caught humping your fwb's pillow!
in which your friend-with-benefits catches you doing *title*
you truly thought he wouldn’t be back from the gym for a while.
he’d texted “sorry, caught in traffic—eta is 7, make yourself at home”, before giving you the code for the keypad to his apartment and telling you to let yourself in.
the only reason you’d come to his place was because you were horny beyond relief, having not seen him for weeks—you’d hesitated to call him until the last possible minute because the more time you spent being intimate with him, the less you were able to prevent yourself from actually liking him as more than a glorified dildo.
now you had to wait for the better part of an hour until he came back, and, well, patience was never your strongest virtue, so here you are: on his bed, straddling his pillow, desperately grinding down on it like a touch-starved lunatic. you’re shirtless, panting, soaked between your legs and shamefully close already. the scent of him is everywhere, stupidly clean and boyish.
your brain knows it’s not him, but your body is very easy to lie to when it’s been weeks since the two of you were together. you were about to go insane. so, this is what it’s come to.
you grow self-aware that this is a painfully pathetic thing to do: rubbing your clit on the fabric of his pillow, closing your eyes so you can almost pretend it’s him. but you can’t focus on the embarrassment of it all when you’re alone and the friction feels so fucking good.
you’re mid-roll, biting back a moan, when you hear the faint click of the door opening.
you freeze, waiting for the thumping of your heartbeat to die down so you can assess whether he’s actually here or if you’d imagined it. you hear footsteps approaching the bedroom at an alarmingly rapid rate. only then do you try to roll over into an inconspicuous position.
except the blanket is tangled around your calves and the pillow is still wedged embarrassingly between your thighs, and by the time you manage to yank it out and chuck it towards the foot of the bed, he’s already standing there—his surprised expression very quickly morphing into amusement. “hey.”
you resist the urge to hide your head in your palms in shame. maybe he didn’t even notice anything. “oh, hi.”
for a moment, you think you’ve gotten away with it. he moves over to the closet, turns his back to you, and changes—while you try not to look too hard because it certainly won’t help the predicament between your legs.
he approaches the bed again—just stands next to it, one eyebrow raised, looking down at you. he looks criminally good right now and doesn’t seem in any hurry to stop smirking at you like that.
“soooo,” he says slowly, “what’s the pillow’s name? should i be jealous?”
dammit, he noticed. you groan, rolling away from him in the fetal position. “oh my god. it was just—”
“oh, no, no. don’t get shy now,” he laughs, sitting beside you on the bed and putting both hands on your knees, turning you around so you’re facing him. “that was the cutest thing i’ve ever seen! you were really riding it, baby. does it really smell that much like me? did you miss me that much?”
your cheeks flush, both at the pet name and his words. you throw a pillow at him—a different one—but he shoves it aside and crawls onto the bed with you. his hands settle on either side of your waist, warm and still slightly calloused from the barbell. his voice drops lower, sweeter. “you could’ve told me just how much you needed me. would’ve run all the way back for ya.”
you roll your eyes, but your face is still burning. “don't let it get to your head. i mean, you were caught up in traffic, so—”
“too caught up to make you feel good?” he says, leaning in until his nose brushes yours. “never.”
you pull back an inch, because every time he says shit like this, it almost gives you the illusion that you two might be something more than just fuck buddies. but you don’t dwell on that sentiment for long because he starts kissing you, and he’s annoyingly good at making you forget how to form a coherent string of thoughts.
his hands slide lower, dipping just below the waistband of your panties, slowly inching them down your legs. all the while, he’s murmuring in your ear—“so desperate you humped my pillow, huh? that’s my girl” and “you have no idea how much that turned me on”—in between kisses.
after you’ve finally kicked off your panties, you begin tugging at his sweatpants, trying to pull them down, but he stops you. “i want you to continue where you left off.” he nods towards the pillow at the foot of the bed, at the visibly dark patch where your wetness soaked through.
