Tumblr Girls – Manon Bannerman [18+]
✎ genre: smut, manon bannerman x fem!reader, sub!reader, dom!manon, angst, scissoring!!!, fingering, oral, possessive!manon, slight (or not so slight) perv!manon, masturbation, praise, jealousy, miscommunication, bestfriends to lovers, roommates, set in 2014, cum-play, reader is oblivious, hella yearning, nasty asf, u both wanted each other
✎ summary: You knew moving in with Manon was a mistake–she’s your best friend, and you’re in love with her. If only you knew how she really feels about you after all this time–and the secret she’s been hiding from you. (13.1k Words)
✎ author’s note: manon imy come back
men and minors DNI past this point
You thought the world of Manon.
Everything she does takes your breath away.
You always knew you loved her more than friends should. There’s been a lingering feeling in your chest whenever she’s near, the same feeling squeezes your heart when she’s away.
It’s in a way you memorize the sound of her laugh, her voice alone was enough to lift the corners of your mouth. Your eyes search for hers in every room, in any place. Your days always seemed better when she smiles at you, your heart swelling at the sight.
Loving her has never felt like a choice. It’s just something that’s always been there, quiet and constant, even if you’ve never been brave enough to say it out loud.
You wish you were brave enough.
You thought she deserved to know the truth–how you really felt about her. There were a lot of different moments and chances where you could’ve been honest, but the courage in you never seemed to be enough.
Or perhaps your fear of losing her overlapped your courage.
You’re too afraid that if you do tell her, it’ll change everything. You don’t think you can stand being strangers, or losing the easy way she says your name, the thought alone eats you alive. You don’t think you can let go of her hand when she reaches for yours as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, as if her touch alone doesn’t linger even when she’s gone.
So you settled for silence. You swallow the words every time they rise inside your throat. You still smile even when she talks about the boys she likes, even when it feels like your heart is being ripped apart from your chest.
You tell yourself that being her best friend is enough–that loving her silently is better than not loving her at all.
But some nights, when it’s just the two of you and the world feels small, you wonder how much longer you can pretend your heart doesn’t want more.
Because just being with her was as easy as breathing.
The small things mattered as much as the big moments you would share with her. Whether it was sitting beside her, your knees brushing, her head leaning onto your shoulder, like her warmth didn’t form goosebumps along your arm. It almost makes you believe it was enough.
You should’ve known better.
You should’ve stopped when every laugh you share, every soft glance she gives you, makes the wanting grow. Because the feelings you have for her never seem to vanish as much as you wanted them to. No matter what you do, it stays.
You stay because you don’t think you have the strength to leave.
Often at times, you’d remember the first night you realized your feelings for her. To remember how much some things changed, and how some stayed the same.
You and Manon were young. Not knowing how cruel the world really was.
It was at night during homecoming.
The gym lights had all sorts of loud colors, matching the strings hanging from the ceiling. The music was loud enough to make the floor jump underneath your feet. Everyone else was having fun laughing, dancing over the beat of the song.
But all you could see was her.
Manon stood under the lights like they were meant for her. She was laughing at something her date to homecoming said, eyes shining in a way that made your chest tighten from the sight. And when she turned and found you in the middle of the crowd, when she smiled like you were the person she’d been looking for all along, that was when you knew.
You still remember the way your heart wouldn’t stop screaming inside your chest. The way your eyes couldn’t look anywhere else but her. You kept repeating the same useless words in your head: your friendship, the admiration. As if this were just a passing moment.
Because when she ditches her date to run towards you, grabbing your hand to tear you away from your own date, dragging you onto the dance floor, fingers intertwined together so naturally, you knew.
You knew this wasn’t something that would pass.
And years later, standing beside her still, it hasn’t.
You now stood next to her inside a Starbucks, sipping on your frappuccino while Manon stuck a straw into hers. The quiet comfort between you felt the same as it did back then. You wore matching jean shorts, your flannel hugging your waist, while her shirt dipped enough to expose her shoulder.
She led you to an empty table, her hand always finding yours. She doesn’t even let go as she sits next to you, both of you watching strangers pass by through the window.
Manon pointed at your drink and teased you about always ordering the same thing, rolling her eyes playfully. You shoved her shoulder lightly in response, and she laughed, that same laugh that still filled butterflies in your stomach no matter how many times you heard it.
She leans her chin against her hand, playing with her straw, her eyes drowning into yours. A small smile fell upon her face, almost making you believe she was admiring you as you complained to her about the apartment that was stolen from you.
You continued to complain, not knowing how hard she was staring at you. Not before her silence comes to a stop.
“Why don’t you move in with me?”
The words hung in the air. She said it was such a casualty, like it was as simple as it sounded.
Your eyes finally looked into hers, searching her face for a hint of a joke. But she wasn’t laughing. She wasn’t teasing. She was watching you carefully, as if she meant it.
“Move in with you?” You repeated softly.
Manon shrugged, trying to act unbothered, but her fingers were still fidgeting with the straw. “Yeah. It makes sense. We’re always together anyway.”
You lost the words that were already forming in your mouth. Your first thought was to refuse immediately. Not because you didn’t want to, but because you knew it was dangerous. For you at least. Just the thought of seeing her more than you already do, living together, her things mixing in with yours, her presence lingering every step you’d take inside her apartment, drives you crazy. You knew it would be too much before the blurred line between best friends and everything you were trying so hard to hide would pour out all at once.
Manon wouldn’t stop looking at you. Her eyes were hopeful, filled with warmth, waiting for the simple yes fall right out of your mouth.
You swallowed, trying to steady your heart.
“You’re not serious.” You say, laughing nervously. You leaned back cautiously, noticing the small distance between you.
She nods slowly, eyes narrowing at the way you pulled away–almost offended until they softened, like she suddenly understood how heavy the question was. “I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t.”
You weren’t calm, like at all.
Both your heart and your mind raced. Moving in meant more than just late nights on the couch, sharing meals, the mornings you would have just by being the first thing she sees when you wake up. It meant more than just the proximity and the closeness you would have with her.
Everything you struggled to control–your feelings, your longing, the fear of being too close might end up being the reason you lose her–
But it meant having more time with her.
Manon reaches for your hand again, thumb brushing over your skin before intertwining her fingers with yours. “It would be fun. We’d save money and spend more time together.” She tried to light up the mood. Noticing your hesitation, it only worries her further.
You stared at your laced fingers, and then at her eyes. Your will to refuse only weakens.
You tried to remove your hand from hers, but her hands only seemed to tighten.
“Manon.” You sighed, unsure how to word everything you’ve been feeling.
She tilts her head, trying to find your eyes again. Still patient, like no matter what you say, it wouldn’t change a thing.
“Moving in together,” You start, a lump forming in your throat, “It can change a lot of things.”
You notice the way her face falls, until she quickly changes as if she had something to hide as well.
“I know,” her voice was low, “But we’re already in each other's lives so much. I don’t think it would change a lot if you do decide to move in with me.”
You stared at her for a moment, trying to read her face, like you always seemed to be doing.
“It might,” you said gently. “Even small things can change.”
Manon hesitates. You're watching the way her throat bobbles as she swallows.
“If it changes,” she replied softly, “then we handle it together.”
Her small promise hits harder than you expected. Because being together had always been the unspoken rule between you. Through different breakups, bad days, and celebrations–it was always the two of you against everything else.
You’re just afraid that by doing this, it’ll be you against her.
She gives you a small, shy smile, leaning in closer.
You look at her hand still wrapped around yours, at the way she’s sitting close enough that you can feel the warmth of her shoulder against yours.
