Your best friend calls, voice raw, and you realize he’s jerking off to you. The call spirals into a dirty, tense back-and-forth—him confessing all the nasty things he wants to do to you, you teasing between sweet and cruel, letting him see just enough to break him. He cums hard for you, then you make him listen while you play with yourself and orgasm. At the very end, you drop the sweetest bomb—and hang up, leaving him ruined, obsessed, and wanting more.
★2,827 words, old story, smut/explicit sexual content(18+), lots of dirty talk, masturbation, praise & a tiny bit of degradation, pet name/name calling (e.g, ma/mama, baby, sweetheart, honey¹, and slut¹), you're a little mean but he likes it, etc★
★18+ 𝑴𝒊𝒏𝒐𝒓𝒔 𝑫𝒐 𝑵𝒐𝒕 𝑰𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕★
"Hello?" you call, picking up on the third ring. The room is quiet, the only light the coming from your amber lamp and the blue glow from your screen reflecting off your freshly done nails.
"H-hey," his voice scrapes out on the other end. It’s a wrecked sound—ragged, breathless, and vibrating with an intensity that makes your stomach flip.
Your brows pull tight, a slow worry already beginning to tug at your lips. "Are you okay? You sound... off."
You picture him for a second. Maybe he’s sweaty from a run, his chest heaving under a thin t-shirt. Or maybe he’s been lugging another Amazon dresser for that old lady down the block—always the good guy, always helping somebody. But as you listen to the heavy, rhythmic hitch in his breathing, you realize you’re wrong.
Right now, your best friend is laid out on his bed, the sheets a mess beneath him. His sweatpants and boxers are shoved down to his mid-thighs, his brown skin damp and glowing in the dim light of his room. His stomach is corded, muscles tightening and rippling with every long, desperate drag of his fist. His dick is a dark, heavy weight in his hand—slick, flushed, and dripping through his fingers.
He’s slowly but firmly stroking himself to the thought—and now the sweet, taunting sound—of your voice. Precum is already smeared over his knuckles, his thumb rolling lazy over his slit before pressing harder, coaxing a deep, guttural grunt from his throat.
"Mgh—nothing. Just... talk to me," he rasps, the friction of his hand audible through the speaker.
Your frown deepens, your heart is starting to race. "Why? What’s wrong, baby?"
The pet name slips out easy, unthinking. But the effect is immediate—he moans low, a broken, helpless sound, like you’d reached through the line and wrapped your hand around him yourself. He lives for when your voice turns soft like this, when you stop clowning him and get sweet. His fist moves quicker now, his hips pushing up into his palm, seeking the friction he can’t get enough of.
"I'm fine, I promise. Just keep talking. Please."
You fall quiet for a beat, leaning back against your headboard. You listen harder. You hear the wet, squelching sounds of his grip. The sharp little hitches of breath. The low, animalistic sound he makes when his fist squeezes tighter at the base.
And it clicks.
"...You’re jerking off."
Silence. Just the heavy, frantic sound of his breathing. Then a broken, self-deprecating laugh. "Yeah. M'sorry. Can’t stop. Not when it’s you."
Your breath stutters, a prickle of heat blooming low in your belly. "You’re getting off to me? On the damn phone?"
"Every time," he admits, his voice rough and needy, but with a sudden edge of raw honesty. He wants you to know. He wants you to feel the weight of it. "Think about you all the time. That mouth. Those tits. The way your ass looks in those shorts." His pace picks up, the slick, lewd sounds of his hand working his dick filling the line. "Fuck, I’d do anything to see you ride me, just once. Just to see what that look on your face is like when I’m deep inside you."
You bite your lip, your pulse kicking against your throat. "That’s disgusting. Using my voice to get your nut. You’re nasty."
He groans like you’ve just blessed him with a touch. "Yeah, I know. But you're all I think about... you’re the only thing that gets me this hard."
"That's nice, honey. But you really shouldn't think of me like that... you know we're just friends," you murmur, your own hand sliding down to rest heavy on your thigh, the silk of your shorts cool against your palm.
"Don’t say that." His tone cuts sharp now, all the nice playfulness you've come to love is gone. "I’m not your fucking friend. You call me every day. You tell me you love me. I told you from the start—I’m not your friend." His breath hitches, the wet sounds of his fist speeding up, becoming more frantic. "You let me talk to you like this. And you let me—You let me be in your life knowing how I feel about you."
Your acrylic nail drags slow across your bottom lip. "Maybe. But I can't give you what you want, and I do love you, but don't throw it in my face," you drawl, a cruel, satisfied smirk pulling at your mouth.
"It’s kinda sad. Stroking your dick to a girl you’ll never have. We'll never be together. I’ll never let you fuck me. All you get is your hand."
He chokes out a moan, his hips snapping up into his fist with a raw, mechanical rhythm. "Yeah? Then give me something else. Show me. Facetime me, ma. Please."
You hesitate, the heat pooling heavy and agonizing between your thighs. Then, you click over.
The screen flickers to life. His camera is shaking, his breath filling the dark room. Sweat beads at his temples, his face flushed a deep, beautiful bronze, his lips parted. You know that tremor in the camera—it’s the force of his fist moving fast.
"Thank you," he exhales, the word almost reverent as he takes in your appearance.
"Hi, baby. Let me see your face," you don't ask it like a question. You order it.
He obeys instantly. His face fills the screen, his jaw tight and corded, his sharp fade a bit messy from the heat and the friction.
"You look good," you compliment, but the little laugh that follows makes it sting.
"Keep talking." He’s close, you can hear the strain in his voice. "Don't stop."
"I want to see."
He blinks, his eyes glazed and dark. "What?"
"I'm not repeating myself."
He lets out a breathless, desperate laugh, knowing your patience is thin. "Take your shirt off then. Let me see what I'm working for."
You narrow your eyes at the audacity, but you reach down and tug the pajama top off anyway. Your lace bra catches the light, the fabric straining against the fullness of your breasts. You don’t cover yourself; he’s seen you in less, and you want him to see exactly what he’s missing.
"Fuck," he groans, a sound of pure, unadulterated pain. He flips the camera.
Your breath catches. Your mouth goes dry. His dick is a complete mess—his fist is working tight and fast, the dark, veined length of him glistening with pre-cum. White streaks of cum are already dried tacky over his thighs from previous rounds, and his stomach is flexing with every pull. His abs are glistening, his skin slick with sweat. His thumb smears a fresh bead of precum over the flushed, velvet head until it gleams, dripping onto his knuckles.
You bite your lip hard, heat twisting through your belly, your shorts already sticking damp between your thighs.
His moan rips through the line, a guttural, animal sound.
You whisper his name, your voice low, trembling, and possessive. "... I really want you in my mouth."
His head snaps back against the pillow, a broken curse ripped from his lungs. "If I had you here? I’d fuck that throat till you cried. Till you gagged around me and begged for air. I’d hold your head and make you take every fucking inch."
You hum, a low, taunting vibration. "You’re not tough enough for that."
That pulls a dark, dangerous laugh from him. His hand works faster, the veins straining down his forearm. "Say that shit again. I’d hold your face down and shove my dick so deep you’ll feel me in your chest. I’ll make you swallow every drop."
Your thighs squeeze together, wetness soaking through the crotch of your shorts. "All talk. You’d fold the second it touched my tongue."
He groans, deep and pained. "God, you drive me fucking insane." His breath stutters, then—"Take your bra off for me. Now."
You tilt your head, slow and teasing. "You want a show?"
"Take it off." His voice is rough, a plea threaded with a hard command.
You hook your fingers into the lace, slipping it down your shoulders, letting it fall. Your breasts sit full and heavy in the camera’s glow, your nipples tight and peaked in the cool air.
He chokes on his own breath. "God, look at you. Perfect. Fucking perfect."
Your fingers lift, tugging lightly at one nipple, rolling it between your fingers. "Like this, baby?"
His hand drags hard down his dick, the slick sound of it filling your ears. "Yeah—play with them for me. Pinch ‘em. Roll ‘em." His eyes roll back for a second, his mouth slack. "Fuck—I wanna cum all over those tits. Paint you, watch it drip down your stomach. You’d look so good messy with my cum."
You coo, your voice dirty and soft. "Yeah, baby? You wanna ruin me like that? Wanna cover me ‘cause I’m yours?" You pinch harder, moaning low. "Mmh, I’d let you do it however you want."
His hips jerk up into his fist, his cock flushed dark, thick, and veined. The head is shiny with slick, and your eyes stay locked on it, transfixed by the weight of him in his palm.
