jordan huxhold x you (fem reader)
listen to: fucked my way up to the top - lana del rey while reading :)
warning: heavily explicit nsfw smut.
the invitation arrived like a half-remembered melody drifting through an open window on a warm la night, pulling you back into the hills where the city lights bled gold and violet into the sky. you almost deleted the message, thumb hovering over the screen while “shades of cool” by lana del rey played low in the background, singing about lovers who come back only to leave again. months had slipped by since jordan huxhold left your life, quiet as smoke curling from the end of a cigarette on his balcony. he was the ex who lingered in the corners of every late night, the one whose hands had once known every inch of you better than your own. golden-skinned and distant, beautiful in the way things are right before they break you open and leave you aching for more.
yet you went anyway. the party hummed across the wide terrace overlooking the canyon, silk dresses catching the breeze and laughter cutting a little too sharp against the dark. models and influencers moved through the space like shadows in a film, but your eyes found him without effort. jordan leaned against the railing, white shirt unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up to show the lean strength of his forearms. the low red light from inside spilled over him, warming the tones of his skin, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw and the subtle definition in his chest where the fabric parted. he looked unchanged, effortless, like the dry canyon wind had carved him into something cinematic and untouchable.
when his gaze lifted and met yours across the crowd, everything folded inward. no words at first. just that slow, deliberate way he studied you, the same look he gave his subjects when he knew the shot would ruin him a little. you moved closer through the thinning bodies. “didn’t expect to see you here,” he said, voice low, carrying that familiar edge of dry humor wrapped around something heavier, something that still pulled at your ribs.
he offered his glass, whiskey neat, and your fingers brushed. the spark hadn’t faded; if anything, absence had sharpened it. memories flooded in without permission: nights in his studio where the camera clicked softer than your breathing, his mouth on your throat while the city sprawled indifferent below. fights that dissolved into desperate, sweat-slicked touches against the darkroom wall. the way he would pull you close afterward, silent but steady, heartbeat thumping under your palm as if afraid morning would steal whatever this was.
the party emptied out as hours bled away. somehow you ended up in the passenger seat of his white mustang, windows down, wind whipping through your hair as the canyon roads curved under the tires. no music, but the silence felt loaded, like the opening bars of one of her songs, heavy with everything you hadn’t said. when he pulled into the driveway of the house perched above the lights, the one you used to know by heart, neither of you pretended this was casual or accidental.
inside, the studio still carried the old scent of developing chemicals, worn leather, and him. he closed the door behind you, the soft click settling low in your chest like a decision already made.
“tell me to go,” you whispered, standing there in the half-dark.
jordan stepped close, one hand rising to cradle your jaw, thumb brushing your lower lip with the careful precision he used behind the lens. “i never could.” his kiss came slow at first, searching, tasting of whiskey and the long months apart. it deepened gradually, his fingers threading into your hair as your bodies pressed together. you felt the warmth of him, the solid line of muscle beneath his shirt, the way he was already hardening against your thigh, insistent and familiar.
clothes came away without rush this time. your dress slipped to the floor in a whisper of fabric. his shirt followed, revealing the lean, sculpted lines of his torso. his abs were defined but not overly cut, the kind of natural athleticism from canyon runs and long shoots, a faint trail of dark hair leading down from his navel. broad shoulders tapered to a narrow waist, skin warm and smooth under your palms as you traced the ridges of muscle, feeling the way they flexed beneath your touch. he guided you back to the leather couch, kneeling between your spread thighs with that same unhurried focus.
his mouth moved up the inside of one leg, then the other, breath hot against your center before his tongue parted your folds. he licked you with quiet intensity, long, slow strokes from your entrance to your clit, circling and sucking until your hips lifted off the cushion. two thick fingers slid inside you, curling just right, stroking steadily while his tongue worked your clit. the wet sounds filled the studio, mixing with your uneven breathing. pleasure coiled tight and low, building until it broke over you in deep waves, leaving your thighs trembling around his shoulders.
he rose then, shedding the last of his clothes. his body was a study in golden shadows under the red light, muscular arms and chest catching the glow, abs tightening as he moved. his cock stood heavy and flushed, thick and long with a slight upward curve, veins prominent along the shaft, the head smooth and glistening with precum. it twitched under your gaze, heavy in your hand as you stroked him from base to tip, feeling the velvety skin over rigid heat. jordan exhaled sharply, eyes half-lidded, hips rolling subtly into your grip.
