Jacob Tierney talks about “boring” and “fuck you” meaning “I love you” for Shane and Ilya:
“A really good friend of mine—a person who reads my scripts who's a brilliant novelist named Rainbow Rowell—she read the first episode and she said to me… “just remember that every ‘fuck you’ is ‘I love you,’ and maybe you're saying ‘fuck you’ too many times”
“And I was like oh, that's such a good call. That's a great call. Because it was just a reminder of all of the things they say to each other that are not ‘I love you’ and that are not—”
“Boring, you know, when Ilya calls Shane boring, he's saying he's in love with him. And he's not boring, [Ilya] is endlessly fascinated by Shane. And the only way he can communicate that is by making fun of him and calling him boring, because anything else would rip his soul out through his face.”
“Like that's the idea, and so even the words we use to obfuscate matter, you know?”
summary — you only ever call him lohen. it's not a big deal...but it's starting to bother him.
themes — established relationship, librarian!reader, jealous!lohen, flustered!lohen, kisses on the clock, reader teases lohen a bit, fluff, minor reference to lohen can't communicate but you don't have to read that to read this, couple banter as always
WC: 800
⭐ chai's readers' favs
Lohen was not a jealous man.
“Here’s the book you asked for, Theo,” you said as you passed him a thick medical textbook from behind the counter. “Please return it by the fifth of next month.”
From his perch against the southern bookcases, Lohen watched you with his arms crossed over his chest. In his right hand, he held his favorite blade, twirling it around his finger until the hilt pressed into his palm, then twirling it around again. The soft sound of his knife hitting the fabric of his glove was quick to fill the space around him, which had returned to near silence yet again after Theodore’s departure.
You walked past him with a stack of books in your hands, giving him a glance. “Can you put that away, please?”
He sighed through his nose. Slotting his dagger back into its sheath, he pouted dejectedly at your back. You didn’t pay him a shred of attention, instead focusing on your duties of restocking the bookshelves and rearranging any misplaced codices.
Lohen sighed aloud. When you still didn’t turn around, he sighed yet again. Sighing so hard and so repetitively that he was nearly going dizzy from it, you eventually turned around with a smile that didn’t match the glare in your eyes.
“What is it, Lohen?”
Lohen. It was always ‘Lohen’ with you. But with Theodore, it was ‘Theo’.
“Nothing,” he said, his shoulders rising in a shrug. “Nothing at all.”
You stared at him for a moment, then eventually frowned. Your voice was gentle. “You look upset.”
“Upset? I’m not upset.” Lohen shrugged again, glaring down at the wood floor. “What would make you think I’m upset?”
Your hands directed his face to yours. He ignored the flush of warmth that it sent through his cheeks, and tried further to ignore the sudden thrill in his chest. When you smiled, he swallowed his nerves.
“What’s wrong?” you asked softly.
“N-nothing,” he answered, his hands rising to your wrists. “It’s nothing, really. I’m fine.”
“If you were fine you would have been using your cryo-infused hand to scare me when my back was turned,” you laughed. Softening your voice, you said, “Please, just talk to me. I don’t want you to be upset, Lohen.”
The way your thumbs brushed over his cheeks felt all too tender. Smiling rather awkwardly, he squeezed your wrists between his fingers.
“We started at ‘Vice Captain’,” he said, “and then we got to ‘Lohen’. But we never got much farther past that.”
“Hm? What do you mean?”
“Theodore. Theodore is ‘Theo’. But me? I’m ‘Lohen’.”
“Well, that’s your—...oh,” you said inquisitively, your eyes widening. “I see what you mean. You want me to give you a nickname?”
“It doesn’t…have to be a nickname,” he babbled, feeling oddly out of his element as he did. “I mean, I call you Bun and Princess. But you only ever call me ‘Lohen’, even though I know you call other people shorter names and stuff.”
“I’ll call you whatever you want me to, Lohen. How does handsome sound?”