How could you ever say no to her?
You sat in her living room, well, your living room now.
Boxes were scattered around the floor, half-unpacked clothes piled on the couch, and picture frames leaning against the wall waiting to be placed somewhere meaningful. The space already felt different just because your things were in it too.
You spent hours unpacking, laughing at the random items you both forgot you owned, arguing playfully over where your things should be placed.
Manon wouldn’t leave your side.
She’d be next to you every few minutes, holding boxes or stealing small glances at you while pretending to focus on unpacking.
At one point, she held up something of yours–a shirt you’d been looking for.
“You were going to leave this behind?” she teased, raising a brow.
You reached for it, but instead of handing it over immediately, she held it just out of reach, lifting it over both of you, smiling like she enjoyed annoying you.
“Manon, come on–” You laughed, going on your tippy toes to reach for the shirt–only for her to lift it even higher. It was stupid, you were the same height as her, and yet, you were too busy laughing to notice your chest pressed right up front against hers.
You stopped laughing. So does she.
You hadn’t meant to get that close.
Her arm dipped enough for the shirt to slip from her fingers, forgotten, lying on the floor. But neither of you looked down.
You couldn’t look away, even when your mind screamed to.
The rhythm of her heartbeat, or maybe it was yours–fast and uneven where your chests touched.
Your brain crumbles when a smile slowly crawls up her face. Not teasingly, as if she were searching for something on your face.
“Sorry,” she murmured, though she didn’t step back.
You felt her warmth through your shirt. It was comforting, something you had always found within her. It felt a little different this time, closer, softer.
Her eyes flickered between yours, hesitant for the first time in years. Manon was never hesitant with you. Never unsure.
That was when you stepped back.
The fear, you were just too afraid.
As soon as you stepped back, so did she. Like she was preparing herself for that exact reaction. As if she’d known you’d react like that.
The warmth soon vanished, replaced by a space that you created. Not because you wanted to, but because you were just too scared if you stayed too close for that long.
“Oh,” Manon said. The word alone has guilt plastered upon your face.
You hated how her voice grew low. Like the confidence in her disappeared. The way she tried to steady herself, straightening her posture, faking a coughing sound to ignore the awkward space in between.
“I’m sorry,” you told her, even though you weren’t sure what exactly you were even apologizing for. For stepping back. For being scared. For wanting her too much.
She shook her head, the smile still on her face, it just didn’t quite reach her eyes. “It’s fine,” she laughs nervously.
“It’s nothing.” She added.
Not when she means everything.
You watched in guilt at the way she bent down a little too quickly to grab your shirt from the floor, like she needed something in her hands to take away this unneeded silence. The way she wouldn’t even look into your eyes now, focusing too hard on folding the shirt that didn’t even need folding.
“Manon.” You said her name again, softer than before.
She turned around before you could even start your sentence. The sound of her name with your voice has her nearly flinching, like she was sensitive to it. She placed the shirt on the couch instead of handing it to you.
“It’s fine.” She pushed, staring at your shirt on the couch. “We were just playing around. Don’t make it weird.”
Your heart clenches when she starts walking away into the kitchen, the distance growing bigger. You still stood in the living room, unsure what to do next.
And for the first time since moving in, you wondered if this was exactly what you were afraid of.
Not losing her completely.
Just losing the way she used to look at you.
Things haven’t changed much since.
You both quietly agreed to ignore whatever that was that night. To pretend it was really nothing at all. To go on without thinking that a small moment like that nearly changed things you were so afraid of changing.
But things weren’t as easy as you hoped they would be.
It started because she touched your laundry.
You marched into her room, slamming her door wide open, the door hitting her wall dramatically. You stood at the edge of her bed, holding your hoodie up as if it were a piece of evidence for a crime scene.
“Why was my hoodie in your laundry pile?” You asked, your fingers nearly digging into the fabric.
Manon doesn’t even look at you, her fingers too busy flipping through the pages of her magazine.
But you swore, you saw the slightest tremble from her fingers.
She shrugs, “It was on the floor.”
“It was not on the floor.”
Manon finally looks at you as if you said something completely stupid.
“It was lying next to my basket.”
“Okay?” Your arm falls, the fabric still tight around your fingers. “Next to is not inside.”
She sighed, flipping another page. “It was going to end up in my load anyway.” Manon shrugs again, slowly becoming nervous from this topic alone.
You gave her another odd look.
She looks up at you again. “I was already doing laundry.”
“Yeah, but that doesn’t explain why my clothes are mixing in with yours.” You pushed.
“I literally just told you why.” Manon sighs, her fingers pressing a little too hard against the paper of her magazine. “I don’t see why this is such a big deal.”
You sighed, pinching your nose bridge.
This was not worth wasting your energy.
“It’s not just,” You shook your head, “ask next time.” You completed, trying to read her eyes.
Manon doesn’t answer right away. Just silently watching her throat swallowing, as if she was about to admit something–then doesn’t.
You turn around, about to leave her room. You almost hear the way she lets out a sigh of relief, not before your head turns back towards her, forgetting something.
“By the way,” You start, “I’ll be working late, so don’t wait for me. Alright?”
Still quiet, still hiding something.
You watch her for a second longer.
She’s just sitting on her bed, magazine still half-open, pretending to read–but her eyes aren’t moving across the page.
“You’ve been staying up late,” you pointed out. “Get some sleep.” You say softly.
She doesn’t respond right away.
You expect maybe a small “okay.” Or a sarcastic comment. Or anything.
You don’t wait for another second. You slowly walked out of her room, nodding to yourself at her silence. You didn’t want to bother any longer. The door closes gently behind you, a soft thud just hitting the walls. You walked away from her room like the conversation was over. Like it didn’t matter.
Like it was just another one of your petty arguments that would be forgotten by tomorrow and be mixed into all the other small disagreements you both tend to forget after a few days.
But you just can’t get rid of this feeling that this argument felt different than the rest.
As if Manon were hiding something.
You hated how moments like that made you overanalyze everything.
The interaction kept being replayed over in your head again and again as you got ready for work, overthinking the way she kept avoiding your eyes or how her voice got more firm by each complaint you’d tell her. You questioned whether your tone made it seem like you were blaming her instead of just setting a boundary.
You begin to think that this wasn’t about laundry anymore.
It bothered you more that you were growing distant from her when the entire point of moving in with her should’ve brought the two of you closer. It made you uneasy because it felt like something deeper was hiding underneath these petty arguments.
More than what could be put into words, more than you sometimes allow yourself to even admit. You never allowed yourself to care this much because you knew things like this would happen.
But this was about Manon.
She is why this is different.
Because with every sigh that leaves her mouth, it carries a small frustration. Or every time she doesn’t respond, it feels intentional.
You almost felt as if she was being more confusing than honest.
And you aren’t sure if that was her fault,
Manon waits for the sound of your keys to lock the front door.
She doesn’t move right away. She just sits there, head against the bed frame, magazine still held carelessly in her hands. The door shuts softly before she hears the metallic click faintly through the hallway.
She sighs, dropping the magazine to the floor.
The apartment always felt different once you left. Like your presence still lingers even after you spend hours at night somewhere else.
She notices that you’ve been doing that lately, staying late at work when she knew you didn’t really have to. It’s like she had this feeling that you were avoiding her.
Manon didn’t think too much of it at first. Sure, you had extra tasks and deadlines to meet, or even meetings that ran longer than usual. She never complained each time. People stay late at work all the time. It wasn’t strange. It wasn’t suspicious.
