clark kent with a yapper gf that is afraid of talking too much because everyone in her life made her feel like shit about it and is surprised to know not only it doesnt bother clark but he likes it. send post
okay but frank castle whoâs got you bent over with one hand on the back of your neck and the other pinning your arms behind your back and as much as you wanna focus on how the stretch of his dick burns so good heâs fucking you so deep at this angle and you eyes are brimming with tears and youâre drooling all over the sheets
whatever you want me to be // deviant!connor [detroit become human] x afab!reader
cw: afab!reader [no pronouns used]; alcohol consumption [reader]; flirting; grinding; oral sex & fingering [reader receiving]
a/n: a sort of sequel to Just Curious, taking place in reader's apartment after he walks them home. will eventually rework this and prior fic into a longer piece, but enjoy as-is for now :)
wc: 2.5k
The stroll back to your apartment had managed to sober you up some, but not enough to feel rational, not enough to keep you from wanting to surrender to whatever base desires you had tried to ignore. Connor had offered you his armâmore a gentleman than any human youâd gone out with latelyâand pulled you close, kept you steady as the snow under your boots made you lose your footing now and again, patches of slick black ice hidden under piles of slush.
Youâd invited Connor in, for what reason you couldnât sayâhe didnât need to warm up for a bit before heading back to Hankâs, and he certainly couldnât join you for a nightcap or a cup of coffee. Yet here you sit together, Connor remarking on random things in your home and chattering about a case he and Hank had been assigned, while you nervously sip at a glass of wine and nod along, answering Connorâs occasional question about the photos on your side table and the knickknacks that line your bookshelves.
The sharp edges of the world soften a little as the alcohol hits you, softening even more with every question Connor asks, every probing glance of his that makes you feel exposed. There is something comforting about his forced familiarity, the way he quickly finds pieces and puts them together to see the whole of you. The conversation lulls, and his focus seems to drift; he fidgets with something in his pocket for a moment, before pulling out a coin and making it seem to dance across his slim, deft fingers. You watch him with a fascination that begins to feel inappropriate, your eyes transfixed by his motions, mind drifting to thoughts of how those skillful fingers would feel thrusting inside you.
Surely, he can sense the desperation you try to quell (have been trying to suppress for months now), smell the arousal on you like an animal in heatâcanât he? Is that why he grows quiet around you sometimes, fixing his tie or finding something to occupy his hands the more you stare? He must be able to tell how youâve grown so captivated by himâthe way he placed your fingertips on his tongue back at the restaurant, the tone of his voice as he explained his behavior away as simple curiosityâŠit couldnât all just be in your head.
âConnor?â
He grasps the coin in his palm and quickly tucks it back in his pocket as he acknowledges you, and you scoot closer to him, bumping his knee and placing a hand on the couch cushion, letting your fingertips graze his hip.
You press your lips together and take a slow breath. ââŠMay I touch you?â
He cocks his head ever so slightly, brows furrowing for a moment, before nodding. You canât tell if heâs baffled by your question, or the fact that you bothered to ask him at all before doing so, and his LED flickers as you take his hand, running the tips of your fingers along his upturned palm. The slight warmth that seems to radiate from his synthetic skin is likely from the thirium that pumps through him, or perhaps itâs something he can manifest at will; he otherwise lacks the body heat you come to expect from someone sitting so, so very close to you, the kind that makes your own desire burn a little brighter.
âYou seemâŠsurprised,â Connor utters as his eyes meet yours, before he glances back down to watch you entwine your fingers with his.
âIâve just never really touched someone like you before.â You trace the outlines of mechanical tendons on the back of his hand, feeling rigid steel that you could mistake for bone if you didnât know better, examining the purposeful imperfections on his skinâhe really was meant to disarm and dissuade, wasnât he? Perfectly flawed, just as human as you could want him to be.