You whisper, almost reverent. "I can’t stop watching your hands. They're so big and veiny. So strong. You're twitching in your grip—look at you, baby. All that for me."
He groans raggedly, his fist slapping wetly down the length of his shaft. "All for you. Always for you." His voice cracks, desperate. "Squeeze 'em, touch your tits harder. Let me see you play with those pretty nipples."
You squeeze your breast, pinch your nipple harder, tugging it until you gasp, your eyes locked on his fist pumping. The sound of it—wet, obscene, skin slapping skin—is the only thing in the world.
"Fuck," he grits out, his voice frayed. "I’d drag you down and smear every drop over you. I wanna fill you up."
You laugh softly, mean but sweet. "Yeah? You’d mark me up? Cover me so everybody knows this pussy’s yours? Even though you’ll never get to fuck it?"
He groans, almost breaking under the weight of the tease. "Stop—don’t say that. I’d fuck you stupid, ma. I’d split you open. Make you cry for me."
You hum, stroking your breast with slow, deliberate circles. "I bet you would. But right now? All you’ve got is your hand. And me watching."
His grip tightens, his strokes becoming rough and fast. His stomach flexes, his breath tearing ragged from his chest. You lean close to the screen, your voice low and syrup-thick.
"Cum for me, baby."
He moans, a high, guttural sound.
"Yeah," you coax, squeeze your breast, shifting them again, "make a mess for me. Let me see you shoot it all over yourself. Come on. Show me how much you want me."
"Fuck—" His hips stutter up into his fist. Precum spills slick down his shaft, his knuckles shiny and wet.
"Begging you, sweetheart," you whisper, cruel and filthy. "Paint yourself for me. Cover that stomach, those big hands—show me what I do to you."
He chokes, his eyes squeezing shut, his jaw locked tight as his body begins to coil for the release. "M’close—oh fuck, I’m gonna—"
"Do it," you purr, sharp and commanding. "Cum for me, baby. Now."
His whole body jerks. A shout rips from his throat, raw and primal, as thick, hot ropes of cum spill over his hand, his chest, dripping down his stomach in heavy white streaks. He pumps through the release, groaning brokenly, the cum splattering messy and hot across his skin.
You sigh, watching the way it looks against his skin, your voice turning sweet again. "That’s it. Good boy. Look at that dick, dripping for me. You made such a mess."
He’s panting, ruined, his hand still twitching around his softening length. "Fuck... fuck, I love you."
You tilt the camera, watching him still sprawled—sweat dripping, stomach streaked with cum, hand twitching.
"Mmh," you hum, soft and wicked, "look what you did, baby. Got me all wet."
His head snaps up, eyes heavy but blazing. "Show me."
You smirk, slipping your hand under the waistband of your shorts, dragging the damp fabric aside. Glossy, honey-thick strings pull as you spread yourself open, the phone angled just enough to flash him a glimpse of your soaking wet center. "See that? All for you."
He groans, his chest heaving. "Touch it for me. Play with yourself—please, ma."
Your laugh is low and cruel. "Not a chance. You already got your show."
His jaw tightens, his voice rough. "Don't play with me. You don't let me watch, I'll make you beg next time. I'll make you sorry."
You lean close to the screen, your smirk sharp and triumphant. "Try me. You don't scare me, baby. I said no."
His fist curls against his stomach, frustration pouring through the camera. "Then... at least—fuck—at least let me listen. Please. Let me hear it."
You bite your lip, dragging your fingers slow through your slickness, making yourself whimper. "You’re nasty."
"Yeah," he rasps, desperate. "For you. Only for you."
You sigh, soft and sweet, pressing two fingers against your clit until your hips twitch. "Fine. You can listen. But that’s it. Just your ears."
Your moans slip out, low and syrupy, filling the line. His breath shudders at the sound, ruined but hungry again. Your fingers circle your clit, the wet, squelching sounds of your own pleasure bleeding into the line. You bite your lip, letting a whimper slip, knowing he’s eating every sound alive.
"That’s it," he rasps, his voice still raw from cumming. "Rub that pretty pussy for me. God, I wanna be there so bad—wanna hold your thighs open and eat you till you’re crying."
Your head tips back, your breath shaky. "Mghn—You talk so nasty, baby."
"You don’t even know," he grits out. "I’d spread you out and pound that pussy till you scream. I’d fuck you till you smell like me. I'd never let you leave the bed."
A moan rips out of you, high and breathless. Your fingers circle faster, your hips rolling up off the bed as the tension coils.
"You like that?" he groans. "Knowing how bad I want you? Tell me you’ll give it up one day. Tell me I’ll get to fuck you for real."
Your laugh cuts sharp and shaky. "N-No, baby. You’ll never have me like that."
He curses, a guttural sound of frustration. "Fuck. You’re killing me, ma."
Your moans rise, sharper now, your body coiling tight. "Keep talking. Don't stop."
He obeys, his voice a low, gravelly anchor. "I’d hold your hips down. Spit in your mouth while I fuck you raw. Fill you up and make you go for hours."
That does it—your back arches, your thighs clenching tight as your orgasm rips through you. A sharp cry tears from your throat, your fingers working frantically over your clit as waves of pleasure slam through your body. You gasp his name, shuddering and trembling, your juices dripping messy against your hand.
He groans raggedly, listening to the sound of your break like it’s gospel. "That’s it—fuck, that’s it. Cum for me. Good girl. Good fucking girl."
You collapse back, chest heaving, sweat dampening your skin. You let out a low, satisfied hum. "Oh, shit... see what you did? You made me cum, handsome."
His breath hitches on the other end, broken and reverent. "...I’d do anything to see that."
Your breathing slows, your chest still rising and falling heavy. Your fingers slip from your soaked folds, leaving a wet sheen on your thighs. The line is quiet except for the sound of you both catching your breath.
He’s the first to break it, his voice ragged. "Man... I swear, one day—"
You cut him off with a sweet, dismissive little laugh, curling back into your pillow and pulling the covers up. "Shh. Don’t start again."
The silence stretches, thick and heavy with the things he wants to say. You can feel the ache in his voice, how close he is to spilling confessions you aren't ready to hear. So you give him something else. Something cruel, but honest.
"Thank you," you murmur, soft and sweet. Almost tender. "I love you so much, baby."
The phone goes quiet. You can picture him—eyes wide, lips parted, his heart clenching around those words. You know exactly what you’ve done to him.
You smile to yourself, curling the blanket over your bare chest. "Good night."
And you hang up before he can even find his voice to answer.
ps: arachnid & peter are two different people in my eyes.
stalker.
due to how quiet & nimble spiders are, you’d never notice how closely he follows you around. no matter where you are, he’s always watching you, but at least you have protection (that you aren’t aware about.). peter tries to fight arachnid off, but he always end up failing; giving in to arachnids need to protect you, make sure you’re safe.
cuddle bug.
okay so hear me out, arachnid is infatuated with you. he loves being in your arms as you're so soft, so warm. he buries his face anywhere he can— your neck, armpits, chest — he just loves smelling you while he holds you close, feeling safe in your arms as he quickly drifts off to sleep. however, he’s a light sleeper— as fast as he goes to sleep is as fast as he can wake up so, move quietly & with precision (if you can, his senses are heightened by 10x).
random gift giving.
as much as a good guy peter is, arachnid isn't. this man would literally raise hell in stores trying to find the perfect gift for you until he decides to take matters into his own hands, quietly & perfectly slipping into the most expensive jewelry store & stealing it just because he believes it’ll look beautiful on you. you'd come home to a nice white box with a perfectly wrapped bow with a letter that says "for you, my love. - signed arachnid." all you could do was just roll your eyes with a slight smile while you opened the box, watching the diamonds in the necklace shine as he watched you from a building outside of your apartment window, loving the way you smiled as you tried it on, he’s satisfied with himself but not satisfied enough with your gifts.
hopelessly devoted to you.
this man worships the ground you walk on, treating you like a mythical piece of treasure as he pampers you like a queen. anything you even consider wanting, he gets. his poor bank account but oh boy, does he love to see your reaction when he gets the thing you’ve been wanting for the longest. he's also always on your side, no matter what. you could’ve had a whole argument with somebody & be completely wrong but guess what? he doesn’t care. he loves you & it will always be like that, even in death.