But when it turns into something more than once or twice, it is hard to pretend that it wasn’t bothering her. She tells herself she’s overthinking. Still, she can’t shake the feeling.
She studies you. The way sweat still clings to your skin after a heavy night at work, a small complaint leaving your breath, dropping your bag carelessly with a sigh. She knows the patterns of your behavior, especially when you’re avoiding something.
You’ve been careful with your words, distant.
She doesn’t understand why you would be.
Not when this was supposed to make everything easier.
Living together meant closing the distance. It was supposed to mean late-night talks with cheap beer in your hands, having instant, quick dinners, comfort in knowing the other person was just a few steps away.
That was her entire goal.
The idea of moving in together came up from the spot. She wasn’t planning it intentionally, but after hearing for weeks about you not getting the apartment that you wanted, it just felt wrong not to offer her space to you.
Now, sitting alone in the quiet apartment, she’s beginning to think that she misread the situation entirely. Or maybe that offering closeness felt like she put pressure on you.
She never meant to offer this place to trap you. She just wanted you closer. Not farther away.
Another sigh falls from her lips.
Manon got up from her bed, her steps feeling heavier than usual.
Her door was still wide open, her room just across from yours.
She stands there for a moment in the hallway, staring at the empty doorway to your room. The lights are off. Your bed is made.
The laundry basket still tucked away in the corner.
She promised that she wouldn’t do this again.
She told herself that she shouldn’t. She knows she shouldn’t.
It was wrong, so wrong, but even then her footsteps wouldn’t come to a pause the second she walked from her room to yours. She doesn’t turn on the lights, doesn’t bother to close the door behind her.
Your room smells like you–clean, something all too familiar to her. It makes her chest tighten, the warmth in her belly pooling.
The bed is still neatly made. Untouched.
She walks closer to your bed, her fingers trailing alongside the edge of your sheets, feeling the coolness of it beneath her skin. There’s something intimate about standing here when you’re not around. She still feels guilty about it, invading your space only when you’re gone.
She knows that this was wrong, but this is the closest she’s felt to you all day.
Her fingers trail higher to your pillows. Neatly fluffed, lying against the bed frame. Her hands tremble against the fabric, just knowing that every night, you lie in this bed, your presence, your smell–your touch, lingers right upon this bed is almost too much. Hates that something so simple, this bed, your pillow–can feel so overwhelming.
This was ridiculous, she knows it is.
Right as she was about to leave, pretending that she was never here, preparing to lie about her whereabouts once you ask what she’s been up to all night, she catches a glimpse of the laundry basket, tucked away in the corner. The same one you argued about just an hour earlier.
Manon straightens quickly. She stares at it, trying to remember the little self-control she has.
Suddenly, she feels like the room is slowly becoming aware of her presence. Like something that shouldn’t be inside, but it already is.
Her gaze lingers on the laundry basket, remembering the way you pushed about boundaries, about asking first.
Her feet began to move before she could even decide to move them, walking towards the basket. Her hands were just shaking slightly by her side, as if she was holding herself back.
As she stands right in front of it, her hands reach for one of your shirts hanging on the edge. A soft gasp already leaves her lips as the fabric touches her skin.
The fabric moves against her fingertips, just getting a touch. But just knowing you wore this, your skin leaving an imprint, your scent lingering on the cloth, it almost hurts. Her thumb presses lightly into the fabric, almost unconsciously, like she’s trying to memorize the feeling. The feeling of you against her own touch.
Manon doesn’t stop herself when she lifts your shirt to her face, closing her eyes, inhaling the scent.
A whimper leaves her mouth.
She pressed the fabric closer to her face, rubbing on her cheek, nose pressing so hard against it that all she could smell, feel–was you.
She told herself that every night would be the last, but she just keeps coming in here. Doing the same, forbidden things. Invading your room.
And not once have you caught on.
But not even then was that enough to stop her.
She can’t stop, not when this is the closest thing to you. She rubs the shirt against her skin, her cheek, her neck; she can’t get enough. Like she wants to bathe in everything you own.
“Fuck.” She sighs, blush already evident on her face. Pussy already leaking from your scent.
She remembers all the nights she’d snuck into your room when you were out late. Feet trembling against the floor once she’d step past your door frame. Fingers shaking just to touch whatever you leave behind.
Some nights, just smelling and stealing some of your clothes was enough. And some, more than most, she’d stay in here. Sleeping underneath your comforter, face pressed onto the pillows where you would lie. Nose pressing against it as if it were you instead. Fingers playing with herself underneath her shorts as she lies in your bed, not caring if she was being loud or not. You weren’t home, you’re never home.
Manon closes her eyes. She already feels herself soaking through her panties.
She hates that she’s so easy when it comes to you. Just the mere thought of your face, your scent hovering all around your room, was enough to get her off. It’s no use to deny she spends more time in your room than she does in her own.
She breathes in your scent deeper, her cunt dripping into her panties. Legs already trembling just by standing so still in the corner of your room.
Her eyes opened, remembering where she was, what she was doing.
Guilt falls upon her face almost immediately.
It’s a cycle every time. She gets too caught up in the moment before realizing reality. Then the shame comes.
Her throat closes. She didn’t mean for it to go this far. She never does.
But curiosity turns into closeness. Closeness turns into temptation. And temptation turns into regret the second she realizes what she’s been doing was wrong.
The shirt falls from her fingers, shame evident across her eyes. Her fingers curl into her palms like she’s trying to erase the memory of touching your clothes.
This was the moment where she should be leaving, where she would usually hide back into her own room, trying to ignore the ache in her heart of you being so close, yet so far away.
She reaches for something else.
Black, laced with a pretty pattern, worn. Used.
Manon knows she broke boundaries, but she never got this far.
She holds it in her palm, but her hand is trembling so much that the panties barely stay steady. Her fingers tighten instinctively around it. Her breathing becomes shallow, chest rising repeatedly.
She swallows hard, trying to steady the thoughts of you that keep invading her mind. The fabric feels heavier now, guilt and shame surrounding her chest as if she knew better. Like her sense of control vanished at the simple thought of you.
She lifts it back into her view. Examining the piece of cloth. The worn gusset was slightly soaked. Another swallow forces through her throat just at the sight of it, her own panties being drenched further. Manon presses her thighs together, not before lifting the fabric close to her nose, inhaling it deeply.
She can’t help but wonder why it was slightly wet. Now, she wants to know the reason why. She wonders if it happened at night, or somewhere else.
Maybe you were thinking of someone else.
Maybe you were with someone else.
Manon presses the gusset to her lips, her tongue poking out for a taste. Beginning to lick slowly, before sucking, slurping hazardously, as if it’ll take away the mere thought of the chance you really were with someone else.
“Fuck, oh fuck.” She sobs, eyes tearing up just by how good you taste–wishing it was you instead of the fabric that lies in her hands.
She breathes it in, inhaling your lingering scent, the wet stain that came with it. The more she breathes you in, the wetter she becomes. The ache in her cunt just pulsing for more. The wanting, the need, it’s almost unbearable.
Manon drags your panties lower. Past her lips, past her shirt, inside her own shorts. She should stop. She shouldn’t be doing this. But the urge to feel you, even just slightly, was too strong.
A breathy whimper leaves her mouth again, softer, raspier than the rest, when the fabric presses too hard against her own panties. She begins humping it instinctively.
“You wouldn’t even know–would you?” She gasps, not realizing how filthy she sounds right now. Her other hand, holding the wall for support, eyes closed, eyebrows furrowed, mouth open because it feels too good to be close to you.
It’s not enough, not even close to what she needs.