He places his free hand on your knee for a moment before pulling away, uncertain. âIâŠhavenât touched many humans, either.â
Emboldened, your hand creeps up his arm, touching his chest through his dress shirt, your breath hitching at the sensationsâor lack thereofâunder your palm: no heartbeat, no quickening breath as you inch closer, only the soft whirring of his interior machinations, like the gentle white noise of a computerâs fan, the slight hum of a household appliance. Itâs unsettling yet comforting, strangely erotic in a wayâunlike yours in this moment, his body cannot betray him. He wonât have to shift to hide the slight twitch in the front of his jeans, or apologize for the weight of his interest pressing against you as you lose your composure and swing your leg over his and settle into his lap; he, on the other hand, must be able to sense the damp heat between your thighs as you straddle him, feel the slight tremble in your palm as you reach up to caress his face.
Connorâs eyebrows knit together as he scans your faceâsearching, always searching, as if his focus is trying to understand you more than himself in this moment, looking for reasoning and rationality in your behavior, constructing your next steps in his mind. It seems to fluster him that your behavior is something he cannot precisely predictâlust, you assume, is not strictly something he was programmed to analyze and understand.
Your thumb traces his lower lip and his jaw goes slack, mouth opening slightly, a quiet stammering noise escaping him. Your palm finally lands on his cheek, and he leans into your touch, eyes fluttering shut as he presses himself into you.
You want to ask him if it feels good, if it feels as overwhelming to you as it does to him. While he cannot feel pain, he at least experiences sensationâdoes he interpret this as pleasure? Do his sensors register the warmth of your shaking breaths drifting across his skin, the spikes in your pulse as your wrist grazes his jaw, the aching heat at the apex of your thighs, as something gratifying, something desirable, something as real and all-consuming at it suddenly feels for you?
The LED on his temple spins yellow, then red, then back to yellow and the corner of his mouth twitches. He turns his head and gently kisses your palm, his lips lingering there as he opens his eyes and settles his gaze on you. Itâs unnerving how he looks you over, like heâs both looking inside you and through you at the same time, always predicting and understanding, taking you apart and putting you back together like a beloved puzzle.
Connor lifts his arm and slowly, carefully, places his palm on the side of your face, mimicking your gesture, before leaning in and pressing his lips to yours. His kiss is soft, tentative; itâs the first time youâve sensed something close to nervousness in him. He pulls away after a moment, looking for answers in the way your eyes flutter open, the way your lips part as if to speak but no words form.
âIs thatâŠwhat you were hoping I would do?â he asks, hand sliding to the back of your neck, his free hand settling on your hip to steady you.
âIt was,â you sigh, a grin forming on your buzzing lips.
âGood,â he mutters before he captures your mouth with a hungry urgency, engulfing you in a long, drugging kiss. His tongue slips between your parted lips and makes sweeping, swirling motions inside your mouth, the feeling of hard sensors under moist, synthetic skin at once bewildering and enthralling. You moan into his mouth and suddenly can feel the low hum inside him grow a little stronger, his form vibrating underneath youâso he does have a tell after all.
You slide your hand down his clothed torso, down his firm, sleek body with its machine-sculpted musculature, until your palm lands just below his waistline and carefully palm his jeans, running your hand over the smooth, subtle bulge that sits where a cock would be. Thereâs something deeply and irrevocably erotic about it, a mound of plastic and synthetic skin meant to create an illusion, and you absentmindedly roll your hips against it, pressing yourself closer.
âIs thisâŠpleasing to you, somehow?â Connor asks, confused. âAs we discussed before, Iâm not able toââhe pauses, uncharacteristically having to strain to find the right wordââpenetrate you.â
âThatâs okay,â you pant, feeling a delicious tension begin to coil inside you. âI donât need you to.â
He follows your leads and grips your hips, begins rocking you back and forth, ever so slightly, as he tilts his pelvis upward. You lean forward and drape your arms over his shoulders, burying your face in his neck and he guides your movements, anticipating the roll of your hips as he thrusts himself against you, his fingers sinking deeper into your flesh with a bruising strength.
âWhat do you want from me?â Connor whispers against your skin, lips trailing down your neck.
âIâI donât know.â You think you could come just like this, grinding against him in the dim quietness of your living room, the low vibration of his arousal making your whole body buzz with aching need.
