i know in my heart (despite That Nickname in harvard) john marino would not be able to string a sentence together in front of a girl he's realllly into ...but don't worry, he'll make up for it later ;)
nsfw content below
you’re wedged on the battered couch in the middle of someone’s too-loud house party, half-drunk from the cheap vodka punch that’s bright red and staining the rim of your plastic cup, legs crossed and bouncing a little while you watch the swirl of strangers getting sloppier and sloppier, and your friend taps your shoulder like she’s got a secret worth telling and says she wants to introduce you to a guy she knows from college, he’s a hockey player, real quiet but apparently incredible in bed, they called him “the female orgasm”
you roll your eyes at the nickname but you’re intrigued because that’s an absolutely absurd thing to say about someone who’s blushing to the roots of his brown curls, standing behind her in a faded crewneck with a beer can dangling from long fingers, brown eyes darting anywhere but at you, jaw set so hard you can see the twitch in his cheek like he’s trying not to grind his teeth, cute nose, sharp jaw that could make a nun horny, and he’s got this tongue-tied energy like he’s choking on everything he wants to say
you say hi first, of course you do, he just nods, opens his mouth, shuts it again, clears his throat like it’s full of barbed wire, finally blurts “john” like it’s the hardest word in the world, voice raspy and low and you’re wet already, no reason except the way he looks at you when he thinks you’re not watching, pupils blown so wide they’re practically swallowing his eyes
your friend cackles, says “she’s single” and pats him on the shoulder like he’s a racehorse waiting for the gate to open, and he just stands there red as sin, swallowing, unable to respond except for this tiny exhale that sounds like he’s been holding his breath forever, but he doesn’t move away, doesn’t run, just stares at your mouth like he wants to crawl inside it
you don’t even remember how the rest happens, the music pulses and the world seems to tilt, one second you’re exchanging stupid stilted words and the next you’re pressed up against the wall in the darkened hallway, bodies crushed together, his big palms framing your face with surprising gentleness even as his mouth crashes onto yours like he’s starving, teeth scraping your lip until you gasp for him, his breath ragged in your mouth, fingers sliding down your neck and curling there, thumb pressing into your pulse as you moan right into him
he groans at that, a rough, strangled sound buried in your mouth, squeezing your throat just enough to make your cunt clench and you whine for him, embarrassingly desperate already, his hips grinding hard against yours while the party rages a room away, muffled bass rattling the walls as you writhe under his hands, clawing at his sweater, trying to pull him closer even though there’s no space left between you
he breaks the kiss, breathing like he’s been drowning, eyes locked on yours, words shredded from his voice as he mutters “need you” against your jaw, pressing wet open-mouthed kisses there while you pant, your fingers dragging up into his curls, tugging him closer, nails biting his scalp so he hisses, low and savage, and you feel him shiver against you
he doesn’t say much more, can’t, mouth too busy devouring every inch of your neck and collarbone he can reach, both of you staggering down the hall like you’re trying to merge into one person, bumping into the doorframe before tumbling into the spare bedroom in a tangle of limbs, the door slamming shut behind you as he pins you against it, hand tight on your throat again while he kisses you so deep you see sparks
you manage to gasp out “the bed,” and he freezes for half a breath like the word rebooted his brain, then nods, eyes flicking to the mattress covered in throw pillows, grabbing your hand with bruising force to drag you over, shoving you down into the pile like you’re the most precious thing he’s ever held, arranging the cushions around your back, tucking one under your head with this maddening care even as his fingers fumble at the button of your shorts
“want you comfy,” he mutters so quietly you almost miss it, voice shaking, fingers shaking, but the second the zipper gives he’s laser-focused, yanking them down your legs while you squirm, panties soaked through and sticking to your folds, embarrassing sticky string of slick clinging when he pulls them off, his eyes flicking there and going glassy with want
you bite your lip, trying to hide how wet you are but there’s no chance, he sees everything and he fucking growls, actual low sound in his chest, crawling onto the bed between your spread thighs, palms pushing your knees apart until you’re wide open for him, cunt gleaming in the dim light, twitching, little flutters making the slick smear across your inner thighs while you moan breathlessly for him
he just breathes there for a second, nose almost brushing your mound, inhaling deep like he wants to memorize your scent, whispering “fuckin' phenomenal....” voice cracking on the last word, fingers splayed on your hips to hold you down as you buck impatiently, whining his name in this ruined voice you don’t even recognize
his tongue hits you like a brand, hot and wet and firm, licking a broad stripe from your clit down to your entrance and back up, slow, savoring, making your hips jerk hard before he clamps them down, pinning you to the bed while he groans against your slit, the vibration making you squeal and tug at his hair, knees trembling against his shoulders
“stay still,” he rasps, voice shredded, muffled between your thighs as he licks you again, wetter, sloppier, circling your clit with maddening precision, teasing little flicks that make your hips twitch despite his grip, your cunt clenching hard enough you feel every flutter, every ripple, leaking slick onto the pillows while you moan and beg in choked, broken noises
