He groans as he rids himself of his boxers, feeling his cock spring out. It was late at night and his mind kept wondering, he kept thinking of you and how your lips felt on him. His tip aching as it leaked pre-cum, he spat on his hand reaching for himself. He wished it was you, his mind kept replaying the short but sensual moment you two had shared. He strokes himself, finally giving himself what his body has been craving, flashes of you pinned against the wall his lips marking your neck his hand under your shirt pinching your aching nipple. You moan, arching against his body, wanting more. He tries to keep his pace even wanting to prolong his orgasm, not wanting to get rid of this feeling. He can hear your whines and please so vividly like he was back pressed against you kissing your soft skin. "Y/n" he groans as he thrust into his hand, not being able to control himself anymore. He so wishes it was your mouth on him, taking all of him. He wanted you, he needed you, and his hand isn't the same, he's calling out for you. He wishes you could hear him, help him out. He’s desperate to feel you, to touch you. João’s panting fills the room as he speeds up, he can’t keep still. His hips slighting bucking off the mattress and into the air to meet his hand. He throws his head back as he brings his other hand to spread the bead of precum around his sensitive tip, he moans. The memories of you don’t stop playing in his head, the way you tugged on his hair as he played with your clit. “Fuck” he repeats to himself feeling his orgasm approaching. He felt dirty thinking of you while touching himself but he couldn’t help it. You have plagued his mind since that night, he desperately needs you. He desperate for this release, his arm is getting tired. He bites his lip trying to suppress his moans. His back is slighting arching, mouth now open as he once again begins to mess with his sensitive tip. His eyes are screw shut as he begins to spurt, still moving his hand up and down to ride out his orgasm mumbling your name over and over again.
Anything to do with João’s hands they’re so beautiful. Maybe him choking the reader during sex
warnings: asphyxiation kink, light choking
You don’t remember what you said in the moment, only that he’s smiling at you. You feel dizzy from being in the hot tub for so long. Maybe you said something risky, you don’t know. When you see João, it’s blurry, but he looks so good with all the colors mixing, unable to differentiate the shapes behind. It’s only him you see. The soft lights illuminate his body. It feels like a dream you never want to wake from.
He moves closer to you and your heart beats in your ears. There’s soft laps of water when he does so. You’ve just been talking for awhile and you only just realized the sun started to slip below the horizon when it gets too hard to look at him. It’s stupid— João’s your boyfriend but he still makes you nervous (he’s also shirtless which is a good excuse).
You’re sitting and you have to look up at him because he hovers you, his hands moving the wet hair out of your face so your shoulders are exposed. He laughs at your wide eyes, your craned neck. You could blame your red face on the simmering heat that surrounds you, but you knew he wouldn’t buy it.
One of his hands ghosts over your collarbone, watching with so much lust in his eyes how you react. Earlier he had dunked your head underwater on purpose, and you angrily got back at him. But his wet hair looked divine the way it stuck to his forehead; he had shook his head, making you laugh, but you were mesmerized in the water droplets that dripped down his neck and shoulders. He was still somehow put together— maybe because of his awfully good looks. Unlike you, who looked like you had just been fucked for the past hour. Your parted lips, quiet voice, an inability to keep eye contact, the strap on your bikini that has fallen down to your shoulders. You looked like everything he ever wanted.
You never knew he had much of a thing for throats, other than the fact that he loved to mark yours up, though he did this all over your body so you believed it was a given. His fingers that leave sparks on your collarbone move upwards, so you’re forced to ease your head back even more, forced to look into his eyes. His thumb presses lightly on your vocal cords, his fingers wrapping effortlessly around your neck.
“Do you like that?” He asks, his eyes dark, his tongue swiping over his bottom lip. You nod and he smiles. The initial contact made you freeze up, unable to move because his touch burned while making your stomach tangle in knots. He drags his thumb down, releasing his soft grip. “Do you want more?” He adds, teasing you by raking his nails over the skin on your neck, a pre screening on what’s to come.
Everything is so heightened. Your sense, your feeling, the goosebumps on your skin. You practically melt into him. You would let him do whatever he wanted because it always had a way to make you feel like his.