NSFW AHEAD
pervert.
he had installed small baby like spider cameras throughout the apartment without you knowing & has been watching you ever since. the times where he would catch you masturbating on the couch, legs spread with your fingers rubbing against your clit, occasionally dipping into your wet hole to use as lube on your clit— your hand gripping your breast, bucking up into your touch as you whined quietly. he would stare at his phone screen from a random public bathroom as he stood in a stall, his phone in his right hand while his left hand jerked his cock at a rapid pace until he came, shooting his seed all over the stall, but he didn’t stop. he kept going until you did; following your pace.
panty sniffer
any time you came home from doing something productive, like going to the gym for example— you’d come home a little musky; your sweat mixed with your cocoa butter that you had rubbed all over your body drew him insane. he'd greet you normally, hoping you didn’t hear the waving in his voice as you walked off into the bathroom to go bathe. you threw your dirty clothes into your laundry basket as you went into the bathroom, closing the door behind you & that’s when he had rushed into the bedroom; going through the clothes before he picked out your damp panties, putting them to his nose as he inhaled. his head felt light as his shorts began to feel extremely tight, his hands dipping into his shorts as he began to jerk himself off to the scent of your damp goodness.
switch
i say he's a switch, but with a more dom lean. soft dom? hard dom? it honestly depends on what he’s feeling, but sometimes he has his moments where he wants to be dominated & told what to do. for instance, that one time he kept tickling you on your stomach since he knew you were extremely ticklish, so he started to blow raspberries on it before you violently pulled on his hair to stop him, which made him stifle back a moan but something in him enjoyed that. since that day, he’s been hinting at you to tug his hair, randomly wanting you to rub your fingers through it, massaging his scalp, before he told you flat out, "pull my hair, i love it when you do that." he said with a straight face with slight pink tinted cheeks.
a pussy drunk slut.
there was once a time where he fucked you for 5 hours straight, hips moving nonstop as he babbled into your ear about how good your pussy felt around his solid cock. he held onto you as he shut his eyes tightly, nibbling on your skin. the amounts of "oh god"’s & "you feel so good" in you ear had your stomach turn in the best way possible. it was like he wants to live inside you forever, never wanting to separate & keep himself deep inside your warm body but, was once a time where he had bottomed out— he fucked you for so long to the point he rang himself dry, shooting blanks, drool seeping from the side of his lips as he looked down at the way he was fucking himself into you. the sight making an audible whimper leave his mouth,, something you could get used to hearing often— but when his his snapped again against yours, his cock throbbing violently as nothing came out, webs from his wrists shot out nonstop before it oozed, making you both look at each other in surprise. "you.. just came from your wrists..?" you asked in confusion before you started giggling before full on laughter, he pulled out with a little frown out of embarrassment, "i think i did, i had no more in me but my wrists did.." he admitted but you had an idea.
playing with the holes his webs comes out of.
other than his dick & hair, his wrists are extremely sensitive, so you decided to try something out. you had pulled him into your room & laid him on the bed, typing him up but you had his wrists tied above his head. he was clearly excited, his dick standing up at attention through his shorts once again as you straddled him. "i wanted to try something out, more like.. an experiment.." you told him with a smile. he looks up at you with a nod, "okay, whatever you want, my love." he told you as he looked up at you with his big shiny black eyes. you could get used to being on top more but anyway, you snapped out of your thoughts as you grabbed your vibrator & turned it on. he only looked at you with a slight bit of confusion before you put it on one of his wrist, making him squirm immediately while panting out. "f-fuck, b-b..hng!!~ baby, wait!..~" he pleaded as he continued to writhe underneath you until you sat your full weight down on him, making him squirm less as his hands turned into fists. his eyes rolled back as he bit back a moan but you weren’t satisfied. you pushed the vibrator harder onto his web shooter while you used your other hand to gently tease his other web shooter, dipping your finger sightly into his hole which made him tremble aggressively. you looked down at him & he was a mess; face red, forehead wet from sweat, his cock extremely hard to the touch as he tensed, "oh f-fuuuckk!!~" he screamed as he came, his cum leaking through his shorts while his wrists shot more webs out that usual, making you giggle in delight before you got off of him & let his wrists go, "that’s all i wanted to do." you said with a smile as he stared at you in disbelief while he was still catching his breath.
you're lucky he loves you or you would’ve been through the floor.
synopsis 𝜗𝜚 everyone knows that you’re michael’s bambi. except no one knows how deep his infatuation lies.
warnings 𝜗𝜚 suggestive but not explicit smut, michael calls the reader bambi and ma, michael fake shy iykwim
authors note 𝜗𝜚 i’m back to writing fics regularly and i’ll be working on my requests !
word count 𝜗𝜚 2.8k
“𝓼top lookin’ at me like that, bambi.”
that was the nickname michael had been using for the past two years. while it took an elongated period of time for it to grow on you, it surely stuck once it did.
whenever anybody asked him why he called you that, his answer was simple. “she’s got them big doe eyes, just like bambi.”
at a certain point, people—yourself included—eventually stopped questioning him. the nickname became something natural, something expected. whenever people heard bambi, it was instantly associated with you and michael rather than the 1942 animated film.
“like what?” you ask him.
weird, he wants to say. like you know something he isn’t quite ready to admit yet. like you’ve got him all figured out before he can figure himself it.
“i don’t know. like that.”
“whatever.”
you divert your attention back to the scene in front of you. you were initially watching a movie, but michael’s siblings were drowning out any sound that could’ve been coming from the tv. not like you were paying attention, anyway.
you were engrossed in the discussion they were currently having. it started with jackie boasting about his current girlfriend, then somehow snowballed into a full-blown conversation about the ins and outs of relationships, how to tell when someone likes you, and the ignorance that comes before said relationships.
that was what really caught your attention. they started arguing about who tends to be more oblivious during the courting stage—men or women. while you didn’t give a verbal input, the conversation had you deliberating.
you’ve been harboring a crush on michael for five months, now going on six. you deduced that michael was either heavily unaware or just pretending he didn’t know, with the latter being highly unlikely.
you tried to give him small, yet perceptible signs that you liked him. you didn’t want to be forthright and risk him not feeling the same way, thus ruining your friendship.
your hand would linger on his arm too long whenever he told a joke, you’d throw your legs haphazardly over his whenever you sat together, and you started to put tenfold more effort into your outfits whenever you saw him. you’d usually just put on whatever was comfortable for you, knowing you’d be surrounded by him and his family, whom you’ve known for years.
yet, all of your efforts seemed to go unnoticed. it was never anything more than michael’s eyes concentrating on you whenever your shorts rose too high, or his breath hitching when your hand stayed on him for too long. but it was never anything that directly confirmed his feelings for you.
“i mean, how do you really know when someone likes you back?” jermaine asks.
“when they make it obvious they care, duh.”
suddenly, multiple pairs of eyes are focused on you, michael included. it’s the first thing you’ve added to their conversation all night; it’s no wonder they’re suddenly so interested.
“what you mean?” jackie asks.
“like,” you pause before continuing your sentence, “when they take their time to learn the little things about you. like if someone was to know that my favorite disney movie is bambi.”
“your nickname is literally bambi, girl. that ain’t no secret,” jermaine adds.
you hate that his sentence drags a laugh out of you. you want to be serious to get your point across, but he wasn’t wrong. it definitely wasn’t a secret that one of your favorite movies was bambi, given the nickname that michal designated to you.
“boy, you know what i mean. it’s the little things that matter!”
you add no more to the conversation, having nothing else to say. you’ve verbalized how you feel about something, giving signs that they like you. the small, almost insignificant things mattered more to you than any extravagant declaration of love.
what you failed to notice was the way michael drank in every word of your sentence, intently listening. it was like he was making a mental note of everything that gave you clear indications that somebody liked you, that he liked you.
“d’you like these?”
michael held up a pair of tank tops—pink, teal, and white. you had recently complained to him that you felt like you had a sparse collection of tank tops, and you didn’t know what to do under the blazing heat of the summer sun.
you weren’t asking him anything; you simply needed to complain about your vacant wardrobe. you were planning to take a trip to the mall within the next few days, but by the looks of it, michael beat you to it.
“oh, i love them!”
you throw your arms around his neck, embracing him in a hug. you rock both of you back and forth until he’s laughing and telling you “alright, ma,” and pulling you away from him via your waist.
you’re quick to take the tank tops and hold them up to your frame in his full-body mirror, already envisioning how you’d style them. you were picturing outfits in your mind rapidly.
“mike, these are gonna be so cute!” you exclaim, still holding them up to your body.
“i’m glad you like ‘em. i remember you were telling me how you needed some.”
you throw the hangers carelessly onto michael’s bed. then, you fling your body towards where he’s sitting. he steadies you by your waist, but the two of you still fall backwards against the mattress.
you’re practically smothering him with a hug, your front pressed against his. the room is a mixture of your squeals and his laughter. it’s evident that you’re enjoying the gift and he’s enjoying how content you are with it.