he moves one hand, pressing a thick finger to your soaked entrance, sliding in slow as his tongue flattens on your clit, applying perfect pressure, curling his finger up to rake across that spot that makes your vision white out at the edges, your walls convulsing around him, sucking him in greedily as you cry out for him, voice high and shaking
“that’s it,” he murmurs against you, words smeared with spit and slick, “is that good?” sounding almost reverent before he seals his lips around your clit, sucking hard, tongue flicking lightning-quick, finger pumping inside you, stroking just right, and you lose it completely, voice ragged with your gasps and mewls, your cunt spasming around him in hungry little pulses, dripping down to his palm as he works you through it
he doesn’t let up, doesn’t stop to smirk or taunt, just locks in like he’s made to do this, another finger pushing in beside the first so you stretch open around him, gummy walls squeezing tight, squelching lewdly while he tongue-fucks your clit, breath blowing hot across your slick folds as you babble curses, his name, anything to make him keep going
your fingers claw at the pillows, knuckles white, back arching, thighs clamping around his ears but he just groans into your pussy, the sound vibrating through your entire core until you’re shaking, gasping like you’re about to cry, pleasure rolling over you in crushing waves that leave you limp and twitching, voice breaking on every pathetic whimper
and he only stops when you shove at his head weakly, legs quivering too hard to close around him, your entire cunt slick and messy, inner walls fluttering around nothing as you whimper and shake, his face wet with you, curls sticking to his forehead, brown eyes black with want, licking his lips slow as he drags himself up your body to kiss you messy and deep, letting you taste yourself while you pant into his mouth, boneless and ruined beneath him
summary: the longest of days are always cured by the goodness of your boyfriend, John Marino.
a/n: pure comforting goodness, also I hope to write more John from now on!
warnings: MDNI, making out, use of nicknames: angel and baby.
The cool evening air bit at the tip of your nose as you fumbled with the keys for the apartment. Autumn had begun to trickle into the Utah breeze, and your body was cursing your lack of another layer. Exhausted weighed down your body. You'd had a long day at work that was full of things going wrong, which instilled a certain sort of tiredness that ran deep into your bones.
Your key clicked in the lock, and the door opened. The warmth and familiarity immediately hit you, allowing your shoulders to finally slump. The hum of music, some country tune, filtered out from the inside in symphony with the clattering coming from the kitchen.
You stepped inside, an instinctual sigh rocketing through your ribs as you exhaled, shutting the door behind you, causing its sharp clink to echo down the hall.
There was the sound of shuffling, then another clatter as you kicked off your shoes and tucked them into the corner beside another pair. When you finally dropped your bag and looked up, you caught sight of your boy standing ahead of you, leaning against the wall with his hands deep in the pockets of his pants.
"Hey, angel," John grinned, cheeks flushed and curls mussed and pushed back out of his face. "How was work?"
You wryly smiled, shoulders shrugging as you approached your boy. Once you were within arm's reach, he pulled you to his chest to hold you as close as possible. Your head pressed tight into his sternum, his hand cradling the crown of it, fingers splaying over your hair, whilst his other hand gripped your back.
You took a deep breath in, eyes slipping shut as you breathed in the scent of John. The smell of his cologne lingered, sticking to the soft material of his shirt and the comforting smell John always radiated engulfed you entirely. His hand kept you safe against him, letting you melt into his arms without worry.
John didn't move away, he just kept holding you, hand stroking your back as he waited for you to decide when to pull back.
"Long day?" He murmured the question against your hair as he pressed a chaste kiss there.
"The longest," you eventually huffed out, words muffled by his shirt, nestling closer to his body. You felt his chest rise and fall heavily, and you knew it was because he was upset on your behalf, he always was when your work day was awful.
"'m sorry," John whispered, tilting your head up slightly so that he could lean down and press a kiss to your lips. "You don't deserve that, never do."
You hummed and pulled away, John's hands slowly dropping to your waist as his concerned eyes remained trained on you.
"How about this," he began, his soft and soothing voice washing over you as his hands snaked upward to cup your face. "Why don't you go change and get comfy while I finish making dinner?"
"You're making dinner?" Your lip jutted out, eyes watery for reasons beyond what words could explain. Your heart fluttered, and the roots of your love for your boy dug even deeper into your soul.
"Mhmmm," John drew out his hum, his thumb smoothing circles on your jaw. "Mom sent the recipe to me the other day...it's the pasta she said you liked when we had dinner at theirs."
At his words, a singular tear streaked down your cheek and your lip trembled.
"Oh, baby," he cooed, brushing away your tear before pulling you back into the comfort of his chest. "It's alright, you're okay."
"I know," you weakly sniffled, tears seeping into his t-shirt in blotches. "You just..." You paused with a hiccup, looking up at your boy, whose dark eyes were swimming with worry. "You take care of me, and you're so good at it, and I hate that I have to come home feeling like this and ruin your day."
"Sh sh sh," John immediately replied, hand moving to rest on your jaw. "You're mine to take care of, and that's never something I'll take for granted. I'd much rather you come home being honest about how you feel than hide it and continue to be upset."