João tells you to use words when you’re void of them. You let out an exasperated ‘yes’. One you would never let slip from your mouth if you were in the right mindset but he forced you into another world. He finally wraps his full hand around you. The pads of his thumb and fingers hit the farthest sides of your neck, his palm touching the expanse of everything else. You’ve always spent a lot of time watching his hands, even when he was doing something normal, like on a phone call. Now that hand, laced with very prominent viens, pink knuckles, and bronze skin, was pressing against your throat— and you loved it.
You gasp when he pushes down harder and he steps closer to you. You can tell by his eyes he’s obsessed. You have so much experience with him you know he’s stopping himself from making noise and you would care a little more if your vision wasn’t getting blurry and his hand wasn’t engulfing you. His hand is already wet and warm from the water. It was just…too much. He inched his fingers deeper, making your breath slowly start to quicken. It was getting harder to think straight. And not to diverge, but his look, that look of dominance spurs you into a frenzy. His wet hair that hung, his half-lidded eyes, and focused expression. He was burning this into his memory forever.
He stops his hold when you noticeably look lightheaded, like you do after an orgasm. It all comes at once, the feeling of blood rushing back into your head, being able to breath properly again. He watches as saliva sputters out of your mouth. You look both pleased and bewildered simultaneously.
He caresses your cheek with his thumb. The same one that was choking you rubbed your skin, soothing it. You were going to tell him that he could have kept going, that he could have pushed harder because you found yourself really wanting purple bruises tomorrow. He finds your lips in his instead, stopping you from speaking.
“You look so beautiful like that,” he confessed, his desperation hiding in plain sight. His thumb now plays with your bottom lip. His face is so close to yours. You haven’t forgotten about your sex that throbs at all the new feelings. In fact, you take his hand underwater to rub between your legs, over the soft material.
You still feel his hand around you. You don’t know when it will go away. Only that it felt so good and you needed to feel it again.
You don’t want to say what you’re thinking. It’s too embarrassing asking for his fingers both in you and wrapped around your neck.
“Fuck,” he suddenly curses, watching the way your eyes dart over his forearms. “I know…” he says, and he’s read your thoughts and your face turns so red. He moves the fabric to the side. You shut your eyes.
You beg when he leans into your ear, asking for your voice, asking for the sweet little moans.
João was going to abuse this power for as long as he could.
He’s been wanting to do this forever. He needed something to help him when he was away.
And once he got the go-ahead from you, his phone is mounted on the desk adjacent to the bed in seconds. He thanks you into your mouth, filling up every silence, every space that needed to be filled between your bodies. He is so incredibly turned on by the mere thought of it. The thought of watching this later. The thought of always having it. He feels crazed, like he hasn’t had sex in months and at one point he gets so sloppy his saliva glistens your lips and chin because he can’t stop the vivid pictures forming in his mind.
You’re a bit hazed, following his own body, kissing just as hard. He says little things, easing you back into the bed flat so he has full control on top. You stare into his eyes for a moment, forgetting this is being filmed. He’s trapped you with both his arms next to your head. He smiles, his hand coming to your jaw placing a firm grip on it, his thumb brushing over your sore lips. “I’m going to tell you what to do, and I want you to follow it,” he says, his hair falling perfectly over his forehead as he watches you squirm underneath him at the words.
You breathe out an ‘okay’. It was weak and you’ve already surrendered yourself to him. You were perfectly fine with that for the night. He tells you in short words to rid yourself of clothing. You lift yourself up, kissing him in the process, to pull your shirt over your head. He finds solace in your hips, digging his skin underneath your waistband for a second. You hum. He gently eases your shorts off, supporting your body as he slides both the shorts and your panties down in a few hushed laughs. You help him with his own clothes, and he gets up quickly to take his sweatpants off. He throws them somewhere on the floor.
“Lay on your side for me, facing the camera,” he moves your hair out your face. The command is so sweet, it’s like you’ve been cast under a spell to do his bidding because you do it so eagerly, you feel his stupid smile on your shoulder when he finds his position behind you, his cock agaisnt your upper thigh. “Always so good for me,” he mutters, glancing to see if the phone is still recording.
