PLS WRITE READER RIDING JULIEN LOKI'S THIGHSSS PLSPLS PLS ILL GIVE U MY LEFT KIDNEY
— “ *:・ﾟjulien loki ━━━━[DEMANDE]
“juli… pay attention to meeee…”
you whined, shifting your weight where you straddled him. he had just gotten back from practice and was completely wiped, but apparently not too tired to put a match on the TV to break down and analyze his own plays. typical.
“chérie…” his hands finally snaked around your waist, his thumbs tracing lazy, warm circles against your hips. for a second, you thought you’d won. then he sighed against your shoulder. “je suis épuisé…” [i'm exhausted.]
he peppered a few apologetic kisses along your jaw, your neck, and finally your lips, tasting like faint mint and pure exhaustion. “tomorrow, okay? i’ll take you out, i'll spoil you. but tonight, let’s just go to bed, oui?”
julien gripped your hips, preparing to lift you off his lap like a minor speed bump. but you huffed, crossing your arms and dead-weighting yourself right back down onto him.
“fine. if you won't satiate me… then i won’t look at you.”
you shimmied around, turning your back to him so you were now facing the television. on screen, a high-def, replay on one of the france u20 team was playing. he was sweaty, chest heaving, looking like the sexiest chocolate bar under the french heat as he sprinted down the pitch. tv julien looked like he wouldn't have blue-balled you.
“tv loki, aka the prodigy, aka france's golden boy is better,” you declared, deliberately swapping his actual name out for his on-field nicknames. to prove your point, you planted your hands on his knee, straddling just one of his thick thighs, and slowly began to roll your hips.
the only thing separating your growing heat from his rock-hard quad was the thin lace of your underwear and the fleece of his sweatpants.
behind you, julien’s hands froze on your waist. a low, dangerous chuckle vibrated against your spine. “wow. really? is that how you wanna play, mon amour?”
“shut up… you’re no one right now... just be quiet, ahh~…”
you let out a soft whine as the friction hit the spot. you kept your eyes glued to the screen, watching the way his thighs flexed on camera each time he accelerated, matching your rhythm to his televised sprints.
the crowd on the tv cheered, and your own moans got louder. underneath you, you could feel your own slick soaking through your panties, your folds completely raw and sensitive against his leg.
you rutted faster, determined to time your orgasm with his onscreen goal. he took the shot; the ball tore past the goalie—and a broken whimper spilled from your lips as your thighs clamped tight around his leg, your vision going completely blurry as you came.
a cute, breathless slew of whines escaped you as the waves finally began to settle. satisfied and thoroughly spent, you started to untangle yourself to go to bed. before you could move an inch, his grip locked onto your hips like a vice.
“tu as fini?” julien whispered, his breath scorching-hot against your ear. “mnh…~ mhm…” you hummed hazily, practically melting backward. [are you finished?]
he let out a dark, breathless laugh right into your ear shell. “if i'm no one… then who exactly are you talking to right now, hm?”
“…ugh shut up, jules… that was just—”
without warning, his hands clamped down and forced your hips forward and back in one violent, heavy stroke. the sudden friction shot straight to your nervous system. your panties were already soaked, and rubbing against his sweats again felt like pure fire.
“ow! wait, juli—! hey, stop it!” you reached back, frantically grabbing at his wrists.
but julien just tilted his hips upward, meeting you halfway and refusing to let you escape. “who are you talking to? you sound crazy, [Name]~” a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.
“i’m talkin’ to—! to you, idiot! stop it, i’m… aahnn~!” a loud moan tore from your throat as he started bouncing his leg. the thick, rigid muscle of his thigh pulverized your oversensitive clit over and over. your tits bounced beneath your shirt with every heavy movement.
on the tv, the match broadcast had ended, freezing the screen on a giant close-up of his handsome face and that signature pose you loved so much.
“nngh!… juli… baby, i’m sorry..! please, i…oh god~”
you threw your head back onto his shoulder, your cheek pressed against his. he wasn't even looking at your face; his focus was entirely on the way your body was coming apart in his hands. his grip tightened until your thighs trembled like a leaf in a blizzard.
your walls convulsed, gushing a fresh wave of wetness straight through your underwear and onto his sweats, leaving an even darker and bigger wet spot. a deep, hoarse groan ripped from his throat—the sexiest sound you’d ever heard—followed by a breathless, whispered, “putain.”
you slumped completely backward against his chest, chest heaving, your hands resting weakly over his. “juli…. no more… i don’t want tv you anymore… m'sorry..”
“really? because i think you can go at least one more round,” julien murmured, his tone dripping with possessive amusement. “do you still think i’m ‘no one’? hm?”
you scrambled to turn around, finally facing him, your eyes wide. “no! okay? you're you! julien loki...” he chuckled, his large hands sliding down to rest on your still-twitching thighs. “i thought tv julien was better?”
“tv julien is YOU julien… and you know i didn’t mean it…"
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