He leaned closer, nose brushing yours as his gaze landed on your eyes.
"I need you to listen and know that I'm being one hundred percent honest when I say that there is no way you could ever ruin my day." John's words were firm, but full of love, so much so that your heart clenched. He looked saddened at the thought of your words, eyebrows dropped, and lips pulled downwards. "I love you so much, angel, that will never change —especially not when you come home upset and need a bit of loving."
"Okay," it was a feeble reply, all of your energy depleting as you shakily nodded with your watery eyes still focused on John's. "I love you."
"I know," He gently answered, "I love you too." Your boy leaned closer, the plushness of his lips a welcoming weight on yours as he kissed you softly. He kept you cradled in his hold, your stray tears being warned off by John's petting thumb that ran along your cheek.
You broke the kiss, eyes wide and soft as you pulled back, nose scrunched as you sniffed.
"Dinner might be burning," you spoke, the smell of smoke flooding your senses. John straightened, eyes widening as he caught a whiff.
"That's my cue, I guess," he blinked, glancing between you and the kitchen. "Go change, angel, I'll get it sorted."
You nodded, watching John pull away and swiftly make his way back to the kitchen. His warmth lingered along your body, and if you closed your eyes, you swore you could still feel the imprint of his body against yours.
You slowly made your way towards the shared bedroom, stripping yourself of your work clothes, dumping them straight into the laundry, too tired to do anything else.
You dragged on your pyjamas, yanking your t-shirt over your head and your pants up your legs. You glanced at one of John's hoodies balled up on his side of the bed and didn't hesitate to grab it.
You shrugged the soft material over your head, the baggy hoodie shrouding your body in additional warmth and surrounding you in something you could only ever describe as uniquely John.
The sleeves fell over the span of your hands, allowing you to bask in the comfort of it and let it protect you from the cold.
You took a deep breath in before exiting the room and softly padding toward the kitchen. The music was quieter now, but John didn't seem to mind, lowly singing along as he played up the meal.
You stood there for a few moments just watching your focused boy flit around. John had a tea towel thrown over the shoulder of his white t-shirt, his muscular arms bare (bar the silver, chain bracelet with your name engraved on it that remained tight on his wrist). You liked watching him completely in the zone, eyebrows slightly furrowed and lips pursed in thought.
A faint smile graced your face as you relished the sight of John, but the rumbling of your stomach interrupted your silent state.
John turned to face you with a small grin, his eyes lovingly scanning your features before they dropped to your choice of clothing. A certain flicker of emotion clouded his eyes, and you could see the faintest glint sparkling in them from where you stood.
John took two big steps towards you, head ducking to kiss you deeply, as your arms wove around the back of his neck. His tongue ran along the seam of your lips, a groan bubbling in his chest as your lips parted and allowed his tongue to explore.
You clung to him tightly, letting him take full control as his hands lightly gripped your waist. You liked it when John took control, liked that he knew what you liked and what you needed.
So when he pulled away with darkened eyes, heat rose to your cheeks alongside a shy smile.
"Couldn't resist," he admitted, lips quirking up as he kept you in his hold. "Love seeing you in my clothes."
You smiled up at him, fingers finding purchase in the loose curls at the nape of his neck. John had told you this countless times before, and it seemed that you in his clothes was something that never lost its quality.
"Smells good in here," you offered, peeking over his shoulder at the plated food. "Nothing burned?"
"Nah, the pasta was just on too high a setting," he smoothly answered, "but it's all sorted." He shifted you slightly so that you could meet his gaze once more. "Are you feeling the table or the couch for dinner?"
You thought for a second, head tilting as your boy watched in amusement.
"Couch, please,"
"Perfect," John's face brightened, kissing your forehead at your words. "Why don't you go pop on a movie so we can cuddle up and relax, and I'll bring in the food, hm?"
"Alright," you croaked out as your head bobbed, fingers fiddling with his curls. You swallowed the lump in your throat, tentatively pressing your lips to John's, the taste of him all-consuming. Between the smell of dinner surrounding you and the love of your life cherishing you, you let yourself linger like that, nose nudging his, savouring the moment.
"Thank you," You murmured, so softly it was almost inaudible, against his lips. You watched as his smile deepened and his eyes crinkled, his arms encircling your waist once more, yanking you towards his firm body.
summary: you’d always been a lover of physical touch, and john marino just takes physical touch to a whole new level
warnings: smut (18+ mdni), literally just dry humping (bring it back!), john being a teasing little shit
author’s note: I kind of hate this but oh well 🙃 also I’m not sure if the pictures fit together but it was driving me crazy trying to find photos so they aren’t changing 💀
word count: 3,149
“You’re impossible.”
John just smirked, leaning against the kitchen counter, arms crossed over his chest like he knew exactly what he was doing.
And, of course, he did.
Because he knew you.
Knew how to drive you crazy in the best and worst ways.
Knew how to touch you, how to not touch you, just enough to keep you wanting more.
Like now, when you were standing there in his apartment, wearing his hoodie, arms crossed because he’d been teasing you for the past ten minutes.
And he was enjoying it.