âTell me. I can do whatever pleases you.â He pauses his motions, releases his grip on your hips, moving his hands to either side of your face, forcing you to meet his troubled gaze. His voice sounds different now, his tone desperate, a tinge of static behind his words. âI can be whatever you want me to be.â
âWhat is it you want to do to me, Connor?â
The question confounds him, the light on his temple rapidly spinning, changing colors. What does he want? You are needy and hungry, filled with an insatiable longing, yet still pliant and warm, demanding nothing of him except whatever he needs, whatever he desires from you in this moment of heated bliss.
âI⊠I want to taste you,â he finally says, looking for your approval.
You kiss him softly, lingering for a moment to reward him for the expression of his own yearning. âIâd like that.â
You ease yourself off his lap and sit back on the sofa, and Connor lowers himself to the floor, kneeling between your open thighs. He brushes his cheek against the fabric that separates him from your aching cunt and inhalesâprocessing, always processing, making sense of the scent of your arousal. He deftly unbuttons your jeans, tugging them down your hips, carefully pulling them off and setting them to the side.
You wonder if itâs instinct, or research, or something in between that has him knowing what to doâdid he prepare himself for this possibility? The concept of him thinking of you, thinking of things he could want to do with youâto youâand filling himself with libidinous knowledge just in case made you throb.
Connorâs hands move up your thighs, eyes fixed on the growing wet spot in the gusset of your panties. You wince a little, not having anticipated anyone seeing the threadbare cotton pair you settled on today, but you suspect he doesnât care, doesnât know that you should have worn a pair more befitting of being devoured. Perhaps next timeâif there is one, you hope there is oneâyouâll attempt to impress him.
âMay I?â he asks, and you nod for him to remove your panties, lifting yourself off the couch to ease his motions. The cool air of the room rushes over your bare skin and his lithe fingers drift over your mound, touching your pubic hair softly, almost reverently, as he explores every exposed inch of you with intense curiosity. He lowers his head and his lips meet your waiting slit; he kisses you with the same hungry urgency as he had kissed you earlier, his tongue tracing the length of your cunt again and again, rigid sensors under the flesh-like texture feeling at once strange and addictive.
You thrust your pelvis forward and greedily rut against his mouth, and he quickly brings you closer to the edge of with every measured movement, your body already primed from grinding wantonly against his lap. You reach down and grip his hair, soft brown strands twirling between shaking fingers, murmured utterances of his name passing your lips, lingering in the space between âpleaseâ and âdonât stopâ and âthatâs it, right there.â Heâs eager to please you, urged on by every tug of his hair, every moan and stilted breath, every pulse of your swollen bundle of nerves against his lips.
Connorâs deft tongue traces circles over your clit, long slow movements as he slides one finger inside you, then another, pistoning in and out of your slick, wet heat with a quickening pace. He lets out a shocked groan when he feels how you start to tense around him, how you are electrified with every lick, every kiss, every thrust of his slender fingers. Itâs as if he knows your body without ever having to have touched you before, recognizing your peaks and valleys, reading into the subtle ways you approach your release, making precise adjustments to his ministrations to push you further and further towards the edge.
Your eyes flutter shut and your head tilts back as your core is wracked with a profound shudder, a delicious heat radiating outwards as you convulse into spasms, hands mindlessly searching for Connor to anchor you. You press your lips together to stifle the strangled moan that tries to claw its way up your throat, instead letting out a soft whine as your body shudders over and over, and you grind against Connorâs willing tongue, riding out every last shiver of your climax.
âAre you alright?â he asks as he finally manages to pull away from the warmth between your legs, his eyebrows furrowed with concern as he absentmindedly moves to fix his hair.
âYes,â you utter, somewhere between a sigh and a laughâyou havenât been this alright in ages. âIâm so, so fucking good, Connor. You?â
He pauses, wipes your sticky juices from his chin as he considers the heady mix of thoughts and sensations that flow through him. âYes, IâmâI think Iâm stable.â
There is no flush in his cheeks, no sweat on his brow or at his temples, no heart threatening to beat out of his chest with exertion; only stillness and calm, his body vibrating in a way that feels intense now, more than any staccato breaths or racing pulse of lovers past. His fingertips graze your upper arms, then your face. He seems to be mapping every exposed part of you, occasionally absentmindedly touching his fingertips to his tongue, sampling the salt of your sweat, testing the composition of the errant tears that forced themselves from the corners of your eyes.