Your arms looped around his neck, and as you smiled with those half-lidded eyes of yours, Lohen’s nervous laughter burst from his lips. Staring at you with wide eyes and a face so hot, he was convinced his vision had flipped to pyro, he quickly said, “That’s a lot more embarrassing than I thought it would be.”
“Hm?” You tilted your head, staring down at his mouth as you grinned. “What, you don’t like that, sweetheart?”
“Fuck,” Lohen stammered, his eyes shifting around the library. “Bun, quit.”
“But honey,” you purred, the heat of your breath tickling his upper lip. “You’re the one who wanted me to call you something different. You mean you don’t like it?”
“I’m gonna kill you,” he answered, his grin hurting his face. “Stop it.”
“Oh, but, baby. You look like you like it.”
“Let’s just…let’s just go back to Lohen.”
You laughed, and with a chaste press of your mouth to his, he laughed back. He glanced around once more, ensuring the library was as empty as ever before throwing his arms around your hips. Backing you into the bookshelf, his grinning lips pressed against yours before he gave you a playful little nibble.
“I’m working,” you laughed.
“Take a five minute break,” he crooned.
“Vice Captain,” you murmured. “You’re going to get me in trouble.”
“Oh, yeah? That so, Library Girl?”
The way you giggled tickled his ears. He pressed his lips to your cheek, peppering kisses against the corner of your mouth as you laughed and laughed and laughed.
“Lohen,” you said, ever so dearly. “You know I just like the sound of your name, right?”
He cracked a smile.
“You know, whenever you say it, Bun…I like the sound of it too.”
a/n: i've seen lots of cute nicknames for lohen out there, and thought to myself, why don't I ever write him one? like, i usually do for some of my other genshin dudes... so i wrote this as a self-indulgent theory xD
anyway, if you liked this drabble, please consider leaving a heart! (˶>⩊<˶) ♡
if you would like to be tagged whenever i post lohen x reader, please check my rules here! thank you!
i was tagged! what post did i miss?
a familiar scent, lohen quickie, 18+ only
(it was also SHADOWBANNED so people not on my taglist probably missed it too T_T)
masterlist | ask | ao3 | more of this pair
⊹ ˖ fellow authors, i do not mind if you are inspired by my works to write something similar, but please credit me if you are. these concepts mean a lot to me, so i would really like to be credited for any of my personal ideas that inspire you.
Personal headcanon that Shane doesn't use pet names for Ilya. Like ever. Only ever Ilya or Rozanov, maybe Ilyushka if he's speaking Russian.
Except.
When he's three fingers deep fucking himself back onto Rozanov's hand and forgetting his own name. He'll slip up and call Ilya baby they way Ilya does to him, like he's not even thinking.
Fuck, baby...
Right there, baby, ple-ease.
Baby, m'gonnacomeJesusfuck me, Rozanov...
And afterwards when they're taking a slow, hot shower together, Shane will say how ridiculous it was, how out of his mind to call Ilya something other than his name. And Ilya will croon at him, tell him it was adorable, nooo my beloved it's so sweet when you have a pet name for me all the cheesy stuff.
And they'll go about their lives as Ilya calls Shane all manner of saccharine nicknames and Shane continues to use his spouse's government name everywhere but their marital bed. Until one day they're in New York for a game and spend an evening catching up with people in the Kingfisher. Ilya's carrying the conversation and razzing people as Shane sits politely and basks in the love of the room until it gets time to go.
Ilya, we ought to head out.
Ilya, all of us have a game tomorrow; c'mon.
Ilya, I'm sure they need their rest too.
Rozanov and their friends are doing the five more minutes routine of picking up and leaving only to talk outside the bar until Shane grabs up his husband's hand affectionately and looks him in the eyes.
Baby, it's time to go back to the hotel.
It wasn't a strange thing to say. All those present called their boyfriends and husbands baby on the regular. But the way Rozanov reacted, you would have thought Shane had heeled him like a dog.
Never before had Scott Hunter seen Ilya and Shane leave a conversation so quickly. And never before had Wyatt Hayes regretted rooming next to the two of them so much.