“You love it,” he murmured, voice low, pressing you against the counter, stepping between your legs.
Your breath caught as his hands found your waist, fingers pressing just enough to make your stomach flutter.
“Debatable,” you mumbled, though your hands instinctively landed on his arms, thumbs brushing the skin there.
John huffed out a laugh, tilting his head, his lips just inches from yours. “Liar.”
Your heart pounded.
Because God, he was right.
“You’re the worst,” you muttered, but it came out breathless.
“You’re still here,” he pointed out, his hands sliding up your back, his fingers slipping beneath the hem of his own hoodie that you’d stolen.
A shiver ran through you. “Unfortunately.”
John grinned, and before you could say anything else, he kissed you, slow and unhurried, like he had all the time in the world.
And just like that?
You forgot why you were annoyed in the first place.
Because this was the problem with John Marino.
The second he got his hands on you?
You didn’t want to be anywhere else.
John kissed you like he had something to prove, like he knew he had you right where he wanted you. And, honestly? He did.
Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, gripping it like you needed something to keep you grounded. But it wasn’t enough.
It was never enough with him.
His hands slipped under the hoodie you were wearing, palms warm against your skin. He wasn’t rushing, wasn’t desperate. Just exploring. Mapping out every inch of you like he had all night to take his time.
And maybe he did.
“John,” you breathed when his lips trailed along your jaw, down your neck.
“Hmm?” he hummed against your skin, his grip on your hips tightening.
You wanted to be annoyed at how smug he sounded, but then his fingers pressed into your lower back, pulling you just a little closer, and suddenly, forming a coherent thought was impossible.
“You’re insufferable,” you managed, breathless.
John chuckled, his teeth grazing your pulse point, sending a full-body shiver through you. “And yet, you keep coming back.”
Your hands slid up his chest, fingers tangling in his hair as you tugged, just enough to make him feel it.
“Shut up,” you murmured.
And for once?
John listened.
Because in the next second, his lips were on yours again, his hands gripping your waist like he didn’t want to let you go.
Like he wouldn’t let you go.
And you had no intention of making him.
John wasn’t just kissing you, he was consuming you.
His hands were firm on your hips, fingertips pressing into your skin like he needed to hold on. Like letting go wasn’t an option.
And you? You weren’t letting him.
Your fingers curled into the collar of his shirt, tugging him closer, swallowing the quiet groan he let out as you pressed against him.
“Fuck,” he muttered against your lips, his breath ragged, like he was barely keeping it together.
Like you were unraveling him.
The thought sent a thrill down your spine.
“Problem?” you teased, tilting your head as you traced slow circles at the nape of his neck.
John huffed out a laugh, his grip on you tightening as he slid even closer, his body pressing into yours more firmly until the cool surface of the kitchen island dug into your back. “You’re a problem.”
Your stomach flipped. “Then fix it.”
Something dark flickered in his eyes, something dangerous.
“Careful,” he murmured, his hands trailing up your sides, his voice dropping an octave. “I might just take you up on that.”
Your breath hitched, heart pounding in your ears.
Because this?
This was John not holding back.
And you never wanted him to.
John wasn’t playing anymore.
“You drive me crazy,” he muttered against your lips, voice rough, almost frustrated.
You smirked, hands slipping under his shirt, fingers grazing over hard muscle. “Good.”
John let out a sharp breath, his grip on you tightening before he lifted you onto the counter like it was effortless. Like you belonged there.
Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer, making him feel exactly what he was doing to you.
And judging by the way he froze, by the low, almost desperate groan that left his throat, he felt it.
“You have no idea what you do to me,” he murmured, his lips brushing your jaw, your neck, his hands squeezing your thighs just hard enough.
Your breath hitched, your fingers tightening in his hair. “Then show me.”
John exhaled sharply, his forehead pressing against yours, his body flush against yours.
“You sure?” he murmured, voice wrecked.
You swallowed hard, nodding. “I want all of you, John.”
His jaw ticked. His hands flexed against your skin.
Then, without another word, he picked you up and carried you to his bedroom.
John’s hands were on you the second your back hit the bed.
No hesitation. No second-guessing.
Just him.
His fingers traced slow, lazy circles on your bare thigh, his touch deliberate, possessive. Like he was taking his time, like he wanted to memorise every inch of you.
Like he wasn’t just here for the moment, like he was staking his claim.
“You’re dangerous,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your collarbone, his voice rough with something dark. “You know that?”
Your breath caught, your hands gripping his shoulders, pulling him even closer. “Funny. I was about to say the same thing about you.”
John exhaled sharply, his forehead pressing against yours, his fingers slipping beneath the hem of your shirt, teasing, exploring. “Tell me to stop.”
Your stomach flipped, heat curling in your core.
But you didn’t want him to stop.
“No,” you whispered, your lips brushing his. “Don’t you dare.”
And just like that, his resolve snapped.
John’s mouth crashed against yours, his hands sliding over your bare skin like he was starving for this.
For you.
And as you tangled your fingers in his hair, as his grip tightened, as his body pressed even deeper into yours.