Manon cursed under her breath. Eyes opening, a darker shade than before. Lips dry from the breathy whimpers, sweat clinging to her shirt, pussy dripping with desire. Hand still holding the cloth, pushing hard against her own, rubbing against it as if she hadn’t promised she would stop just merely moments ago.
She already went this far. There’s no point in stopping now.
Her legs began to buckle until the edge of the bed hit the back of her knees. She trailed her shorts off her legs, the cool air hitting her skin.
Her hips keep buckling onto the ruined fabric like she couldn’t get enough. She wanted more, so much more. The tremble of her body, the short, quiet breaths falling from her mouth, her fingers holding your panties close to her cunt as if it would hurt to let it go.
Just the mere thought of your scent blending in with hers has her soaking through both fabrics. She hasn’t really touched herself, not yet, but the more she thought of you, the urge to cum grows.
Even thinking about how you’d react if you caught her in the act. Her body on your bed, uselessly rubbing her panties onto yours. Your presence surrounds her entire figure. She can’t even stop to think if she’d even stop if you were to stand right at your doorway, standing still, motionless as you watched her.
It’s overwhelming, almost too much to handle, but even then, it wasn’t enough.
She paused, catching her breath. Legs still spread apart, a hand still in between. Chest heaving as if she had run a marathon.
Manon doesn’t stop to think when she takes off her panties and puts yours on instead.
The straps of your panties slightly graze against her skin as she pulls them all the way up, pulling the fabric even more when the gusset meets her clit, just enough pressure, enough pain.
“So–” She gasps, beginning to hump against it. “–good.” She feels your slick colliding with hers, the thought alone driving her insane. The touch drenching herself further.
Her clit, so pink, so puffy when she grinds against it, no barriers in between. Just dripping with pure filth. Doesn’t stop to think, her hips mindlessly moving on their own. Her hand presses flat against her pussy, her lips just peaking through the front, the gusset suffocating her clit just the way she likes.
She pushes her body back until her head meets your pillow, turning her face sideways, inhaling the soft scent of your shampoo you left on the sheets. She lets out another soft moan, eyes closed, back arching off the mattress, her fingers torturing her clit through the panties.
“Yes–” She sobs, it feels too good. Using a nail to graze against her clit, feeling herself rutting against her own hand.
Nothing stops her when she finally dips her fingers past the fabric, her fingertips grazing against her clit, moving in soft, gentle circles. Small mixtures of inchoherent whimpers, and your name falls from her mouth. She feels how wet she is, how thoroughly soaked she becomes at just the thought of you.
The pace doesn’t stay slow. Her moves, quickening by the second. Her fingers press through her lips, pressing harder patterns against the swollen nub, just helplessly mumbling your name, pretending her own touch was yours instead, pretending that you were there with her.
Her fingers move lower, toying with her entrance filled with slick, before shoving two fingers inside of her cunt.
Manon doesn’t stop crying out your name.
She begins pumping inside her pussy, your panties making it a little harder for her to move. She doesn’t take it off, though, she doesn’t want to. She wants to feel you as close as she can.
“Please,” Manon cries, not knowing why or what she was pleading for. Not in her right mind to think, just knowing that she wants a release, wants to cum at the thought of you. “Fuck–” Another whimper falls when she shoves her fingers all the way in, knuckle deep, before curling in just at the right spot.
Her cunt squeezes around her fingers, growing tighter with each move of her fingers. She’s so close, so desperate to cum, too near to even think correctly.
She presses the side of her face closer to your pillow, her senses filled with you. She’s in your room, your panties on her body, your sheets pressed against her warmth, your presence remains in the room she secretly loved being in.
Her body begins to tremble, too turned on to even notice. Her slick colliding with the fabric wasn’t even enough to prevent the small stain she leaves on the middle of your bed, a small puddle forming underneath. Too dumb, too careless to even realize the mess she was making.
Her pussy clenches around her fingers, curling just in the perfect way before her mouth drops, eyes rolling back, her thighs shaking, her back lifting off the mattress just in time as she finally cums, a small patch of her squirt forming in the middle of your panties, slowly seeping onto your sheets.
Manon doesn’t even stop fucking herself, even when she finally cums. Slowly taking care of herself as she comes down from her high, plopping onto the mattress tirelessly afterwards. Her fingers are pulling out as she catches her breath.
Her chest heaves, rising and falling faster than she can steady it.
The realization of what she’s doing. Of how this would look if the roles were reversed. You trusted her enough to live here. To share a space with her. To believe that your room was still yours.
But now she lies on your bed, a mess underneath her body. One she doesn’t know she could even fix in time.
She proved to herself that she wasn’t as disciplined as she believed herself to be.
She knew that this space, your room, filled with your things, doesn’t belong to her.
Her jaw tightens, tears still fresh in the corner of her eyes, but with an entirely different reason now.
About the way she loses it every time your presence gets closer to her own. The way she always lies and says she wouldn’t do it again. The way she convinces herself it’s harmless because you’ll never know.
And knowing already has her stomach feeling sick.
Manon doesn’t ask right away.
She stands in the kitchen doorway, watching you rinse a glass in the sink, your back turned to her. It’s become the most natural position for you lately.
You feel her presence behind you, but neither of you makes an effort to move. Not yet, at least.
“There’s a party tonight,” she says finally, keeping her tone casual. Too casual. A bit unusual for her. Especially talking about parties, you’d always hear the excitement in her voice. But now? It’s monotone, like she was controlling it.
It’s why you don’t turn around immediately. “Mm.” You say lowly, drying off the glass with a towel.
She senses your hesitation, the lack of effort you put into answering her. The act alone already has her heart clenching in a way that it hurts.
Manon doesn’t mention why you’ve been acting weird lately, why you’ve been avoiding her more than usual. Doesn’t know the reasons why you’re staying late at work longer than you already do.
Maybe you found out, maybe you already know what she’s been doing while you’re away.
She tries again, “It’s at Megan’s place. Just a few people. Nothing too crazy.”
You set the glass down. “Can’t.” You cut it off short.
You turn around, catching a glimpse of the frown upon her face. The sight has guilt flowing within you. Not before you quickly look away, your hand already opening the fridge to grab a bottle of water.
“Why?” Manon pressured, leaning against the doorway, arms crossed.
You opened the bottle, taking a huge gulp of it. It doesn’t help calm your nerves.
“I have to stay late again. At work.”
Her frown deepens, “It’s Friday.”
She knows why you’re hesitating to go. It’s not because of the party or the people who are coming.
It’s because you’d be going with her.
The silence stretches, something that’s been normalized in the apartment you shared. You both hated it. Yet, neither of you has made an effort to stop this awkwardness that has been evident between you. And yet, this was what you were afraid of.
The change, the way you’re cautious around her, just because you didn’t want her to notice your feelings.
The way she’s leaving you alone, despite living with her, just because she has something to hide.
Neither of you knew about each other’s reasoning.
Neither of you are brave enough to ask.
Manon breaks the silence, a subtle sigh leaving her breath. “You don’t have to stay long,” she adds. “We can just show up for a bit.”
You froze, taking another huge gulp of water.
“You want me to go.” You say. It was intended as a question rather than a statement.
You watch the way she tries to read your face, like the way you’re doing to her right now. You hold her gaze this time instead of looking away. The kitchen suddenly feels a little smaller than it already is.
“That’s why I asked.” She says, fingers pressing into her skin tighter than before.
You placed the half-empty bottle onto the counter, leaning your hands against it. You’re trying to word your words differently. Careful, more cautious.
“That’s not what I meant,” you clarify, voice lower now.
Her brows knit slightly. “What do you mean?”
