louie, nineteen, she/they, plus size writer, aspiring script writer and director, probably hate your faves, a fan of older men, firm believer of soft!chibs telford and a negan defender !!
nurse!reader has been thinking about her bf since she woke up this morning, and jack does not mind being summoned to the on call room to do something about it! explicit 18+ MDNI
content: jack abbot x fem nurse!reader, established relationship, handjob, blowjob, implied & actual masturbation, dirty talk, jack’s a yapper but and we all knew that, again smut 18+ mdni, wc: approx 1k
‘on call room. now. its urgent’
Jack had shown up four minutes later, brow furrowed in concern, slightly out of breath, stethoscope still around his neck, with, a light sheen of sweat at his temples from what had clearly been a run down the corridor, already in triage mode.
He opened the door.
Took one look at you sitting on the edge of the cot, cheeks flushed & waiting.
The furrow disappeared.
“Oh” he blinked.
Then, slower, the corner of his mouth pulling up. “Oh.”
“You’re sweating,” you said.
“I ran.” He stepped inside, let the door close behind him. “Thought something was wrong baby.”
“Something is wrong,” you huffed. “You went to the gym before your shift and I didn’t even get to see you before I came in and now I’ve been thinking about you for six hours straight.”
He looked at you for a moment. Then the smirk settled fully into his face. “That’s the emergency.”
“That’s the emergency,” you confirmed.
“Okay,” he said, and crossed the room, and that was the end of the smirk.
You’re ovulating, maybe, or losing your mind. Either way you’ve spent the entire shift so far thinking about him, which is a little inconvenient when he’s thirty feet away on the other side of the ER and you’ve still got four hours to go.
“Hey,” he croons now, teasing, back against the wall, your hand already working him out of his scrubs. “Have you been thinking about this all day?”
“Since this afternoon,” you say, wrapping your hand around him. Thick, warm already hardening in your grip, and you drag your fist slow from base to tip and his breath punches out of him.
“You were still in bed when I left darlin’,” he grunts.
“I know,” you say. “But I woke up only about ten minutes after you left. From a dream.”
Jack’s eyes drop to your mouth for just a second before flitting back up to match your heady gaze.
“The kind that made it very hard to go back to sleep.”
His jaw shifts. “About me?”
“About you. About this.”
“Christ.” He exhales hard. “And you didn’t text me then?”
“Didn’t need to. You weren’t there so I handled it myself.”
He makes a sound that might be a laugh if he weren’t currently losing his mind.
You twist your wrist at that, and he possibly loses the rest of his sanity. “Okay,” he manages. “Fucking hell. Next time text me immediately.”
“Next time wake me up instead of leaving me all on my lonesome, wondering where my boyfriend has gone,” you say.
“Deal,” he says, and means it.
You work him slow and deliberate, thumb dragging over the head of him on every stroke, and he’s fully hard in your hand now, heavy, thick, and leaking pre-cum, and you feel him twitch when you squeeze firmly and his eyes go dark.
“You’re doing that on purpose, sweetheart,” he says, watching your hand move, the lines at the corners of his eyes deepening as his jaw tightens.
“Obviously.”
“Baby.” Low. Strained. “We’re at work.”
“I know,” you say, and drop to your knees, and Jack’s hand flies to his mouth, teeth sinking into the meat of his palm to keep himself quiet.
You take him in slow, tongue flat against the underside, feeling him hit the back of your throat, and he makes a muffled noise behind his palm. His other hand finds your hair, fingers curling at the back of your head, gripping on your ponytail- not pushing, just there.
“Christ,” he breathes, looking down at you, eyes dark. “You’re - god. Do you have any idea what you look like right now.”
You look up at him through your lashes, fluttering them innocently. He looks away at the ceiling.
“Don’t do that,” he says, pained. “Don’t look at me like that when you’ve got - I can’t - okay.”
You hollow your cheeks and pull back slow, tongue circling the head of him, kitten licking his leaky tip, and when his hips buck forward involuntarily, he catches himself and hisses.
“Fuck, baby, sorry - I’m sorry,” he says. “Don’t stop.”
You take him deeper this time, and his hand tightens in your hair when hips start to move, small and controlled at first, then less so, and you let him, the urgency of it sending heat straight through you to your core.
You reach down and push your hand into your scrubs, fingers finding your clit, and you moan around him.
He looks down and registers what you are doing immediately.
“Are you -” He moans. Loud. “Are you touching yourself, baby? Playin’ with your pussy?” Low and rough. “Right now? On your fuckin’ knees with my cock in your mouth you’re -”.
His grip tightens in your ponytail, hips finding a rhythm - fucking your throat now, purposeful and deep - and his free hand comes to your jaw, palm pressed soft against your cheek, feeling the shape of himself moving against it from the outside. “That’s the hottest thing I’ve ever - don’t stop. Don’t stop.”
You press harder against your clit, the pressure so good it pulls a moan out of you around him, and his hips stutter and his head drops back in pleasure.
“God,” he grits out. “God, sweetheart, you’re gonna make me - I’m gonna - ”
His hand fists tight in your hair. “Swallow it,” he says, whiny and breathless. “Please.”
You hum and he’s gone, spilling hot into your mouth, and you swallow, staying where you are until he pulls you up.
He pulls you up by the shoulders, both hands at your face, kissing you deep and certain, tasting himself on your tongue.
“Your turn,” he says against your mouth, already moving his hands to your waist.
“No.” you heave, out of breath. You step back. “When we get home.”
His eyes go wide, mouth dropping open. “You’ve been touching yourself on your knees in an on call room and now you’re telling me - ”
“When we get home, Jack.”
“That’s - ” He hisses out a breath. “That’s cruel. You know that’s cruel. Makin’ me wait to get my hands on ya”
“Four hours,” you drawl. “You’ll survive.”
He looks at you for a long moment. Then his hand comes up and takes your jaw, firm and certain, tipping your face up to his.
“Tonight,” he says, eyes dark, holding your gaze. “We finish this properly.”
“Promise?”
“Oh baby.” He pulls back to look at you, pupils blown. His thumb traces your jaw, then slots briefly into your mouth. You close your lips around it. “I promise.”
He fixes your hair before he unlocks the door.
Six feet apart by the time you hit the corridor, and completely professional by the time you reach the nurses station.
a/n: OKAY SO i know i promised other pieces in the near future and i literally said that today (and that will all come (😏) i promise), but this vision came to me guys and i had to write it, i was COMPELLED! this came to me after watching animal kingdom episode 2x05 teehee had to write something filthy i hope you enjoyed xx
find my masterlist here 🤍 comment below to be added to my taglist xx
welcome to louie's sin 2k win follower celebration!!
thank you so much for 2000 followers!! this means the absolute world to me, and i'm so thankful for everyone that reads my writing and likes the content i put out. so to celebrate, i'm hosting a sin 2k win event
(very bad word play, my bad)
lets roll the dice...
★ casino rules
🃏 you can play multiple games, though please play them separately!
🃏 the casino may get busy, but i'll try my best to answer all games and questions, please keep this in mind!!! please find the casino's pending rewards catalogue here (wips list)
🃏 usual house rules apply, though casino rules have more leeway. strictly no minors in the casino, adult content ahead !!
🃏 know your limits, don't push your luck. casino closes February 16th 2025!!
🃏 check out the casino prizes here (masterlist), and requests can only be made to my askbox here
miscellaneous — theodore nott, mattheo riddle, tony dinozzo, tim mcgee, elliot stabler, nick amaro, sonny carisi, carmen berzatto, richie jerimovich, kev ball, oscar 'spooky' diaz, rafe cameron, jj maybank
(as there is now two jj's on this list, please specify which one if you're sending in a request for either of them!!)
★ play your hand
🎰 — fuck, marry, kill. choose any three characters from the table and i'll give my answer.
🍸 — your choice. choose a character, and a prompt(s) from first time prompts, smut sentence starters and/or smut prompts. (please specify what prompt/list you're choosing from, and please only send in a prompt from these lists!!!)
♠️ — poker face. choose an au i have for a character above and something from this nsfw question list, and i’ll tell you how each au will react/what’d be the answer. (one au per ask)
🎱 — build a fic. choose between either an sfw fic, an nsfw fic or a forced proximity fic, along with a character and i'll write a fic for it.
★ tag system
i decided on doing this event like my one year anniversary, so to navigate easier, here's the tags i've used
🎲 — louie’s sin 2k win special
is the main tag, everything will be found under here
🎰 — louie's 2k
for all of my fmk choices
🍸 — louie's 2k
for all prompt fics
♠️ — louie's 2k
for all poker face choices
🎱 — louie's 2k
for all build a fics
if you wish to avoid spam, please block all five tags !!!
last day to send in a sin2kwin request!! my general rule of thumb would be to get them in before 11:59 pm gmt, but obviously timezones and such would skew that ask.
so i'm kindly asking anyone that wants to send in a request to please ensure your requests are in by that time in whatever timezone you're in!! basically just limit requests to last thing/time being 8am ish gmt tomorrow (14 hours from now), please and thank you !!
(again my deepest apologies to everyone still waiting on their request getting seen to, been a shitty couple days/weeks for me but i'm slowly getting there)
No thoughts just soap who has zero concern for anything when there's a sweet cunt on his lips.
He doesn't care that he's on his knees in the dirty bathroom of the pub, or that his chin is absolutely soaked from you. Your leg hiked over his shoulder, the other one barely keeping yourself upright while you lean against tile.
"Fuck– lass, jus' like tha'" his voice rumbles against your core. Calloused hands gripping your hips to hold you tight against him. It's absolutely filthy, the way slick drips down his chin and slides along his neck. It's the best damn meal soap has ever had.
"C'mon, jus' one more, aye? One more–" he's insatiable, drinking you in with a groan. Even after he gets another, you have to grab him by the hair and drag him away. He kisses you on the lips just to feel you bat him away with a groan.
Of course, he goes back to his table without properly washing up, much to kyles disgust.
you've mentioned the government name phase with ellie but you know what else is cute? Ellie calling r and aaron by the pet names they use for each other, imagine Aaron coming home to "welcome home dear" but instead of r's voice it's Ellie sing song tones that he hears 😂 OR OR OR those situations where someone ask a kid what's their parents name and she goes "mommy's name is honey and daddy's name is darling!" ARGHHH I'm going to eat her cheeks
season's greetings
PLEASE I JUST ADORE HER cw; fem!reader, girl dad!aaron, domestic fluff <3
It's a familiar scene Aaron's coming home to.
The house glowed with warmth as he pulled into the driveway, light pouring out through the windows. A fresh layer of snow had blanketed the lawn, and snowflakes were still falling. This will be the fourth holiday season spent in the house, and he was convinced that no matter how many passed, it would somehow always feel like it was the first.
He let himself in through the garage door and hung up his overcoat, grateful to be home after a long day.
"Welcome home honey!"
Again, the words familiar upon his arrival. Only this time, rather than your enthusiastic voice greeting him, it was Ellie's.