His hands were everywhere, tracing your skin, gripping your hips, tilting your chin up so you had no choice but to look at him.
His pupils were blown, his breathing ragged, and god, the way he was looking at you, like he wanted to ruin you and put you back together all at once.
“You’re so fucking gorgeous, you have no idea,” he murmured, his voice wrecked, his lips ghosting over your jaw, your throat, your collarbone.
You couldn’t help but whimper softly, arching into him, nails dragging across his shoulders.
John groaned, low and deep, and in the next second, his hands were sliding beneath your shirt, his fingertips pressing into your bare skin.
Slow. Deliberate.
Like he wanted to take his time.
Like he needed to.
Your head tipped back as his lips followed the path of his hands, exploring, teasing, torturing.
“John,” you breathed, barely coherent, hands fisting in his hair.
He exhaled sharply, his grip on you tightening.
“John, please,” you repeated, softer this time, more desperate.
His jaw clenched. “Fuck.”
And just like that, there was nothing between you anymore.
No space. No hesitation. No holding back.
He quickly leaned in to kiss you. The kiss was urgent, hungry, both of you needing this more than anything.
Your hands slid over his back as his lips moved down your neck, his breath hot against your skin.
You couldn’t think, could barely breathe as he worshipped every inch of skin he has access to. And all you could do was cling to him, letting yourself drown in the overwhelming sensations he was invoking.
He murmured your name against your skin, almost like a prayer, his touch still gentle, still reverent.
But there was a newfound need, a sense of urgency in the way he kissed you, like he couldn't get enough, like he'd never get enough.
His hands traced patterns on your thighs, his touch burning a trail of fire across your skin.
He was so close, yet not close enough.
And judging by the way you gasped, whimpered, and groaned, he knew it.
John's lips trailed back to your neck, his teeth grazing your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.
He was driving you crazy.
His fingers traced the edge of your shirt, his touch teasing, almost tormenting.
"You're killing me," he muttered against your shoulder.
You couldn't help but shiver at the raw honesty of his words. You knew the feeling.
“Please do something,” you gasp out.
John's grip on your hip tightens, his body pressing even closer to yours.
"What do you want, hmm?" he murmurs, his lips trailing along the curve of your shoulder.
Your breath hitches, heat pooling in your core as you arch into him, your hands seeking purchase on his back.
“I don’t know, just want you.”
John's hand slides up your side, his fingers dancing along the side of your neck, making you shiver.
"Is that so?" he teases, his voice low and rough, sending tingles down your spine.
You nod, words failing you as his thumb brushes over your pulse, his lips finding your collarbone.
"Then take me," he murmurs against your skin, his teeth grazing your neck, making you gasp softly.
You pull him closer into a kiss before you take him off guard and flip the both of you over so you’re on top.
John's eyes widen, surprised but clearly enjoying this change of position. His hands land on your thighs, gripping them firmly as he looks up at you, a dark, dangerous glint in his eyes.
"Someone's eager," he murmurs, his thumbs tracing lazy circles on your skin.
“You’re taking too long,” you mutter, grinding down against him.
John's breath hitches, his grip on your thighs tightening, fingers digging into your flesh.
"Impatient, are we?" he growls, his voice ragged as you grind against him. "I can fix that."
His hands slide up your thighs, thumbs tracing the edge of your shorts before dipping underneath, fingers finding the bare skin of your hips.
Your breath catches as he pulls you even closer, his muscles flexing beneath you as he settles you more firmly against him.
John's eyes are dark, his gaze fixed on you as you start to move, watching every reaction, every little shiver that runs through your body.
"Look at you," he murmurs, his voice thick with desire, his fingers gripping your hips even tighter as you grind against him.
Your skin, feverish, your breathing ragged, cheeks flushed, you're a vision, and the mere sight of you drives him crazy.
You bite your bottom lip as you whimper softly, the feeling just too good. Your hands curl around his forearms in a pathetic attempt to ground yourself as your hips stutter slightly.
John's eyes darken, his gaze fixed on your face, taking in every little reaction, every sound you're making.
His grip on you tightens, fingers sliding up your hips to your waist as he guides you, applying just the right amount of pressure, just the way he knows you like it.
Your hands, gripping his forearms, grounding you, seem to only fuel his desire. His breathing becomes ragged, his muscles straining beneath you.
“John,” you whine softly.
John can't help but shiver at the sound of his name on your lips, his grip on your hips tightening.
"I've got you, sweetheart," he murmurs, his hands moving to your thighs as he guides your movements, his touch firm and possessive.
There's an edge to his voice now, an intensity that betrays just how much he's affected by this, how much he wants you.
You can feel his cock beneath you, a clear indication of just how much he wants this, how much he wants you.
His head tips back, his eyes locked on you, his chest rising and falling with ragged breaths.
You're in control now, but the way he's looking at you...it's clear that he's the one calling the shots, that he's letting you do this, letting you take what you need, because you're his, and he'll give you anything you want.
His grip on you tightens, his fingers digging into your skin, as if he's holding onto every last ounce of his self-control.