You hesitate. Because the real question sitting on your tongue isn’t about a party.
It’s about whether she actually wants you there.
Not as a roommate. Not as someone to tag along.
“You want me to go,” you repeat, processing the words out of your mouth. “Or you just don’t want to go alone?”
Manon looks at you, eyes squinting, jaw tightening.
“Don’t make this a big deal.” She walks over to you, arms limp by her side. Fingers trembling as if she was holding herself back from clenching them together.
“I’m not trying to make it a big deal.” You say quickly.
She digs a hand into her hair, staring at the magnets on the fridge. “I’m just inviting you to a party like I always do.”
You shrug, pretending it doesn’t matter. “You’ve been fine going out without me–”
“And you’ve been fine staying late at work without me.” Manon pushes your shoulder, her hand remaining on it as she turns you to face her.
You shrug her hand off. The act stung something within her heart.
Her voice began to tremble. She tries to hide it, but you know her far too well to know when she does.
Then, after a moment. Softer this time, she says, “I invited you because I wanted you there.”
Because, for once in a long time, she was honest.
And somehow, that makes it worse.
“You really want me to go?” You say, softer as she did.
Her eyes stare into yours, a soft breath leaving her lips. You can’t help but stare at them.
Manon just nods, hands twitching at her sides as if she were longing to reach out for you.
And even now, you still haven’t found the strength to say no.
The party was supposed to feel easy.
It wasn’t supposed to feel overwhelming or chaotic. Not the kind of feeling where you felt suffocated, like you had to leave immediately.
It was the kind of night where they played the right kind of music. The kind that even the drinks weren’t warm, cooled off. Where the lights are dimmed enough to make everyone look softer around the edges.
You and Manon are sitting on the arm of the couch, knees brushing now and then, talking with Lara in front of both of you about something you can’t really seem to remember.
She’s relaxed. You’re relaxed.
You’re trying to focus on what Lara’s saying, but you just can’t.
Not when Manon’s arm loosely hangs around your shoulder, slightly supported by the edge of the couch. Her finger tips drawing small, gentle circles along your skin as if it was normal, as if it wasn’t the reason goosebumps were forming underneath her touch.
It was nothing to think about. She’s always been touchy, that was her love language. It’s normal, nothing to overthink about.
She doesn’t even notice you going silent. Just nodding away to whatever Lara was saying, not knowing how her touch burns over your skin.
After a few minutes, her head turns towards yours. She didn’t mean to get too close to your face, her breath hitting your own. Before you could react, she’s already getting up to go grab another drink, squeezing your shoulder before she goes, “Don’t disappear,” she says, almost teasing. Voice low, like she means it.
A small smile falls on your face. “I won’t.”
And as Manon disappears from your line of view, someone new steps in front of you.
He’s tall, a good figure, a drink in his hand, a small smile on his face. He greets you casually. You greet him back over the loud music. He doesn’t push into your space forcibly. He says something else more casual, something easy. And at first, you respond out of politeness because it’s normal.
This was just talking, people talk at parties.
When he makes a joke, you laugh. Not the fake ones you’ve perfected like in similar situations, but a genuine one.
But then he sits at the empty spot next to you, the one where Manon was just sitting.
You don’t point it out. You just noticed.
The way the cushion dips under his weight. The way the space that was warm from Manon’s presence seconds ago is now replaced by someone else entirely new, someone entirely different.
He doesn’t ask permission before sitting. He didn’t need to anyway, just settled in the space next to you like the spot was free for stealing.
And he keeps talking, not like you were going to stop him. You kept responding anyway. The conversation was beginning to flow more easily, it’s steadier now that you’ve felt a little more relaxed. He began asking you what you do outside of work. Hobbies. What kind of music you listen to. Asks you questions like he genuinely wants to learn more about you. You answer without overthinking.
The tension in your shoulders slowly begins to wash away. He wasn’t being obnoxious, but not careful either. Like he was presenting his natural self to you. He even laughs at something you say, and somehow, you find yourself smiling back.
Once the music starts to grow louder, he suddenly lowers his head slightly so he can speak directly near your ear instead of shouting over the noise. It meant the distance began to shrink. The proximity growing closer.
You’re aware of it. Aware of how close he is.
And still, you don’t push him away.
Not because you’re encouraging it. Not because you want it.
But because it felt natural. Normal. Like anyone would’ve leaned in closer just to talk over the music. It was a normal thing to do, nothing to make a big deal of. It was as simple as that.
You hear him say another joke, something about whatever the song was playing, but you can’t quite hear him over the music. This time, he leans in closer, his breath brushing against the skin underneath your ear as he begins to talk. It nearly makes you flinch slightly before adjusting your posture to create more distance without making it obvious.
From his perspective, he probably assumes you're relaxed within his company.
From yours, you're just managing.
She was already walking out with a drink in her hand, telling something to Sophia before walking towards you. Her eyes haven’t registered what she was really looking at. She was already searching for you in the crowd, freezing in the middle of it, when she saw that her spot had been stolen.
She watches the way he leans in. The way he tilts down to your level, towards your ear. Watch the way your smile began to match his.
She sees how his lips almost brush your skin when he talks.
Everything around her no longer matters. The music, the crowd, this drink in her hand. There’s this ringing in her ear that frustrates her even more. She can’t tell if it’s because of the drinks she’s had or the scene she’s currently watching.
All she sees is him with you.
Her chest begins to squeeze the space around her heart, clenching desperately for something that isn’t even there. It almost matches the grip she has around the red plastic cup she’s putting pressure on.
But it’s the way you don’t immediately push him away like you normally would’ve.
Like he was something worth staying for.
Manon knows she had no right to be feeling this way.
She had no right to feel the rage building up inside her chest, nor the way her eyes began to bore into the small space that was barely left in between you and him.
She tried pretending not to care, that she shouldn’t be caring this much.
But the fact that it took him a few minutes to be this close to you when it’s taking nearly months for her to be in your presence for more than an hour.
She hated how unfair it was. Like proximity is handed out casually to strangers, but it was limited when it came to her. That she wanted more than what you were already offering her.
Friendship, time, effort.
She wanted more than that.
Because what she craved wasn’t just presence.
She wanted you in your entirety.
It makes her realize how badly she wants to be the one who doesn’t have to fight for it.
Manon moved before her mind began to think.
Her shoulders bump through multiple people, not giving a single fuck if they complain. Her eyes never leave the sight of you with him the entire time, her jaw clenching even more when the guy starts to lean in further, invading your space.
She stops in front of you.
She doesn’t stop to look at him, her attention solely on you. Just watching the way your eyes slowly turn towards her own. Mouth already opening to say some useless excuse. The guy next to you barely has time to react before she cuts him off almost immediately.
The words spill out from her mouth like blood.
She doesn’t sound gentle, nor patient. No hesitation in where she stands. As if everything she’s been holding back finally pours out without her permission.
She steps closer, closing the small gap between her and you so quickly that the guy instinctively shifts back.
She watches the way you swallow, hard.
The guy finally stands, but not because he wants to. But because the authority in her voice makes it clear he doesn’t have a choice.
Manon doesn’t wait for the words from your mouth. You couldn’t even force them out in time before her hand wraps around your wrist, pulling you through the crowd. Her touch wasn’t forceful, but it was firm, like she’s claiming what she already believes belongs beside her.
She drags you away. You always let her drag you away.
“What the fuck was that?”
Your voice echoes against the walls of the apartment. Heavily frustrated after suddenly being dragged away from the party without an explanation.