“you’re the best ever. who else would buy me something ‘cause i mentioned it once?”
“i’m the best you’ll ever have, bambi, i know. now please get off me.”
he comes off like the weight of your body is the issue, but it’s not that. the way your breasts were smushed against his chest was distracting, truly. he wouldn’t be able to focus on another word coming out of your mouth if both of you stayed in this position.
you remove your body from his with a groan, sitting back on his bed. he releases a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding once the weight of your chest is lifted from his. this wasn’t the ideal situation for him to have a hard-on, especially when you were so close, and you’d undoubtedly feel it.
“‘m serious, mike. i know it seems small, but it means a lot to me.”
you sound so unalloyed, meaning everything you’re saying. while you did verbalize how much little things meant to you, this was his first time actually experiencing it.
“i got you. don’t worry.”
“turn around. ‘n close your eyes.”
if you didn’t know any better, you’d say that those are the exact words michael would say to you in bed. his arms resting on your hips or holding your arms behind your back as he pistoned into you from behind, ugh!
you do exactly what he says without questioning him. you trusted him more than you trusted anyone else. what’s the worst that could come out of him telling you to turn around and close your eyes?”
you feel a cool metal resting against your neck—a necklace, you presume.
your hands search for the pendant, yet you don’t recognize it. it’s not something as simple as a heart or a bow. it almost feels like an initial, but you’re not sure.
“open your eyes.”
once you do, you look down, and to your not-so-surprise, your necklace is adorned by your initial.
two weeks ago, your initial necklace clasp had broken, rendering it useless. you weren’t surprised because it was a cheap necklace, but you were sad about it nonetheless.
you hadn’t even told michael it was broken. you hadn’t complained as you did about your lack of tank tops. you simply stopped wearing the necklace and thought about when you’d feel like going to get another one.
“mike!” you squeal.
you hug him like you usually do when you’re this happy—arms around his neck and body pressed all the way into his. his arms wrap around your waist like it’s second nature.
“you always get me the best gifts ever,” you gush.
he pats your waist twice before responding. “‘course i do. you think i don’t pay attention?”
“i think you pay too much attention.”
you both laugh, but it wasn’t much of a joke. michael had a habit of noticing the most minuscule of things, sometimes even before you noticed them.
your mind drifts back to the conversation you had with jackie and jermaine. michael does the exact things you’d look for in a partner. it feels weird to think about your best friend in a romantic light, but he literally checks off all your metaphorical boxes when it comes to what you want in a partner.
he’s attentive, caring, and so gentle. ugh, you should not be thinking about your best friend like this! especially when there are no clear signs that he returns your feelings.
you’d either have to get over it or tell him how you felt. you were going with the former option until further notice.
“i’m always paying attention to you, bambi.”
maybe you weren’t going crazy.
maybe your suspicions, your theories, were being confirmed in real time.
maybe, just maybe, there was a chance that michael liked you back.
recently, you’ve been pondering his actions lately. you said it was the little things that matter to you, that made you know when someone actually liked you.
ever since that conversation, you feel like michael’s been noticing every little thing in your life. your lack of tank tops, when your necklace broke, hell, he even knows how you’re feeling before you do!
was this something you could pass off as platonic, or were your dreams coming true? did your best friend reciprocate your feelings after all?
there was only one real way for you to find out. although you refused to admit your feelings to him outwardly, you weren’t against beating around the bush to figure out a thing or two.
michael’s lying on his bed with you next to him. your legs and thrown over his lap and he’s rubbing his hands up and down them.
a movie’s playing, but neither of you are paying much attention to it. you’ve been too engrossed in the conversation you’ve been having to worry about what was playing on michael’s box television.
“i think i’m really bad at reading people at times.”
it’s not your everyday statement, but you and him are talking about a little bit of everything right now. topics have ranged from the film you’re watching—which should really be the main topic of discussion—plans for the summer, and how you’re not fond of people who don’t pick up social cues.
“what makes you say that?” he questions you.
“i dunno. like i don’t know how someone’s feeling unless they, like, directly tell me.”
michael’s silent for a long moment. you conclude that he needs time to fully articulate himself before giving you a verbal response.
“so you couldn’t guess how i’m feeling right now?”
“absolutely not,” your reply is instant, “you’re happy right now? i have no clue.”
“sounds about right. maybe you ain’t too bad at reading people,” he jests.
“it’s different ‘cause you’re my best friend and i’m with you all of the time.”
“yeah,” michael mutters. his voice is quiet, different from the noisy tone of voice he usually takes when speaking to you.
“what?” you ask him.
he suddenly got quiet after you called him your best friend and stated that you spent the majority of your time with him. quiet in an extremely unusual way—your michael was nothing less than loud.
“it’s nothin’.”
“don’t be weird, mike.”
he doesn’t look directly at you, still failing to respond to you.
“mike,” you nudge his shoulder with your hand, “stop bein’ weird.”
“i’m not being weird.”
“you are! we were jus’ talkin’ and then you went all quiet on me.”
“what else am i ‘posed to say when you call me your best friend?”
you’re unable to formulate a response for a long moment. if you weren’t mistaken, michael just inadvertently admitted that he didn’t like being referred to as your best friend, even if that’s what he is at the moment.
“what?”
“forget it.”
michael pushes your legs off his, moving to stand up from his sitting position on the bed. before he’s able to get far, you’re tugging him back down to sit beside you. you refused to let this conversation end abruptly and so awkwardly.
“i’m not forgettin’ shit, mike. talk to me like a normal person.”
“don’t cuss at me.”
you roll your eyes because of course, that’s what he cares about in the moment.
“what did you mean by that?” you ask him.
if you had to endure another moment of silence—michael taking far too long to respond to you—you’d be ripping your hair out from the scalp. you wanted to have a cohesive conversation without long moments of silence.
“i mean that i don’t jus’ wanna be your best friend. you talk about how the little things make it clear that somebody likes you back, but i do the little things, and nothing comes of it. forget i said anything—“
you place your hand on his thigh, dangerously high, to prevent him from speaking any further. his breath hitches, but he quickly regains his composure.
“i said all of that ‘cause i wanted you to notice.”
it felt like an invisible weight had been lifted from your shoulders. not only did michael confirm his feelings for you, but you were also able to express how you’ve been feeling for what feels like forever. but in reality it was half a year.
“believe when i tell you i noticed, bambi. the tank tops ‘n the necklace? i was a day away from buying you some versace.”
you slap his shoulder in chide, though it’s not nearly enough to hurt him. “why didn’t you tell me earlier?”
“‘cause there was always a chance you didn’t like me back. i didn’t wanna risk it and then lose you forever.”
“d’awhh, you’re so sweet. you could never lose me,” you smush your cheek against the side of his arm, gazing up at him through your lashes.
michael would be melting right now if he had no self-restraint. you’re the sweetest thing he’s ever seen, and he can’t believe he has you in his bedroom confessing your feelings to him.
he can’t help but think of everything else you could be doing in his room right now. he’s spent months, bordering on a year, thinking about what you’d look like underneath him.
writhing, whining out his name. he’d give you anything you’d ask for if you looked up at him through your eyelashes like you’re doing now. he’d go down on you for hours, or he would watch your facial expressions as you fell apart on his dick.
“‘cause i’d never allow myself to lose you, bambi,”
upon hearing his words, you sit on your knees to press a chaste kiss to his lips. the feeling of your mouth on his is gone as quickly as it came.
michael’s flushed, but not more than you. someone would assume you were doing far more lurid activities, given the bashful look on your face.
“what was that?” he asks you.
“a kiss. you didn’t like it?”
“i think i need another one to come to a conclusion.”
you lean up to press another fleeting kiss to michael’s lips, but his hand is holding your face and he’s forcing your lips open before you can fully comprehend. his tongue presses against yours, your hands fly up to his hair, tugging on a few strands.
the groan he lets out is the fuel you need to continue. without breaking the kiss, michael effortlessly moves you so that you’re sitting on his lap.
you’re the first to pull away, fearing you’d lose yourself when you and michael had just figured everything out.
“mike…”
“‘m sorry bambi, i couldn’t help myself,” he grins at you.
you couldn’t be mad at him even if you tried. you definitely weren’t expecting him to deepen the kiss, but his hands on your waist and his lips on yours were enough to erase any previous ire.
“we jus’ got together ‘n all, i don’t wanna move too fast. plus your whole family is downstairs right now.”