"You feel so good, sweetheart," he murmurs, his voice thick, his words sending a shiver down your spine.
His breathing is ragged, his muscles strained, but he can't tear his eyes away from you for even a second, watching every movement, every shiver, every little breath you take.
You whimper softly before leaning down slightly, seeking John’s lips.
John meets you halfway, his lips crashing against yours, the kiss hungry, desperate, and full of need.
His hand cups your cheek, pulling you even closer, until there's no space between you at all, his body flush against yours, his warmth seeping into you.
His other hand settles on your hip, guiding you as you rock against him, his touch possessive and firm, a constant reminder that you're his.
You gasp against his lips as he suddenly flips the both of you back over, but it quickly turns into a moan as he grinds harder against you at the perfect angle.
John's eyes darken as he pins you to the bed, his hand gripping your waist, keeping you in place as he grinds against you, his movements slow and deliberate, designed to drive you wild.
"Is this what you wanted?" he growls, his lips brushing against your ear, his voice rough and ragged. "Is this what you need?"
“Uh huh,” is all you manage to get out as you grip onto his back.
John grins, the sound of your voice, breathless and needy, sending a shiver down his spine.
His lips trail down your neck, teeth grazing over your pulse point, making you shiver, making your grip on his back tighten.
"Use your words, sweetheart," he murmurs against your skin, his voice thick with desire. "Tell me what you want."
“Just don’t stop, this is perfect,” you gasp out, the feeling so good even though John’s sweatpants and your sleep shorts are separating the both of you.
John's breath catches at the neediness in your voice, the way you grip onto him, the way you beg for more.
He nods, his lips seeking yours again, kissing you hungrily, his hands now roaming freely over your body, tracing every contour, every curve, claiming you as his.
"I've got you," he mutters against your skin, his voice rough. "Just relax, sweetheart. I've got you."
His lips leave a trail of fire down your neck, his teeth scraping over your collarbone, his hands gripping tighter, pulling you closer, until there's no space left between you.
There's something desperate in the way he's touching you, as if he can't get enough, as if he needs you closer, as if he can't bear to be separated from you in any way.
"God, you're so beautiful…shit," he breathes, his words ragged, his body straining with need.
Heat pools in your core as you arch into him, your body seeking more, needing more, wanting more.
His hands are everywhere, his touch setting your skin ablaze, his words murmured against your skin sending shivers down your spine.
You can feel how affected he is, how much this is affecting him. His body is tense, his muscles strained, his breathing ragged with the effort of restraining himself.
“John,” you whimper again.
John's body trembles, your voice a soft, needy plea that sets his nerve endings on fire.
His hand grips your hip tightly, his thumb rubbing circles into your skin, his breathing catching as he tries to compose himself.
"I know sweetheart," he mutters, his voice rough with need. "I know."
His body is pressed against yours, his touch now more urgent, more demanding, as if he can't get enough.
"Wrap your legs around me," he commands.
You do just that and your breath hitches as it causes him to press even deeper against you, his cock grinding against you perfectly.
John groans, a primal sound deep in his chest, as you wrap your legs around him. His hands slide up the back of your thighs, gripping you tightly as he rolls his hips, grinding against you, the friction driving him wild.
"God, sweetheart…you're gonna…fuck…you’re gonna make me…"
“Me too…”
John's grip on you tightens, his breathing ragged, his body tense with the effort it's taking to hold back.
But the sound of your whimper, your admission that you're right there on the edge with him, it's almost too much.
"Look at me, sweetheart," he murmurs, his eyes fixed on yours, his voice thick with need.
He wants you to see the effect you're having on him, wants you to see the raw desire, the overwhelming need you're stirring in him.
You lock eyes with him, and you can’t tell if it’s his movements or the look in his eyes that causes it but you can’t hold back the orgasm that crashes over you.
John watches as you come apart, the sight and feeling of it pushing him over the edge as well. He buries his face in the crook of your shoulder, his body shuddering with the intensity of his release.
"Oh god, sweetheart," he breathes, his voice ragged.
He collapses on top of you, both of you breathing heavily, your bodies trembling with the aftershocks. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you close, his fingers tangling in your hair as he buries his face in the crook of your neck.
“Shit,” you gasp as you catch your breath.
John chuckles softly, his chest rumbling against your back as he holds you close. He presses a tender kiss to your shoulder, his breath still ragged.
"That was...intense," he murmurs, his voice low and rough, sending a shiver down your spine.
“Yeah. Why haven’t we done that before?”
John huffs out a laugh, his grip on you tightening, his nose nuzzling against your neck.
"Hell if I know," he admitted, his voice warm and amused. "But I'm damn sure we're gonna do it again."
“Definitely,” you hum. “Sorry about ruining your sweatpants.”
John chuckles softly, his hand gliding up your side, his touch light and teasing.