He takes this opportunity to snake his hand between your thighs, gently cupping your sex with one hand. Your eyes fall closed. It was already too much. The other unhooks your bra from the back, so it lays pooled on the bed, the straps falling down your shoulders but not completely off. You see through the camera how your nipples are exposed and he looks too, his body propped up like he was examining your naked figure. He plays with the straps, anything to agitate you because he knows you get so desperate for his dick when you’ve been teased properly. You huff and plead loudly. He coos you and tells you to wait a little bit longer.
Strings of curses leave you when he raises your leg, his cock slowly sinking into your entrance. You didn’t have to preform for the camera, not at all. He was drawing those moans out of you so easily, like how easy it came to him to pass or trap a ball. He knew what angles to hit and for how long. Your eyes rolled back and you felt useless.
And it was odd because you thought you wouldn’t be looking at what was mirrored before you for so long, but it was erotic watching the way he bottomed out. Every time his cock enters you and disappears. His body behind you, kissing your exposed neck and shoulders. Watching it through the phone was making you insane, and you just begged louder. For what, you couldn’t say only one thing. His touch, his voice, a climax, it was all jumbled into one. “You like watching yourself?” He asks into your ear, coming closer than ever possible, “Do you like the way I fuck you?”
You nod so fast it’s funny. You strain your neck sideways, tears in your eyes, fire burning in you stomach. He kisses you softly, but his full focus is on what’s happening inside you. His chest is against your back. Every thrust you bounce up and you feel his hands come and wrap under your chest, squeezing your breasts under the loose bra. You didn’t know you could love this position so much but you think you’ll be asking for it for the next month. You’re already thinking about another round.
His groans and praises are amplified in your ear and you’re a mess. Your vision becomes too blurry you can’t watch yourself anymore. You cry his name. You bury your face into the pillow when you feel yourself teetering over the edge at one particular thrust. It not doing much to muffle your gasping, your high pitched moans of his name. He sighs as he takes his final, erratic movements within you, taking your hips in his grasp to keep you from moving. It’s harsh, his hands. You feel them making a red imprint the way he sputters, the way he looses control and cums inside.
He pulls out, and you sink further into the bed, so tired. You feel the stickiness coat your inner thighs. He sees it too, and grabs the camera. You watch through eyes that flash between black and reality, him spreading your legs, rolling you over on your back to record the mess he made. You can’t feel anything until he places two fingers on your pussy, stretching your folds to show the white liquid leaking from your hole. Your hips shift up involuntary, sensitive, your head filled with too many emotions. The phone ends up somewhere in the sheets and he comes down to kiss your temple softly. He promises to clean you up.
“We need to buy a real camera,” you say, delirious.
your stomach was pressed against the mattress as your legs dangled off the edge, joao's fingers digging into the soft flesh of your upper thighs as he pinned them open wide enough for him to slot between them. although his fingertips were harsh his words were soothing, voice low as he mumbled a small "you're so fucking perfect..."
you'd hardly be able to contain your noises as he finally pushed inside of you, his fist wrapped around the base of his cock as he guided himself with a soft groan. all you wanted to do was look at the sight that was unfolding behind you, to see the way joao filled you from behind with a tense jaw, but your cheeks were flat against the sheets as you slurred his name over and over like some type of mantra. your body was on fire, each limb burning with nothing but pleasure as he bottomed out of you fully a couple of times, stretching you out around him. his noises were just as sweet and delicate as yours, his fingers grazing every area that he could as he pulled you back to meet his thrusts.
no words were exchanged as you felt your body lurch with pleasure, the feeling of joao stroking that sweet spot inside of you making your mind go blank and dizzy. your mouth was open, breathing heavy as you felt the familiar knot of warmth in the pit of your stomach, your clenches around him becoming too much to handle as the rock of his hips became more sloppy. he didn't need to tell you he was close; you already knew by the way he shifted inside of you, his thrusts becoming longer and harder, your body shaking at the way he drove himself into you in search of his own high.