“missed how you feel,” he murmured, voice rough.
you guided him closer. he pushed in slowly, stretching you open inch by inch, that perfect burn of fullness you had tried to forget. his abs flexed with each controlled thrust as he seated himself deep, hips flush against yours, the weight of his muscular frame pressing you into the leather. he paused there, forehead to yours, breathing steady, letting you adjust to the thickness of him. then he began to move, deep rolls of his hips at first, dragging his cock along every sensitive spot inside you. the rhythm built gradually, skin meeting skin with slick sounds, sweat gathering in the dips of his abs and along the v-lines framing his hips.
one hand pinned your wrist above your head, the other gripping your thigh to spread you wider, letting him sink even deeper. his body moved with controlled power, lean muscle shifting under warm skin, chest pressing against your breasts as he leaned down to kiss you. he fucked you like he was reclaiming lost time, grinding close on every thrust, the head of his cock hitting that spot that made sparks flare behind your eyes. you came again like that, clenching tight around his thick length, pulling a low groan from deep in his chest. he followed soon after, burying himself fully as he spilled inside you, hot pulses filling you while his abs tightened and his body shuddered against yours.
but the night stretched on, as nights with jordan always did. he carried you upstairs to the bedroom, moonlight cutting silver across the wide bed and the canyon view beyond the windows. there, on cool silk sheets, he took you again from behind. his hands gripped your hips, strong fingers digging in just enough to anchor you as he slid back inside, thick cock stretching you once more. you felt every inch, the way his muscular thighs pressed against the back of yours, the flex of his abs against your lower back with each deep stroke. one hand reached around to circle your clit, steady and knowing, while his mouth stayed near your ear, breath warm, whispering quiet words between thrusts.
later you straddled him, hands braced on the firm planes of his chest, feeling the muscle there as you sank down onto his cock. his abs contracted visibly beneath you, a light sheen of sweat tracing the defined lines as you rode him slow and deep. his hands roamed, thumbs brushing your nipples, then gripping your ass to guide your movements. his eyes held yours, dark and intent, watching every flicker of pleasure cross your face while his thick length filled you completely, curving just right inside.
near dawn he pressed you against the cool glass of the window, the city beginning to wake far below. his hand rested lightly at your throat, not squeezing, just present and possessive, while his other arm wrapped around your waist. he drove into you with deeper, more urgent thrusts, muscular body flush against your back, cock sliding in and out with wet, rhythmic sounds. the angle let him hit everything perfectly, his abs and hips working in steady power until pleasure built sharp and overwhelming. it crashed over you hard, and he followed, spilling deep again with a broken exhale against your neck.
afterward you lay tangled together, skin sticky with sweat and release, his fingers tracing lazy lines down your spine. the familiar melancholy crept back in, soft as morning fog rolling through the canyon. you were exes for reasons that still made sense in daylight, schedules and egos and the way his world pulled him in too many directions at once. loving him always carried that edge, sweet and sharp like the final drag of a cigarette before the burn.
yet as the first light touched the hills in soft gold, jordan drew you closer, lips brushing your temple in a kiss too tender for everything that had come before. “stay a while,” he said, simple and low. in the quiet, with his heartbeat steady beneath your cheek and the warmth of his muscular frame wrapped around you, the ache felt worth every second. the city would keep moving below. the camera would click again soon enough. but for these stolen hours in the dark paradise you once shared, his body and yours remembered the way back, his unforgettable bright blue eyes looked into yours, his gaze steady and slow. his dumb buck teeth smile, as you put it, shows as he expresses his depth of having you back in his life. you realized that you and him are soulmates. he also did. all those nights of fighting were just unsaid thoughts.
you two fall asleep once more, it now being 12:33 pm. he makes his favorite coffee; an iced caramel latte with two pumps of vanilla. you wake up to his shirtless back standing in front of the kitchen counter, his long legs carried by sage green baggy sweatpants. it comforts you to know he’s back.
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