"Don't apologise for that, sweetheart. You can ruin my sweatpants anytime you want."
warnings: none really, just some sweet anniversary sex between jm and his girl <3 (italics = flashback)
pairing: john marino x fem!reader
summary: “maybe he gets back from an away game and him and reader have been together for a while so when he gets home its practically desperate the way they want each other and it's like super needy but also intimate because they just know each other like the back of their hands after so long together"
wc: 2201
“Hey,” comes John’s soft voice from the darkness of the night. He kneels by your side of the bed and shakes you awake. The sunlight is starting to peek through the curtains. His thumb caresses your cheek, causing you to scrunch your nose from restlessness. “I’m headed to the rink. We’re leaving from there. I’ll be back on Monday, take you to dinner and all.”
“Mmm, okay, baby. Love you,” You slur, voice thick with sleep. You didn’t have to be up for another few hours and normally, you’d pout when John woke you up so early, but things were different. He was headed out on a week-long roadie and he had a game on the west coast on your second anniversary– meaning you two wouldn’t get to spend that together. Despite being sleepy, you pucker your lips to give John a goodbye kiss.
“Love you too,” John whispers, delicately cupping your jaw and pecking your lips twice. “Be back before you know it.”
He stands from his position next to the bed and gathers his things, heading towards the bedroom door.
“Play good,” You call out after him.
“First star every night, just for my girl,” John promises with a smile, closing the door with a soft click behind him.
A week later, John was headed back to Jersey and you had put on your favorite little black dress for your anniversary date. He hadn’t been named first star of the game during any of their games, but he had gotten one of his rare goals on your anniversary, and his celly ended in a kiss blown towards the camera that touched your heart.
You were waiting by the door when John came home and you jump him before he even gets the chance to cross the threshold.
“Hi,” John greets. “Missed you.”
“Missed you,” You reply, arms looped around his neck. You pull him into a hug, feeling his hands wrap around your waist and press your bodies flush against each other.
You two stay in the hug for a few minutes, waiting for your breath to sync and for John to start rocking you from side to side the way he always does when your touch goes on for too long. As much as he loves to touch you, he’s never been one for hugs, unlike you. To you, John’s hugs are like crack and you take your fix anytime you can get it.
“Dinner?” John asks, pulling away and rubbing your arms like he’s warming you up.
“Rezzi at the normal place,” You confirm. You give his chest a firm pat. “Go change. This is our anniversary dinner, after all. Want you to wear something nice.”
“Gonna propose to me or something?” John teases, finally letting the apartment door fall shut behind him.
You drag his suitcase to the bedroom, parking it next to the chair before sitting on the edge of the bed. “Isn’t that your job?”
“All in good time,” John replies, following you down the hall with his hockey bag over his shoulder. He opens the door to the balcony and sets his personal pads out on the chair to air out. He also sets his dirty clothes on the chair– something you’ve chided him for in the past, since he could just throw them in the wash and kill the smell that way.
You watch John change into a suit, smiling widely when he sneaks little peeks at you every few minutes.
“Really did miss you, you know,” John says, focusing on tying his tie in the mirror on the back of the closet door. “Mercer tried to sprinkle rose petals in my locker on our anniversary to make me miss you less.”
“He’s so supportive.” You laugh, eyes crinkling at the sides.
“Tried to take me to dinner too,” John continues. “Said he might as well take me out if we were going back to the hotel together anyway. What kind of girl does he take me for?”
“Maybe he was trying to recreate our love story,” You say. “It wasn’t exactly the most conventional of meetings for us. You took me for one of those girls.”
“Yeah, but you asked me what I was doing later, I was just being honest.”
“You’re lucky it worked out for you.”
John makes a kissy face at you, then walks over and reaches out to take your hand and help you up. “Dinner?” He asks.
“Let’s go,” You answer, leading him out of the bedroom and back down the hall, out of the apartment and down to the garage.
John drives, naturally. You’d appointed yourself his passenger princess long ago and he’d never asked you to drive. He orders your wine and meal for you at the restaurant, knowing that you’ll get the same thing you always get. He takes the menu away from you, too, so you can’t even pretend to peruse the offerings. He did so with a knowing look and you replied with an embarrassed smile, rolling your eyes because your boyfriend knows you so well.
When your food comes, John cuts his meat into precise cubes and you steal a piece or two off of his plate, despite the fact that you have your own food to pick at. John allows you to do so with only a few noises of protest, only a few teasing and threatening inflections of his fork at your wandering utensil.
You two make small talk– about John’s games, about your week at work, about the upcoming inspections your landlord is doing for the plumbing in your apartment after John tried (and failed) to adjust the water pressure to your liking. You’ve been in this relationship so long that you don’t need to have the deep conversations all the time, or plan out the future in a lengthy conversation over some red wine.
John is your future, and you’re his.
When you arrive home, John takes you to the bedroom and kneels at your feet, unstrapping your high heels and prying them away from you. He rubs your feet a little bit to soothe the ache of wearing heels all night, a small smile on his face the whole time. You brush his hair out of his face and take in his small details– the moles on his cheek near his mouth, the button of his nose, the scar from the stray puck that marred his skin and left behind the mark that you love to kiss.
“You look pretty down there,” You say, breaking the silence.
John shoots you a look and tries to hide his smile, hide the blush that always spreads across his cheeks when you call him pretty. He kisses your knee and rises to sit next to you on the bed. “Happy anniversary,” He says softly, like it’s a secret between the two of you.
