feel yourself flutter around nothing, your body all but begging for him. It’s when he rubs it on your clit that you quietly moan.

“You’re sweet, all riled up for me,” his voice thrums through you. He slides it back up, this time lets it catch on your entrance.

Mick does this one, two more times, then presses forward. You exhale shakily, your eyes blink shut, and you focus on the arousal coursing through to relax yourself.

It isn’t one long, continuous push—it’s easing in, pressing in only to pull back out just a little, coaxing even more wetness out of you. Eventually you become so needy that your hips subconsciously squirm, your half-empty cunt clenching, well and truly yearning for him.

His hand more firmly holding your hip now clues you into what is coming up next, and you almost feel like you’re drowning in anticipation.

Mick slowly feeds his cock into you, no longer working you up and instead intent on filling you. Your mouth falls open in a silent moan, your legs going taut from the feeling of him spreading you open.

You can’t help the noises that escape you as he steadily bottoms out. His hips softly press against your backside, and his balls rest on your labia. You can feel his abdomen rise and fall with heavy yet muted breaths. He’s as worked up as you are, you can tell, not just from the way he squeezes your hip just a little bit harder, but also from the deep ‘oh’ that emanates from the bottom of his chest.

His other hand had left his cock once he filled you, no longer needing to guide himself in, and now fondled your ass appreciatively. A pulse of arousal shoots through you, making your muscles go taut—this time stuffed with his cock, and he groans. Your toes curl in the sheets.

He grunts your name, the sound bitten off, then he pulls back only to lazily roll his hips forward.

“O-oh, gh—” you gasp out. Your hands are clutching at the sheets, now.

It didn’t hurt, but you felt almost tender thanks to a throbbing ache welling up between your legs as he continues to undulate his hips against you in the same rhythm. All the while his hands gave your hips gentle squeezes at random intervals, his jaw ticking when not going slack.

You squirm a bit in his grasp, it’s completely unconscious on your part—your body was responding to stimuli, carnal. In so doing your hips press back against him, intermittently meeting his steady thrusts sloppily. One of his hands is suddenly on your back, just resting there, his palm a comforting weight.

“Fuck,” Mick hisses, elongating the vowel.

He interpreted your writhing hips as a desire for more. “Ya want it faster? Tell me what you need, love,” he sounds breathless.

“Y-yes, faster—” The way your voice sounded would definitely be something you’d be mortified over after this, but Mick thought it was the most beautiful sound in the world.

Mick does exactly as you ask, and picks up the pace in small increments to acclimate you to it. Your legs tensed, your eyelids fluttering as your muscles went from taut to gelatinous repeatedly. Soon he was thrusting into you in a brisk yet deep rhythm.

Heat flashes over your face and body whenever your cunt would involuntarily clench around his cock. The dull, aching pulsations increasing in intensity and frequency.

“You feel perfect, darlin’.” You might as well have been ablaze at this point, and your skin shuddered pleasantly just from the approval in his rough voice. All you could do was bite off a whimper as he pushed his hips forward into you again.

“You embarrassed?” Your face was buried in the pillow, your hands clutching at the sheets and eyes squeezed shut, you grasped the sheets a little harder when he asked you such a thing, the faintest hint of something protective in his tone.

You nod at first, then remember that he probably couldn’t see the motion that well. “Y-yeah. A little.” Your voice was breathless, almost whiny.

And the sounds he’s been making—you’ve never heard him sound like that before, either. Grunting and choked out curses, deep moans. Your name, groaned out or a quiet, hushed whisper.

The hand on your back strokes up and down your spine, soothing you. You feel your chest constrict from the affection welling up in you.

“You’ll get used to this soon.”

God.

“You’re shakin’, love,” Your cunt clamps around him again and a quiet cuss is spat past his lips. You whine, it’s desperate and small, high-pitched and warbled in a way that sounded strange to your own ears yet perfect to his.

“You don’t know half the things you do to me.” Your mind just barely comprehends the meaning behind what he’s saying—that he’s wanted you like this just as long as you did him, if not longer. He squeezes your hip again and the hand on your back glides up to rest between your shoulder blades.

The soft slap of skin on skin becomes audible as Mick increases the pace a little more, giving you just enough time for your body to register its own sensitivity before he’s pushing back in again.

He loves this. He loves this because it’s you. Your distinct whimpers and whines, the way your hips press back against him like it was something you couldn’t even help, your body trying to get him just a little bit deeper. How he can feel each shudder underneath the palm he had on your back, your hips and thighs vibrating with your trembling.