I need u to do Nagi smut 😭😭😭 ily your writing sm, you're so talented!
𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐏𝐘 𝐒𝐄𝐗 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐍𝐀𝐆𝐈 𝐒𝐄𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐎 !
it was painfully obvious that your boyfriend, nagi was lazy. not because he wasn’t capable of doing things, but because he always chose the easiest route whenever he could. if there was a chance for him to stay laying down a little longer, have you bring him something, or avoid moving around too much, he would take it without a second thought.
and of course, his laziness showed the most in bed. he’d wake up still half-asleep, eyes barely open as he buried himself deeper into the blankets, already complaining about how getting up sounded like too much work.
so that’d explain the amount of times you’d have sleepy sex with him.
his hand slipped under your shirt, warm and lazy as his fingers traced idle patterns on your bare skin. he pulled you flush against his chest, his morning erection pressing against your thigh. "don't wanna get up.." he breathed against your neck, voice thick with sleep, hips making the tiniest rocking motion. "but you're here.."
his hand slid lower, fingers hooking into the waistband of your underwear. he tugged gently, trying to pull them down without fully waking up. his other hand moved to your thigh, lifting it over his hip so he could position himself better between your legs. "just a quick one.."
he entered you slowly, still mostly asleep, letting out a sleepy moan as your warmth enveloped him. his movements were gentle and lazy, hips rolling in slow circles rather than thrusting. he buried his face in your neck, breathing you in as he moved inside you, making you whimper.
his hands roamed your body lazily, squeezing your breasts gently, playing with your nipples as he continued his slow, sleepy pace. he spread your legs wider with his knees, allowing him to sink deeper inside you without putting in much effort. "mmph... feels good.."
so he took his time, enjoying the slow build of pleasure as he made love to you in his half-asleep state. his pace never hurried, never intense, just slow and steady. he was content to stay buried inside you, letting his body do the work with minimal conscious effort.
his tongue traced lazy wet circles on your shoulder, teeth catching gently on your skin. his hips rocked forward, hitting that spot deep inside that made your toes curl. he didn't even seem fully awake yet, just following the pull of pleasure. "so warm.." he murmured against your collarbone, one hand slipping down to rub your clit in slow, deliberate circles.
a soft moan escapes you, and he hums appreciatively against your skin. his thumb finds the rhythm, rubbing your clit faster as your walls tighten around him. he matches your pace, hips rolling deeper, hitting that spot over and over with minimal effort. "there it is.." he murmurs, feeling you clench around him.
his fingers press harder, moving faster as he feels you on the edge. he kisses your neck, biting down gently as he thrusts forward, hitting that spot perfectly and sending you over the edge. he follows soon after, spilling inside you with a soft groan, still half asleep. "mmm... good girl.."
within seconds, you can tell he's already drifting off. his grip loosens on your thigh, his head dropping heavily onto your shoulder. his cock stays softening inside you as soft snores replace his lazy breaths.
summary: with your recent stress levels, you haven’t been sleeping much. this is a problem, because if you don’t rest, clark doesn’t rest. put it this way: without you, clark is as helpless as a puppy. a puppy who needs his toy back.
word count: 2.2k
contains: fluff & smut. reader works at the daily planet, clark is literally a human dog. softdom!clark, slightly condescending but full of praise, smothering with love, somewhat bratty!clark also. reader has a tease streak (hot). *clitstim f!receiving, excessive use of pet names. *no use of y/n
a/n: never go to college if you want to write again (kidding, go to college if you want). sorry for being so slow with my updates. more to come, promise. enjoy this half-toothrot half-smut mishmash of requests- thank you requesters for the love. :D
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Clark couldn’t sleep without you. This was entirely your fault, obviously.