In a mix of amusement and confusion, his eyebrows furrowed slightly. He was able to immediately pinpoint the direction in which her voice had come from, heading towards her.
He found Ellie on the carpet in front of the Christmas tree. The four of you had decorated over the weekend - stockings were hung over the fireplace, lit garland draped atop it as well. A Christmas blanket was tossed over the couch, even the house’s exterior was adorned with lights. The whole place felt comfortable and festive.
She was laying on her stomach with her feet kicked up in the air. A coloring book was spread out in front of her, crayons scattered around within her reach.
"Eleanor..." he pulled out her full name for the occasion, "what did you say?"
"Welcome home honey." She repeated without hesitation, still scribbling away. Her coloring page was vivid with pinks and purples.
"No," he lectured, using his gentle, authoritative tone - his Dad voice, as you called it - while also stifling a laugh. "It's Daddy."
She finally peered up at him, pigtails shifting with the movement as she did so. "Nuh uh, it's honey."
Ellie was well aware she was a little stinker. Her head lifted proudly to meet his eyes, a small, smirky smile spreading across her face - clearly pleased with herself and if Aaron didn’t know any better, she was definitely challenging him.
At just four years old, she was already a handful, and Aaron knew he was in for it in the years to come.
"I thought I heard you come in." You entered the living room next, a playful pout forming at the fact he didn’t come to you first for your usual kiss. Luckily it was an easily resolved matter - you leaned in and pressed your lips to his. "How was work, honey?"
Clearly, this was where Ellie had picked it up from.
"Did you hear what our daughter just called me?" He asked you as your arms wrapped around his middle. Ellie had already returned to her coloring page; it would without a doubt be hung on the fridge later that night, or maybe she would add to the collection he had in his office.
"Hm?"
His gaze shot back down, "Ellie, what's my name?"
Again, not missing a beat, switching from her pink crayon to a red. "Honey."
"Oh," your mouth pursed as Aaron's eyes found yours in bewilderment, wanting to laugh. “She called me sweetheart earlier."
"Seriously?" He deadpanned, a chuckle slipping out in slight disbelief.
"Hey, it could be a lot worse." You pointed out, and Aaron's head cocked slightly as he considered the other possibilities. True. "C'mon El, go help your brother set the table please."
"Okay sweetheart!" She scrambled up and hurried off, but not without grinning at the two of you first.
"It's Mommy." Aaron corrected as she passed - if Ellie knew how amusing the two of you found this to be, she’d never stop - his lips pulling into a smile as he drew you closer against him. You immediately nuzzled your head into his chest.
Request from the babe @masterlistforimagines: Reader and Angel made a bet that she couldn’t last without having sex with Bishop for a week so she keeps “running” away every time her and Bishop get close to having sex. In the end, she lasts a week, collects her money from Angel and Bishop then finds out and takes her to Templo and has sex with her then. Oooh but I want Bishop to literally pick the reader up and bring her into templo and also the crew to hear them going at it
Warnings: language, (unprotected) sex, dominant Bishop giving all of us life
Word Count: 3.7k
A/N: Sometimes you have to write Bishop smut at midnight on a Sunday and that’s totally valid. This was incredibly fun to write so I hope y’all enjoy it!
For @narcosfandomdiscord Book of Balancing In Between: Fanwork whose setting is in a liminal space (i chose the carniceria after-hours)
Warnings: 18+, language, light angst, emotional hurt/comfort, reader is the oldest Reyes sister
Word Count: 2k
A/N: MAAAAAAAAN it's been a while since i've written for Bishop and i simply just love giving him complicated relationships with Reyes Women.
You knew better than to sit with your back to the door no matter where you were or what time it was. But, after how the last few weeks had gone you were too tired to think about it. You were too tired to think about it, it was two in the morning, and out of all the places in the world to sit with your back to the door you figured that Felipe’s shop was one of the safest. So there you were, camped out at one of the small tables inside the shop with your back to the door.
It'd been a long time since you made a point to notice the sound of motorcycle engines. It was like having the fan on at home or the window down in the car as you drove, noise that you heard but never really listened to. The sound of the bike engine went in one ear and right out the other, but the shifting lights and shadows of the singular headlight coming through the front windows of the shop are what caught your attention. Then you heard the rest of it.
Taking a deep breath, you wiped at the tears in your eyes, the ones smeared across your cheekbones. Raking your fingers back along the sides of your head, you tried to take breaths deep enough to get your heartrate and your breathing back on track.
The sound of the engine went away, the light streaming through the window went away too and sent all of the shadows running with it. You sat perfectly still, and within seconds, right on cue, the bells above the door chimed as someone pushed it open.
The pacing of his strides gave it away before he even opened his mouth to speak. “Shouldn’t turn your back on the bad guys, querida,” he said, resting his hand on your shoulder.
Something about the feeling of the callouses on his palm against the exposed skin of your shoulder was more comforting than usual. Reaching up, you threaded your fingers with his. “Only bad guys who come here tend to be pretty good to me, so I think I’ll be alright.”
His hand fell away from your shoulder as he walked to sit across from you, and you begrudgingly let his hand slip out of yours. Leaning back in the chair, you watched as Bishop sat down across from you. Once he sat, he immediately leaned forward onto the table, hands resting in the center of it close enough for you to hold if you wanted to.
There was something so familiar about the way he looked in the patchy light coming through the windows from the streetlamps outside. It reminded you of when you’d first met, first really gotten to know each other. A lot had changed since then, and it reminded you of all that too.
“What’re you doing here, Obispo?” you asked, mirroring his position but not taking his hands in yours again just yet.
“You weren’t home,” he offered up simply.
You chuckled. “And why were you—”
“Because you didn’t stop by the clubhouse.” He pulled his phone from his kutte and tossed it onto the table. “And you didn’t answer your phone.”
Tears were gathering in your eyes again but you still smiled at him. “Something going on that I should know about, then?” you asked, already knowing the answer.
Bishop looked at you, studied the expression on your face. He could see the puffiness of your eyes, the way that the tears beginning to creep over the edge were not the first ones that you’d shed for the night. He saw the tiredness in your eyes, even though only the smallest traces of light were hitting your face.
“Why here?” he asked, completely avoiding your question.
“What?”
He made a tiny gesture, a flick of his hand motioning to the expanse of the shop. “Why do you end up here at three in the morning when shit goes sideways?”
You chuckled. “It’s only two in the morning, first of all.”
“You know—”
You pointed to his kutte. “Can I?”
There was a pause, and the look on Bishop’s face let you know that he was contemplating holding out on you until he got some answers from you, but he’d never been good at turning you away. Reaching back into his kutte, he pulled out his pack of cigarettes and lighter. You watched as he went through the motions that were so second-nature to him now, placing it between his lips and sparking the lighter, waiting to make sure it’d catch. He pulled one drag off of it before holding it out to you. You let your fingers touch for a second longer than necessary before taking it.
The inhale that you took off the cigarette in your hand was the steadiest one that you’d taken for most of the night. You tried to savor it, the steadiness and the burn you felt. Closing your eyes, you let your breath sneak back out one calculated centimeter at a time.
Finally opening your eyes again, you found Bishop still staring at you, that same unique mix of anger and concern in his eyes that never truly seemed to go away. “The worst thing happened here,” you said, quieter than you intended.
Bishop’s frown deepened in a way you didn’t know was physically possible. Nodding, he kept his voice just as quiet as yours as he said, “I know.”
You brought the cigarette back to your lips for a moment to buy you some time. “So now, when other bad things happen, sometimes I’ll come here. Get some perspective…or some shit like that.”
The tacked-on ending got weary but genuine chuckles out of both of you. “Right. Some shit like that.” Bishop took a moment to light up a cigarette of his own. “Still don’t like it.”
You hummed in amusement. “You don’t have to.”
“I do if you’re gonna keep comin’ here.”
“Only if you’re gonna keep comin’ after me.”
It was a sweet moment, one of small smiles and tendrils of smoke making it even harder to get a clear picture. But you each knew how the other looked even in pitch black darkness. There was a warmth about it, separate from the scorch down the back of your throat. You almost wanted to reach out with your free hand to take his.
But then the moment passed. Pressing the knuckle of your thumb across your brow, you asked, “So, did you come hunt me down tonight to tell me something that I already know?”
His expression faltered. “I didn’t think—”
“You didn’t think I would’ve known by now that my brother got shot?” Ash fell from your cigarette onto the table, a mess you’d be sure to clean before Felipe found his way back to the shop again. “You didn’t think that between the hospital, and his girlfriend, and my other brother that’s part of your fucking club,” your palm slammed down on the tabletop, causing it to rattle, “You didn’t think that with all of that, I wouldn’t find out?”
“Querida, I—”
“Ah-ah,” you shook your head. “You didn’t come here to break the news to me, Obispo. When you called me a few hours ago? That was to try and break the news. And you were still too late on that, by the way. But the rest of it? Showing up to my house? Here? You only go that far when you know you’re up shit creek with no fucking paddle in sight.”
Neither of you said anything then. The longer you looked at Bishop, the less you felt that you knew what he was thinking. If tradition held, he was probably trying to come up with excuses for a few things: why EZ got shot, why he wasn’t the one to tell you, and why there wasn’t blood running down the streets of Santo Padre yet. You didn’t need the laundry list for it all, but you’d played games like this with him enough now to at least be curious about the answers.
The same thing happened when you found out Ezekiel had killed a cop and was going to prison, and when Angel was joining the club, then again when Angel was looking down the pipe at eighteen months in Chino, then again when you heard that not only was Ezekiel getting out of prison, but he was getting out of prison and funneling himself right into the club alongside his brother. The same song and dance again and again over the years, and to think that neither of you would’ve had to learn the steps if Bishop hadn’t found you here, alone in the shop in the middle of the night, scrubbing at the floor because you were convinced that the last of your mother’s blood still hadn’t been washed away after the police department left.
Clearing his throat, he started again. “I didn’t think that you should be alone.” He paused, waiting for you to start right up again. When you didn’t, he continued, but tentatively. “I’m sorry that you head to hear it from…” he trailed off, realizing that you hadn’t said through which avenue you found out.
“Gaby,” you filled in the blank, shaking your head as you remembered the sheer terror in her voice.
“I’m sorry about that.” He sounded genuine as he was saying it. Before the scoff in the base of your throat could make its way out, he said, “I am. But would hearing it from me have felt any better? Would you have ended up,” he gestured to the carnicería with both hands this time, “anywhere else?”
You chuckled, a bitter sound. “You almost had a decent apology going for a second there.”
He took a deep breath, and you could see it on his face that he was actively fighting the urge to say the first thing that came to his mind. “I am sorry. And I am fucking here. And if you ask me to do something for you right now, I’ll do it.” He waited for you to look him in the eyes again. “What do you want right now?”
Pulling every last bit you could from your cigarette, you snubbed it out. Smoke cascaded from between your lips as you sighed. Leaning forward, you dropped your head into your hands as you tried to wrap your head around Bishop’s question, about what your answer to it was.