You’re reaching that peak very fast and very suddenly. You simply wanted him too much and for too long, you couldn’t help it—not at all. Not with him spreading you open, his callouses against your skin, the new sensations he’s been giving you, the sound of his voice, him—

You weren’t quite in control of yourself at the moment. Your body seized and writhed all at once, your eyes fluttering, lips trembling. You are distantly aware that you're calling out Mick’s name over and over, the volume and pitch increasing every time.

Your hips involuntarily press back against him, and that, combined with everything else, forces a tone of voice you’ve never heard Mick have before.

“My god—” It's so desperate and frayed, yet still him. Rough and accented, low and distinctly male.

It punches an ache so deep out of you it almost hurts.

“Fuck—you’re perfect, just like that, like that—” He gasps sharply. And he grips your hips with a level of strength you weren't used to, an entirely unconscious thing on his part—it is then you notice the tremble in those very hands, the slight shake in his thighs. You didn’t need firsthand experience to know that he was right there.

It’s exhilarating when Mick finally lets himself get a bit lost in it. The sound of skin meeting skin is plainly audible, he’s bucking into you with enough passion that you’re being rocked a little—

Your name is torn out his throat in a choked half-snarl. His thrusts lose all sense of rhythm or pace as he gets swept up in his climax. Cum shoots out of him, thick and plentiful, and even through the condom you realize you can still feel its warmth.

Mick doesn’t stop right away like you thought he would, instead he keeps rocking his hips into you. The sounds you make are breathless, and you have to bury your face back into the pillow to prevent anything too weird-sounding from coming out.

Your toes curl while he milks himself in your heat, he’s groaning deeply, sounding almost like he’s hurting and you're so stimulated that you can't think of anything else.

He’s so warm, you can’t help but wonder what it would feel like to actually have him empty himself in you, unimpeded—

God.

Your body quakes, he gives one last pump, and then all is still. Calm.

The hold he has on your hips softens completely when the muscles there relax. Mick’s chest is rising and falling with heavy breathing. The only sound in the van is of your combined panting now. Your legs feel wobbly, and you feel the urge to lay down.

Once his breath evens out somewhat, he begins the slow pull out of you. You gasp softly, still sensitive, and he strokes his thumb over your hip to soothe you.

In stark contrast to his earlier arousal induced zeal, he takes his time. A soft, almost squelching noise hits your ears at the same time you feel that your cunt is no longer being stretched open.

Mick rubs slow, sweet circles on your lower back. “Bloody hell,” he murmurs. He strokes up your spine, applying a bit of pressure there and you comply with it, let yourself melt into the bed, laying flat on your stomach now. Satiated.

He’s still stroking your back, and your eyes flutter shut in relaxation. He didn’t have to ask if it felt as good for you as it did for him. “I’m gonna get somethin’ to wipe you off with,” Mick tells you, the words soft. You give him a quiet hum in acknowledgment, a kiss is pressed against your shoulder blade before getting up.

You hear movement behind you, he’s taking the latex off now, you think. You blink your eyes open after a moment, shifting to rest your arms more comfortably under the pillow. You find yourself admiring his figure whilst his back is turned to you, your eyes just sort of landed on him. As you watch him shuffle around the van, running his fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck—it’s gotten a bit long, he’ll trim it soon—you feel sentimental.

He’s disposed of the condom and has a few things in his arms—a towel and a shirt, another pair of underwear for you and him. When he turns to face you his silhouette is illuminated at the edges from the last bit of glow from the sinking sun.

You feel your heart tug a bit, and smile sleepily at him. He returns it. You tell him you love him, and he returns that, too.

Now that you’ve both cleaned off and redressed, you simply bask in the presence of one another. You were equal parts amused and surprised when Mick gave you one of his shirts to wear instead of one of your own. The satisfied glint in his eye when you put it on without complaint made you feel warm.

You’re resting comfortably against him, Mick’s arm is wrapped loosely around you as he laid on his back, his eyelids drooping and his hand idly stroking your forearm.

Your hips harbored a faint ache thanks to his hardened grip from his impending orgasm, but only just a little. It’d fade away in a few minutes. And you felt that it was a physical imprint of his earlier passion and nothing more, there wasn’t any sadistic intent or cruelty there—just intense ardor. Like how your lips felt a bit sensitive from all of his kisses.

You rub your hand there, touching it in a completely absent-minded fashion—like how some people would intermittently touch a bruise or run their tongue over a sore tooth. Doing it just for the sake of it, to check how tender it really was, and so on.