There was just something about you that worked for him. Like medicine, or clockwork. The feeling of your soft hips sinking into his mattress, and the way it dipped under your weight, making his body roll just an inch your way. It was as if the universe was pushing him towards you perpetually, a very loving boulder. Your scent probably had something to do with it, too. The warmth, the sugar and spice and cottony-freshness of your lotion, ruined the smell of clean sheets. If he was ever in a bed that wasn’t his own or yours, he couldn’t quiet the part of his mind that was hung up on how good you smelled. It was a depressant that slowed his lungs and sucked him into REM. Not to mention the low, soft sounds of your breathing. Or the way your feet brushed his under the covers. Or how it felt to have your nails gently scratching just above his belly button, pawing like a kitten, making sure he was there. Or how pretty you whined when he got his hands all over you… What was he supposed to do, sleep without you? It just wasn’t possible. You were more important for sleep than the bed itself.
But lately, he hasn’t been sleeping. And that is because you haven’t been sleeping.
Clark knows it’s not something he can control. Your stress was a result of the world, not your own doing. Your job was out to get you both, but the let-it-roll-off-your-back gene was something that Clark inherited, and you didn’t. Every rejected article from Perry, every vetoed edit, every pitch for a new column or a shot at a simple byline– they ate at you. While Clark could live without being the best reporter in the world, you wanted to rip your hair out. Clark’s purpose was saving the world, but yours was writing. Measly human purpose, huh? Reporting the truth. Shining light on good people. And you were good– really good. It was just that damn job, stupid Perry, stupid bureaucracy keeping you down. Three years until you get a solo byline, for now stick to the obits, Perry said. Every week. It made you sick, and it made Clark sleepy.
You’ve been staying up into the wee hours of the morning for weeks now, trying to strike a golden story that might override the rules. You write and crunch up and throw out and start again, over and over. You’ve been through two composition books and left nearly one hundred Word documents unfinished on Clark’s desktop. It’s showing everywhere. Rings of spilled coffee on various surfaces in his room trace your steps. Your undereyes were almost as purple as your eyeshadow. Your nails were chipped and bitten. You even seemed to be losing the littlest bit of weight, and that had every alarm going off in Clark’s head, because a pound off your plump figure felt worse than losing a war. Therefore, empty plates with crumbs from muffins and dregs of ice cream marked the places Clark had dragged you from writing to feed you something to preserve you.
Because you haven’t been sleeping, Clark is off his game. More than twice he’s snapped at Chloe, and he accidentally sneezed and shattered a window at work. He’s pouty, he’s grumbling, and he misses you. Don’t underestimate the power of a desperate man.
Tonight was just like the last handful. You were slumped over his bedroom desk, half-dozed in your palm, trying to find a different word to use that would more eloquently describe a broken stoplight. Frizzy hair was in your eyes, or what was left open of them. Your shoulders looked like they were frowning. Clark was sitting up in bed with a book in his lap, nowhere close to reading but intensely watching you, and feeling the spot above his belly button itching to be scratched. He couldn’t take it anymore. He tossed the book into the covers to be swallowed up by the sheet-sea, and he padded across the room. His gentle palms slid down your arms and up again, and he gathered your hair behind your neck to pull it away from the skin.
“Give up, baby,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple.
“I can’t.”
“Not on your career. Just give up on this one article, just for tonight. You’re exhausted, bunny.”
“I”m fine, I just need to finish this.”
Clark huffed, brows furrowing in frustration. You smelled so good, and you were withholding yourself from him. Couldn't you see that he was going through withdrawals? Itchy, cold, uncomfortable withdrawals from not kissing your collarbones and squeezing your thighs? This was prison. Personal punishment for not being in control of your universe and making you wonderfully rich and satisfied.
Clark slumped all his weight over your back and frowned. “I’m dying here.”
“Don’t be so dramatic,” you grunted, his heavy body smushing your torso against the desk. “Get off. You’re like a big puppy.”
“But I miss you,” he whimpered, nuzzling your neck. His hands pawed at your hips.
“Clark, I swear I’m almost done.”
He was growing impatient. Clark lifted his head to peer over the computer screen. All you had written was this:
Clark snickered to himself and huffed, swatting your hand away and closing the document out.
“Hey! I was working on that!”