“Where’s Ezekiel?” you asked.
“Out of town. Gaby’s with him.”
You nodded, hands dropping back to the tabletop. “Right.”
He covered one of your hands with his. “What do you want right now?”
You focused on the warmth seeping from his palm into the top of your hand. You zeroed in on the way he dragged the pad of his thumb across your knuckles. Looking at his face, you felt yourself getting pulled underneath the waves of desperation in his eyes. He always looked so sad, and so earnest about it. And the undertow of it all always seemed to get you.
Turning your hand, you interlocked it with his. “I don’t know.”
“Thought this place was supposed to give you some perspective?” he asked, a twinge of a smile on his face.
It got you to laugh if nothing else. Giving his hand a gentle squeeze, you said, “Maybe I just gotta sit here a little longer.”
He nodded. “Okay.”
He squeezed your hand before standing up. You tilted your head to the side as you watched him walk deeper into the shop. “What’re you doing?”
He crumbled the last of his cigarette into the small trash can by the bookshelf. Picking it up, he brought it over to the table where the two of you were sitting. “Cleaning this up before you forget,” he said as he swiped the butt of your cigarette and the ashes from it into the trash can. Once he brought it back to its rightful spot, he sat down across from you again. “And I’ll sit with you.” He watched as the tears started welling in your eyes again. “And I’ll bring you home before Felipe comes back.”
You managed a smile, and despite all the mess and the hurt, you felt a little bit of relief at his offer. Nodding, you gave a soft but sincere, “Thank you.”
He took your hand in his. “Whatever you need.”
(divider by @silkholland 💞)
Mayans MC Taglist (if you want to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know!): @darqchilddaydreamz @withmyteeth @garbinge @proceduralpassion @artemiseamoon
so let's do it like they do on the discovery channel -- Hotch x Fem!Reader (Kinktober 2025)
I don't even know if this is in character I just know it was fun to explore 😋😋
Warnings: 18+ mdni pls!!, CNC, they talk abt it before and establish rules + safe guards!!! be like them!!!, unprotected p in v (...maybe don't be like them), fingering, lots of manhanling, idk playful chasing?, lots of sass, hotch has a dirty mouth, kinda devolved into fluff, aftercare!, some talk abt reader's menstrual cycle idk it came out of nowhere
WC: 2.9k
You have been in a foul, horrendous mood for three days.
It’s getting ridiculous at this point. You’ve tried everything you can to make your mood better and to not be the human personification of snake venom, but nothing is working.
Except. You haven’t tried Aaron.
Your sweet, amazing boyfriend Aaron who is out of town for work right now and has been for the past week. Your loving boyfriend who made you have an entire sit-down conversation with him after you moved his hand to your throat one night and told him to squeeze. Aaron who in that same conversation asked you about your other interests and listened intently as you explained the one coming to mind now.
You think you know what your problem is: you need to be fucked. Not in a nice way, not in a slow, making-love kind of way. You need to be pinned down and told to take it and you need to be fighting.
There’s something primal about it, you think. And the level of trust it takes to be vulnerable and feel safe doing it with another person is hot in its own right. So hot that just the thought of it has you clenching your thighs together.
You have no clue when Aaron will be back in town. It could be tonight, tomorrow, or next week. But your body is on fire, and the next thing you know, you’re sending him a text.
I’m in a mood and I need you to fuck it out of me.
You figure you may as well get straight to the point with this one.
He responds so fast that it makes you jump. Code purple?
Heat immediately pools in your stomach. There was always the possibility of him not remembering the conversation, or him not being up for it, but this puts those worries out of your brain.
Violet. The safe word. When you first spoke to him about wanting this, this was how the two of you decided to initiate it.
His reply is instant, as if he was watching and watching for yours. And it’s simple. K.
Your already irritated nerves flare at the response, because he knows you hate that one letter reply and you know that’s exactly why he sent it. With no indication of when he’ll be home either, mind you.
The fact that those two things frustrate you so easily tells you exactly how much you need this. You just wish you knew when it would be happening. Are you going to have to suffer for another few days, or is he home tomorrow?
You shove your headphones into your ears and roll your shoulders. You need to get some work done.
+++
You’re not sure how much time has passed. You furiously cooked something easy for dinner, scarfed it down, glared at Aaron’s K. message a little more and then got back to work.
Your music is blaring so loudly in your headphones as you put your dishes away that you don’t hear the front door open. Or his bag hit the floor. Or the deadbolt click. Or his footsteps.
When he spins you around and slams your back into the wall -- with his hand to protect your head -- it nearly sends your body into full-blown fight or flight mode.
Or, well, it kind of does. You instantly choose fight because, “Seriously?” you hiss, yanking your headphones out of your ears. “A little ‘I’ll be home tonight honey’ text would’ve been nice, Aaron.”
“Oh, shut up,” he laughs cruelly, taking your headphones and phone from you and tossing them onto the counter. “What’s the matter with you? In a bad mood?”
“Don’t patronize me,” you snap, trying to squirm out of his grasp, but he’s much, much stronger than you. It takes nothing for him to keep you pinned against the wall with his bodyweight, your palms flat against his chest, fisting his dress shirt. “Let me go,” you demand.
“No,” he says, “I don’t think I will.”
“Don’t be an asshole,” your jaw grinds as you continue to fight against him, weakly hitting his chest with your balled fists. “I’m not in the mood.”
“No, that’s exactly your problem, you’re not in the mood for anything,” he says, voice stern and so sweet that it borders on condescending. He easily brackets you, grabbing your wrists in one hand and pinning them just above your head. “But that’s fine,” he coos, kissing along your jaw, his knee nudging between your legs. “I think I can get you there.”
Your eyes roll slightly when he sucks on that specific spot on your neck, your knees threatening to give out already. He notices. He laughs.
“Already melting in my arms and I’ve barely touched you.”
“Fuck off,” you say through gritted teeth, composing yourself. “And let go of me.”
“No, no, no,” he murmurs, his hot breath on your ear sending goosebumps up your arms. “You know what to say if you really want me to stop. Don’t you?” he pulls back for a moment, looking deep into your eyes for confirmation. You see him peeking through the act, the genuine care and concern, wanting the reminder that you know what to say to make him drop this.
But you don’t want him to drop it. You want him to keep going.
“Yes,” you say with a little nod. “I know.”
“Good girl,” he says with a smirk, kissing your lips. “That’s my good girl. You just want to be bad right now, and that’s fine.”
“I’m mad at you,” you say in between kisses, and then you nip at his lip, trying to really bite him, but he pulls back at just the right time.
His smirk widens as he tongues over the area you nicked. “You nearly got me with that one, sweetheart.”
“I’ll get you next time,” you promise with an equally sinister smile, running your tongue over your teeth.
“Promise?” he says against your lips, this time biting your own, just enough to sting but not hard enough to cause any real harm.
Before you realize it, he’s hauling you over his shoulder and carrying you to the bedroom. He literally tosses you onto the bed, and because you’re in such a mood, you immediately scramble off of it, knowing the reaction it’ll get from him.
His hands grasp the air as you jump just out of reach, a wild smirk on your face mirroring his own.
“Are you going to run?” he asks, undoing his tie and tossing it somewhere, his movements almost tired, like he can’t be bothered to deal with your antics right now.
Your eyes dart around the room, the bed separating the two of you. He knows just as well as you do that there is nowhere for you to run, but that’s not going to stop you.
“Aaron,” you warn, taking slow steps around the bed.
“Yes?” he says, oh-so-innocently, taking equal steps.
“I said let me go,” you all but growl. “Leave me alone.”
“I don’t think you really know what you want right now,” he replies easily. And when you try to dart past him, thinking you’ve caught him off guard mid-thought, his arms lock around your waist and pull you close. “But that’s okay,” he whispers, “because I know exactly what you need.”
You’re a squirming mess as he keeps you pinned against him with one arm, his free hand working inside your shorts and past your underwear.
“Stop it,” you murmur, your weakest protest yet as it breaks off into a moan when the pads of his fingers circle your clit.
He shushes you. “Let me make you feel better.”
You shake your head against him, hoping you’ll knock your head into his jaw, but knowing you won’t because he’s too tall. “Not like this.”
“Exactly like this,” he whispers, fingers dipping between your folds to tease your entrance. “See? You’re already so wet for me.”
You whine and writhe against him, nails clawing at his skin in vain as he slips two fingers inside you with ease. You try to get away and he holds you steady, shushing you when he adds a third, stretching you.
You’re so unbelievably pent up from him being gone that it doesn’t take much for your orgasm to start approaching, and when your walls start clenching around his fingers, you feel his laughter rumbling through his chest.
“There she is,” he murmurs. “I knew you wanted this.”
His voice right in your ear has you crying out against him, his fingers thrusting as deep as they’ll go as you rock your hips against him, riding out the sensations.
But his grip around your waist doesn’t waver.
“Are you feeling better?” he asks, fingers still nestled inside you.
You smirk and shake your head no against him. He promptly curls his fingers, nudging right against that spongy spot inside you that makes you see stars.
You gasp against him, clutching his arm. “Aaron!”
He hums against you, fingers lazily thrusting again, warming you back up. His hips press forward, and it’s not that you hadn’t noticed, but rather he hadn’t let you feel how hard he is until now. “I don’t think I’m done with you yet.”
His fingers slide from you and into his mouth, the sounds downright obscene as he licks your release from his fingers. You use the opportunity to wriggle out of his arms and he lets you, watching you with dark eyes as you scramble away from him, putting the bed between you again.
He grins, fingers releasing from his mouth with a wet pop. “And where do you think you’re going?”
“Nowhere,” you squeak, stepping closer to the wall when he starts to stalk toward you. “Aaron.”
He says your name in the same tone, mocking. “I don’t know why you’re fighting it when you saw how good it made you feel just a minute ago,” he says, taking slow, predatory steps toward you. “Come on, honey.”
“Don’t,” you snap, waiting until the last moment to try darting over the bed, but it’s a bad idea and no use.
Aaron chuckles, his hands wrapping around your ankles and pulling you back. You flop face first onto the bed and try to kick at him, but his grip is too tight.
He crawls over you, pressing his entire body weight onto you to stop your squirming. His hips rock into yours, his erection still covered by his pants and boxers, but you feel it all.
“You’re going to lay here and let me have my way with you,” he instructs, nipping gently at the shell of your ear. “Unless there’s something you want to say to me?”
Another out. Another check in. All you can do is whimper, turning your head to the side, his lips brushing your cheek in a soft kiss.
“That’s my girl,” he whispers, pressing another kiss to the corner of your mouth.
He keeps one hand on the back of your neck, pinning you in place while he works your shorts and underwear down and off of you. You hear his belt clinking as he undoes it, the quick unzipping of his fly. You think he’s going to take his pants off, but when he presses back into you, you realize he’s only shoved them down.
Feeling the head of his cock right at your entrance with his clothes still on sends a spark straight down your spine, your back arching all on its own.