Your brows must unconsciously pinch a little, or something, because Mick suddenly props himself up on his arm, eyes thinned out and tunnel-holed onto the hand you had on your hip.

His expression is anything but relaxed now. “Did I hurt ya there?” His voice is tight. He slowly reaches over, rubs his knuckles over the back of your hand in a silent request for you to move it.

You comply and allow your hand to be nudged away so he can feel for himself. “No, honey. Just a little sore.”

He brushes his fingers over the area, and you resist the twitch in your lips from forming into a fond simper over how careful he was being, it was sweet. Mick gives it an experimental press, and your eyes squint momentarily at the sensation. ‘Definitely a little sore,’ you thought.

Mick’s mouth settles into a taut, thin line, his brows set low. A displeased, rumbling sound escapes him.

You could sense that his mood was on the verge of shifting; like distant clouds over the horizon foretelling rain. That look on his face—you didn’t want him to worry, or be angry at himself.

You shift more to face him properly from where you lay, and cup his cheek, this draws his eyes to over to you. “It wasn’t on purpose, you didn’t startle me or anything.”

His jaw shifts and for a moment you think he’s going to reply, but whatever response he had never comes out. You try to think of how exactly to articulate this. You didn’t mind the soreness, but it also wasn’t because you liked the soreness or anything like that, it was the blatant display of emotion that you liked.

“I got a bit carried away there, at the end,” he quietly admits in a mumble, his eyes flicking away from you.

‘It’s still so weird talking about this stuff out loud,’ you muse to yourself. But despite how weird it felt, you knew you needed to sort this out.

Your tongue feels heavy, “I liked—Y’know, the…Holding, and how—uh—excited you were, at the end.” The words are inelegant and a bit scattered, but earnest.

Mick gives you an askance look, his eyes flick around your face. “You did?” He eventually inquires, almost hesitant.

You nod, “I did.”

There’s a small beat where you see him study your face, searching for any hint of dishonesty. It is only when he finds none that he finally—reluctantly—relaxes. Mick presses a kiss on your forehead and settles back down next to you.

He pulls you to him with a single arm looped around you, and you find yourself nestled securely against him. You slot effortlessly against his body, your head resting on his chest. You feel at peace, with the scope of your world temporarily limited to Mick and his van, you feel peace.

You both stay like that for a while, long enough that sky is shifting through shades of blue now, it’d be black soon enough; then there would be stars to see.

It’s easy for your eyelids to grow heavy when you’re this calm, warm, and nestled in with Mick.

“Hey, are you hungry? I’m starvin’.” Now that he mentions it, you were. Your eyes blink open, staving off sleep for now.

You nod, adding; “Can we get something this time?” In the context of your conversations, ‘get something’ meant ‘anything other than game, please.’ Not that you disliked it—but you still preferred to change things up every now and then, unlike Mick who you believed to be perfectly fine with only ever eating things he’s hunted or foraged.

He considers for a moment, “Eh. Yeah, alright.”

You chuckle airily, triumphant. Mick only scoffs at you, running his fingers up the nape of your neck to cradle your head affectionately.

“After you get a bit of sleep first,” he tells you. You snort, not at all surprised he noticed your drowsiness. A nap sounded like a great idea right about now. He tilts his head to lay a featherlight kiss right above your brow.

Right before you drift off, you think to yourself of how could easily spend the rest of your days just like this—with each other. Unbeknownst to you, Mick is thinking the exact same.

Hi…I began working on this because I couldn’t find any Sniper reader-inserts with a reader I could relate to, and with the dynamic I wanted to see. I’m a bit rusty, but I hope the writing is still okay! I kind of just wanted to get to the main event without meandering too much, but I also didn’t want to rush it completely.

I think the number of people who have crushes on Sniper is kind of small, so I’m happy to be contributing to more reader inserts featuring him (I have the biggest crush on him…)

I think a lot about Sniper’s characterization, and was worried that I didn’t quite pull off what I wanted here. (That’s a frequent point of insecurity of mine in regard to my writing @__@) hopefully I did okay with that, too. (I just couldn’t resist adding a reference to one of his voice lines…;; )

I have a few other Sniper reader inserts I’m working on, I’m looking forward to finishing them. ^__^

Thank you so much for reading, I hope you liked it. Feel free to let me know what you thought of this! And thank you a bunch for any likes or reblogs!!

Trending Blogs

Recently Viewed Blogs

Fₐₙdₒₘ-ₗᵤᵥₑᵣ