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number neighbour — oikawa. t

𝒐ikawa 𝒕ooru x fem!reader

╱ 𝒘𝒄 # 8.7k

— 𝒂uthor's 𝒏ote ﹕ hello hello! another addition to number neighbour, the unofficial collection. chatfic, but towards the end it has less of the chat and more of the fic. without further ado.. proceed

requested ☆

more in the number neighbour collection

akaashi — smau // ushijima — chatfic

if you're being honest, you should've known doing this was a bad idea.

at first, anyway.

you're staring at your phone screen, the bright light blinding you in the dark of your room. you rub your eyes and squint at the small rectangle in your hands.

you should be sleeping, but they do say that night is the best time to be awake. and for some reason, the internet trend of texting your number neighbor did seem like a stroke of genius five minutes ago..

your phone number ends in a 4, so you have two options. either a 3 or a 5.

making up your mind, you decide to start with a 3. you open a new text thread, type in the number that is identical to yours except for that last digit, and bite your lip in anticipation as you begin to draft your message.

thevellichorsoul

⋆𐙚 ̊ Jason Todd loves eating you out ╰wc: 1.3k

The air in Jason’s apartment is thick with the familiar, comforting scent of old paper, gun oil, and the faint, clean leather of his jacket slung over the back of a chair. But tonight, that familiar scent is laced with something else—the sharp, electric tang of anticipation, the warm, musky promise of his skin. You’re standing before him, his hands on your hips, his gaze a physical weight as he looks up at you from where he’s sprawled on the worn-out couch.

“C’mere,” he rasps, his voice a low gravelly hum that vibrates through you. He doesn’t wait for you to comply, his hands tightening on your hips as he guides you forward, manoeuvring you until you’re standing over him, one foot on the couch cushion on either side of his head. The position is dominant, almost clinical, but the look in his eyes is anything but. It’s dark and hungry, a primal fire that promises to consume you whole.

“Don’t be shy,” he murmurs, his thumbs stroking the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, sending shivers racing up your spine. “Sit.”

You lower yourself slowly, your breath catching in your throat as you feel the first hot puff of his breath against your slick, waiting folds. You’re already soaked; you have been since he gave you that look across the room, the one that promised you’d be screaming his name before the night was through. You settle your weight on him, your knees sinking into the worn cushions, and the first contact is electric. It’s a soft, wet brush of his lips against your clit, and a jolt of pure pleasure shoots through you, so intense it makes you gasp.

He groans, the sound a deep, guttural noise of pure appreciation that’s muffled by your flesh. He’s not teasing, not anymore. He’s devouring you. His tongue is a masterful instrument, a broad, flat stroke that goes from your weeping entrance all the way up to your pulsing clit, collecting your arousal like a connoisseur. He’s tasting you, learning you, memorising the very essence of you.

Your hands fly out, gripping the back of the couch for support as your legs begin to tremble. The sight is obscene in the best possible way. You look down and see his dark head, the messy black strands of his hair tickling your inner thighs. You see the way his jaw works as he eats you out with a focused, almost desperate hunger, like a man who’s been starved for far too long and has just been presented with a feast.

His hands slide up from your thighs to grip your ass, his fingers digging into the soft flesh, pulling you down, grinding you against his mouth. He’s taking control now, setting the pace. He shifts, angling his head, and then his tongue is delving into your entrance, fucking you with it in slow, deliberate thrusts that mimic the act itself. You can hear the wet, lewd sounds of his mouth on you, the sounds of your own slickness, and it’s the most erotic thing you’ve ever heard.

“Jason… oh fuck, Jason! ", you whimper, your hips starting to move in a slow, rocking rhythm, instinctively riding his face. You can’t help it. The pleasure is too good, too overwhelming.

He hums in response, the vibration sending a jolt of pure ecstasy straight to your clit. He pulls back for a moment, just long enough to speak. “That’s it,” he grunts, his voice thick and husky. “Ride my face. Use me.” His words are a lit match to gasoline. They’re filthy, degrading in the most glorious way, and they unleash something primal inside you.

He shifts one of his hands, bringing it around to your front. His fingers find your clit, and he starts to rub it in tight, fast circles, in perfect time with the movements of his tongue. The dual stimulation is a sensory overload. Your thighs start to shake uncontrollably, your movements becoming more erratic, more desperate. You’re no longer in control; you’re just a vessel for the pleasure he’s giving you.

“Look at me,” he commands, his voice muffled but laced with an undeniable authority. You force your heavy eyelids open, looking down the length of your body at him. His face is buried between your thighs, his eyes locked on yours, and the sight is so incredibly hot, so intensely intimate, it makes your pussy clench hard. You see the raw, unadulterated hunger in his gaze, the sheer joy he takes in your pleasure. He’s not just doing this for you; he’s doing this for him, too.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful like this,” he groans, his words slurred. “All spread out for me. So fucking wet.”

He redoubles his efforts, his tongue and fingers working in a relentless, perfect harmony. He’s pushing you, driving you higher and higher, closer and closer to the edge. The coil of pleasure in your stomach is tightening, a hot, heavy weight that’s about to snap. You can feel the orgasm building, a tidal wave of sensation that’s about to crash over you.

“Don’t stop, ngh,” you gasp, your voice a breathy plea. “Please, Jason, don’t stop.”

He doesn’t. He sucks your clit into his mouth, his tongue flicking against the sensitive bundle of nerves while his fingers continue their merciless assault. That’s all it takes. The orgasm tears through you, violent and all-consuming. Your back arches, your head thrown back, a silent scream caught in your throat as wave after wave of pure, unadulterated ecstasy washes over you. Your body convulses, your thighs clamping around his head as you grind against his face, riding out the intense pleasure.

He doesn’t stop, his tongue lapping up your juices, prolonging your orgasm until you’re a boneless, trembling mess above him, completely and utterly spent. You collapse forward, your forehead resting against the cool leather of the couch back, your body limp and pliant.

He gently eases you off of him, his hands supporting your hips as you settle back onto his chest. You’re breathing heavily, your heart hammering against your ribs. He’s grinning, a smug, triumphant look on his face, his chin and mouth glistening with your arousal. He looks proud, like he’s just conquered a small country.

He leans up and captures your lips in a deep, possessive kiss, and you can taste yourself on his tongue. It’s a filthy, intimate taste, a heady combination of you and him, and you moan into his mouth, your hands tangling in his hair.

“You taste so fucking good,” he growls against your lips, his hands roaming your body, squeezing your ass, pulling you closer. “But I think you can give me more.”

Your eyes fly open, and you see the wicked glint in his. He’s not done with you. Not by a long shot.

“Again”, he commands, his voice a low, dominant rumble. “This time, I want you to fuck my face. "Hard."

He doesn’t have to tell you twice. You straddle him again, this time with a newfound confidence, a newfound hunger. You lower yourself onto his waiting mouth, and this time, you don’t hesitate. You take what you want, grinding down against his tongue, riding his face with a wild abandon. He meets you thrust for thrust, his mouth and tongue working in a frenzied rhythm. The second orgasm builds faster, a sharp, intense peak that has you crying out his name, your body shaking with the force of it.

You collapse against him, completely and utterly spent. He holds you, his arms wrapped around you, his body a warm, solid presence. You can feel his heart beating against your chest, a steady, reassuring rhythm.

“You’re amazing,” he whispers, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Absolutely fucking amazing.”

You close your eyes, a contented sigh escaping your lips. But just as you’re about to drift off to sleep, you feel him shift. You open your eyes to find him looking at you, a slow, satisfied smile spreading across his face.

“Rest up,” he says, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Because we’re not done yet. Not even close.”

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