He laughs from where he hovers above you, thrusting into you, just the tip. “You put up a big fight but you know this is what you need.” His voice is syrupy sweet. He’s too good at this. He inches forward just a little, letting you have half of him. “Why do you fight me when you know I’ll make you feel better?”
“Because I’m mad at you,” you grumble, starting to squirm again because he won’t move. “You were gone too long.” He's been gone for longer, but still.
“Can’t help that, honey.”
“Still mad about it.”
He clicks his tongue, pulling out again, shushing you when you whine. He pulls your hips up, keeping your front pressed down into the mattress, and this time he lets you have all of him.
Your legs jolt when you feel him hitting the deepest parts of you, your moan muffled only because you turn your head.
Aaron is quick to lean over you, “Oh, no you don’t,” growled into your ear before he’s pulling you up, your back flush to his front, putting you on your knees. “You’re not going to hide from me.”
And you can’t. Not when he has you in this position, and you know that was his plan. All you can do like this is let him hold you up and take it.
“Needy, needy girl,” his breath is hot in your ear. “I’m gone for barely a week and you’re mad at me over it.”
“You texted-- fuck-- you said K-- A-Aaron!”
He laughs cruelly in your ear. “That’s what upset you?”
“Didn’t help,” you answer, breaking off into another moan, your head falling back onto his shoulder as you try (and fail) to say something else.
“Yeah, I know,” he coos, just enough condescension in his tone to make you see stars. “It’s too much. But you can take it. You’re doing so well. You’ll feel better soon.”
You nod against his shoulder. He leaves a kiss on your temple.
“You gonna cum like this?” he asks, even though he knows your answer. Knows that you’ll get close like this, but probably not enough to get there. “Need me to lay you down?”
You nod against him, whimpering a little as he carefully lays you down face first into the pillows. He kicks his pants and boxers off all the way, covering your body with his as he slides inside you again, listening for the content sigh that you let out.
Now when you hear his laugh, it’s fond. His hands roam your body, smoothing over every bit of you as he slowly rocks into you.
“There’s my sweet girl,” he says gently, kissing the back of your neck. “Just needed me to fuck the fight out of her a little, hm?”
You smile lazily, nodding. “Maybe.”
“Feeling better?” he teases.
“Will when I feel you,” you reply, settling further into the blankets, and Aaron knows he’s got you now. It’s endearing, even if it does make him laugh, how sometimes you just need him to come home and manhandle you for a bit.
“Okay, honey,” he whispers, putting his entire body weight on top of you. “Rub your clit for me.”
You whine and grumble and he doesn’t have it in him to make fun of you for it. He just grabs your hand and guides it between your bodies until you take over.
He feels you clench instantly when you start to circle the bundle of nerves, and he presses a loving kiss to the side of your neck. “There you go,” he says, arms bracketing you. “Let go for me when you’re ready.”
Between the steady rocking of his hips and the position you’re in forcing the friction on your clit, you’re close in a matter of minutes, and he is, too. You arch your back, lifting your hips to meet his thrusts, and with the dirty nothings he whispers into your ear, you fall apart around him easily.
“Good girl,” he says, voice strained as you grip him like a vice, all while he keeps working you through it. “Just what she needed.”
Your hand blindly reaches for him, holding onto his bicep right by your head. “Need to feel you, baby,” you murmur, and that does him in.
His hips stutter as he finally climaxes, pressing as deep into you as he can, just the way you like, and he rocks his hips for a moment, making sure to give you everything.
You sigh and go limp, eyes shutting as your breathing evens out. You’re not asleep, just floating, as you like to call it.
Aaron peels himself away from you, careful not to pull out too quickly. You whine when you feel him leave, but you don’t move.
He quietly wets a wash cloth and pours a glass of water, heading back into the bedroom to clean you up. You haven’t moved when he returns, and you hardly stir while he gently cleans you.
“Alright, honey, gonna need you to sit up for me,” he murmurs, sliding into bed next to you.
You grumble about it but sit up anyway, only because it means curling up in his lap with your face in his neck.
His arm wraps securely around your waist, holding you there for a moment before he tries to get you to drink water.
Once you’ve downed half the glass and seem to be a little more alert, he finally asks, “Want to tell me what’s wrong now?”
You just laugh and bury your face in his shirt. “I was ovulating while you were gone.”
Aaron just furrows his eyebrows. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because this time around I was just mad that you weren’t here for it,” you snort. “And work has been shit, so everything just felt world-ending.” Including him being at work.
“I could’ve helped,” he frowns, seeming genuinely upset that you didn’t tell him.
His sincerity makes you smile, cupping his jaw. “Don’t worry yourself over it. I can’t explain it either.”
He relents with a kiss. “But you feel better now?”
That gifset of Charlie in bed…. Jax waiting for you to get ready for dinner on your honeymoon 😛
ANON!! OMG! So I went back to look through the gifset of those again (because why not), and then I was going to just answer in agreement with you until my brain was like WAIT. And then, I have no idea what happened, I apologize, but this random smutty thing for Jax fell out of me afterwards 🤭
Late for Dinner
Pairing: Jax Teller x fem!Reader Word Count: 1,045 [Jax Fic Masterlist]
Summary: Jax gets impatient waiting for you to get ready for dinner.
“Babe, c'mon,” Jax called from the bed. “You been in there forever. How much longer you gonna be, huh?”
Pausing with the mascara brush hovering just in front of your lashes for an extra coat, you stared at your reflection in the hotel bathroom mirror. You rolled your eyes at his interruption, attempting to finish getting ready for dinner tonight as a soft huff fell past your lips.
“Even on our honeymoon,” you said, speaking loud enough for your voice to carry to the other room, “you're still impatient as hell, Jackson!”
“‘Cause I'm hungry as fuck,” he called back, a playful lilt creeping into his words between the frustration. “And you've been in there for almost twenty goddamn minutes now, Mrs. Teller.”
Your hand nearly swiped the mascara wand up into your eyebrows at the way he'd emphasized your new name. He’d said it the same way he'd been growling it into your flesh since you'd both checked into the hotel last night–gravel laced in temptation and sin. Every utterance of that name against your skin since you'd taken your vows yesterday had felt like a brand from his lips, one reminding you of just who you belonged to now.
Feeling your body temperature begin to rise, you slipped the mascara wand back into the container and set it onto the bathroom counter. You tried to focus on the relaxing meal planned for tonight with Jax–the one without any club drama to interfere–instead of all the ways he'd taken you in the less than twenty-four hours since you’d been here.
Blowing out a soft breath, you tried to chase those thoughts away for now, but as your bare feet padded out of the bathroom, you stopped dead at the sight of him laying in the hotel bed. The sheets were still messed from everything you'd both been doing in it for the duration of the day, but the way Jax was laying there tore the breath from your lungs.
The second you’d stepped out of the bathroom, his eyes drifted towards you, his head casually relaxing against the satin, olive headboard behind himself. One finger was brushing over his lips in an impatient fidget, but it halted at your sudden appearance. A slow, lazy smirk pulled one corner of his lips upwards behind his finger as his eyes began to deliberately trail over you standing there in the sundress you'd thrown on for dinner.
Heat crept up your neck as he took in the sight of you, his stare like the slow drag of his calloused hands on your body as his gaze rested on the visible swell of your chest before tracing down your bare legs. Standing there with your own breath turning shallow, you took in the sight of him on the bed, your heart thrumming in your throat. His blue button down was undone far too low to not have been intentional, the chain of his necklace with the bullet sitting innocently along his exposed skin. His other ringed hand sat on the top of his thigh over his jeans, but you saw the faint twitch of his fingers along the denim.
“Damn, baby,” he said, finger still resting over his lips as he remained where he lay. “Just fuckin’ look at you. Prettiest goddamn girl, and she's mine.”
Biting your bottom lip, you tried to fight back the smile threatening to surface at his compliment. But Jax caught it, his smirk only growing wider.
Lifting the hand from off his thigh, his fingers summoned you towards him with a quick flick. “C'mere,” he ordered.
“Jax,” you began, his name a warning. But you obliged, walking across the room towards him. “We need to get to the restaurant, remember?”
His tongue slipped out between his lips as he finally sat up in the bed, your eyes catching the teasing way it ran along the length of his bottom one. That's when you knew–you weren't going anywhere anytime soon.
“Well, now I'm hungry for somethin’ else, baby,” he husked low.
He was on his feet beside the bed, hands sliding under your sundress and gripping the waistband of your panties, before you even registered his movements. His blue eyes locked onto yours as he dragged the thin fabric slowly down your thighs, his own body sinking to the floor as he did.
“Turn around,” he ordered low, chucking your new white lace panties over his shoulder without breaking eye contact, “and bend over the bed, Mrs. Teller.”
Already feeling yourself getting worked up all over again despite the fact you’d both just fucked in the shower before trying to get ready for dinner, you turned around to face the bed. Grabbing the hem of your dress, you lifted it up before you bent over the hotel bed, flashing Jax your bare ass and a cheeky smile over your shoulder.
A sharp smack followed right after, the sound ringing out in the hotel room as the sting pleasantly bloomed over your left ass cheek. A soft, surprised gasp fell out of you, your fingers curling tighter around the fabric of your dress still hiked over your hips. When Jax's hands both grabbed their fill of your ass, you fell face first towards the bed as he spread them open. A deep, satisfied hum rumbled out behind you as Jax appreciatively took in the view in front him, your eyelids fluttering shut at the noise.
“Yeah,” he murmured to himself like he was proud. “That’s my fuckin’ pussy right there.”
His words were followed by the delicious rasp of his beard between your legs, and then his tongue slid its way through your folds and found your entrance. With your cheek pressed into the messy hotel sheets beneath you, you groaned out quietly as his tongue lapped up the growing slickness seeping out of you.
Body sinking into the mattress, you gave into Jax as thoughts of dinner plans faded entirely from your mind. You couldn't even focus on hunger with the way Jax's face was buried in your pussy like it was the only one that ever mattered, his hands still gripping fistfuls of your ass and keeping it spread apart while he ate you out like you were the meal he craved.
welcome to louie's sin 2k win follower celebration!!
thank you so much for 2000 followers!! this means the absolute world to me, and i'm so thankful for everyone that reads my writing and likes the content i put out. so to celebrate, i'm hosting a sin 2k win event (very bad word play, my bad)
lets roll the dice...
★ casino rules
🃏 you can play multiple games, though please play them separately!
🃏 the casino may get busy, but i'll try my best to answer all games and questions, please keep this in mind!!! please find the casino's pending rewards catalogue here (wips list)
🃏 usual house rules apply, though casino rules have more leeway. strictly no minors in the casino, adult content ahead !!
🃏 know your limits, don't push your luck. casino closes January 26th 2025!!
🃏 check out the casino prizes here (masterlist), and requests can only be made to my askbox here
miscellaneous — theodore nott, mattheo riddle, elliot stabler, nick amaro, sonny carisi, carmen berzatto, richie jerimovich, kev ball, oscar 'spooky' diaz, rafe cameron, jj maybank
(as there is now two jj's on this list, please specify which one if you're sending in a request for either of them!!)