“Happy anniversary, Johnny,” You reply. You press your lips to his, the kisses smooth and slow even as John makes his way down your neck to your shoulder.
Your movements are a language of their own. John’s fingers light fires on your arms as he feels your goosebumps. Your knee presses into his thigh, the connection of your skin on his stronger than a dam. His tongue moves against yours insistently when he makes his way back up to your mouth.
“You gonna let me fuck you like I wanted to the other night?”
You moan into John’s mouth. “Hard?”
“Mm-mm,” John hums, shaking his head. He reaches down, pulls your panties to the side, and starts to slide a finger into you. “Slow,” He breathes out, not even a hair’s distance from your lips. “I’m going to touch you everywhere, angel. You’re gonna feel every bit of me.”
“Even better,” You say. “Want you to fill me up.”
John thrusts his finger inside you and works a second in, scissoring and curling his fingers until you’re a moaning mess beside him.
Your hand is gripping his shoulder so hard that your fingernails might as well tear his shirt. You’re panting, mouth perpetually open. The pressure between your legs is insurmountable, aching and throbbing as John pulls you closer to the edge.
“Johnny, Johnny,” You plead, pushing at his arm. “Fuck me, want to come when you fuck me.”
“Finger yourself,” John commands, pulling away from you to shrug his suit jacket off. He unbuttons his top as you shove three fingers inside your cunt, hungry for more. Really, you’re keeping yourself full while he acts as eye candy. You’re not trying to chase an orgasm, like you normally are when you and Johnny fuck. No, today you’re just here, just waiting to feel his cock enter you and satisfy you in a way that your fingers never could.
He strips hurriedly, standing just mere inches from the bed. He throws the clothes around the room, not caring where they land. You track each movement, having seen his naked chest plenty of times to have it memorized by now. His underwear make their way to the arm of the chair in the corner, and it’s when you realize that he’s naked that your eyes return to his figure.
His cock is just as wonderful as ever– you’ve been in love with John for a long time, but his beautiful cock and the way he fucks you always makes you love him just a little bit more. He knows it, too, from the way he smirks at you– he knows that you love him, but if he was a shit fuck, you would tell him that you have the capacity to love him more. Maybe that’s crazy.
You pull your fingers out of your entrance and use them to spread your lips, showing John the expanse of the part of you that’s just for him.
John smiles, takes his cock in his hand, and pumps himself a few times.
You bite your lip and return his smile, watching the precum bubble and drip from his slit.
“Fuck me, J,” You beg. “Please.”
John joins you again on the bed, pushing you down onto your back and opting to forego your little black dress altogether and slide your panties down your legs instead. “You look so pretty,” John compliments.
“Thank you,” You reply, feeling shy all of a sudden.
“Wanna see how your tits bounce in this dress while I fuck you,” John continues, leaning over you on the bed and lining himself up with your core. One of his legs pins your knee to the bed, while the other stays straight and braces against the floor.
His words seem to steal all the thoughts from your mind, leaving nothing but the feeling between the two of you as he pushes the bulbous head of his cock into you.
John moves slowly, like he promised. He fills you, warms you from the inside-out. He punctuates each drag with a sharp push into your core, causing your body to shift up on the bed. He raises a hand and grasps your breast, both keeping you in place and filling his palm with one of his favorite body parts of yours.
You don’t exchange words, minus a reassuring, hushed “I know,” that drips from John’s lips and into your ear when you become close. He fishes your boob out of your dress and dips down to attach his mouth to your nipple, reaching his other hand down to soothe circles onto your clit. The added stimulation sends you into a whirlwind and John can practically feel the pitter-patter of your heart from where he’s sucking at your chest.
“Johnny,” You cry, clutching his shoulder and arching your back beneath him.
“Yeah, honey. I know, my angel,” He mumbles against your skin. He leaves burning kisses along your body up to your lips.
“Please,” You say, high strung and wanting so much that you’re almost shaking with it.
John moans, wrenching himself away from your lips to press a kiss to your cheek, then returning to your lips. His thrusts grow stuttered and desperate, no longer slow. They’re just as passionate, just as fulfilling, and John coaxes the orgasm out of you just as he unravels himself.
He holds you like you’re a precious liquid that is slipping through his fingers.
You almost want to cry from the feeling, the knowledge that you and John share so much love between the two of you and there will be nights like this for the rest of your life.
John leads you over the edge and guides you through it, holding you and murmuring sweet nothings into your ear until your breath returns to normal. He traces your cheek, then draws his fingers down your neck.
“You’re everything,” John says. “I meant it. I’m going to marry you… all in due time.”
Instead of a response, you take his hand in yours and press a kiss to the back of it. You lace your fingers together and bring your interlocked hands to your chest, resting them over your heart. All you can do, really, is smile and cuddle closer to John, feeling his heat fill the bed and making you doze off.
note: just finished watching "you've got mail" for the first time. sigh. what a movie. devastating. sooo invisible string. corporations need to stop winning.
