11 or 16 for Tyson Jost for 1k follower celebration 🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉
tysm for the request!!
celebrate 1K with me
Prompt: #11 "It feels like torture, but I don't want it to stop."
Pairing: Tyson Jost x Reader (f)
Word Count: ~540
Warnings: Not explicit smut but suggestive/adult content (18+ ONLY). Domme!reader, whiny sub!Tyson, use of restraints, teasing, lap dance, implied smut.
The sounds that fall from your boyfriend’s throat are nothing short of delicious, strangled groans and desperate whimpers as his hands clench into fists, the silk tie wrapped around his wrists preventing him from moving like he wants to.
He agreed to this, you remind him, nodded eagerly when you sat him down in the chair and fastened each wrist to the wooden arms on either side of him.
But then you sauntered out of your closet in his light blue dress shirt, unfastened to reveal a shadow of your cleavage and the lacy push-up bra beneath it. Protruding from the hem of the shirt that falls perfectly on your thigh are the straps from your matching garter belt, clipped onto sheer thigh-high stockings that had him drooling in an instant.
“Baby, you look—fuck. Wow,” was all he managed to get out, and your lips, painted in MAC’s classic Ruby Woo lipstick, curl upward into a seductive smile at the sight of him, panting already.
“Thanks, baby,” you purr, resisting the urge to laugh when his breath quickens at the sight of your fingers moving to unbutton the remainder of his shirt, pulled open to reveal a better glimpse of your body in the lingerie.
Tyson curses again, this time throwing his head back while you toss the shirt to the side, forgotten on the floor. Without a word, you turn your back to him, and you can feel the heat of his gaze boring into the curves of your ass as you sit down in his lap. He’s warm, and he nearly jumps once your body comes into contact with his, his cock already fully at attention, barely restrained by the material of his boxer briefs.
When you begin to grind your hips on him, he lets out a guttural groan amid a choked whisper of your name. You draw large figure-8’s in his lap with your ass, pressing against his erection in a way that has his knuckles white as he grips the wooden arms of his chair.
“It feels like torture, but I don’t want it to stop,” he whines. “God, please don’t stop, baby. Swear to God, I could come right now if you let me.”
In an instant, you stop moving, and his eyes shoot open wide, terrified if he said the wrong thing.
“Who said I’d let you come?”
Tyson morphs into a stuttering mess, half apologies and half pleas, a disappointed cry leaving his throat when you pull yourself from him, turning to face him with your hands on your hips. His pupils are blown, and his expression tells you that he’d give you anything—anything—you wanted right now, without hesitation. He loves it, and so do you.
And then you sink to your knees between his spread legs, and he whines again. The sound is delicious, and you want to savor it, to bottle it up for a rainy day, so you never forget the way your beautiful boy sounds so desperate for you.
When your fingers rake over the soft fabric of his pants, his lip is bright red from where his teeth dig into it, swallowing his own anticipation.
“We wouldn’t want it to go to waste, now, would we?”
🦋anddd could i request prompt 45 with tyson jost as a blurb?? can’t wait for these!!
xoxo love you @fallinallincurls
Prompt: #45 "I'm marrying that sweet son of a bitch."
Pairing: Tyson Jost x Reader
Word Count: ~530
Warnings: Alcohol use and chaos
This is inspired entirely by that video of Mel yelling at Gabe for being an idiot before their wedding (if anyone has it pls send me the link bc I looked for it forever but couldn't find it)
It's a perfect July day. The sun is out, with not a cloud in the sky. Music plays through the speakers, some kind of backyard-BBQ-easy-listening playlist on Spotify that keeps the mood light, fun, ready for a party. Well, an even bigger party than the one you’re at—this is like the pre-party to the pre-party.
You’re getting married this weekend, and to accommodate your friends and family who have traveled from far away to be here for you, your fiancé reserved a large (read: huge) Airbnb for everyone to gather. One thing turned into another, and somehow it’s become the pre-game for the welcome dinner, taking place later tonight. Your entire wedding party is here, along with a few scattered members of each of your families, milling about in the pool, playing cornhole, catching up with one another after a summer apart.
But by the looks of it, and judging by the overflowing bin of empty seltzer cans and beer bottles, this gang might not be making it to the welcome dinner tonight. Barzy, Dante, Kacey, and Jesse are engaged in an intense chicken match, sloshing water across Gabe, who’s shouting complaints about messing up his hair. Beside them, JT’s shirt is off, his shoulders fried, and you’re about to yell at him to put on some sunscreen because the best man can't look like a lobster on the wedding day, when you catch sight of a curly head darting around, zooming by on a children’s tricycle—where did that even come from?
“Tyson, I swear to God, if you break your face, I’m going to kill you,” you shout at him, immediately envisioning him falling over, scraping up his handsome face the before the wedding, leaving your poor photographer to frantically photoshop out the inevitably gruesome skid mark on his face.
But he’s not listening, his eyes set on the ramp that Nate is standing proudly beside. “Babe, watch this!”
You watch in horror as he pedals his legs faster, zooming up the ramp and launching off of it before Nate is tossing a beer at him. Tyson catches it in mid-air, pouring only a small stream into his mouth before he’s flying into the water, the splash sending water whooshing over the edge of the pool. He surfaces a few moments later, shaking the water out of his curls amid loud guffaws and cheers from his mates, shouting, “Tyson! Tyson! Tyson!”
Shaking your head, you laugh, amused at his stupidity, and thankful his little stunt didn't end in a disaster. But then, a moment later, you feel a pair of strong arms lifting you up off the ground and you’re shrieking, arms flailing around. The flash of red hair is the last thing you see before they release you and you’re falling, soon crashing into the water yourself, submerged beneath the rippling pool.
When you rise to the surface, it’s your name that everyone’s chanting, and soon enough, Tyson’s swimming toward you to lift you up in his arms and plant a wet, sloppy kiss on your lips.
Pure happiness and mirth fills your soul, smiling so hard your cheeks hurt, and you can’t help it when you exclaim, “I’m marrying this sweet son of a bitch!”
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