★ play your hand
🎰 — fuck, marry, kill. choose any three characters from the table and i'll give my answer.
🍸 — your choice. choose a character, and a prompt(s) from first time prompts, smut sentence starters and/or smut prompts. (please specify what prompt/list you're choosing from, and please only send in a prompt from these lists!!!)
♠️ — poker face. choose an au i have for a character above and something from this nsfw headcanon list, and i’ll tell you how each au will react/what’d be the answer. (one au per ask)
🎱 — build a fic. choose between either an sfw fic, an nsfw fic or a forced proximity fic, along with a character and i'll write a fic for it.
★ tag system
i decided on doing this event like my one year anniversary, so to navigate easier, here's the tags i've used
🎲 — louie’s sin 2k win special
is the main tag, everything will be found under here
🎰 — louie's 2k
for all of my fmk choices
🍸 — louie's 2k
for all prompt fics
♠️ — louie's 2k
for all poker face choices
🎱 — louie's 2k
for all build a fics
if you wish to avoid spam, please block all five tags !!!
hey!! a little shameless promo as i'm currently hosting my 2k follower celebration, come and join my celebration, requests are open until January 26th!!
ཐི♡ཋྀ welcome to my second kinktober event, similarly to last years i'm still really nervous to post this. if anything's linked wrong or is missing lmk!
ཐི♡ཋྀ candy divider used here and in each post is by @strangergraphics
go to main masterlist?
fandoms ⟢ twd, cod, criminal minds, soa, mayans, marauders, the bear, shameless, and svu !!
taglist ⟢ the form link can be found here, submissions for each day closes at 6pm gmt the day of. any submissions for a day already posted will be ignored (ie the form gets filled out oct 6th and someone ticks day 1-5)
warnings ⟢ event is fully nsfw obvs, so minors do not interact!!!, minors will be blocked with zero hesitation. all posts are fem!reader, and all have their own tags and warnings, please read and heed them before proceeding to any fic posted !!
status ⟢ ongoing / complete
DAY ONE ⟢ Sirius Black
⤷ body worship + pregnancy sex
DAY TWO ⟢ Carmen Berzatto
⤷ mirror sex + praise kink
DAY THREE ⟢ Soap MacTavish
⤷ wet dream + dry humping
DAY FOUR ⟢ Angel Reyes
⤷ edging
DAY FIVE ⟢ Chibs Telford
⤷ quickies + semi public
DAY SIX ⟢ Rick Grimes
⤷ guided masturbation + stepcest
DAY SEVEN ⟢ Lip Gallagher
⤷ cam girl / sex on film
DAY EIGHT ⟢ Derek Morgan
⤷ drunk sex + public sex
DAY NINE ⟢ Juice Ortiz
⤷ panty stealing + mutual masturbation
DAY TEN ⟢ Angel Reyes
⤷ early morning sex
DAY ELEVEN ⟢ Richie Jerimovich
⤷ thigh riding + praise kink
DAY TWELVE ⟢ Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick
⤷ cockwarming
DAY THIRTEEN ⟢ Jax Teller
⤷ ruined orgasm | first part to day twenty eight
DAY FOURTEEN ⟢ Elliot Stabler
⤷ breeding kink + creampies
DAY FIFTEEN ⟢ Daryl Dixon
⤷ choking
DAY SIXTEEN ⟢ Tig Trager
⤷ handcuffs / tied up sex
DAY SEVENTEEN ⟢ Negan Smith
⤷ car sex
DAY EIGHTEEN ⟢ Chibs Telford
⤷ dry humping
DAY NINETEEN ⟢ Tig Trager
⤷ dacryphillia + spanking
DAY TWENTY ⟢ Spencer Reid
⤷ face sitting
DAY TWENTY ONE ⟢ Shane Walsh and Rick Grimes
⤷ uniform sex | part two to last years fic
DAY TWENTY TWO ⟢ Aaron Hotchner
⤷ sleepy sex + morning wood
DAY TWENTY THREE ⟢ Tig Trager
⤷ somnophilia + sexual frustrations
DAY TWENTY FOUR ⟢ Shane Walsh
⤷ strip tease + lap dance
DAY TWENTY FIVE ⟢ Captain MacTavish
⤷ daddy kink + brat taming
DAY TWENTY SIX ⟢ Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick
⤷ tit fuck / handjob + begging
DAY TWENTY SEVEN ⟢ Chibs Telford
⤷ dumbification + age gap + degradation
DAY TWENTY EIGHT ⟢ Jax Teller
⤷ make up sex | part two to day thirteen
DAY TWENTY NINE ⟢ Bishop Losa
⤷ oral fixation
DAY THIRTY ⟢ Luke Alvez
⤷ cock worship
DAY THIRTY ONE ⟢ Chibs Telford and Juice Ortiz
⤷ guided sex + first time / virginity loss + threesome
hey, just closed out this years kinktober! i did already reblog this masterlist, but it’s disappeared somewhere ?
but here’s the fully updated kinktober masterlist for this year, sorry it’s a day late, blame chibs telford for that one.
all 31 pieces add up to 51,537 words, i’ve no clue how or when that happened, but if you’ve waited until every post was there then i wish you a happy reading <3
imagining being javi's wife and wanting to surprise him when he gets home from work by lying on your bed naked except with some heels and stockings on and he comes into the bedroom like 😳🥵🤯🧎♂️
tags: black f!reader, smut, lil bit of dirty talk, terms of endearment (amor, mamacita, baby), established relationship, husband!javi, no use of y/n, implied p in v sex, you're fingering yourself in front of him, unbeta'd, if i missed any other tags pls let me know ok thx.
~ 1.9k w/c - gif cred
a/n: it's clear that i have a thing for being javi's wife (don't we all?) but also the idea of him fucking while still being half dressed in those sexy suits of his 🖤 ooh and also, margot robbie in that one scene in the wolf of wall street def inspired this 🙂↕️
You lay there, the cool sheets brushing against your bare skin, save for the sheer black stockings that cling to your thighs and the sleek heels adorning your feet.
The faint sound of the front door opening and closing sends a thrill of anticipation through you. You know Javier would be tired from work, his usual routine predictable: a kiss hello, then a quiet retreat to unwind. But tonight, you planned something different, something to jolt him out of his rhythm and straight into your arms—or more accurately, between your legs.
His footsteps grow louder, the soft creak of the bedroom door opening a second later. Your lips curve into a smile as his figure fills the doorway. The instant his eyes meet yours, his entire demeanor shifts.
His shoulders roll back, those soft brown eyes gleam in ardor and his lips part as if to say something, though no words come out. Instead, his hand slackens, his briefcase thudding to the floor as he takes a slow step toward you.
“Mi amor…” he murmurs hotly, shrugging his suit jacket off as he approaches the bed.
You shift further up until your back is pressed against the headboard, the slight movement causing your breasts to bounce, nipples pebbling under his sharp gaze. You see his jaw tighten, that smoldering gaze riveted to the soft curves of your body framed so perfectly by the stockings.
Javier loves this. Loves how you embrace your sensuality and femininity just for him. The little details—like the patch of curls that tease him with the promise of heaven between your thighs, make his mouth water.
"What’s all this?" His voice never fails to turn you on, smooth yet raspy, as his hands move to his tie, yanking it loose with an impatience that makes you feel like the most desired woman alive.
“I thought you’d like the surprise,” you purr, running a hand slowly over your thigh and up your side, stopping just shy of your breast. He track the movement, a faint groan slipping past his pouty lips.
Javier moves closer, his dark eyes locked on yours, his intent clear as he kneels at the edge of the bed. His hands press into the mattress as he starts crawling toward you, head tilted, lips parted and prepared to dive headfirst into the sweetness of your cunt, the very thought written all over his flushed, eager face.
But you stop him. The sharp tap of your shoe against his forehead halts him mid-motion. He freezes, his eyes darting up to yours in confusion before narrowing with a frown. He exhales sharply, the sound almost petulant.
“I’d like to enjoy my surprise.”
You tut softly, shaking your head with a playful smirk. “Do you deserve to enjoy your surprise?” you muse, cocking a brow as you extend your leg, the smooth sole of your shoe nudging him back until he’s upright on his knees.
He huffs again, his broad shoulders rising and falling with a dramatic sigh. “No,” he admits, his voice gruff but obedient, his gaze never leaving yours.
“Smart boy,” you coo, your tone teasing as you pull your leg away, but not before he catches your ankle in his hand. He brings it to his lips, pressing a kiss against the fabric of your stocking.
His eyes flicker to the heels you’re wearing, lingering there for a moment too long. His cock stirs as he imagines how you’d look standing in this little ensemble—the arch of your back, the curve of your ass, the way the tops of your thighs spill over the edge of the stockings.
His jaw tightens, a faint groan escaping him. Fuck.
You notice the shift in his gaze, the flush creeping up his neck, and it makes you smile. “Eyes up here,” you hum, pulling your leg from his grasp. He rolls his eyes, but his compliance is instant. He stays put, hands resting on his thighs, his entire body taut with restraint.
Now it’s your turn to admire, letting your gaze drift lazily over him.
God, he looks good like this, all pent-up desire and buttoned-up control. His crisp work shirt clings to his chest, the faint sheen of sweat along his collarbone betraying his calm facade. You’ve always loved how he looks in his work clothes—so professional, so serious.
All business, no play, unless of course, you’re involved.
“You’re going to stay right there,” you drawl sensually, “while I play with myself for a little. Show you what I do when you leave me here, night after night, lonely and aching to feel my husband’s touch… his mouth… his cock.”
Javier growls, a sound low and primal, his hands flexing against his legs. You can see the effort it takes for him to stay in place, gripping his knees.
Every inch of him screams to pounce, to pin you down and take what you’re teasing. But he doesn’t. He waits, the intensity in his eyes burning a hole right through you.
Slowly, you spread your thighs, your fingers trailing languidly down your body as you bite your lip. The glistening heat of your pussy comes into view, swollen and throbbing with desire. Stickiness twinkles on your inner thighs, the evidence of how turned on you’ve been all day—thinking about this moment, about him.
His breath catches, his chest rising sharply. You see the appetite in his gaze, the tension as he rolls his jaw, the way his cock strains against his pants
You moan softly as the cooler air of the bedroom licks at your heated sex, your hips shifting instinctively at the sensation.
Your hands slide up to your chest, fingers teasingly kneading the soft flesh of your breasts. You rub your thumbs over your pert nipples, and a contented sigh escapes your lips, each stroke sending a sharp pulse of arousal straight to your clit. You watch him through heavy-lidded eyes, seeing the way he’s utterly entranced, like you’ve cast a spell over him.
His lips part slightly, his breathing uneven as his gaze follows your every move. He’s motionless, a predator coiled in wait, except for the way his hands flex on his thighs.