joao's hair stuck to the thin layer of sweat on his forehead, his eyes half shut as he pulled his cock out of you with a whine of disappointment. he loved cumming in you, there was no denying that, but the sleepiness that had washed over the both of you before ending up in this situation was evident and he knew he wouldn't be able to clean you up like he usually did. his fist wrapped around his cock once more, his palm running up and down his shaft as he thumbed over his tip. it took everything inside of you not to turn around and watch the way he got himself off whilst staring at you but you knew where he wanted to finish, his moans making you feel weak as he bucked into his own touch. your name was the only thing falling from his lips as he released himself, his cum decorating your bare back as he continued thumbing over himself with small whimpers. the sight of his seed on you made him grit his teeth and his eyes go heavy, his stomach tense as he rode out his high, his voice strained and hoarse as he whispered a quiet "i fucking love you-"
He loved the expanse of your skin. Every bit of it, even the blemishes, the scars, the irregularities of color. He loved it sweaty even more so. When you writhed under his mouth, arching into him, almost like you were brain dead and subservient to him, responding to every brush of skin to skin contact. This is why he liked you naked most days. Open to his attacks.
When you were waking up, when you walked around the house, he would kiss new marks on your skin. Sometimes taking you within his grasp, sinking his teeth in your neck, your shoulders, softly, as almost to not act like he didn’t ache to see his deep marks on your skin for months. It was art with no other meaning that he believed you deserved to be displayed, dark red spots or not. Art, he called it. He would buy it in and instant. He saw it as oil paint sprawled across your already drawn upon figure, and he was just finishing the piece with his own version of the color crimson.
But mostly, they were nips and hickies across your chest. It was like his crowned possession; taking your bra off every night to see remnants of previous nights, entangled in each other, time being no constraint. He would touch them lightly, and coo you when you ever made a hitch, a strained noise, coming up to meet your lips in his little way to apologize. He always repaid you profusely for your time, even though you loved his teeth on you, in so many ways they became a blur of the night. All you knew was he spent hours on you, savoring every part accessible.
When he does repay you, between your legs, he always leaves more marks on your upper thighs, increasing your irritability to him, for making you wait so long without direct touch. He can never get enough of the pleas that come from your mouth. They are so vulgar, blabbers of love, and soft, tired cries of pleasure. He sees the way your fingers clutch desperately at the sheets, tears forming at the overwhelming feelings coursing though your body. Every movement, every habit, he memorized.
And even though they were hard to cover sometimes, you let him. You would let him for eternity.
Hope you’re doing swell, can you write something in which y/n catches joao touching himself? :)
I went a bit overboard:)
warnings: masturbation, cursing, male receiving oral, nipple sucking, overstimulation, obsessed!joao, saying the lord’s name in vain (all the usual stuff)
wc: 2.1K
your relationship was not all that new. It was at that point where visits weren’t awkward and you’ve slept together a couple times. You found yourself, as you started to get closer, actively seeking him, as if you were together for five years. He didn’t mind— in fact he loved when you called, speaking in your sweet voice the stupid completely made up reason why you had to be at his house at that exact moment.
You had called in the late afternoon— something about a class being cancelled so you could spend time with him. He agreed, his voice soft and light.
But he must have lost track of time. He was so kind on the phone, telling you when to be there, but it seemed there was no one to greet you in the doorway. You said his name but silence answered you. He was home— just somewhere else. You decided to go find him.
As you walked through the hallway you heard faint noises. You smiled but you had to figure out where they were coming from. Finally, you recognized they were from his room, the door completely shut. You looked at it quizzically: if he was home alone, why would he need to shut the door?
You immediately pull off your grasp from the door handle when you hear the soft noises, without a shadow of doubt from self-pleasure. You try your best to press your ear against the door, though scolding yourself, you said that it was his fault anyways. If he was going to schedule his masturbation sessions during the same block he sees you, then he had it coming.