âYouâreâŠyouâre very attractive when you orgasm.â Connorâs LED spins with a vigor youâd never seen as he analyzes you, cataloging your expressions, your breathing, your every twitch and flutter as your body finally begins to calm. He lays his head on your thigh and allows himself a satisfied grin, almost smug in its presentation, as his fingertips drift over your slit. âI think Iâd like to see it again.â
robert was so nice, he was letting you go at your own pace on his cock, your hole ached and stretched itself out. he liked how cute you looked on top of him, struggling to go quicker and trying to satisfy him as well. he was so generous that he even gave you gentle warning slaps on your ass when your bouncing began to grow slowââfuck, fuck, fuck iâm trying! just, i just need a little rest.â you moaned in robertâs ear, gripping onto his shoulder as you tried to quicken your pace once more. âi know baby, but you wanted to do this. you gotta take responsibility and put in some effort.â he whispered and rubbed your hip, offering a false sense of comfort as you tried to keep up with your pace.
âaww, big stretch.â robert laughed, but he was talking to you like how heâd talk to beef. you were tired, your thighs hurt from being in the same position, and you were going even slower then before. robert noticed how tight you grew the more and more close you were to coming, yet the pace wasnât going to get you there. he took it upon himself to fix that, he grabbed your hips and steadied you down on his cock. you moan softly, tiredness consuming you that you didnât fight, nor tell him you could keep going, instead you let robert take control.
only half of robertâs cock was inside before, but now he was stuffing you full of him. you could feel every vein and twitch inside of your warm hole, and robert was trying to stretch you out so only he could fit inside. robert would be so mean, so cruel when he would pull out fully; watching you beg for him to stop teasing and to put himself back inside. he listened to you, he angled himself before without warning, thrusted back insides the sharp thrust caused robert to hit your cervixs, and he continued with the same rough pace. the pain at first was a five out of ten, however pleasure took over almost immediately with him slowly down his thrusts after seeing your face all scrunched up.
âyes, yes make a mess all over me. make a mess on my cock baby, please, come. come with me gorgeous.â robert moaned, his hands clenched and squeezed hips as he began quickening his thrusting. your moans grew louder and whiner, tears pricked at your eyes as robert changed the position. he gently pushed you against the mattress, then began thrusting once more inside you. robert lifted up both of your legs to his shoulders, bringing your lower body closer to his cock as he watched you break beneath him. the way you were so sweaty and tired, he thought you looked so cute. he wanted to see your ruined face, how youâd get by the end of the night, how exhausted you looked at him. the way you looked at him, it was begging for him to cum deep inside of you and implant his babies inside. one simple look, and robert released inside your hole, the way you clenched around his cock made him think you were milking him for all he was worth.
Got any ideas about Robert dating you - Streamer!reader ?
A/N: Hol on chat, lemme cook-
18+ MDNIÂ
Imagine Robert has been following you on Twitch for a while. He found you one day after work while scrolling through the âJust Chattingâ channel. He would have to be blind to think you're not cute. Even then he'd be able to hear how cute you sounded.
Your room is a mess in a way that feels intentional. Your vibe was like a perfect eclectic mix of girly, goth, and punk. Black lace curtain half-tacked to the wall. Pink LED lights. A chipped skull mug. Youâve got eyeliner sharp enough to kill a man and a Hello Kitty hoodie that you drown in.
At first itâs background noise, your stream playing on low volume while he heats up leftovers, the glow of his phone propped up against his mug. But then you laugh at something stupid in chat, scrunching your nose like youâre embarrassed by how loud it came out, and he looks up and smiles, thinking how cute it was. He follows without thinking. MechaFan5318008. Default icon. Very on brand for him.
That's how it started.
The next night, he clicks your stream again. Then the next. Then suddenly itâs been two months, and his routine quietly rearranges itself around when you go live. He soon becomes a regular in your chat, and you'll greet him when he shows up.
âOh hey, Mech!â you say one evening, eyes flicking to the side of your screen. âyouâre early.â
He almost drops his phone.