“i wouldn’t care if the entirety of california was downstairs right now. nothin’ matters if i get to have you.”
your head drops to his neck as if that would actually hide you from him. you feel like you could traverse the entire state and he’d still be able to locate you, no matter what.
“don’t be embarrassed, bambi. we won’t do anythin’ until you’re ready.”
you let out a sigh of relief, making the mistake of thinking anything michael said would permanently put your mind at ease.
Content warnings: misandrist!reader x frat!jo, implied crush (on gojo’s end,) college au, misandry ofc, frat!jo is a part time masseuse, porn with no plot, fingering, penetrative sex, dirty talk, banter, profanity, workplace sex, a bit of coercion, mouthy reader, idk if either of them are domming
The summer heat clung to the city like a second skin, making the small massage parlor tucked between a coffee shop and a laundromat feel like the only sanctuary for miles. You clutched the crumpled coupon in your hand, the one your roommate had shoved at you after winning it in some raffle, and pushed through the glass door with low expectations.
The bell above the entrance chimed softly, and the cool blast of air conditioning hit you immediately, carrying the faint scent of lavender oil and eucalyptus. You had been nursing a knot between your shoulder blades for weeks, the result of too many shifts hunched over countertops and wiping tables. With the promise of professional hands working out the tension finally convincing you to use the damn thing.
The receptionist barely looked up from her phone when you approached the counter, her bubblegum pink nails tapping against the screen. "Walk-in or appointment?" she asked, already reaching for the schedule book.
“Appointment for Saturday, 4pm.” You answered, sliding the coupon across the counter and explained that you had specifically requested a female therapist, because you’d rather die than have an awkward experience with some low tier male masseurs.
She glanced at the paper, then at the computer screen, and her expression shifted into something apologetic. "Sorry, but all our female staff are out today. We only have male staff available right now."
Before you could protest or ask to reschedule, a familiar voice cut through the lobby like a knife through butter. "Well, well, if it isn't the girl who thinks frats are the root of all evil."
You turned slowly, already dreading what you knew you would find, and there he was, Satoru Gojo, leaning against the doorway that led to the treatment rooms with that infuriating smirk plastered across his face. He was dressed in the standard uniform of black scrubs that somehow managed to look expensive on him, his white hair pushed back with a headband that kept it out of his eyes. The sight of him made your stomach drop, because of course your mortal enemy, a frat bro, would be working here of all places.
"You've got to be kidding me," you muttered, “Don’t you need a license for this?!” But before he could even explain you began backing toward the door. Satoru however pushed off from the doorframe and sauntered closer, his hands tucked into his pockets like he had all the time in the world. "What, scared I'll see you in a towel?" he teased, and the challenge in his voice made something stubborn flare to life in your chest. You had never backed down from him before, and you weren't about to start now just because he happened to work at the one place you needed to visit.
"I'd rather have anyone else," you shot back, crossing your arms over your chest. Satoru just laughed, that bright, obnoxious sound that had grated on your nerves since the first day you met him at orientation. "Lucky for you, I'm the only one here. Unless you want to come back tomorrow when the girls are working, but something tells me that knot in your shoulder isn't going to wait." He was right, damn him, and you both knew it. The pain had been keeping you up at night, and the thought of another sleepless evening made you grit your teeth in resignation.
"Fine," you said through clenched teeth, "but if you make this weird, I'm leaving and filing a report." Satoru held up his hands in mock surrender, though the glint in his eyes suggested he was already planning something. He led you down a short hallway to a small room with a massage table in the center, the walls painted a soothing shade of pale blue. "Get undressed to your comfort level and lie face down," he instructed, his voice taking on a more professional tone that somehow made you even more nervous. "I'll be back in a few minutes."
The door clicked shut behind him, leaving you alone with your racing thoughts and the soft instrumental music playing from hidden speakers. You stripped down to your underwear and climbed onto the table, pulling the sheet up to cover yourself as best you could. The paper crinkled beneath you as you settled into position, and you tried to convince yourself that this was just a professional service, nothing more. Satoru was still the same arrogant frat boy you had despised since freshman year, and no amount of massage oil was going to change that.
Men aren’t shit anyways, especially fraternity whores like him. What the hell were his credentials anyways? but you figured if he was good with his hands one way, maybe he could be useful for once. Best case scenario you’ll never have to speak if this moment again.
When he knocked and entered, the room seemed to shrink around his presence. You heard him moving around, the soft click of bottles being opened and the squirt of lotion into his palms. "This might be a little cold at first," he warned, and then his hands were on your shoulders, warm and surprisingly gentle as they began to work the tension from your muscles. Despite everything, you had to admit that he knew what he was doing. His fingers found knots you didn't even know existed, working them loose with firm, practiced strokes that made you bite back a groan of relief.
"So what's your problem with frats anyways…or guys in general? You not into men or something?" he asked conversationally, his thumbs pressing into the space between your shoulder blades. You tensed for a moment, then forced yourself to relax as he continued his ministrations.
"I-I don’t know? I guess?? Honestly they’re just a bunch of entitled assholes who think they own the place," you replied, your voice muffled by the face cradle. Satoru hummed thoughtfully, his hands never pausing in their work. "And you think I'm one of them entitled men?" he asked, genuinely curious rather than defensive.
"You're literally the president of Sigma Chi, and aren’t you some trust fund baby? You’re probably worse than most men."
His laugh was softer this time, less mocking and more self-deprecating. "Fair point. But maybe we're not all the same." His hands moved lower, working along your spine with long, sweeping strokes that made your skin tingle. You wanted to argue, to list all the reasons why fraternities were a blight on campus life, but his touch was making it hard to focus on anything except how good it felt.
“Plus, i’ve been cut off from my dad for a good two months. after i trashed his yacht he was so done with me..” You didn’t know what to say to that. And he sounded so, hesitant? Which seems quite unusual but you weren’t easy enough to let a sob story change your mind about frat nepo babies like him.
The massage continued in relative silence for a while, broken only by the occasional instruction from Satoru to breathe deeper or relax a particular muscle. His hands were confident and sure, moving from your shoulders down to the small of your back, then lower still until his fingers brushed the edge of the towel covering your ass. "Umm, y’mind if I work on your glutes?" he asked, his voice professional but with an undercurrent of something else. "A lot of tension builds up there from sitting in lectures all day."
You hesitated for a moment, then nodded against the face cradle. “Y-yeah…whatever, it’s fine…”
After your confirmation his hands slipped under the towel, and you felt the cool air hit your skin as he folded it down. The first touch of his palms against your bare ass made you jump slightly, but his touch remained clinical and focused as he began to knead the muscles there. Despite your best efforts to remain detached, you could feel heat pooling low in your belly, a reaction that had nothing to do with the massage and everything to do with the way his fingers dug into your flesh with just the right amount of pressure.
"You're really tight here," he murmured, his voice closer than you expected. You could feel the warmth of his breath against your ear, and your mind briefly flashed it another scenario where he might say a sentence like that. His hands continued their work, spreading your cheeks slightly as he worked deeper into the muscle, and you had to bite your lip to keep from making a sound.
The silence stretched between you, filled only by the soft music playing from somewhere in the room. His hands continued their work, and you found yourself relaxing into his touch despite every instinct telling you not to.
Soon the quiet became unbearable, and to feel some semblance of dignity, you finally spoke up. "Y’know, this doesn't change anything, right?Just because you're good at this doesn't mean I suddenly support everything you stand for."
"Wouldn't dream of it," he replied. "Though I have to admit, having you here, letting me touch you like this...with these thoughts in my head? It's doing things to me that probably violate several massage therapy ethics codes."
You lifted your head to glare at him. But your flustered expression betrayed you. "Satoru Gojo! What is wrong with you?!”
"What? I'm just being honest. You've been driving me crazy for months. The way you look at me with such undeniable loathing, it really does something for me.”
Is he…okay?
"Aren’t you supposed to be professional?" You reminded him, but you didn't move a single bit away from his touch. "Professional went out the window the moment you walked through that door," he admitted. "I've been trying to get you alone for weeks. This massage appointment was the perfect excuse."
"You planned this?"
"More like I took advantage of an opportunity," he said. "When I saw your name on the schedule, I may have...rearranged some things to make sure I was the one who got to work on you, and I may have bribed the front desk lady to help me out too.”
"That's incredibly unprofessional," you chided, but you couldn't quite muster the outrage you thought you should feel. What the hell was happening?
"She’s a sucker for romantic gestures. Plus, can you blame me? I think you’re gorgeous, even when you're all angry, and I've been wondering if you're as responsive to touch as you are to your man-hating." His hands moved to your lower back, and you shivered despite the warmth of the room. "Satoru, we shouldn't..."