He says your name between his ramblings, sometimes hushed sometimes strained. Your heart beats louder in your chest and it becomes harder to hear him over it. God, you were dying to see it and you don’t know what particularly urged you to do it, maybe it was the wetness between your legs, but you softly opened the door and for a split second you see his relaxed figure, sitting at his chair, head flung back and mouth agape. He’s fully clothed too, showered it seems, and only pushed his shorts down a bit to take his red cock in his hands.
“Holy fuck!” He’s so startled, almost jumping from the seat. His dick finds its way back in his pants (to your dismay) and he’s panting (the only thing you can see is his wet swollen lips). If his face was red before, it was redder now, a terrified look on his face.
“You forgot I was coming?” You teased, stepping closer into his room and he makes no effort to move, petrified.
“Uh-yeah? What time is it?” He was so cute when he had no control over a situation. He was always in control. On the pitch, in conversations, he paved his way through life in confidence. It seemed there were some things people of his caliber were also ashamed by. “I mean— I’m sorry, shit, that—I mean—you shouldn’t have seen me like that.” It’s hard for him to look you in the eyes, especially when he was still hard and trying to hide it from you, taking in you, what he was imagining of you, and comparing the two. He hated himself. All he could think about was what you could do on top of him.
You simply laugh, pink dusting your cheeks at the way he looks at you, gobsmacked. “I’m sorry,” he repeats, like he was apologizing for sleeping in late. He tilts his head up when you stand over him.
“What else were we going to do tonight, João?” You respond, trying to make him feel better about the whole situation. And yes, you wanted to watch a show with him but that’s all pushed out the window. You delicately trace his angles: his jaw, his adams apple, his collarbone and he’s already entranced again.
“Though I do want to ask,” his hands grip your outer thighs, keeping you close, “what you were thinking about that left you so incapable, so stupid, you couldn’t check the time.”
“I dont—i don’t know,” he responds, unable to shift from your gaze. This question was hard to answer, challenging his masculinity, but you knew he would break anyways.
“Of course you do.” Your thumb traces his stuttering lips, going up to move his hair out his face. There’s a moment of silence when he mulls over his thoughts, another wave of redness on his skin.
His cold thumbs meet the skin under your shirt, and you hold back a noise. He massages into you his grip, inching you closer without even realizing it, “You, on top of me,” he breathes out, “I couldn’t stop thinking about your breasts—I lost track of time, please I—“ You didn’t think he would admit it, admit anything so close to that kind of truth because of the type of person he was, but he did it because he wanted to be completely honest with you, saw that within himself, his pleasure was a vessel to yours. It was the next level, you realized, straying further away from missionary and complete male dominance and you were so taken off guard you don’t know what to say. He was begging you to do something with his eyes and you were trying to keep up, but your heart felt like it slowed.
You were there on innocent terms, but now João is riding your shirt up, kissing your stomach while you stand over him, and you playing with his hair. It shoots warm tingles through you that you had him at your beck and call. You guess it’s a combination of everything, and maybe he was just so horny today, his utter obsession to you.
He feels like he has to explain himself; “you shouldn’t have let me take those photos. I cant stop thinking about you, when I wake up, at trainings, anytime.” He looks at you through big eyes, waiting for your voice because you haven’t spoken all that much.
“Really?” You sigh, he trails his finger down the small of your back. You remember last week you let him take pictures after you came. You didn’t think he would talk about them again.
You gasp when you feel his fingers move your shirt up all the way, his thumb moves over the bridge of your bra, placing it under to push it down, the cup falling underneath your nipples. You watch as his brain recircuits.
Before he has a chance to say anything, you say “I feel like, it’s your turn don’t you think? I mean— I should relieve you since you’re already so…” you look down at his bulge. He curses. You kneel down between his legs, your shirt over your chest and bra pushed down still. He wanted to see this picture at the gates of heaven, he thought. And though he can’t bury himself in your chest, he doesn’t complain when you take him in your hands, stroking haphazardly.
“Oh, God,” he lets out, gulping thickly and watching you through hooded eyes. He doesn’t know what to label your look as—not a pornstar— the only word that racks his brain was ‘pretty’. It’s stuck in the back of his throat. You keep eye contact with him the whole time, placing soft licks on the tip, squeezing him, but not doing much else. It’s painfully slow, and there’s something worth to enjoy in that, he thinks.