He doesnât even remember typing in chat, but there it is. A stupid little hey. Nothing clever. He tells himself not to read into it, but you smile anyway. A real one, like youâre glad heâs there and not just being polite.
Sometimes you ask how his day was. Sometimes you complain about yoursâtech issues, weird DMs, your lighting setup betraying you mid-stream. He likes when you get a little ranty, your voice speeding up, and your hands flying up as if chat can feel your frustration through the screen.
It isn't until he sees you at a bar that he decides to introduce himself and buys you a drink.Â
He panics and almost chickens out of meeting you, but after you turn to face him, he gains some confidence.
You turn, eyes flicking over him, really looking. Something sparks there immediately. Recognition doesnât hit you, but interest does. You smile, polite but curious.
âI mean,â you say, amused, âIâm not gonna stop you.â
You introduce yourselves; Robert is quick-witted, teasing, but dry and observant, and unexpectedly funny too. You laugh more than you mean to.Â
You two are smitten immediately. Maybe itâs how easily the banter flows. Maybe it's the way your personalities mesh. Maybe itâs the way he actually listens instead of waiting to talk. Or the fact that you both were already familiar without knowing it yet.
It slips out a few minutes later, almost casually.
âIâm gonna sound insane,â he says, rubbing the back of his neck, âbut⊠Iâm a subscriber. On your stream.â
âNo way,â you say, pausing to scan his face. âShut up. Wait, how long?â
Robert scratches his chin, thinking. âUhh probably a few months or so.â
You lean forward, intrigued. âWhatâs your username?â
When he tells you, it clicks. The quiet regular. The dry jokes. The guy who always shows up early. Robert's face flickers with discomfort, thinking he's lost you.
âOh my god,â you laugh, covering your mouth. âNo way.â You punch his shoulder.
He smiles, relieved, a little stunned that this is going well. âYeah, I never knew you lived in my town.â
"I didnât know you lived in my town, sir.â You laughed again, easy, bright, lethal. God, your laugh is cute. He hates how easy it is for you to make his dick jump. The attraction hits him hard, sudden and undeniable, and he has to remind himself to keep breathing, to keep it cool.
You take him back home for what is some of the best sex of your life. It's hot, intimate, and all-around fun.Â
âYou drove me crazy all night.â Robert grunts, hitting your G-spot perfectly.Â
âRobert!âÂ
âCâmon baby, lemme hear you.â
You're definitely covered in marks that you need to hide the next day.
Robert takes you out on a few more dates. He's not letting you go that easy.
You are both very clingy, which works out well. Your personalities complement each other.
You two quickly become a secret couple.
He's over at your place more than he is at his.
He brings Beef with him.
Robert warily brings you to SDN.
Prism is already a fan and loves you, as does Malevola.
Invisigal, Flambae, and Sonar tease Robert the most about you.
Sometimes during your stream, Robert will show up in chat just to make an appearance while sitting five feet away from you. But he's also texting you the filthiest things he wants to do to you at the same time. You cut the stream short so he can show you exactly what he means.
Robert definitely eats you out under your desk on stream (with your permission of course)
You're determined to stonewall through it but then quickly take a break when you come on his face.
He watches the VODs back afterwards and watches your expressions, making notes for next time to try and make you lose it.
He loves it, you love it.
You love him.
A lot of people are shipping you and Mech on your Discord server and Twitter.
Robert comments in chat, wondering whose hoodie you're wearing.
You smirk and look over to him a few feet away and say, âmy boyfriends,' and chat goes wild.
You ask, âHey chat, do you want to meet my boyfriend?â
Then you call him over to give you a kiss live on stream.
You blow up on Twitter when you mistakenly call Robert by his username, but he doesn't mind.
All things considered, Robert is a great companion and an even better boyfriend.
Notes: {NSFW} Eddie x GN! Reader, Reader wears lipstick, Eddie unlocks a secret kink, Masturbation (M!), Lowkey yearner Eddie, One (1) cigarette mentioned if that matters?
{A/N: Okay, so. I originally had no intention on making this so long, so itâs kinda a weird blurb+fic thing. Iâm sure I am not the first person to have this thought about Eddie, but I personally havenât seen anyone post about it!}
____________â„____________
Hereâs the deal.