“you heard me. pretend like i never walked in, and you’re still humping my pillow like some needy little thing. i want to watch.”
you’re embarrassed all over again, and incredibly turned on. you reach for the pillow and wedge it between your thighs. the moment it rubs against your bare pussy, you let out a gasp.
“go on,” he instructs. “what you were doing before.”
you gently roll your hips, and he shakes his head. “sweetheart, what happened to all that passion i saw when i walked in? don’t tell me my presence killed your libido.”
you rock harder, building up speed, until the ache between your thighs almost overpowers the embarrassment of having him watching. you close your eyes, falling into a rhythm, before you feel your orgasm rapidly approaching and you grow needier. the stimulation to your clit isn’t nearly enough. you put a hand up your shirt to flick one of your nipples, letting out a moan at the pleasure, your other hand gripping the pillow.
he moves closer and lifts your shirt over your head, then uses his own hand to rub your neglected nipple. you freeze for a moment, surprised at his sudden touch.
you blink up at him, breath shallow, body still buzzing with desire. “this is so fucking embarrassing with you watching,” you protest, although you’ve never felt hotter in your life.
“sweetheart, that’s the point.” he smiles, just a tad condescendingly. “but you’ll keep going, right? you were close, weren’t you? crying my name like the pillow was my face. you’ve already made a mess—might as well finish what you started.”
“unless,” he adds, "you don’t actually want me to help you come today. is that it?"
you glare at him, jaw tight, pretending like his words aren’t making your clit throb even more. grinding onto the pillow and pressing your thighs together again, you exaggerate the roll of your hips, the arch of your back, and your wrecked, breathy moans. you want to drive him crazy, to make him need you as much as you do him.
“that’s it,” he murmurs. had you opened your eyes, you would’ve seen how desperately he’s palming his cock through his pants. he feels like he could cum just watching you. “just like before. pretend i’m not here. pretend it’s just you and my pillow and the ache between your legs you can’t stop thinking about because you missed me so fucking much.”
you whimper, the pressure in your stomach’s building again. he hasn’t touched you at all yet, and you can’t even bear to make eye contact with him right now, but it’s like he’s everywhere, crawling under your skin and crowding your thoughts. and you can’t tell if the intensity of with him right there.
“were you thinking about me?” he asks sweetly. “when you started touching yourself?”
you nod, breath stuttering. “fuck, is that even a question?”
“these past few weeks… you been getting off with your toys at home, pretending it was me making you cum?” he interrupts. “what part of me did you picture—my hands? mouth? cock?”
“no, wait,” he says, mock-thoughtful. “i bet it was my voice you missed most. bet you were lying on your bed, squirting all over your vibrator, realizing that those toys can't talk to you, tell you exactly how pathetic and needy you are.”
your hips jerk forward, helpless. “needed you so bad, baby,” you whine, looking up at him with teary eyes.
fuck, he’ll never get sick of hearing you call him that. “you missed having me to talk you through it, didn’t you? wanted me to tell you how pretty you look like this? how wrecked you sound moaning my name and making a mess?”
you nod, too focused on your pleasure to respond with words. you’re grinding on the pillow so fast, the hand that was on your nipple going down to rub your clit. a few more words of encouragement from him and pleasure floods you suddenly.
you gush all over his pillowcase, riding out your orgasm, your head ringing so loudly that you don’t even hear him moaning aloud as well. your climax is so much longer and stronger than you expected, all from a fucking pillow. you know it’s not the pillow so much as his presence that intensified it so much.
he doesn’t say anything for a moment, just focuses on trying not to cum completely untouched. “yeah,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “squirted so much, baby, knew you would. were you saving that for me all this time?”
you maneuver yourself off the pillow, and he takes it in his hands, holding it up to his nose and taking a whiff of the soaked fabric. “don’t think i can ever sleep on this normally again.”
jjk: gojo satoru, geto suguru
hq: oikawa tooru, miya atsumu, kuroo tetsuro