Manon unlocks the front door, and it closes behind you. You follow her when she doesn’t make an effort to stop, nor to answer you. Her arms no longer crossed, hands hanging loosely at her sides like she’s trying to appear composed despite the anger building up from her chest.
“Manon.” Your voice grows louder, firmly holding her wrist to prevent her from leaving.
She stops immediately. Her body goes still. You feel her pulse under your fingers–fast.
“Stop.” You say, your grip tightening. “You can’t ignore me. You can’t avoid this.”
Manon turns her head to look at where your hand is wrapped around her wrist, not before she meets your eyes.
“Like how you’ve been avoiding me?” She laughs, humorlessly.
“Don’t turn this against me.” You glared, your voice trembling in your throat.
She shakes her head slightly. “I’m not turning it against you. I’m saying that this is just completely ironic from you.”
Your jaw clenches, “You think I’m avoiding you?” Your voice grows by the second.
Her eyes search your face now–not with anger, but with frustration mixed with hurt.
“You’ve been distant for weeks,” Manon continues. “You come home late. Our conversations don’t last longer than 20 minutes. You act like everything’s fine when you know it’s not.”
“So that just means you get to interrupt my conversations with other people?”
Her expression hardens for a second. And when her silence draws longer than a second, you let out another sigh of defeat.
“I knew it.” You walk past her, “What’s the point in complaining that our conversations don’t last when you won’t even finish them.” You walk down the hall, towards your room.
“And what the fuck does that supposed to mean?” Manon finally breaks her silence, following you towards your bedroom, holding the door when you try to slam it in her face.
“It means,” you say, your breathing becoming unsteady, “that you keep putting the blame on me, but every time we try to actually talk, you turn it into an argument about something else.”
“That’s not what I’m trying to do–”
Manon steps inside your room. Her footprints already remember the area.
“You think I like feeling like I have to fight for your attention?”
“Fight for it? I live with you.”
“And yet here we are.” She says.
Silence hits the walls again. You’re unsure what to do from here. You feel defeated, you don’t even know if you have the energy to keep fighting about this anymore.
A hand rubs against your face, trying to erase the ache between your brows. “Why can’t you just be honest with me?” You say, not looking into her eyes.
Manon tries to find your eyes, stepping closer into the room, closer to you. You don’t back away. A dry laugh leaves her breath, “You want me to be honest?”
Your hand falls from your face, eyes staring into her. You don’t answer. She starts anyway.
“I didn’t like the way he kept leaning into your space like it didn’t matter. I didn’t like how comfortable he got when he got closer.” She continued, voice slightly shaky, “I didn’t like the way he was looking at you.”
You face towards her, your hands trembling at your waist.
“I didn’t like how you didn’t stop him. Like you allowed him to get that close to you when I’m the one who spent twice the effort he did just to be closer to you. I literally live with you. And I still feel like I have to work for your attention.” Manon says, voice growing, breathing unevenly.
She runs a hand through her hair, pacing once before stopping directly in front of you again.
“I try to talk to you, and you’re distracted. I try to sit next to you, and you’re already somewhere else in your head. And then tonight, some guy walks up, says a few things, and you’re laughing like it’s effortless.”
“For everyone else, it’s easy. But when it comes to me? You make things hard.” She accuses, stepping even closer to you, but you still don’t back away.
You swallow, “I’m not trying to.”
“I know you’re not.” She sighs, searching for something in your eyes like she’s trying to read something you haven’t said out loud yet.
“You don’t even realize you do it,” she continues. “You avoid things. You get quiet. And I’m left guessing.”
“I’m not trying to avoid you,” you say.
“It feels like you are,” Manon whispers, glancing towards your eyes, then to your lips. You’re suddenly feeling nervous.
Manon grabs your arms, not harshly, just holding you close. Her fingers curl around your biceps as if she needs something real to hold onto while she talks.
“I see the way things feel lately,” her grip tightens. “I see the way you pull away sometimes. And when someone else gets close to you like that, it feels like I’m about to lose you.”
Her hands trail higher up your arms. Just letting her touch linger on your skin like she’s trying to memorize how you feel underneath her touch.
She’s close, her face just inches away from your own. You feel the unsteadiness of her breath hovering over yours. You feel her nails nearly piercing through your skin just by how hard she’s trying to control herself.
“Why do you think I wanted you to move in with me?”
Her fingers drag upwards, up your shoulders, your neck, your jaw, before cupping your face. You let her thumbs rub against your cheeks like she’s getting used to the feeling. You let her chest press up against yours. You let her lips ghost around your jaw, pressing a small kiss at the spot near your ear.
“I didn’t ask you to move in with me so I could control who you talk to,” she murmurs against your skin.
You let her hold your face.
“I asked because I wanted more of this.”
It’s soft, slow, even, at first. You feel her lips tremble against yours, pressing gently onto you. Manon holds your face closer, enough that you feel your breath stuttering. Your eyes close, just feeling her, being surrounded by her in her entirety.
Your hands wrap around her waist, nails digging into the fabric of her dress, not rough, but desperate for something solid to hold onto, just pulling her closer to your chest. You feel the unevenness of your heartbeat, or if that was hers, you weren’t sure. You couldn’t focus, couldn’t think clearly. You can’t tell anymore. Not when all you can think about is her.
You feel her thumb gently caressing the skin underneath your jaw, outlining your face. She pulls your jaw open, just slightly, enough for you to let out a small gasp.
Her tongue slips in, finally figuring out how you really taste after years of imagining–dreaming about how you’d feel around her arms.
You swallow the soft moan her lips make, the soft gasps in between. You taste everything she’s been feeling, everything she tried to hide. Your hands travel higher to the small space of her back, the only skin she kept unhidden underneath her dress. Your fingertips press harder, feeling the warmth of her skin soothing.
Manon feels delicate in your hands, not fragile, not weak. Just real. Her body fits against yours like it was meant to be there. Your fingers trace lightly along her shoulders, gentler, slower than before.
The kiss grows sloppier, messier. Faster, as if there wasn’t enough time to feel you. Her lips not matching the right pace, her breath heavier than before.
She pulls away suddenly. Though she stays close, her forehead leaning onto yours, trying to catch her breath. Your face sways forward, like you’re already missing the kiss. Her hands never leave your face.
Until they do. She grabs your hand instead. You let her drag your hand lower until you feel the metallic zipper of her dress.
She smiles, eyes heavy. As if all the things in her head aren’t as pure as you thought.
“Take it off.” She tells you quietly, her lips ghosting over yours like she’s testing if you’d hold still or lean forward.
The zipper drags lower. Inch by inch, the dress begins to fall from her body. Your hands can’t help but help her take it off entirely.
She steps out of her dress, unclips her bra by herself, not wasting anymore time.
She’s beautiful. So fucking beautiful.
Manon presses her front against yours again. You feel her nipples hardening through the fabric of your own dress, her tits pressed up against your own. You try to take a step back, to steady yourself and your thoughts–but she doesn’t let you.
Her lips meet yours. Hands tugging down the top of your dress, exposing your bra to her. You can’t help but arch your back into her once she pushes you onto your bed. A small gasp leaves your breath as she presses small kisses above your breasts and along your collarbone.
You can’t meet her eyes, not when you’re already trembling beneath her. You can even feel her smile against your skin as she drags your own dress off of you, throwing it onto the ground. Your bra leaves soon after, matching her own body.
“You’re so shy,” She laughs, the sound vibrating through your skin. “You won’t even look at me.” She adds, hands already massaging one of your breasts, toying with your nipple in between her fingers.