"Shouldn't what?" he asked, his voice dropping lower. "Shouldn't acknowledge that there's something between us? That maybe all this arguing has been foreplay?"
"It's not foreplay," you protested weakly. "It's ideological opposition."
"Mhm. And ideological opposition has never made anyone want to kiss someone senseless, right?"
You turned your head to look at him, and the intensity in his blue eyes made your breath catch. "This is a terrible idea."
"Probably," he agreed, leaning closer. "But I've been having terrible ideas about you for months now."
"Like what?" The question slipped out before you could stop it.
"Like what it would feel like to have you underneath me," he said, his hands still moving in slow circles on your back. "Like how you'd sound when you finally let go of all that control. Like whether you'd still be mouthy with me while I was inside you."
"S-Satoru," you breathed, and it came out more like a plea than a protest.
"Tell me to stop," he said, his hands pausing. "Tell me this is crossing a line and I'll back off. But if you want this too..."
Instead of answering, you lifted your hips slightly, an invitation that made his breath catch audibly. His hands moved with more purpose now, one sliding between your legs to cup your pussy through the thin fabric of your underwear while the other continued to massage your ass.
The touch was electric, sending sparks of pleasure racing through your body, and you couldn't help the soft moan that escaped your lips.
"Lift your legs for me," he instructed, his voice low and commanding in a way that made your stomach flip. You complied without thinking, raising your knees and spreading them apart so that he had better access. His fingers hooked into the waistband of your underwear and pulled them down, leaving you exposed to the cool air and his heated gaze. "Fuck," he breathed, and the reverence in his voice made you feel powerful rather than vulnerable.
His fingers found your pussy with unerring accuracy, sliding through your wetness with a confidence that spoke of experience. He circled your clit with gentle pressure, building the tension slowly as his other hand continued to massage your ass, spreading you open for his touch. The dual sensation was overwhelming, and you found yourself rocking back against his hand, chasing the pleasure he was offering.
He worked one finger inside you, then two, curling them to find that spot that made your back arch off the table. "Fuck, you're tight. Been thinking about this pussy for months."
"Stop talking," you demanded, but your hips rocked against his hand.
"Can't help it. You make me want to say the filthiest things." He added a third finger, stretching you. "Like how I'm going to ruin you for anyone else. Like how I'm going to make you come so hard you forget why you ever hated me."
"Satoru," you moaned, and the sound seemed to drive him wild.
"That's it, baby. Let me hear you." His fingers moved faster, his thumb working your clit in tight circles. "Want to feel you come apart on my hand before I fuck you senseless."
The orgasm build up had you gripping the edges of the massage table as his fingers worked you higher. When it finally crashed over you, your whole body shook with the force of it, your walls clamping around his fingers as wave after wave of pleasure washed through you. Satoru worked you through it, his touch gentle but insistent, until you were boneless and panting against the table.
He withdrew his fingers slowly, and you heard the soft sound of him sucking them clean. The intimacy of the gesture made your face burn, but there was no regret in his voice when he spoke again. "Turn over," he said, and there was a question in his tone that gave you the option to refuse. But you didn't want to refuse, not when your body was still humming with the aftershocks of your orgasm and the promise of more.
You rolled onto your back, and the sight of him standing between your spread legs made your breath catch. His scrubs were tented at the front, evidence of how affected he was by what had just happened. "This doesn't change anything," you said, but the words lacked their usual venom. Satoru just smiled, that same infuriating smirk but somehow softer around the edges. "Whatever you say," he replied, reaching for the hem of his shirt.
The rest of his clothes joined yours on the bench, and then he was parting his legs against the table with you, his body covering yours as his mouth found your neck. His cock pressed against your thigh, hard and insistent, and you reached down to wrap your fingers around him. He groaned against your skin, his hips bucking into your touch as you stroked him slowly.
"Condom," you managed to say, and he reached for his discarded scrubs, pulling one from his wallet with practiced ease. The foil packet crinkled as he tore it open, and then he was rolling it down his length with shaking hands.
You weren’t sure whether you were relieved or disgusted with the revelation that he carried condoms to work. But when he finally pushed inside you, you simply couldn’t think. The stretch was perfect, filling you completely as your bodies moved together in a satisfying rhythm.
Satoru was elated. He had amazing and scandalous sex before, albeit not at work with his one sided little enemy over here. He hated how easily your walls clamped against him.
"Fuck, you feel incredible," he groaned, his forehead pressed against yours. "Better than I imagined, and I imagined this a lot."
"Less talking, more fucking," you demanded, wrapping your legs around his waist.
"Yes ma'am," he said, picking up the pace. Each thrust hit that spot inside you that made stars explode behind your eyelids.
"Satoru," you moaned, digging your nails into his back. "H-harder."
He obliged, his hips snapping against yours with increasing force. The massage table creaked beneath you, but neither of you cared. "Been wanting to-fuck…do this for so long," he panted. "Watching you in class, wanting to bend you over a desk and fuck that attitude right out of you."
"S-shit didn’t change…I still have the attitude," you gasped, meeting him thrust for thrust.
"Good. I like you mean." He shifted the angle, and you cried out as he hit something devastating inside you. "There it is…That's the spot, isn't it?"
"Don't stop," you begged, and he didn't. His hand found your clit again, rubbing tight circles as he fucked you harder. "Want to feel you cum on my cock. Want to feel you squeeze me while you scream my name."
"Close," you warned, and he doubled his efforts.
"Cum f’me, baby," he demanded. "Gotta feel it."
You shattered around him, your orgasm even more intense than the first. He fucked you through it, his own release following shortly after as he buried himself deep inside you.
Afterward, you lay tangled together on the narrow massage table, both of you breathing hard in the aftermath. Satoru pressed a soft kiss to your temple and cheek before tilting your chin ans kissing your mouth. The gesture was so at odds with everything you thought you knew about him that it made your chest tight.
"So…Y’still hate frats?" he asked, his voice muffled against your hair.
"Maybe not all of their members," you admitted, and felt him smile against your skin. "Though this doesn't mean I'm suddenly going to start wearing Greek letters or anything."
"Wouldn't dream of it," he sighed, pressing another kiss to your forehead. "Though I wouldn't mind if you wore my shirt sometime. Just to see how it looks on you."
"One step at a time, Gojo," you warned, but you were smiling too. "This was... really unexpected."
"Good unexpected or bad unexpected?" he asked, genuine concern in his voice.
"Good," you admitted. "Surprisingly good. Though I still think your fraternity is a waste of time and resources."
"Fair enough," he said, helping you off the table. "But maybe we could agree to disagree? Maybe over dinner sometime?"
"Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
a/n: i wrote this while in a long car ride. i wrote most of it but obviously i edited and finished the rest when i got to where i was staying
also sidenote, do u think my writing has improved?
+ i might do incel!gojo next some day when i get all my other wips sorted out
౨౿ ⁺ thinking about ex-husband!smoke. the divorce yall went through was quick and straight to the chase. you dropped the papers on his desk and he signed them without a messy fight, court hearings, or anything like that. ex-husband!smoke let you have the house in the divorce and moved into his own makeshift apartment, since he never wanted for much. ex-husband!smoke still comes over yall used to be shared house to fix on things that broke or to put groceries in your fridge.
“you said the sink acting up again?”, he asked with the phone pushed up on his shoulder while grabbing his keys and toolbox. “i’ll be over there mama.”
to be honest, smoke didn’t even fully process the divorce. he got that yall weren’t legally married, but in his eyes you were still his wife. he kept pictures of yall together up on his social medias, yall weddings pictures were still framed at his apartment, and your contact stayed “wife♥️.”
ex-husband!smoke will find any excuse to be in your presence again. you sick? he’s at the house with soup already on the stove and some nice lemon tea with honey ready for you. you going out with your girls? he’s yall personal driver. you tired at your job? he callin’ your boss to tell ‘em you not coming in tomorrow and sending you double what you make in a day. he honestly didn’t give a fuck yall was divorced.
ex-husband!smoke hasn’t touched another woman since yall divorce and he wasn’t planning on either. stack would often tease him about it, but no matter how many times his younger brother took him out for a night—no other woman could compare to his beautiful ass wife.
ex-husband!smoke who honestly can’t stop yearning for you and wants to wake up to you every morning in bed again. he knew you divorced him for a reason, and he was putting in the upmost effort to fix his issues and put that rock back on your finger.
ex-husband!smoke who finds himself back in the bed yall shared together when one of yall can’t sleep. “you had a nightmare, baby? ‘m sorry”, while slipping under the silk sheets and guiding you to lay on his bare chest—head rested right below the tattoo of your name on his collarbone.
ex-husband!smoke who’s actually a little delusional about you trying to head back into the dating scene. he would kill any nigga who thought they had a chance with you . . .