With deliberate slowness, you spread your pussy lips, exposing yourself fully. Your eyes are locked on his face, eager to drink in his reaction—and it’s everything you hoped for. His composure cracks, his brows furrowing, and his mouth twitches into a faint snarl, his restraint barely hanging by a thread.
“Mamacita, por favor,” he rasps, needy. His tongue swipes over his bottom lip as if he’s already tasting you in his mind.
“Not yet,” you whisper teasingly, but your own breath is starting to hitch. Your fingers begin to trace gentle circles over your clit, and the sensation is enough to make your back arch.
You’re dripping—so slick that your fingers glide effortlessly over the swollen bundle of nerves.
Javier’s dark eyes follow every movement, the golden brown now almost entirely swallowed by black, his pupils drowning in lust.
For a moment, his gaze flickers to your hand, lingering on the way your engagement ring catches the dim light of your bedroom. The sight ignites something deeper in him, a primal kind of possessiveness that makes his cock throb painfully.
You smirk, reveling in how completely you’ve unraveled him, before bringing your slick-coated fingers to your lips. You lick them clean, savoring the rousing taste of your pussy as your eyes lock with his.
He groans low in his throat and it makes you giggle softly, the sound playful, sinful. Your spit-slick fingers trail back down to your pussy, and this time, you sink not one, not two, but three fingers inside yourself.
Your body reacts instantly, fleshy walls tightening around the intrusion, your heels digging into the plush duvet as you begin to fuck yourself.
Your head tilts back, eyes rolling as pleasure ripples through you. “Javi,” you sigh his name, breathy and wanton, and the noise alone looks like it’s about to break him.
“Feel good, baby?”
“So good,” you whimper, pressing your thumb against your clit while your free hand finds your nipple, giving it a sharp pinch that makes you gasp.
“Is this what you do when I’m not around?” he growls, the edge in his voice sending a shiver down your spine.
“Yes,” you whimper, curling your fingers inside your pussy to hit that perfect spot. “But it’s never good enough. I’m never s-satisfied.”
A slow, wolfish smirk spreads across Javier’s lips at your words, and you can feel him inching closer. As much as you want to keep teasing him, to prolong this game, the need inside you is unbearable, like your entire body is being engulfed in flames. You need him to put it out—to consume you.
His broad frame looms over you now, dark eyes gleaming with overwhelming need. His large, gun calloused hand reaches out to stroke along the edge of your stocking, right near that crevice where your thigh meets your groin, and you moan pathetically, picking up the pace of your fingers.
Despite you working yourself over in a fucking frenzy, Javi is careful, tracing the lace border where the stocking ends and your bare skin begins. Then he leans in, his breath hot against your ear.
“I’m so fucking hard watching you play with yourself,” he murmurs, like a secret meant only for you.
His other hand slides down to your hip, gripping it firmly as he pulls you slightly closer to him. The possessive strength in his touch sends your heart racing, and your pussy clenches hard around your fingers. “And you smell so good,” he groans, the words almost a growl as he presses a lingering kiss to your temple.
You push your fingers deeper, filling yourself to the knuckles, your palm grinding against your swollen clit. The friction is maddening, the pressure perfect, but it’s amplified tenfold by the heat of Javi’s body so close to yours.
His words, his presence—it’s all too much and not enough. The way he speaks to you, that bedroom voice of his, feels like his tongue is fucking your ear, making your toes curl and your hips buck.
Your body quivers under his gaze and touch, the flames inside you fanned higher with every purposeful move he makes. The tension between you crackles, thick and intoxicating, until you’re certain you’ll shatter if he doesn’t give you what you need.
Your fingers falter for a moment, desperate for him to take over, but the sharp press of his grip on your hip keeps you grounded. “Keep going,” he growls, his tone brooking no argument. “You wanted to fuck with me so go ahead, finish.”
You whimper, your body trembling as you pick up the rhythm again, working yourself harder, faster. “Javi,” you cry out, your voice trembling, your orgasm hurtling toward you like a freight train.
“Let go,” he encourages, kissing behind your ear. “Come for me, baby.”
His permission shatters what little control you had left. Your body seizes, your walls clamping down around your fingers as waves of pleasure crash over you, leaving you trembling and gasping beneath him.
He’s on you quickly after that, his larger frame pressing you into the mattress. His hands move your wrists, pinning them above your head with ease, the sheer strength in his grip making your core flutter all over again as he cages you beneath him.
He’s still fully dressed, the fabric of his shirt brushing against your sensitive nipples as he looms over you, his body a solid wall of heat and restraint.
His lips curl into a wicked smirk, his hips grinding against yours, the rough material of his slacks a tormenting contrast to your naked cunt. “Gonna fuck you now,” he growls before leaning down, capturing your mouth in a searing kiss that steals your breath and seals your fate.
warnings italian!theo hehe, modern au, nsfw 18+ (degradation, praise, cursing, the whole shebang), established relationship, pure filth!
a/n can we just always assume that theo is italian whenever i write for him plz and thanks...could not get this thought out of my head for a fat minute...also testing a layout for blurbs what do we think hehehe
it was a friday evening. theo was working from home, and you had the day off. he was sitting on the sofa outside, on a zoom call, while you were in your shared bedroom doing anything to keep yourself busy while waiting for your boyfriend to finish his boring work call.
you were laying on the bed, scrolling through your tiktok feed. cooking video, makeup review, cute cat video, cooking video...boring...kitchen hacks...flashing prank on boyfriend?
your interest was piqued. it was as if a lightbulb had lit up next to your head.
a sly smile spread across your face as you threw open the doors to your closet. rifling through your drawers, you finally found what you were looking for.
a set of black underwear. a lacy black bra, and a lacy black thong, which put enough on display that there was just enough left for imagination. chuckling to yourself, still very amused with what you were about to do, you changed out from theo's t-shirt and shorts into your new underwear.
your cat purrs from her spot on the bed, eyes narrowing at you with a somewhat judgemental gaze.
"oh c'mon, honey. mama's gotta have her fun." you coo, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. she purrs in response.
you pull theo's t-shirt over yourself again, before heading towards the bedroom door.
you slowly twist the handle and open the door. theo's sitting on the sofa, legs spread, laptop somehow resting on one thigh. he nods at whatever his colleague is saying, eyes flickering to your frame for barely a second.
he does a double take when he sees you standing in the middle of the living room with his t-shirt and black lacy underwear. he raises an eyebrow in skepticism, but says nothing.
but you saved the best for last!
you pull the hem of theo's shirt up, biting it to hold it in place as you move your bra, giving him the perfect view of your boobs. well, one of them.
theo's jaw clenches for a second, then he smirks. he unmutes himself on the call, and quickly says, "sorry guys, my dog just threw up i gotta go deal with this. talk on monday."
what dog??
he shuts the laptop and tosses it onto the sofa, standing up and walking towards you.
he pinches your nipple playfully, teasing, "aw, poor little slut. couldn't even wait just half an hour longer, could you?"
before you can open your mouth, theo throws you over his shoulder, carrying you back to your bedroom. he throws you onto the bed, before pulling down the waistband of his sweatpants just enough to let his cock spring free.
his tip leaks pre-cum, glistening. you kneel on the bed in front of him as his fingers find their way to your hair, guiding your head towards his cock. you ghost a breath over his skin, and the way his cock twitches at the sensation causes your heart to skip a beat. your hand goes to grab him at the base, tongue darting out to lick a stripe all the way up to his tip. you start sucking on the tip, and the way theo throws his head back in pleasure sends a rush of heat straight to your soaked cunt.
you take him deeper, deeper, deeper, until your face is pressed into the soft skin above his cock. you struggle to catch your breath. theo's huge.
"good girl, you're doing so well f'me." he hums, tracing along your jaw before going to cup your tits.
you pick up the pace, bobbing along his thick cock. you feel theo start to tense, and you know he's close. you go faster, deeper. his grip on your hair tightens and his hips buck as hot ropes of cum shoot down your throat.
and you swallow every bit of it once he pulls out, grinning up at him in satisfaction.
he pushes you back further on the bed, before taking your panties off. he runs a finger along your folds, chuckling, "already so wet f'me, huh? such a good little slut."
you grab a fistful of theo's hair, guiding him between your thighs, almost whimpering, "need you so bad, theo."
he chuckles against your dripping cunt, sending a shiver up your spine. he darts his tongue up, licking a stripe up your folds. he wraps his lips around your clit and gives it a sharp suck, sending your back arching right off the bed.
he continues swirling his tongue around your sensitive bud, left hand holding down your right thigh, right hand holding yours, fingers intertwined.
"you're so fuckin' beautiful, piccola." he groans, the vibrations causing your grip on his hair to tighten as you moan in pleasure. he lets out a slight yelp.
you're too lost in the pleasure to apologise.
theodore nott ate pussy like a man starved.
like he hadn't had a sip of water in weeks, and your pussy was a source of fresh, crisp water.
he lapped at you as if it was his only purpose in life, as if it was his only hope for survival.
ft: best friend! tommy miller x reader | no outbreak au wc: 3,8k
incl: 18+ mdni, masturbation, voyeurism, fingering, oral f receiving, p in v, safe sex, banter, teasing, praise, tommy being an absolute hunk of a man, not spec but all my readers + tommy have a slight age gap, dialogue heavy
summary: tommy has always had the worst timing. and you’ve always been bad at taking care of yourself. tommy teases you until you admit the truth: you haven’t had the big o. he’s outraged— you’re gonna get one today.
note: based off of this request. best friend tommy is my favorite tommy, you guys. literally have sooo many unpublished works around that whole concept. this one has a special place in my heart, thank you honey bun. i hope i did your request justice ♡
Your phone is still facedown on the nightstand, the little “do not disturb” moon winking like it’s in on the joke. The bedroom smells like your lotion and the warm, sweet bite of leftover soy sauce from the carton you never put away. You were right there—the kind of edge where your calves tremble and your breathing goes thin and mean—when the knock came.
“Hold on,” you snap, breathless, a little wild. You yank the first T-shirt you can find over your head and tug on cotton shorts that don’t bother hiding the damp patch you’ve been working into them.
You fling open the door with a bite. “What.”
Tommy stands there with a hand braced overhead like he’s been leaning on your doorframe for a hundred years. Dark henley, sun-brown skin, hair curled a little from the heat. That crooked smile that never learned manners.
“Well, hey to you too, sunshine.” His gaze sweeps your flushed face, your bare legs. “I offend ya in your dreams again or is this a daytime thing?”
You roll your eyes so hard it hurts. “Come in before a neighbor sees you staring.”
“Me? I’m not the one answerin’ the door lookin’ like a fire alarm,” he says, stepping past you. He smells like motor oil and cedar. He beelines for the fridge like it’s his place, finds the leftover Chinese, and pops the lid with a plastic fork he digs out of your junk drawer. “Missed lunch,” he mumbles, already eating cold sesame chicken like it’s the cure to everything.
You kick the door shut, arms folded, jaw clenched so tight your teeth ache. You stomp after him just to have something to do with your legs that isn’t clenching them together.