Your voice isn’t steady as you try to respond, head still turned away. “It’s not funny.” You mumble, whimpering softly when she begins kissing up your chest, peppering small kisses along your neck.
Manon stops, bringing a hand towards your face, turning your head so she can look at you. Really look at you.
“I’m not saying it is.” Her hand trails lower, past your breasts, your stomach, in between your thighs, cupping your panties. You can’t help but whimper at the firm touch of her palm, holding so incredibly still, pressing hard against you. It takes everything to not move your hips to grind against her.
She feels how wet you are for her.
“Manon.” You say, eyes closing.
You feel her smile widening, that stupid, pretty smile, never leaving her face.
“Mm.” She hums, rubbing small patterns against the fabric. She already feels your clit, sensitive, puffy, peaking through your slit, just drenching the cloth with ease.
“Wanna know something?” She asks suddenly, her thumb pressing firmly on the swollen nub. A broken moan leaves your throat. You can barely understand what she’s even saying.
Another whimper escapes when she presses harder, “R–Really? Now?”
Manon hovers over you, just watching the way you soak through your panties, making a mess out of them. Loving the way you can’t control the pretty sounds falling right out of your mouth.
“Last night,” She begins, kissing–licking the spot behind your ear, “I was in this exact position as you.”
Your throat bobbles once you feel yourself swallowing hard.
It takes you a few seconds, longer than needed, to register exactly what she’s saying. “What do you mean?” You gasp when she places her palm flat against your cunt.
“I mean,” She glances down at the sight between your thighs, “These panties?” Manon leans closer to your ear, her lips brushing slightly.
You feel yourself getting even more soaked.
She feels it too, laughing softly against your skin. “You like that?” She faces you again, “Knowing I wore the exact ones you're wearing right now?”
You can’t speak, not properly anyway. Not when you feel her fingers slip past the panties, her fingers brushing against your clit slowly, before going faster.
She toys with the small nub, drawing small circles, feeling the way you drench her fingers with ease. No barriers in between, her hand trapped between your pussy and the panties. She gives you another short kiss on your lips, a bunch of broken, incoherent whimpers falling from your lips.
“I’ll fuck you just like how I fucked myself,” She sighs over your lips, smiling at the way you can’t even hold her gaze.
“I’ll show you–fuck, I’ll show you how good I made myself feel pretending it was you fucking me.”
You cry underneath her, your thighs trembling from her words and her fingers.
Your folds–your cunt drenches around her fingers, “See?” Manon continues, your eyes already rolling back, and she hasn’t even fucked you properly yet. “I started just like this, rubbing my clit in soft–small circles.”
You respond with a nod, eyes tearing up just by how good she feels.
“Feels good, doesn’t it?” Her other hand holds you, brushing away the hair that sticks against your forehead. She can’t stop staring at you, like she’s trying to paint the picture of you falling apart underneath her hands, loving the way you react to her.
“Fucked myself dumb the other night, just by lying in your bed–” She whispers, giggling when you let out another whine.
Your cunt drips onto your panties. The fabric feels a lot tighter now. You want them off, to have more room to move.
But at the same time, you don’t. Just knowing she wore your panties, fucked herself good, on your bed, thinking of you?
The thought alone brings you closer.
“Can I?” You whisper, Manon stops, silently questioning what you’re exactly asking for–not until you begin softly grinding your hips into her, humping her hand as she toys around with your needy clit.
“Go ahead, baby,” The name has your heart clenching somehow, “Grind on my hand, show me how good I make you feel.”
A soft whine leaves you breathless, your hands propped up behind you, fucking her hand, your pussy drenching her hand, panties, even down underneath–onto your sheets.
You begin humping her fingers, your hips moving relentlessly as she tries matching your pace.
You feel her fingers pinching your clit, before drawing more patterns around the nub, you feel your tight hole soaking through everything. You can’t stop, can’t bring yourself to.
“This pussy,” You feel her mumble against your skin, “–so fucking messy, so filthy for me.”
Your fingers dig in the sheets beneath you, feeling close just at the feeling of her fingers playing around your cunt. She isn’t even inside you yet, and you’re already so close.
“Wanna see if I can make you cum just by playing with your clit,” She pants, pressing mouth-opened kisses wherever skin is exposed. “Maybe then I’ll decide if you get to have my fingers inside.”
You close your eyes, jaw slacked. A whisper so low, she barely registers the sound fallen from your mouth, “Manon–”
“I know,” She says, another kiss to your forehead this time, “I’ll take such good care of you, gonna make this pussy cum. I promise.”
Your moans grow louder, more desperate. Your thighs buckled against her hand, nearly trapping it in between. You’d never felt this so far gone in your life.
Your clit’s so swollen, so puffy, so fucking sensitive that it’s almost too much. But you’re so close, so so close. Even the sounds your cunt makes, gushing out a slick of wetness from your tight hole.
“Manon–I–I’m cumming–” You sob against her skin. Manon shushes you, pulls your head into her neck, letting the corners of your eyes begin to tear up just by how good she makes you feel. “F–Fuck, oh fuck–”
Your thighs shake as she presses soft kisses on top of your head. Her fingers slow down as she helps you through your orgasm.
She doesn’t even give you a minute to breathe once you feel her laying you onto your back, before immediately flipping you onto your stomach.
You’re too tired to react right away. Not when she pulls your ass up into the air, pressing a kiss to each of the back of your thighs.
You whimper softly once the cool air hits your cunt as she pulls the ruined panties down your thighs, letting them rest around your knees.
Manon doesn’t waste a second before she shoves her lips past your slit, dragging her tongue down, swirling around your swollen clit.
It’s already so sensitive from your last orgasm, you can’t help but cry from her overstimulating you.
“P–Please–” You sob, your cries muffled against the sheets.
Manon hums around you, her lips wrapping around your tight hole before slurping in hazardously, sucking in the rest of your cum into her mouth.
She drinks you up, not letting a single drop go to waste. Her tongue trails back down, switching between your sensitive nub and your cunt.
You begin fucking her face from behind, too dumb, too careless. You just know her mouth feels too good on you.
She closes her eyes, nails digging into your thighs as she brings you closer to her face, burying her tongue deep into you. “You taste so–” Manon hums again, another gush of wetness falling down her tongue, happily drinking it up, “–good.”
Your hands fist the sheets, feeling yet another orgasm coming through. You don’t know if you can handle another one right after.
You’re making a mess in her mouth. Your filth is just drenching her tongue–all she tastes is you. You alone, you in its entirety.
“I can’t.” You mumble, eyes exhausted, but your body is telling you otherwise.
You keep humping back into her face, grinding your ass back into her mouth as she eats you out.
Manon gives a light slap to one of your cheeks, a gasp escaping your lips. “You can, you can give me another one.”
You shake your head against the mattress, but you’re already feeling yourself getting closer. Your cunt just dripping off onto her tongue, some slipping past, some dripping onto your sheets.
Her lips begin sucking hard against your clit when you feel her fingers pushing through your cunt, a silent moan escaping your mouth, almost hoarse, but no sound leaves your breath.
“So tight around my fingers,” She laughs, the vibration making your thighs shake as she begins pumping two fingers in and out of you slowly.
Manon moves slow, incredibly slowly. Like she’s trying to make this last.
You keep backing yourself up into her like you’re trying to tell her to move faster, only to receive another small slap to the side of your thigh, whimpering softly.
“Good girl,” Her fingers curl in you, your eyes rolling back. “Good girls listen.”
Your eyes keep rolling into the back of your head, face smushed against the sheets. Your mouth has been open for a while now, just helplessly letting out loud or soft noises from the filth you’re feeling in your cunt.