“Not anymore,” he determined, and with a quick movement, he scooped under your armpits and lifted you from the chair.
You yelped and wriggled a bit as he tossed you onto the mattress, the bedframe creaking. Rumpled and annoyed, you lifted your mussed head of hair and pouted. “What the hell?"
Clark sighed with relief as he crawled onto the mattress, eager to get you back in his desired environment. You weren’t fast enough; he grabbed your ankles and tugged you down, clambering over you and plopping all his weight on your body. He smiled when he heard your quiet little “oof!”
“You haven’t slept for days, honey,” he mumbled, pressing kisses over your tummy, pushing the hem of your shirt up to reveal a strip of pudgy skin. “Haven’t smiled, haven’t touched me… I’m going crazy. I can’t sleep if you don’t. I can’t live without you.”
“Clark,” you complained softly, but there was very little discontent in the tone. It was hard to be anything but content with his warm mouth stamping your skin. Your heavy hands rested in his hair, curling the locks around your fingers, petting and messing as he smushed his cheek against your belly.
“I mean it,” he peeks up at you, eyes wide and pleading as a Christmas card.
“You really are like a puppy,” you smiled a little, “puppy.”
Clark flushed a bit and nuzzled into your hip. “Don’t call me that.”
“Why not? You’ve got a million for me. Bunny, honey, sugar, sweetie, baby, lovie, pumpkin–”
“Yeah, and they’re all true,” he huffed, crawling up your body until he could bracket his arms by your shoulders. He traced his nose along your rounded jaw before leaving a soft smooch beneath the ear.
A sated little hum escaped your throat. “I have to write something good,” you mumbled.
“You already have. Be with me for a while.”
“I’m with you every day.”
“I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in over two weeks, bunny,” Clark whispered, snoodling your neck. “Please don’t torture me any longer.”
You chuckled softly, watching how desperately he wrapped his arms around you, snaking them under your back and hauling you into his chest. Clark was a paperweight of a man. You wouldn’t get far if you tried. And if you were being honest with yourself, you knew he was right. You had to stop before you ran out of juice completely. You were exhausted. You wanted sleep, and you wanted him. You never slept better than when he was there to whisper to you, to touch you, to make you feel right again…
“Okay, puppy,” you sighed.
You felt the curl of his grin against your clavicle, and suddenly the dog’s ears perked up. “You hungry? Need something? I have ice cream. Ma left pie when she came by earlier. Or I can put on a movie, we still have that copy of Clueless, I never dropped it off at the Blockbuster-”
“No, stop, shh,” you giggled, “I just want to sleep.”
“Thank God,” he wheezed, and artfully rolled over, taking you with him.
You fell right into place, hand above his belly button and face smushed in his chest, breathing in the woodsy smell of his old tee. The rise and fall of his happy chest was enough to make you forget why you were working so hard in the first place.
“I missed this,” he grinned.
“Clearly.”
“Don’t get smart with me,” he looked down at you, petting your hair. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” you smirked, tilting your head back.
Clark’s heart swelled at the sight of your tired eyes, because there was some light there, and it was his. He tugged you up closer so he could slot his lips against yours. Nothing wild– just soft, lazy motions, sleepy jaws pushing and pulling, little bits of saliva collecting in the divot of your chin which his tongue kept tidy. His eager lips crossed your face and down your neck again, and as he felt your heartbeat pick up against his chest, he knew that you needed him just as much as you needed rest.
Clark suckled on the soft spot beneath your jaw that always made your breath sing, and his thumb hooked into your cheek, giving you something to keep busy with. The heat of your tongue sent pins and needles down to his knuckle.
“You’re a good writer,” he praised, nipping at the crease of your neck. “You write so well, you’re so smart. I love you, honey.”
“I love you, too…”
“You’re so pretty when you're tired,” he kept on, kissing his way back to your mouth, pulling your bottom lip down with a wet thumb. “My poor baby, always workin’ so hard. You just need a little break, yeah? Just need me to tell you when to stop, huh, bunny?”