“What’s up with you?” he asks, around a mouthful. He eyes your pink cheeks, the sheen at your temple. His mouth quirks. “You got a… guest, sweetheart?”
“No, Tommy. I don’t.”
“Mm.” He chews, thoughtful. His gaze lingers on your mouth, then drops—one beat too low. “You… busy when I knocked?”
You stare at him like your face can kill. It can’t. He only grins wider.
“Gotta ask, ‘cause you’re standin’ there like I cut the wire on somethin’ important.”
You throw a hand up. “Can you not.”
He leans hip to counter, tapping the fork on the carton lid. “Oh, I can. Question is—were you?”
You glare. Silence stretches. His eyes light, slow and wicked.
“Oh, you were.” He laughs, low. “Well hell. Me and my bad timing.”
“Tommy,” you warn.
“I’ll be real quick,” he promises, tipping the carton to shovel in another bite like he’s trying to get out of your hair fast. Except then his eyes catch the way your thighs press together. The way you sway where you stand. His brow lifts. “Unless you want me to keep you from it. Keepin’ you from sin might be good for my karma.”
“Your karma’s a lost cause.”
“True.” He sets the carton down. “Where’s the emergency? Bedroom? Couch? Shower?” He looks at you, head tipping. “You doin’ the shower thing? People make a lotta promises about that one—it’s overrated.”
You sputter. “I’m not discussing my—my process with you.”
“Well, you ain’t gotta,” he says easily, pushing off the counter and wandering a few steps closer. “But since you look about ready to climb the wall, I could at least heat your leftovers for ya and get gone.”
“I was fine,” you insist, and even you hear the lie. “I was—God, forget it.”
He watches you for one long breath, then hums. “Call one of your little boyfriends, then.”
You blink. “What?”
“Those boys you go dancin’ with and then pretend aren’t starin’ at your ass the whole night.” He gestures vaguely. “They can come over, pick up where you left off.”
You scoff, sharp and humorless. “Yeah. No.”
“Mm?” He studies you like you’re a math problem. “Shy all of a sudden?”
“They never—” You bite it off, but the dam’s already cracked. Frustration leaks through, hot and humiliating. “They don’t… it doesn’t happen with them, okay?”
He frowns. “Doesn’t what happen?”
You give him a look like he’s being willfully dense. “It.”
The slow shock that breaks over his face would be funny if you weren’t vibrating with need. He sets the fork down, completely forgetting the food. “Hold up. You’re tellin’ me… not a one of those little bastards has ever made you cum?”
Heat crashes into your cheeks. “Tommy,” you hiss.
“No, I’m tryna understand.” His hands go out. “Not one?”
You throw your hands. “No! Okay? Happy? Can you go now?”
He stares at you like it’s a personal affront. “That’s—now, that’s a sin I can’t stand for.” He shakes his head, jaw tight with something that looks suspiciously like anger. “What are they doin’ down there, a guided tour of nothin’?”
“Jesus.”
“Nah, I’d be sayin’ Jesus too if I—” He cuts himself off, eyes narrowing. “Alright. I’ll let you take care of yourself. Clearly you were doin’ a better job than the roster.”
He turns toward the door, wiping his hands on a paper towel. You don’t think. Your hand closes around his wrist.
“I can’t either,” you blurt, soft, furious with it. “Half the time I can’t. I get—close—and then… I don’t know, I lose it.”
He goes still. Slowly, he looks down at your fingers around his pulse, then up to your eyes. Something changes in his face, the playful shine sinking to something intent and hot.
“Ain’t no way,” he says quietly.
You swallow.
He takes a slow breath, then nods to the couch. “Show me what you were doin’.”
“I was a hell of a lotta things,” he drawls. “Teacher’s one of ‘em. C’mon. Lemme help.”
You should tell him to leave. You should die of embarrassment. Instead, you back toward the couch like you’re being coaxed by a wolf. You climb up, sit, then slide down until your shoulders catch the cushions and your hips perch at the edge. Your heart’s beating in your throat.
Tommy drags a dining chair over and flips it, straddling it backward like every bad decision you’ve ever made. He props his chin on his folded arms over the chair back, eyes dark and steady on you. “Attagirl.”
You stare at him.
“Shorts,” he says. “We both know they’re useless right now.”
And because it’s Tommy. Because you’ve known him forever. Because he makes everything so easy and familiar and simple. You listen. Your fingers hook in the waistband before your brain protests. You peel them down and kick them off. The T-shirt sinks to your waist when you spread your knees. Cool air kisses you and your breath hitches.
Tommy’s eyes drop, slow. His swallow is audible. The tips of his ears go pink. “Christ alive.” His voice roughens. “Pretty as I figured.”
“Don’t—” Your voice shakes. “Don’t say things.”
“Oh, I got a lot to say, but you’re the one runnin’ the show.” He nods at your hand. “How were you doin’ it?”
You wet your lips, then slide a palm down your belly. Your fingers find yourself like they always do—press, rub, a little too fast because you’re greedy, because he’s looking and it’s turned your bones to gauze.
“Okay,” he murmurs. “Slow it down. You’re chasin’. You ain’t gotta chase it.”
You glare; your hips twitch anyway. “If I slow down it goes away.”
“Not if you keep the rhythm.” He taps his knuckles—one, two, three—an unhurried beat. “Match me. Little circles. Don’t hunt—invite.”
You try. Your breath catches and catches again. He watches the way your stomach flutters.
“Good girl,” he says, almost absent. “Now left a touch. Yeah.” He leans in like he’s squinting at a map. “There it is. That twitch right there. Stay there.”
You whimper.
“Feels like pressure buildin’ behind your navel?” he asks softly. “Little ache?”
You nod too fast. “Yes—fuck—Tommy—”
“Language,” he says, smiling, and you want to murder him until your thighs shake and the smile slides right off his face. His jaw hardens. “Keep your wrist loose, baby. You’re white-knucklin’ it. Relax.”
“I’m trying—”
“Breathe.” He breathes slow, exaggerated, and you match him because you’ll do anything anyone asks if it means you get there. “Better. Now, you can add a finger inside if you want. Just one. Shallow. Curl toward your belly button, not down. Like you’re beckonin’. Two knuckles, not three.”
You do it. The angle is… different. A bright little hook that makes your hips jerk off the cushion. Your voice breaks. “Oh—oh my God—”
“There she is.” His eyes burn. “You feel that? That’s yours. Don’t run from it.”
You want to, because your body always does—clenches, darts away, skitters to the edges. You force yourself to push into it this time, heels braced on the edge of the couch, breath shattering. You’re aware of him in the periphery—big hands wrapped around the chair back so tight his knuckles blanch, chest barely rising because he’s holding his breath like he’s the one about to fall apart.
“Tommy—” It comes out a whine. “I’m—”
“Keep the pace,” he says, voice gone sandpaper. “Don’t get greedy. Let it—yeah, just like that, baby—”
You break with a ragged gasp, spilling over your own fingers, thighs trembling. It feels like heat and weight and a relief so sharp you could cry with it. You ride it through because he doesn’t let you lose it, murmuring, “uh-uh, stay with it, that’s it, that’s my girl,” until your hand finally slows.
You blink up at the ceiling. There are little bursts of light at the edges of your vision. You swallow and lick your lips and realize your fingers are still between your legs, and Tommy Miller is still sitting three feet away watching you like a war is over.
He scrubs a hand over his face. When he drops it, his mouth is a line. “I’m about to be extremely stupid.”
Your laugh is a small, wrecked thing. “Join the club.”
“C’mere,” he says gently, and when you don’t move quick enough he stands, sets the chair aside, and kneels between your knees. He doesn’t touch. He braces his hands on either side of your hips and looks at you the way people look at altars. “Can I?”
All the air leaves you. “Yes.”
He leans in slow, giving you a chance to change your mind, and presses his mouth to your inner thigh first. A kiss. Another. Then his thumb slides to the place you’ve just made tender and he looks up to see the way your lashes flutter.
“Pretty,” he says, so soft you barely hear it. “You’re so pretty.”
“Tommy—”
“I know.” He breathes out. “I’m gonna show you. How this is supposed to feel.”
He doesn’t dive in. He tastes you with small, reverent swipes, learning the shape of what you like. His tongue is unhurried; his hands sure. When you start to pant, he hums like he’s pleased with himself and says, “There you go,” into you, the vibration making you jerk.
“More,” you whisper, and he gives you more like he’s been waiting his whole life to be told what to do. He drags two fingers through your slick and eases one inside while his mouth works you in patient, devastating circles. When he adds the second his knuckles nudge that bright spot again and your back arches.
“Right there,” you gasp.
“Right there,” he echoes, voice breaking against you. “Hold me if you want.”
You fist your hand in his hair and he groans like the sound is pulled out of him, moving his mouth just so. He doesn’t speed up when you start to chase—he keeps you on that same relentless edge until your thighs tremble around his ears.
“Let it happen,” he says into you. “Don’t think. Just take it.”
You fall apart so hard your heels drum against the couch frame. He doesn’t stop until you push at his shoulder, half-laughing, half-pleading. “Okay. Okay, okay—God, Tommy—”
He kisses the inside of your knee, then your hipbone, then the soft skin just under your T-shirt. He looks up, pupils blown, mouth wet and wrecked.
“Still with me?”
“Barely.”
“Good.” He stands, and you feel very small and very safe all at once with him towering over you. He thumbs a smear of you off his chin and licks it absently, eyes never leaving your face. “Lesson ain’t over.”
“You—” Your voice is a croak. “You think I’m gonna survive an advanced course?”
He laughs, chest-deep. “You’ll manage.”
He reaches for his belt, then stops. “Condom?”
You blink, hazy, then fumble end table drawer on the side of the sofa open and toss him a foil. He catches it one-handed without looking away and the little flare of competence should not be hot but it is; you feel your stomach drop like an elevator.
He steps out of his boots, pushes his jeans and briefs down, and for a second your brain pulls a hard blue screen. He’s thick, heavy in his palm, the blunt head flushed. He rolls the condom down with practiced ease, then leans over you, one hand braced on the cushion beside your head, the other cupping your jaw. Your eyes say keep going.
He drags the head of his cock through the slick he made of you, slow enough to make you whine, then presses. Your mouth falls open. The stretch is sharp, sweet. He pauses halfway, forearm shaking, eyes squeezed shut.
“You’re so warm,” he says, like a confession. “Jesus, baby.”
“More,” you say, and he huffs a laugh that sounds strangled.
“I’m goin’, sweetheart. I’m goin’.”
He pushes the rest of the way in and it knocks a noise out of you you’ve never heard yourself make. He’s deep, deeper than anyone’s ever felt, and you grab his shoulders without meaning to. He groans, low, into the hinge of your jaw.
“Look at me,” he says, and when you do his face goes soft and hungry all at once. “How’s that?”
“Like—” You struggle. “Like finally.”
He curses under his breath, like that hit him somewhere tender, and draws back. The first thrust is careful, gauging you, but the second rolls hard enough to make the couch creak. You gasp; he watches your mouth like he’s starving.