Her fingers move faster, switching between moving back and forth, then curling in just at the spot you like.
She adds another finger, stretching you out. You can’t stop letting out these soft, desperate whimpers for her, indirectly telling her how much you love the stretch, the pain. How good she feels inside you.
When she curls her fingers again, your thighs back up against her all the way, pushing her fingers even deeper–suffocating them inside your cunt.
“Come on, baby.” She licks in between, “Cum in my mouth.” Manon urges.
A broken moan breaks through you.
Your thighs tremble around her. You feel her pulling out her fingers, sucking–slurping in another gush of your slick into her mouth from your pulsing cunt. She drinks it all up, humming at the way you taste, the way you’ve been doing so well for her.
You collapse on the bed, your thighs plopping back onto the mattress. Your breasts flat against the sheets.
You can’t feel a muscle in your body, and your energy is decreasing by the second. You can’t catch your breath, nor can you properly speak.
“It’s okay. You’re doing so well for me.” She tells you softly, her palm rubbing the side of your thigh gently.
Manon lifts you gently. Slowly turning you back onto your back. Your eyes blur for a second, not until you manage to catch sight in front of you.
You watch, breathless, the way she takes off her own panties. A whimper escapes your lips when the slick clings from her panties to her cunt as she drags them off her legs.
You don’t stop her when she pulls your thighs back apart, even when your muscles are aching.
“You wanna make me feel good too, right baby?” She leans over you as she climbs back onto the bed, a gentle smile upon her face.
You knew her all too well by now, knowing that smile didn’t carry anything gentle, whatsoever.
She watches you nod, still limp on the bed. Her fingers pressed tightly around the panties, still carrying them in her hand.
“Open your mouth,” Manon says lowly.
She places her panties into your mouth.
She spreads your legs more, your whimpers muffled when you watch the way she climbs over you, spreading her own legs apart before settling in between you. She adjusts her position before lowering herself onto you.
Your moan chokes around the fabric once her pussy meets your own.
Manon begins grinding, her folds moving around yours, your clit bumping against hers.
“Fuck.” She gasps, holding your thighs to balance herself as she moves over you. You feel how wet she’s gotten, just by eating you out.
You match her pace, slightly grinding your own hips onto her, loving the way your slick glides onto her.
She’s so turned on. Just watching you helplessly. The way your mouth is stuffed from her panties, just like how she was with yours the other night. The sight already has her soaked, dripping down her thighs.
Manon licks her lips, a hand leaving your thigh, trailing up her waist before cupping one of her tits, pulling gently at a nipple. “You have no idea how many times I imagined this.”
Your whine cuts through the panties in your mouth.
“You had no idea, did you?” She laughs, “I’ve spent so many nights–in your bed–when you were gone–” Then a gasp, “Just fucking myself stupid–”
You turn your head, soft, quiet noises spilling out of your mouth from her words. Drool keeps spilling past the corners of your lips, all because every time you make a sound, you taste her on her panties. The slick that sticks onto the cloth lingers on your tongue.
She’s moving too fast, you can’t keep up.
“You feel so good,” She sighs, her hips pressing harder.
She spreads her legs wider, feeling more of her cunt grinding against yours.
“Gonna use this pussy–” Manon whimpers between her words, “Gonna use you to cum–fuck.” Another choken moan spills out.
She’s so wet, her slick gushing out all over you. You feel her rubbing it against your clit, your folds, you can’t even think correctly because she feels too good to even think about anything else.
You’re too loud, whining, crying for more, sobbing for a release, even when you’re being choked with her panties.
Manon holds the back of your thigh to keep you in place. Her movements become more greedy, more purposeful as she moves against you. Your slick sliding against hers.
Some of it spills past your thighs, onto your sheets. She’s leaking heavily, just spilling out a gush of wetness all over your pussy and your bed. She doesn’t care if it stains, neither do you.
Your eyes don’t miss how pretty she looks right now. The way her mouth’s still wet, drenched from your cunt, eyes rolling back into her head, hands still playing her tits as she grinds against you.
You feel your third orgasm coming through, knowing that she’s getting closer.
Her other hand digs into your thigh, her nails digging in sharply. It doesn’t stop you from helping her move, holding her thighs within your hands as she moves back and forth in a small pattern.
Manon stops momentarily. Just before she leans down to take out the soaked panties, giving a sloppy kiss to your lips instead before humping your cunt faster.
“I–I’m gonna cum.” She moans, holding you close, her clit becoming overly sensitive. You nod, feeling yourself coming with her, your hands holding her face closer to your own as you kiss her, swallowing the moan she releases as she finally comes.
Your orgasm soon follows shortly after she comes on you, helping each other ride it out. Thighs trembling against one another, her front collapsing on top of you. You're holding her close.
Neither of you says anything.
The room is quiet except for the sound of your breathing slowly evening out. The rise and fall of your chest matching it’s pace.
It takes a few minutes before she can gain the strength to remove herself from you.
Manon falls beside you, catching her own breath before turning around.
Her head rests against your chest as she moves closer to you, fingers lazily tracing patterns along your skin like she’s making sure you’re still there. Not gripping. Not desperate anymore.
And you let her, just staying quiet. Just letting her draw small circles along your arm. Quietly telling you that she’s still here.
Too much had happened all at once.
You don’t know where to start.
You feel Manon shift slightly, pressing closer, her leg tangling with yours. You feel her exhale against you, slower this time.
“You okay?” she asks quietly. Almost hesitant.
Your head turns to face her, already finding her eyes staring into yours.
“Yeah,” You whisper, fingers brushing gently through her hair. “Are you?”
You feel her exhaling shakily, your fingers gliding through her hair to soothe her.
“Sorry for like,” She buries her face into your neck, “invading your space.”
You smile slightly, shrugging a bit. “I kinda knew for a while. I just wasn’t sure.”
Manon looks up at you, a brow raised, “You did?”
You nod, “I can smell your shampoo on my pillows.”
She doesn’t respond right away, before letting out a small Oh, burying her face deeper into your skin, beginning to feel your warmth more comforting than the blankets themselves.
You smile faintly at her reaction.
“I’ve been in love with you for years,” Manon admits.
“I imagined telling you in many different ways,” she continues, “I thought it would be some perfect moment, maybe something I had planned, something that you deserved. Not after a fight. Not after I pulled you out of some party just because I was scared of losing you.”
Her fingers curl tighter around your arm.
“I mean,” Manon laughs at the memories, “I used to rehearse it. In the car, the shower, or next to you while we’re watching a movie. But I never did because we’re best friends and I couldn’t risk losing you if it meant wanting more than that.”
You look at her, really look at her this time.
“I don’t want anyone else.” You murmur, “I never did.”
You shake your head, her grip pulling you closer. Your fingers trace slowly along her back.
“I tried to convince myself I did,” You exhale quietly, “I tried going on dates, tried to talk about other people as I meant it. But it never felt right. It felt like I was pretending. Lying about something that I was too afraid to admit.”
“I don’t know when it happened.” Your smile grows when you feel her fingers trail along your arm, listening carefully. “Somewhere between our late-night talks and falling asleep on the couch. Maybe somewhere between calling you my best friend and realizing that word wasn’t enough anymore.”
“I’m in love with you,” you say, steady this time.
“Not just in the way that’s comfortable. Not just because we’ve known each other forever. I’m in love with the way you think, the way you care too much, the way you are as a person and your entirety.”
You whisper, “I love you because you’re you.”
Manon smiles. She doesn’t say anything else. She didn’t need to.
Not when everything she needs is already beside her.