Eddie Munson would have a huge thing for his partner wearing lipstick.. literally any color, he just wants to be littered in a million little marks that all say âMine.â in your âhandwriting.â colorful smudges against his fair skin.
Itâs not even a purely sexual thing. You could kiss him on the cheek, lips, jaw, (neck, lower, âliterally anywhere you want just please kiss me.â) And his heart would start pounding in his chest like it literally wants to Escape His Ribcage⊠That tiiiny claim hitting him hard enough to make him need a damn cigarette. Like. Stat.
Because yeah, heâs definitely someone who thrives on validation.. and you canât get much more validating than your pretty lips, blessing him with a lingering reminder that, yes, heâs âyoursâ as much as youâre âhis.â
But, of course, itâs not entirely innocent. Because itâs Eddie, who seems to have the sexual tenacity of the fucking duracell rabbit.
When heâs alone, rutting into the useless grip of his own palm? He imagines your lips there- slick and swollen, your cheeks hollowing as you attempt to accommodate more of his length- the course hair at his base tickling the tip of your nose.
heâs getting restless now, precome slicking his palm, breaths coming in sharply through his teeth-
His eyes are squeezed shut, heâs too enthralled by the little daydream heâs created for himself- Then, he slips back into the all-too-familiar state of daydreaming. Your eyes lock onto his, wide and glossy, swimming with hunger and curiosity when his hand settles in your hair.
He gathers the strands with practiced familiarity, not tight enough to actually hurt, but tight enough to claim control without saying anything⊠He pulls you off his length, then presses you back down, groaning into the palm of his⊠unoccupied hand.
From there, he lets his mind wander, a bit too brazen in his efforts to worry about longevity. A memory flashes through his head, you fussing over your lipstick, blotting at it, cleaning up the lines.. yadda yadda. (this is me hoping the rest of the world also fucks up on their lipstick at least the first two times..) And then it hits himâŠ
The image of your lips pulling off of his length, the careful lines youâd drawn reduced to faint bruises of color, smudged like a fucked-out mess. But more than that, he lets himself imagine the stain of it around his length, obscenely messy⊠in the hottest way imaginable.
Without fanfare, his release hits warm and hot, lighting up every nerve in his body. Heâs still twitching with aftershocks when he pulls himself up, hastily cleaning himself before leaving to see you.
i know youâre asking for some drabbles/blurb requests so you should definitely write something short about reader and josh seshing and he shotguns the smoke (aka blows the smoke into your mouth n you inhale). smut possibly angst, your choice. iâm foaming at the mouth pls!! đđ
Pairings: Josh Washington x f!reader x Chris Hartley
Summary: smoking session with Chris and Josh turns heated QUICK. (Will I ever be good at writing summaries? No? Okay)
Warnings: smut, 18+ threesome, fingering, dub-con vibes because of weed (and lowkey dub-con touching), pet names (good girl, babygirl)
A/N: I know you did not ask for Chris to be there but he showed up anyways đ§đŒ(he is always on my mindâat this point it may be a medical condition) but I hope you like this anyhow. Who doesnât want to be in a climbing class sandwich anyways amirite?? đ
The oversized loveseat cushions sank beneath the weight of three bodies, leather sticking against the backs of your heated thighs where your skirt had ridden up. Josh sat to your right, long legs sprawled open, his posture deceptively casual with one arm draped over the cushions behind your head. to your left, Chris was a mess of nervous energy, his knee bouncing, his fingers drumming against his jeans as the three of you passed the joint in a slow circle.
The loveseat was larger than standard, but you were still sandwiched snugly between the two boys. The air in the Washingtonâs theater room had gone thick and hazy with smoke and something else, something charged that had nothing to do with the sweet smoke filling your lungs.
Josh took a drag, his throat working, cheeks hollowing. He held the smoke, his dark turquoise eyes locking onto yours with that predatory focus he got when he was plotting something. He leaned in, close enough that you could smell the expensive cologne on his flannel beneath the weed. He tapped two fingers against his own lips in silent offering.
âWant it?â His voice was tight with him holding his the smoke in his lungs but still smooth enough to make you dizzy.