It doesn’t take long before he’s cumming on himself, helping him by keeping his shirt up so it hits his stomach instead. You wait a moment, smiling up at him. He’s heaving, so completely mystified by your being. He sputters out something but you decide to ignore it, barely giving him time to recuperate.
“You wanted it so bad, João. It’s alright, I’ll help you again and again, whenever you like,” you say, running your hand over his sensitive member. He can barely comprehend any word you say. He hisses, cursing, apologies still leaving his lips. He was far gone from that stage; you weren’t going to accept any more of them but it still felt nice having him repeat your name, breathless with the pleasure of pain surging through his body making the way he pronounces the last letter of your name like a man tortured and starved.
You take him in your mouth now.
If you thought he was vocal before, he drew out your name like a prayer, giving each syllable its own time to shine. He placed his hands in your hair. He doesn’t know what to make of the feeling—it’s pleasure and pain all at once and now he’s thinking because you’re doing it, it teeters over the edge of pleasure. He was still hard, even after the first orgasm.
When he cums again, there’s no semen and he just pulsates under you. His thighs tensing as you place your hands there to message him through it. His face is flushed bright red, saliva faintly glinting across his lower lip and chin. The way he calls out to you, moans his sweet moans, it’s starting to become unbearable the heat between your legs. You even squeeze your own thighs together at the sight before you. You wonder when he’ll do this to you. You coo him.
He probably didn’t want his fantasy to happen after he came twice already in a row. You didn’t need him to say it verbally to know he was overstimulated to the brim. You were sure no one else has done this to him before but he loves it so much. Anything to see you more, he obliged to.
You drape your body over his, forcing his back all the way on the chair. His brows furrow, then pleading with his eyes. Though, it’s not really clear what he’s pleading on—whether he can’t take it anymore or for you to sink down on him. He pulls you into a much needed kiss, and he groans into your mouth, finding it hard to even taste your lips because it’s spurring him on. He’s trying to touch every part of your body, every part that he so desperately wanted to touch through his orgasms. He’s in the same state he is in after games.
He collects your wetness with two fingers, gently prodding your hole between both your bodies. You cling onto him, sighing into his actions. He desperately needed for you to wait before you tried to make him orgasm again and this was his way. He ducks his head to your chest, lightly sucking on your nipples, on the fat around them. You couldn’t take it anymore, he was everything you ever wanted and you felt as if you didn’t take him inside you now, it wouldn’t happen. Your grip on the back of his hair tightened, whining his name. Shit, you could feel him hard again on your stomach.
He latched off you, cold air hitting your breasts, and you say, “you can’t wait more than five minutes?” purposely grinding down on him. He simply says, “it’s your fault,” and finally taking your shirt off all the way. He trails down your neck, whispering portuguese you didn’t understand. He knows he can’t last another one after this, so he takes it upon himself to line you up with him, and you follow his guidance.
You don’t move much at first, much to his protest. Everything was so sensitive, every nerve ending in his body screamed. He begs you to move, too tired to thrust up into you. And you do so after circling your hips for what João felt like eternity, a slow awful torture he definitely wished to feel again. You move your hair out the way, not caring that your bra straps fell down your shoulders. You like to think he finds it sexy— he does.
It only takes his thumb on your clit to finally relieve everything you’ve felt. It was a hard past thirty minutes, hearing every noise he made while you sat there. The friction and his fingers make you cum around him, keening into him, biting his shoulder. Not long after does he, and you stay still there, not moving. He tells you to get up, but you just don’t, not wanting the semen to spill out of you (and also to make him extra sensitive and fucked out).
“Now I’ll need to walk in on you.”
please please like and reblog! It helps me so much <3
just wanna lie with joao with his head on my stomach as i play with his hair gently and talk about my day and even though he isn't really listening as he drifts in and out of a soft slumber he still mumbles and kisses lazily on the skin and his whole weight is pressed against me and it's just so safe and comfortable