“Dickin’ Me Down, Spolin’ Me.” Lover Girl❥Megan Thee Stallion
wc- 0.630
Summary- Cameron never fails to spoil you and make sure you can't walk for a week.
A/n: This idea came before all the bullshit with Kl*y and I didn't feel like finding another song. My smut is a little rusty but enjoy this nasty drabble!
CW- Mature Content, P in V, dirty talk, car sex, cowgirl, ass grabbing & smacking, condomless sex(wrap yo shit), pet names(slut, pretty girl), he calls himself daddy(twice), maybe a little repetitive, etc.
He had the money.
Why not spend it on his lady? That's all he did, spoil you endlessly, store to store, card from card, rack on rack, and bag strings leaving imprints on his arm.
You were his girl and in his eyes, you deserved it all.
Channel
Prada
Gucci
The list goes on, you were laced in luxury and money. Your outfits normally cost more than the store you were in. It was a routine you got used to, but of course, there was a trade.
The car was humid and polluted with the smell of your sweat and the sappy juices riding down onto the seat. Your sweat-soaked skin clung together, warm breaths against each other's skin, disheveled and heated.
Your heavy thighs were pinned on either side of his, your sweat and fluids mixing into a moist solution smeared all over both of you.
The pressure of his large fingers shoving into the meaty fat of your ass and his dirty whispers kept your hips rolling forward in slow drags.
“Look at you, a nasty mess for me. Take all this dick, I know your pretty pussy can.” His words laced with lewdness, made sparks ride up from your gaping hole to your throat causing a choked moan to pour from your mouth.
“Fffuck Cam!” The pornographic cry was so loud that you were certain someone heard you outside the car.
“Dirty slut, takin’ all of me and moanin’ my name. You want Daddy to fill you up huh?” He tauntingly cooed, drilling his hips upwards and dragging his length through your sticky insides while his cock head collided with your G-spot.
“Y-yes please!” You mewled, drawing your hips in a sensual motion, pinning your hip bone against his as your walls embraced each inch of iron length.
“Do right then, pretty girl.” With those words came a hard slap, the sound rippled through the air. Your squeal that came along was high and piercing, the impact encouraged you to move faster.
His cock was pinned in place and you rode back and forth, hips dancing and pussy squirming around him. Your hole squirted and squeezed around him, leaving creamy juices riding down him.
His hot tip leaked droplets of pre that mixed with your lubrication, his head was pinned to the headrest, and his hands were digging into your flesh while he swallowed back groans of pleasure.
You towed your hips perfectly dragging over the sensitive veins of his hardened cock, your motion colliding with his bulging sensitive veins, and your walls hugging his inches he could feel his orgasm building at a relentless pace quicker than he intended.
“Fuuuck,” he groaned as the orgasm ran over him, “keep goin’ pretty girl, let daddy milk you.” He choked on his last few words, his tip shooting out hot ropes of cum, painting your tight walls white.
He hammered up, fitting himself deep inside of you and gaining a merciless pound. Your fingers curled around his biceps, fingers pressing deep into the sweaty flesh, biting back the screams daring to leave your lips.
One last tight hug around him then you released. Your cum spewed out of your hole gapping open, gushing out of you along with your cries of pleasure.
“Cam shiit!” The tears fell over your waterline because of the overwhelming pleasure, your eyes squeezed shut and your head thrown back.
After the ecstasy of your orgasms, your head fell onto his chest while you breathed in his scent. His finger trailed down your spine in a somewhat comfortable motion and his nose was pressed against your scalp.
“You good?” His smoky voice cut the silence.
“Mhm.” You mumbled with a nod.
“Alright, we'll clean up and go get those sunglasses you've been asking for.”
an. literally took me forever to make this just for it to just be 2k words lolll... well this was originally supposed to be a Drabble but uh.. yeah
cw. modern au! southern! reader and smoke, chubby! reader, reader and smoke are married, okay onto the smut stuff.... I got a little freaky y'all. Im exploring. daddy kink, smoke lowkey has a foot fetish, but it's really not much, like a little toe sucking and it's at the end, oral: male receiving, it was my first time writing this so uh hope it's not bad, pinv, unprotected sex, but like they're married so it don't matter, squirting, but again very minor, creampie, not proofread or anything so if there are mistakes... no there isn't. also reader and smoke are switches... I think smoke has a sub side idk fight me about it, jk don't fight me im not bout that life.
Elijah “Smoke” Moore was a man of his word. Anything he promised to you, he would bend over backwards to make sure you got it. Years ago, when the two of you first met, he promised you that one day you’d be his wife. You laughed, but he was serious. No smile in sight even as you giggled and drawled a “Boy, you stupid,” You had only had one, singular conversation. How could he make a promise like that? Only three years later, he got down on one knee and proposed and well… he followed through with his promise. The day of your wedding, during the exchanging of vows, he promised to love you unconditionally, to only be yours and to give you everything your heart desired. He followed through with those promises as well. So now, with six years of marriage under your belt. You asked for a date night because you missed your husband. You knew if he made a promise and he’d keep it.
“I’ll hit the farm real early for you, Baby. That way you’ll have me all night,” He said. All serious and sturdy, like his words were made of stone. Solid and Immovable. You had looked up at him wrapping your arms around his waist.
“And we’ll have a date night here. I’ll make a nice dinner,” You reply, like it’s law. He nods with an affirmative hum. Then, you hit him with the question. The one that makes him buckle down on any task you give him. “You promise?”
“Do I look like some shady ass nigga?” He questions back. You purse your lips and tilt your head to the side. Not having to say anything for your expression does it for you. He sighs before kissing your temple. “I promise, baby,” He says, his tone a little softer. You grin ear to ear, grabbing him and kissing all over his face.
The next day, Smoke is up before the sun is. Making sure the animals are fed and taken care of and doing any work that needs to be done. Quick and efficient. By early evening, everything is done. He comes inside, sweaty, covered in mud and yet still full of energy saved just for you.
“Would’ve been done had them chickens not dug they way out the coop,” He huffs, wiping sweat off of his brow. You giggle from the kitchen.
“Them damn chickens,” You reply, busy trying to finish dinner. A small smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth.
“Them damn chickens,” He repeats back with a huff of laughter. You can hear heavy steps coming towards the kitchen.
“I know you didn’t wear them dirty ass boots in my house, Elijah?” You question, though it sounds more like a statement.
“No, Ma’am. I took them off on the porch,” He says, like he knows better. He stands in the doorway, his eyes scanning your frame from head to toe. Your boho knotless braids long enough that the ends brush against your lower back, you’re wearing one of his favorite dresses. A creamy tan, flowy, yet it still hugs your waist and wide hips. Your breasts sit heavy, fabric practically straining to stretch and contain such an abundant bosom. You wear a surplus of jewelry, all gold, crystals and beads. They compliment the radiance of your brown skin. Sometimes, Smoke just likes to look at you in all your glory. Completely blown away by your effortless beauty. As if feeling his stare, you turn around and smile.
“Can I help you, Mister?” You inquire, country twang heavy on your tongue. A smile tugs at the corner of his lips. You grin and place a hand on your hip.
“You just real pretty,” He says, slow and easy like he has all the time in the world. You hum, an appreciative sound and he knows you're flattered by the dimples in your cheeks as you fight the huge smile that wants to take over your face. He shifts from foot to foot before speaking again. “Imma shower. Get ready ready for dinner,” He announces, you hum again this time slightly distractedly, focused on finishing dinner. You hear him head up the stairs then a few minutes later, the shower running. About an hour passes, you’ve finished setting the table. Smoke comes down the stairs, the wood creaking ever so quietly, worn from the routine of going up and down them for quite some time. You turn once you hear him enter the kitchen. There he stands, tall, strong, and effortlessly handsome. You smile at his attire, a crisp white t-shirt practically painted onto sculpted muscle, his nicest pair of jeans that hug his thighs a little, looking all fresh and relaxed after his shower. Smelling like soap, steam, and your favorite cologne of his.
“Hi, baby,” You practically purr. He smirks. Something subtle but definitely there.
