Pairing: whoever(m) x fem! reader
Drink Type: 🍶 After Hours
Warnings: 18+ mirrors don’t interact, pet names\calling, light choking
That’s what your phone reads when you flip it over on the nightstand, the screen lighting up the dark bedroom in a faint blue glow.
You groan softly into your pillow.
Which would’ve been perfectly fine… if you hadn’t gone to bed already aching and restless.
Your body feels heavy and warm, that familiar low throb in your stomach making it impossible to ignore what you’ve been trying not to think about. You squeeze your thighs together.
You asked the past three nights in a row.
Tonight is technically a new night.
You roll onto your other side, reaching instinctively across the mattress.
Cold sheets greet your fingertips.
Your eyes drift toward the hallway light faintly slipping under the bedroom door. He’s not in bed.
You push the covers off and slip out of bed, the house quiet except for the soft hum of electronics downstairs. The wooden floors are cool under your feet as you make your way down the hall, then down the stairs.
Each step makes you second-guess yourself.
Maybe you should just go back to bed.
Maybe you’re being needy.
But the ache in your stomach says otherwise.
You stop in front of his office door — thick, dark wood, always slightly intimidating at this hour.
Your hand rests against it for a second.
Then you push it open gently.
The glow of his monitor lights the room in pale blue and white. He’s sitting behind his desk, sleeves rolled up, shoulders tense, jaw set in concentration. The screen reflects in his eyes as he scans whatever’s in front of him, expression serious — almost stern.
Completely unaware you’re standing there in one of his old t-shirts and nothing else.
You lean lightly against the doorframe.
Your voice soft. Sleep-thick. Slightly shy.
His fingers pause on the keyboard.
And slowly, his gaze lifts.
“Sweetheart, what’s wrong, why you up?” he says, into the light lit room from the small standing floor lap in the corner of the room by his desk, lifting his head slightly over the monitor in front of him to see you a little better.
Walking around to his side of the desk, inviting yourself to straddle his lap and rest your head on his chest.
“Nothins’ wrong, just wanted to see you,”
You mumble, half lying, half telling he truth. Slightly adjusting yourself in his lap, looking for any type of friction without making it obvious “Woke up to you not in bed.”
Wrapping his arms around you, placing his hand on your back, rubbing small circles with a slight “Mhmm” as he shakes his head, attentively showing that he’s listening.
Looking over your head at the time showed on the screen in the right corner “It’s three in the morning, you should be asleep,” he whispers, countining to click and type away at a data sheet he was working on.
“Unless you wanting to see me isn’t the only reason you came searching for me, hm”
Slightly re-positioning himself in the chair, lifting you with him making the warmth of your center make contact with the slight bulge in his sweats just from the sher size of him. Settling back down into a more comfortable postion, letting his hands leave his keybored and mouse before resting them on your lower back.
“Say what you really want,” He demands, voice controlled and firm waiting for an answer “dont lie to me angle.”
Shifting in his lap embarrassed, moving to wrap your hands around his neck before mumbling out your real reason.
You mutter out, still hiding your face in his neck, not until his hand comes up and finds its way to your chin making you look directly in his eyes.
“You needy little girl, this the fourth time ain’t it”
He asked, a small laugh escaping his lips, while he drags his thumb across your bottom lip, leaning in to place a quick but intentional kiss on your lips.
“Stop! It’s not funny bro,” You wine, lightly hitting his chest to emphasize your words “It’s not my fault..”
The laugh quickly leaves his mouth once he hears that ‘bro’ word slip from your lips. Moving his hand to close around your cheeks, causing your lips to jud out “Watch your mouth, you know I don’t play that ‘bro’ shit,” He reminded, moving his hand to softly wrap around your throat “Bros don’t fuck their needy wives at three in the morning” He finishes, getting up from the chair while carrying you with one arm like you weighted nothing, bringing your legs to wrap around his torso.