“Yeah,” you whimpered, brain and eyes fuzzing over. Your hands twisted in his shirt and you let him hitch your knee over his hip, squeezing you flush between him and the bed. His lethargic kisses felt like they were slowly tapping your lungs for air.
“Yeah, I know, honey,” he cooed, pushing your hair back from your face and shutting your eyelids with his kisses. “You want me to make sure you fall asleep, sweetheart?”
Your skin began to flush, he could see the pink peeking from under the collar of your (his) shirt. “Maybe a little,” you breathed, mind already reeling with anticipation. You should’ve known he wasn’t lying when he told you he was going insane without you.
“Okay, yeah, baby… okay…”
You sighed, unburdening yourself of the weight on your shoulders as Clark gently tucked his palm under your pajama shorts and coaxed his fingers across the collecting slickness. He purred happily and sealed his lips over yours, notching his fingers in slow circles, absolutely basking in the warmth of you that’s been missing from his nighttime routine for far too long.
“Say you love me again,” he slurred against your lips, teeth tracing your cupid’s bow.
“I love you,” you moaned, hips bucking into his touch.
“My good girl, my good bunny,” he smiled, concentrating his efforts solely on your swollen little bud, knowing it would tucker you out. “Feels good to take a break, hm?”
“Mhm… oh…”
“That’s it, there she is… c’mon, bunny girl… c’mon home for me.”
Your body twitched as heat waves rolled down your legs, the indicators of a slow and deafening orgasm weighing your limbs down. Your breathing drew deep into your lungs, and Clark kept coaxing you to sleep, fingers drawing circles over your hot skin, trailing them up to your hips to your mouth, letting you suck the mess off.
“That was a quickie. Finally feelin’ sleepy?”
“Mm,” you droned, mouth a bit slack around his fingertips. “Thank you…”
“Oh, you’re welcome, baby,” he grinned, ribs aching from the love rotting him down to the bone. “Just want you to focus on getting some rest, okay? You’re so tired… get some sleep for me, come here, honey.”
You let him collect your buzzing body in his arms and roll you back on top of him, cuddling in, careful not to move your hips too much. Your palm scratched habitually at his favorite stomach spot, and he grumbled with delight, a very, very happy puppy.
“Atta boy,” you mumbled, eyes already drooping with impending sleep.
Can i request hudson williams x gf!reader, where it shows her relationship with connor…maybe it ca be all playful or whatever thank youuu
My first request, omg<3
Matching His Freak
Hudson Williams x gf! Reader ft Connor Storrie.
n/a: i found this so fun to write T*T.
Summary: You’re on the living room floor, absolutely "shocked" by the intense chemistry between your boyfriend, Hudson, and his co-star, Connor, in their new hockey drama.
Warnings: a lot of swear.
just Hudson being freak and a cuddle lover, a lot of swear.
Word count: 636
When you watched some episodes of the show, you were completely in shock at the duality of your boyfriend and his co-star. The chemistry between them was as if they were dating for real, and there you were, sitting on the floor of your apartment living room, hugging a pillow, while Hudson sat on the couch as if he were just watching a show he had seen multiple times.
“Are you kidding me?! You’re not just kissing him! You’re giving him better kisses than you give me! That’s not fair!”
You gasped at the thought of Hudson’s character, Shane, kissing Connor’s character, Ilya, like that—too desperate, like Shane was craving it. You were just trying to figure out if your boyfriend had kissed you like that at any point during all these months of your relationship.
“What can I say? I was craving it. Look, in another scene he’s giving me a blowjob,” he said with a big grin the moment he looked down at your surprised face.
You looked up at him, squeezing the pillow for a brief moment, before gasping loudly and throwing it right at his face.
“ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! HO—?!”
Your boyfriend let out a small laugh as he threw the pillow back at you.
“Damn. It’s weird watching you fuck someone else. With a man, in this case.”
Hudson chuckled softly; you were funny. A freaky nerd like you matching his freak energy was something he never regretted. He loved you so much.