“Hey, ma,” Opening up his arms, you don’t hesitate to walk right into them. His embrace is warm, tender, and secure. You sigh softly, having really missed your husband. Sometimes with him tending to the farm he gets lost in the work. Only coming inside once he’s absolutely sure everything is going as it should. Late nights when you're fast asleep and he climbs in then, the very bright morning after he’s out again. So, this hug feels so special when he hasn’t had the time to. He feels it, which is why he murmurs a soft yet gruff “I know, baby,” and kisses the top of your head. After a few moments, you pull away to look at him again.
“You look real nice,” You giggle, smoothing a hand down the front of his shirt. His smirk widens at that before a heavy hand swiftly makes contact with your ass with a resounding smack. You yelp, a stinging sensation left behind from the slap.
“Cut it out, girl. You know I’m easy,” He chuckles, pulling away to have a seat at the table.
“Like Sunday morning,” You hum, taking your own seat. He shakes his head though he knows it’s true.
Dinner is easy. Smooth conversation and playful banter is shared between bites. It’s good, it’s everything you’ve missed so much. It’s everything he promised it would be. After dinner, dishes are washed together with soft neo soul playing in the background and it’s how you end up dancing together in the kitchen. His hands on your hips, occasionally squeezing as if worried you’ll slip out of his grasp. Your arms looped around his neck, bodies pressed together like there is no tomorrow. He sways you gently to the slow rhythm of the music, your eyes closed and your cheek pressed against his chest. You hum softly along with the song.
“Thanks for tonight. I really appreciate you going out your way for this,” You say softly, craning your head up to look at him. His eyebrows furrow slightly, as if mildly offended.
“Why you always thanking me for the bare minimum? Make me feel like I’m not shit or sum,” He grumbles. You laugh, full and warm, and oh so genuine. It makes him soften a little bit. He loves your laugh. He loves you. “I’m serious, woman. I promised you, didn’t I? So, I got it done,” He says it like it’s the most juvenile idea to practice. You only smile wider.
“Elijah, you’ve been keeping your promises since I met you. I’m allowed to be grateful,” You chuckle. He kisses his teeth before tilting your head up by tapping your chin lightly. His lips press firm against yours. The kiss, smooth and sure. It almost deepens but he pulls away before it can. He’s such a tease.
“You my ole lady, my wife. That’s how this shit supposed to go,” He mutters, capturing your lips again in another teasing kiss that only leaves you aching for more. A familiar warmth building in your lower tummy. It only makes you wonder. When was the last time you had sex with your husband? You can’t quite remember. Then, it’s definitely been too long. You hum, Your eyes going lidded and glossing over subtly. He notices the shift when he pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes again. And you're giving him that look, the one he can’t resist. Undeniably seductive and persuasive without you having to say anything at all. It has him chubbing up so fast, it should be embarrassing. He feels no shame though. “Supposed to take care of you… anyway I can,” He murmurs, so close his lips brush against yours with every word he forms. As if perfectly queued up, the slow groove of Brown Skin by India.Arie starts to fill the air. The tension only thickens, that magnetic pull growing stronger, and arousal spikes between the two of you. Then before you can blink his lips are on yours for the third time. No longer teasing, instead full of deep hunger. Your hands slide under his shirt, feeling smooth skin and the ridges of his abs. His lips part in a huff and you steal the chance to glide your tongue into his mouth. He grunts quietly, suckling on the soft wet muscle. You whimper into the kiss, licking deeper into his mouth. You both part with a wet smack, already plump lips starting to swell even more. He quickly tugs his shirt off and your back on him. You kiss up his jawline, a hand wrapping around his throat to keep him in place as you lick and nip at the shell of his ear. You feel his Adam’s Apple bob against your palm, swallowing down the pathetic sound that wants to escape him. You grin, playful, conniving.
“You like that, daddy?” You purr, his knees almost buckle from the tone of your voice alone. Dick twitching in his now painfully tight jeans. You giggle at his reaction.
“Don’t do me like that, mama,” He groans, his hands snaking down to grip the plumpness of your ass. Then, he give your left cheek a firm slap. You gasp, and his hands slide back up to the straps of your dress. He tugs them down, taking his time getting the fabric off of you. Your lips find his neck slowly kissing lower and lower as he gets you out of the dress. You have half a mind to kick the fabric away once it pools at your ankles. You kiss your way down his abs maintaining eye contact during your descent. He stares back, his plush bottom lip tucked between his teeth. He watches as you slowly undo his jeans, tugging them down just enough that his black Calvin Klein’s are the only barrier between you and the stiff thickness that awaits you. Your tongue drags up his bulge, he tosses his head back and whines. He can’t stop the sound you pull out of him so easily. He twitches against your warm wet tongue and you decide to stop teasing him. You tug his boxers down until eight and a half inches of girthy length bobs just millimeters away from your mouth. Your mouth waters, at the sight of it. Toasted mauve colored tip leaking translucent pearly white precum, dark chocolate brown shaft decorated with thick veins. You wrap a hand around the base of him, he’s heavy and warm in your grip. You place wet open-mouthed kisses from his crown all the way down to his base before flattening your tongue and dragging your way back to his tip to pop him into your mouth. He hisses, quads slightly flexing, face scrunched like he’s in pain. You smile smugly as you pull back.
“I barely started, Daddy,” You whisper, he kisses his teeth and runs his hands through your braids before gripping them tightly to tug your head back. Even the inherently rough action is so very gentle in your husband's hands. A giggle bubbles up that you have to swallow down.
“It’s been a minute,” He huffs, though you know him like the back of your hand. He’s always like this. Soon enough he guides himself back into your mouth, you take him with ease. Gentle suction and wet bobs of your head enough to make his toes curl as he grunts and groans with pleasure. Watching his fall apart has you soaking your panties with arousal. You keep a steady rhythm until his legs slightly tremble and he tugs at your hair. You pull off with a pop. His chest heaves with heavy breaths. “Almost nutted,” He chuckles breathlessly, you giggle softly before kissing your way back up his body and standing to your feet. He pulls you into what feels like the nth kiss, though you could never get sick of it. His hands grab your waist, squeezing the soft fat there. It doesn’t take long for you both to end up in the bedroom.
He has you on your back, your undergarments long gone. Neither of you talk, too wrapped up in pleasure to even speak. Your moans have been trapped in the back of your throat. His dick so deep, it feels as if he’s rearranging your guts. Your legs are bracketed over his shoulders, his body folded over yours only practically folding you in half. His thrusts are deep and slow, his hips roll and undulate in the most mind melting rhythm, his tip dragging against that spongey spot inside of you with every long stroke. Your nails scratch at his back, eyes rolling back from pleasure. Elijah never looks away from you though, his eyes watching your every reaction. For a moment, he even forgets his own pleasure. Too amazed by your expressions. He keeps methodically working you up and up, slowly working you to your peak. All until, “Daddy,” You whine, breaking the silence and you clench around him. He shudders before pulling back finally seeing the creamy mess you’ve made and his cock. He moans before rubbing his thumb through the sticky slickness then rubbing your swollen clit while his free hand grabs your ankle. He kisses from the inside of your ankle up to the sole of your foot. You gasp. Your toes curl from the slightly ticklish sensation and the pleasure of him working your pussy.
“Come on, baby… cum on daddy’s dick,” He mumbles, he sucks on her big toe and his thrusts speed up. You clench hard around him, your back arching, feeling that coil tighten in your lower belly. You shy away from it scooting back slightly but he only tugs you right back where he wants you. “Nuh uh, you gone cum on this dick. I wasn’t asking,” He demands. Your legs tremble and his thumb only circles your clit faster.
“Ouuu, daddy,” You moan, and he nods.
“Yeah, I know, baby,” He coos back, and you flutter around him before your big crescendo. You hit your peak like waves crashing against rocks. “Oh fuck, You squirtin’ for me?” He questions between moans as your walls hug and milk him like no tomorrow. It’s enough to have him following right after you. His dick twitching and throbbing as he fills you with his hot sticky seed. He makes a sound, something between a groan and a whine, then collapses on top of you. You both lay together in silence for a few moments. It’s comfortable, and though quiet fills the room the love between you two is still loud and fierce. The silence is broken by him. He lifts his head and kisses your forehead. “You okay?” He asks, you nod.
“I’m a little more than okay,” You sigh out, content and satisfied. “I probably should clean up. I forgot to finish putting away those left overs,” You mutter, he presses and kisses your lips before carefully pulling out.
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll run a bath and take care of it,” He replies, not even having to think about it. You smile fixing your mouth to say thank you and he stops you before your lips even part. “Bare minimum, woman,” He says, flatly. And though you disagree, you don’t argue.
“Okay, Elijah,” you chuckle softly.
This is my original work! do not copy or feed to AI