Walking to the front side of the desk before releasing you to where your right in front of the desk with him blocking you in with his 6’2, broad shoulder frame. Not even giving you time to move he immediately pushes you down on to the desk, causing him to be able to see everything your ‘his’ shirt was hiding. Moving the shirt to rest right above your mid back before his palm came down in a firm, measured crack against your right cheek. The sound louder than anything else in the house and outside.
“No panties?” He ask, letting out a chuckle deep in his throat. Freeing his strained dick from his briefs, sliding it up and down your soaked pussy, teasing you before pushing it in with one slow stroke.
“Mhmm—shit, b-baby” You gasped, breathless from the way he was stretching you out and he’s bearly even moved yet. Putting on hand on your waist, staring with slow, deep strokes, grinding into you like his trying to mold his dick inside of you.
“Humm.. I can’t hear you mama,” He rasped, running his hand in your hair and grabbing a handful of your hair to lift your head up from off the desk “You can take it,” He groaned out, matching his thrust, smacking your ass back into him to get more friction “Like the needy wife you are.”
You whimper when he starts to fuck you harder, driving deeper, parting your legs more to take more of him, pulling your orgasm closer and closer.
“Can’t get enough of you, baby” he grits out. “Taking me so good. So fuckin’ good.’
You cry out as he starts to hit that spot over n over again, feeling your legs start to quiver as he moves his hand from your hair to wrap around your neck, firm enough to hold you in place, soft enough not to bruise.
Rolling his hips while pounding into you, as you let out a high hoarse moan at the pressure building up.
The orgasm rises fast—sudden, brutal, consuming. You come with a cry that breaks you open, legs shaking, wall clenching so hard it brings him to his orgasm too.
He fucks you both through it, rougher, deeper, harder—grinding his hips as if trying to stay in you, a low broken groan escapes his throat as he spills deep inside you, pressing himself against you with two more thrust before, pulling out while you’re still shaking.
The room is quiet again. Not heavy. Not tense. Just quiet. The only sound is your breathing slowly evening out and the faint hum of the house settling around you. You’re wrapped in a robe now — one of the thick, soft ones you keeps hanging on the bathroom door. He insisted. Even though you told him you weren’t cold. “You always say that,” he mutters softly.
You’re sitting sideways in his lap again, but this time there’s no teasing edge, no tension in his jaw. Just warmth. His hand moves lazily up and down your back, slow enough to make your eyelids heavy. “You okay?” he asks quietly. It’s not a casual question. It’s deliberate. You nod against his chest. “Mhm.” He tilts your chin up with two fingers, studying your face like he’s checking for something only he can see. “Use your words.” You sigh softly but there’s a tiny smile on your lips. “I’m okay. Promise.” He doesn’t look convinced until you lean up and press a soft kiss just under his jaw. “Thank you,” you whisper. That’s when his expression softens completely. His thumb brushes across your cheek. “Don’t thank me for taking care of you.” He shifts slightly, adjusting the small blanket he also got for you around your shoulders more securely, then reaches beside him to grab the cold water bottle, twisting the cap off and handing it to you.
“Slow sips.” You roll your eyes but listen anyway. He watches until you drink, nodding once like he’s satisfied. Then he sets the glass down and pulls you closer again, resting his chin on top of your head. “You did good,” he murmurs quietly into your hair. The praise hits differently now. Softer. No teasing. Just reassurance. Your fingers trace lazy shapes against his chest. “Are you okay?” you ask after a moment. He hums. “I’m good. Better now.” There’s something grounding about the way he holds you — not possessive, not demanding. Just steady. Protective. Like he’s making sure you’re fully back before he lets the night move on.
After a while, he stands with you in his arms. Seating you down on the bed gently, tucks you in, and slides in behind you. One arm drapes over your waist. His hand rests flat against your stomach, thumb moving in slow circles. “If you ever need me,” he murmurs sleepily against your shoulder, “you tell me. I don’t care what mood I’m in.” You turn your head slightly. “I know.” “Good.” A soft kiss presses to your shoulder. The house is still. His breathing deepens. And this time, when you fall asleep, you’re not restless. You’re safe.