“Did you at least read the book?”
“Nope.”
“You read about two men fucking in manhwas and you didn’t read this book? What type of fujoshi are you? Think about Yuri on Ice, but about hockey players instead.”
You looked at him with a small frown, wrinkling your nose slightly at the comparison. Seeing you make that face always reminded him that you looked like a rabbit.
“Are you gonna eat me out like him?”
“I can eat you now, pretty girl… Or you can live the whole Ilya and Shane experience.” Your boyfriend lifted an eyebrow at you with a big grin on his face.
“Don’t be a pervert now, weirdo.”
Hudson rolled his eyes. Instead, he sat next to you on the floor, wrapping both arms around your waist, and started leaving soft kisses from your jaw to your lips in small pecks.
“Just asking, though…” he murmured between the kisses before he nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck and just stayed there. “You’re not jealous, hm?”
“You want me to be jealous of Connor?”
You snickered, reaching for your phone and typing a quick message.
“Actually, Connor and I have a bet,” you said, showing him the screen where you called Connor. You had Connor on speaker before Hudson could even protest.
“Yo, did he fall for it?” Connor’s voice boomed through the phone, sounding way too proud of himself.
“Hook, line, and sinker,” you replied, high-fiving the air. “He actually thought I was mad about the kissing scene. He even tried to flex his 'craving' by mentioning the blowjob scene.”
“Pffft! Please!” Connor laughed hysterically. “I had to eat a mint before that scene because Hudson’s breath smelled like the tuna sandwich he had for lunch. Worst kiss of my career. You’re the real hero for dating him.”
Hudson sat there, frozen, looking between you and the phone with a look of pure betrayal.
“Wait... you two talk about me?”
“Daily,” you and Connor said in perfect unison.
Hudson groaned, dramatically falling back onto the couch cushions and covering his face with the pillow you had thrown earlier. “I’m calling my agent. I can’t work in these conditions. My co-star and my girlfriend are a synchronized bullying unit.”
“Don’t be a diva, Hudson!” Connor yelled before hanging up.
Simon Riley who despises pet names. Snarls and sneers in the face of terms of endearment. Everyone already knew him as his call sign, ‘Simon’ was intimate enough for him.
Then, you came along with your sweet words and a soft voice. Melted in saccharine honey, clung to him in ways he couldn’t explain. Bloomed warmth from his fingertips to his toes, coiled tightly around his heart, and found a home in his veins.
Felt it when dainty fingers snaked under his balaclava, slipped the mask off his face as you straddled his lap.
“There’s my pretty boy,” You would murmur, trace the pads of your thumb over his cheek bones and jawline.
Simon knew he wasn’t pretty, not nearly when scars decorated his face. But there you would sit spread over his thighs, kissing sweet words into his skin, and how wasn’t he supposed to enjoy that?
Or when he would snuggle deeper into the sheets on his leave, protesting leaving the warmth of your bed.
But then you would pull him up anyways, purring syrupy words of “Come on, big boy, we have plans today!”
Those moments were intimate enough for him, all you had to do was call him something sweet in your silvery voice and blink your doe eyes at him, and he would do anything you asked. At your beck and call.
Though his favorite might be when you were perched on your heels between his thighs, peering up at him with glassy eyes. One hand fisting his fat cock, the other wrapped around your chin as he leisurely stroked over his shaft.
Lips parted as you squeezed your thighs together, desperate for any stimulation, breathed a soft “Baby, please.”
He had been teasing you all day, left you needy and wet that morning before he left for base, but it was over the moment you started whispering sweet names to him.
And you knew it.
Fluttered your pretty lashes at him, knew you had him wrapped around your finger. Hoisted you in his lap soon after, lowered you on his throbbing cock until your ass pressed against his hips.
Banding your arms tightly around his shoulders as he finally slid home, lips pressed close to his ear as you whimpered so sweetly for him.
“Oh— baby.”
“Yeah, ‘m right here, pretty,” He murmured, pulling your hips up, “I got you.”