“Good?” he asks.
“Yes.”
He finds a pace you can’t name—not fast, but deep and steady, like he’s trying to carve his name somewhere no one will ever erase. One big hand brackets your thigh and folds your knee up, opening you wider. The angle tilts and your breath breaks.
“There,” you say, already wrecked. “Tommy—there.”
“Yeah?” His grin is quick and sinful. He snaps his hips just right and your nails bite his shoulder. “There, baby?”
“Don’t stop.”
“Not plannin’ to.” His voice goes rough, the edges fraying. “You feel me? Huh? Doin’ alright?”
You can only nod. He fucks you like he’s been dying to—like you’re both getting away with something and also like there’s nowhere safer than this. The rhythm pulls you higher; that curl of heat builds again and your eyes sting with it.
“Relax into it,” he says, almost coaxing. “Don’t run. Let me—yeah, just like that.” He grits his teeth, control fraying when you squeeze around him. “Goddamn, sweetheart, you’re squeezin’ the life outta me.”
“Don’t—” Your voice shivers. “Please, baby, please don’t stop.”
He laughs, breathless. “Bossy.” He cups the back of your head and kisses you, finally, nothing polite about it—his mouth hot and sure, claiming. You taste yourself on his tongue and moan into him, and he swears, deep, like you just took his knees out. “You sound so sweet when you call me baby,” he mutters against your lips. “That what i am now? Baby? Ruined me for bein’ your friend. You know that?”
“Been ruined,” you pant. “Keep—oh God, keep going—”
He reaches down between you, finds your clit with two slick fingers, and rubs the same exact rhythm he taught you earlier, like he’s memorized it. Your whole body lights up. You clutch the back of his neck and his thrusts turn messy, desperate.
“There she is,” he grits out. “C’mon. Show me. I want it.”
“Tommy—”
“Look at me,” he says, voice gone ragged. “I want your eyes on me when you cum.”
You do it because you always do what he tells you when he uses that voice, and the second your gaze locks with his the wave hits. You shatter around him with a broken cry, clamping down so hard he gasps your name like a prayer. He keeps moving, keeps rubbing you through it like he can’t stand the thought of you not getting every drop.
“Fuck,” he chokes. “God, baby—fuck.”
He folds over you as he drives deep and goes still, groaning into your neck as he comes, the heat of it pulsing even through the thin latex. The weight of him is everything—sweat-damp and solid and Tommy.
For a long minute, there’s only breath. His, yours. The tick of your wall clock. The way his thumb rubs your jaw like he forgot how to stop touching you.
“Tell me that was good,” he says finally, words muffled in your throat like he’s afraid to hear otherwise.
“Tommy.” You smile against his hair. “Good is rude. That was—” You breathe out, dizzy. “—that was missionary-position fireworks. That was baptism. That was illegal in some counties.”
He laughs, a burst that shakes his chest against yours. He tilts up and kisses your mouth again, softer. “Had to know. Had to show you.”
“You made your point,” you say, drowsy and warm. “Multiple times.”
“Damn right I did.”
He eases out of you with care, ties off the condom, and disappears to your bathroom for all of thirty seconds. He comes back with a warm washcloth like he’s done this in your space a hundred times, even though he hasn’t, and cleans you slow, almost reverent. You watch him with something like awe tugging at the edges of you.
“You okay?” he asks, finally meeting your eyes.
“Yeah.” You nudge him with your foot. “Hungry.”
He grins. “I can fix that too.” He helps you sit up and tugs your T-shirt back into place like you’re something precious he’s keeping warm. Then he pads to the kitchen in his socks and you admire the view as shamefully as you deserve to.
He reheats the sesame chicken and brings the carton and a fork back like it’s a prize. You take a bite and groan indecently.
“Careful,” he says, eyes dancing. “I’m tryin’ to be a gentleman for once.”
“First time for everything,” you tease, and he puts a hand over his heart like you shot him.
“Uncalled for,” he says, then sobers, mouth curving as he studies your face. He drags his knuckles under your chin, gentle. “Gotta say… I don’t like thinkin’ about those boys not… takin’ care of you.”
You tilt your head. “Jealous?”
“Pissed,” he admits, unabashed. “And yeah, maybe a bit possessive, which ain’t my right.” He shrugs one shoulder, eyes going a little shy in a way that doesn’t happen to Tommy very often. “You deserve to feel good. Every damn time.”
You stare at him. The room feels suddenly tender, the air thinner.
“You made me feel—” You break off, fighting a lump in your throat you didn’t invite to this party. “Like I could just let it happen.”
“Because you can.” He taps the tip of your nose with his fingertip like he’s the only person allowed to do something that sweet to you. “Because it’s yours. I just… helped you find it.”
You set the food aside and slide your hands up his chest. “Teacher,” you murmur, and he groans like the word does something to him. “You said lesson wasn’t over.”
His grin returns, slow and sure. “It ain’t.”
You crawl into his lap like it’s the easiest thing in the world and settle on his thighs, knees bracketing his hips. His hands come to your waist automatically, thumbs tracing the dip there.
“Second module,” you whisper, leaning in so your mouth skims his ear. “You show me how many times you can make me forget my name before I bite you.”
He laughs, husky. “Baby, I’m gonna have you forgettin’ your address.”
“Big talk,” you say, but the shiver that runs through you gives you away.
He stands with you clinging koala-style, mouth on yours. “Bedroom,” he says, already walking. “And for the record?”
“What.”
“You call any of those little boys again,” he murmurs, all grin and teeth, “they’re gonna have to submit a request in writin’ and I’ll get back to ‘em in seven to ten business days.”
You snort against his mouth. “Possessive.”
“Teacher’s prerogative,” he says, and then he’s laying you down, the afternoon light painting his shoulders gold, and you’re opening for him like it’s always been this easy.
𓍯𓂃𓏧♡
Later—after he’s wrung you out twice more by sticking to his own rules (“keep the rhythm,” “don’t run,” “breathe, baby, I got you”) and you’ve repaid the favor with your mouth until he cussed and laughed and said he was gonna have to build you a trophy shelf—he sprawls on his back with one arm flung over his face, the other hand idly combing through your hair where you’re draped across his chest.
“You know this changes stuff,” you say into his sternum, voice small in the big quiet.
“Yeah,” he says. “Kinda figured that when I had your knee by my ear.”
You bite his skin to punish his grin. He flinches, delighted, and drags that hand from your hair to your jaw, tipping your face up so he can see you.
“We can take it slow,” he says. “We can call it a very hands-on study group and see where it goes. Or we can—” He exhales, smile softening. “—we can just keep makin’ sure you feel good for a while and not call it anything yet.”
You think about his mouth on you, his hands steady, the way he said my girl when you came like he didn’t mean to.
“Study group,” you say, trying for lightness and failing because your voice wobbles. “You bring the notes. I’ll bring… snacks.”
“Already did,” he says, nodding at the abandoned carton on the coffee table.
You kiss his chest, grinning. “I meant me.”
He groans like you actually did kill him. “I swear to God, you’re gonna be the death of me.”
“Worth it?”
He looks down, all play gone from his face for a heartbeat. “Yeah, baby,” he says softly. “Worth it.”
He pulls you up and kisses you slow, the kind that rewrites history. And just like that, he’s shown you, patiently and then not, exactly how good it can be—how good he is at figuring out your body—until you’re breathless and bright and ruined for anyone who doesn’t know your rhythm like a favorite song. And just like that, that’s how friendships are ruined.
note ext: ah, this was just a joy to write. you guys can tell.. i love playful tommy so so so bad. ugh— this one gives me nothings gonna hurt you baby vibes. you guys are on fire with these requests omg.
summary: john was proud to show off his younger wife at the military ball—until he caught too many wandering eyes on what belonged to him.
cw: jealous/possessive sex, rough sex, semi-public sex, manhandling, clothed sex, explicit language, established relationship.
wc: 615
note: gonna start revamping my profile and making a better masterlist soon :3
John should’ve known better than to bring you here looking like that—his pretty little wife, younger, softer than the stiff-ass officers and their cold wives. You were stunning, wrapped up all sweet in that dress he picked out for you, hair done just the way he liked, lipstick making your pout look all the more kissable.
His girl. His fucking wife. And they had the nerve to look at you like you were something they could have.
It was supposed to be a nice night. Dinner, drinks, a few conversations with old colleagues. But all he could focus on were the hungry stares, the way those bastards eyed you from across the ballroom, the way one of them even had the fucking nerve to touch your arm when he walked by.
You weren’t doing anything wrong—just standing at his side, smiling, being your sweet, polite self. But it didn’t matter. He needed to remind you, remind them, who you belonged to.
That’s how you ended up here, in the damn parking lot, shoved into the backseat of his car, your cheek pressed against the cool leather as he fucked you hard enough to shake the whole vehicle.
“Wanted to fuckin’ show you off,” he growled, voice a low rasp, his uniform still perfectly in place, save for his belt hanging loose and his cock buried deep inside you. “And you—” His fingers dug into the soft flesh of your hips, holding you steady as he drove into you again. Deeper. “You just had to be a fuckin’ doll, didn’t you? Smilin’ at ‘em, lookin’ so goddamn sweet—”
“J-John—” Your voice was a breathy gasp, your fingers dragging against the fogged-up window as he yanked you back onto his cock, his thick length sliding against the mess he’d already made of you.
“What?” he snapped, yanking your dress higher up your back, watching the way your ass jiggled with every deep, punishing thrust. Fuck, he loved that. “Somethin’ you need, sweetheart?”
You whimpered, arching back against him, hips rolling, meeting each stroke like you needed it just as much as he did.
“That’s right,” he murmured, one hand leaving your hip to press firm against your lower belly, right there, where he could feel the way he stretched you. “This cock’s yours. No one else. And this—” His palm slid lower, fingers dipping between your thighs, rubbing messy, desperate circles against your swollen clit. “This mine, yeah?”
“Yes—fuck, yes—”
A dark chuckle rumbled in his chest, rough and possessive, as he watched your legs tremble, your body squeezing down around him.
“Then come on, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice thick with something dangerous, something devoted. “Show me.”
You shattered around him with a cry, your entire body clenching, spasming as he fucked you through it, your thighs sticky with the mess of it.
“Christ,” he groaned, hips stuttering, his grip bruising as he buried himself deep, spilling into you with a low, wrecked moan.
The only sounds left were the ragged breaths filling the small space, the occasional creak of leather as he slumped over you, pressing warm, open-mouthed kisses along the nape of your neck.
For a long moment, neither of you moved. Then, a slow, satisfied chuckle rumbled against your shoulder.
“Still think bringin’ me here was a good idea?” you mumbled, voice breathless, teasing.
John smirked, smoothing a warm palm over your ass before tugging your dress back down, adjusting his belt with one hand while the other traced slow, affectionate circles against your thigh.
“Maybe,” he mused, pressing a lingering kiss to your bare shoulder. “Long as you keep your pretty ass in my lap the rest of the night.”