You nodded, tilting your chin up. Josh leaned in, bridging the gap, and he pressed his mouth to yours. not quite a kiss, not yet, just the transfer of breath and smoke. He exhaled slow, controlled, forcing the thick cloud into your lungs. It burned a little and his lips lingered, brushing yours as you inhaled, stealing the breath from him. His tongue flicked out, just the tip, tasting your bottom lip before he pulled back with a satisfied smirk.
âGood girl,â he murmured, thumb stroking your jaw.
Your heart beat hard in your chest at the title. but the sound of Chris rubbing his palms on his jeans behind you made your skin prickle with anticipation for your next idea.
when you turned to pass the joint, you caught Chrisâs expression. the way his usually bright blue eyes had gone dark and hungry, the faint flush high on his cheeks, the way he was staring at your mouth like he either jealous or starvingâor both. He looked wrecked already, and you hadnât yet touched him.
You held the smoke in your lungs, chest burning, and turned your body fully toward him. Chrisâs gaze snapped up to your eyes from your mouth, wide and questioning.
âYour turn,â you said, your voice tight but soft.
You didnât give him time to overthink it, you leaned in, mirroring Joshâs movements, and pressed your lips to Chrisâs. He made a sound; surprised and desperate, and then you were exhaling into his mouth, sharing the smoke, the heat, the intimacy of the moment. But Chris didnât just take the smoke from your lungs.
He broke.
His hands came up, clumsy fingers threading into your hair, and he kissed you for real. messy, uncoordinated, all tongue and teeth and desperation. He whined against your lips, high and needy, and you felt the moment he stopped thinking entirely, he stopped worrying about Josh watching, he stopped worrying about doing it wrong. He just took. His hot mouth over yours, licking into your mouth, breath coming in harsh pants that had nothing to do with his high.
âFuck,â Josh laughed, low and dark beside you. âlook at him. Heâs a mess alreadyâ he snickered, completely amused.
You would have responded, but then you felt it; Joshâs hand sliding down to your shoulder, then your waist, then creeping beneath the hem of your skirt. His fingers were warm, deft, and they traced a deliberate path up your inner thigh.
Chris didnât stop kissing you. If anything, he grew more frantic as Joshâs touch climbed higher, his mouth leading to your jaw, your throat, his teeth grazing your pulse point hard enough to leave a mark. He was sloppy, leaving wet trails of saliva on your skin, sucking pink and purple marks into your neck with single-minded devotion.
Joshâs fingertips reached the edge of your panties. The flimsy lace was already damp and he hummed in approval against your ear. âalready soaked for us? Thatâs dirty, babygirl. Did you get this wet just sitting between us? just thinking about what we could do to you?â
His words elicited a whimper from your throat so broken it could have been a sound byte from a bad-acted porn. Except it was honest, desperate.
Joshâs long fingers slipped beneath your panties, finding your slick slit, and you moaned loud and uncontrolled again, your head falling back against the couch cushions.
The sound seemed to trigger something in Chris. He groaned, the vibration traveling down your neck as he latched onto the hollow of your throat, sucking hard, his hands fisting in your hair to hold you still for his mouth.
Joshâs finger slid through your folds, gathering the wetness there, spreading it in slow, maddening circles around your clit but not quite touching it.
âYouâre dripping,â Josh observed clinically, like he was commenting on the weather, even as he pressed the pad of his finger against your swollen clit, making your hips jerk. âChris, feel how wet she is. Sheâs fucking dripping for itâfor usâ
Chris made a strangled noise against your neck and reached out with one trembling hand, sliding it up your thigh until his fingers clumsily collided with Joshâs, both of them touching you now, Chrisâs fingers were thicker, inept compared to his best friendâsâbut they felt just as dizzying.
Chris, eager as ever, slipped a finger into your wet cunt, the sound squelching in the otherwise quiet room between your ragged breaths.
âOhâfuckâ Chris spoke for the first time as he felt your body sucking him in and you let out a high pitched moan. Josh took the opportunity to slot his lips over your open mouth, sucking your bottom lip into his mouth, biting down and making you squeak.
They both kept working you with their fingers, sliding around your wet heat, exploring the mess theyâd made of you, your hips bucking involuntarily into the pressure.
