thank for the request! i love love love your works!
synopsis: you come home from work to find your boyfriend on the living room floor, in a tangle of webs. you decide to give him the release he craves.
WARNINGS! smut, unprotected sex, p in v, spoilers for bnd sorta? MDNI!
peter parker is a mess.
his head throbs with pain as he sits on the floor of his apartment’s living room, hands over his ears trying to block out the ringing. clothes and miscellaneous items are spewed across the wooden panels, only adding to the clutter. his hair hangs loosely in front of his eyes, slightly damp. violet circles surround his brown orbs. every so often, a soft groan of pain escapes his lips. he finally passes out on the floor, blacking out.
after a couple of minutes of fiddling with your keys, you finally manage to open the door to you and peter’s shared apartment. setting your bags on the kitchen counter with a sigh, you walk into the living room to find a sight that is anything but normal.
thick strings of webs cover the furniture, sticking all the way to the ceiling. a soft, groggy, murmur interrupts the silence, making your head turn. peter lies curled up next to the couch, rubbing his eyes. once his vision is fully clear, he steadies himself and gets up.
“peter? babe?” the only response you get is a soft whimper. he whimpered. like a fucking dog. his hands immediately grab onto your arms, forehead pressing against your stomach in need. he mumbles something incoherently, letting his fingers slide up and down the sides of your body.
“peter, you’re scaring me,” you sputter, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “what’s going on with you?”
“surge in arachnid dna. i’ve been on edge all day and i just…” his words trail off into an unintelligible murmur. your hands tangle in his hair, moving through the curls as you sigh.
“and the webs?” you question. he groans in pleasure, tilting his head back at the feeling of you playing with his locks.
“i—i don’t know, i’m just so messed up.” peter whines. you lower yourself to his height, staring into his deep brown eyes. your digits release his hair to travel across the veins in his arms, gently tracing every curve. he inhales sharply at the sensation.
“fuck, more, please.” peter moans, palms grasping your hips. his pupils are more dilated than usual, almost pitch black. your fingers find their way to the hem of his shirt, slowly peeling it off. he responds almost immediately, slipping a hand underneath your sweater and sliding it upwards.
“this okay?” his lips are on yours instantly, ignoring the question. you let out a soft hum of contentment as he tilts his head to deepen the kiss, hooking your fingers in the waistband of his pants. he lets out a low groan, stopping to breathe only to dive back in seconds later. peter practically drags you to the bedroom, crawling on top of you as soon as your back touches the sheets.
“you have no clue what you’re doing to me,” he mutters as you press kisses along the side of his neck. “been waiting for this all day.”
“peter,” you breathe out as he begins to undo your belt. his lips curve into a soft smile at the sound of his name. your jeans pool around your ankles, cool air hitting your thighs. your boyfriend starts to slide his palms over your plush thighs, occasionally grabbing a handful. he whimpers, hiding his face in your stomach once again.
“i’m so fucking hard right now, sweetheart,” he gasps. peter wastes no time in discarding his clothes, leaving him completely bare, trapping you underneath him. you latch onto the side of his throat, sucking and biting until it blossoms into a darkened red mark. a loud moan erupts from his mouth as he tries to catch his breath. you pull back from his neck with a loud pop, his deep brown eyes staring back into yours.
“if i don’t fuck you right now, i-i—” he says desperately. he’s trying so hard to act like he’s in control, but you can see the slight tremor in the way he moves. the way his abs tense, the way his breath keeps catching, the way he looks at you with that pouty expression. he rubs his shaft against your thigh, seeking any kind of friction.
“patience, petey,” you whisper, sinking your teeth into his ear. “i’ll take it from here,” you both roll over, switching the positions so peter is the one underneath you. you grab his wrists and hold them above his head. he moans in response, hips jerking upward.
you shift, pushing him down into the pillows while sitting down on his pelvis. your hand grabs the base of his dick, already leaking with precum, guiding it to your slit. you grasp the squishy tip, slowly covering it in your sticky mess.
you arch your back, a soft whine leaving him once it passes the rim. one of peter’s hands grabs onto your arm whilst the other stays on your hip, trying to steady himself. he mewls, sweaty fists rubbing against the bedding. once he is fully inside, his hips try to roll, attempting to thrust up in shallow movements.
you lean back to start rocking your hips, helping him find a rhythm. soon, he starts thrusting into you with a bit too much force, gasping for air from the sweet pleasure of your walls clenching around him. peter groans with every thrust, grabbing fistfuls of the sheets below. you grip onto his shoulders, looking into his darkened eyes.
peter lets out a needy, low, groan as you begin to slam down on his cock. the corners of his mouth twist upward at the unexpected feeling, mouth hanging open in delight. your wet folds squeeze around his length.
“shit…this feels so good. you’re doing so—mffh!—well.” he murmurs, the movement of your hips growing erratic, the end of his dick prodding at your cervix. you let out a hoarse moan, grabbing any part of him you could touch.
"you're so pretty—" your loving boyfriend chuffs out, unknowingly thrusting into you harder. "h-have i told you that? hm?" he asks, gripping onto your hips to control your motions. you grin, pushing down harder. his nails claw into your back, red crescent marks blooming, pelvis jerking upwards.
“fuck, baby, i’m so close—please,” peter moans, dipping his head back into the pillows. a wail of satisfaction tumbles from his lips as you quicken the pace, the surge of adrenaline making him quiver. he moves his hands to your lower back to steady you.
with one final thrust, peter slides out from underneath you, breathless and completely spent. his thick brows knit together, eyes squeezing shut as his hips squirm at the onslaught of pleasure. thick ropes of cum spurt out from his cock, coating the sheets. a final moan erupts from him before he completely relaxes, panting as he attempts to catch his breath.
“shit… was so good, baby…” peter rasps, voice gravelly as he collapses on to the bed. sweat rolls down his scarred, muscular stomach. his eyes begin to flutter as he pulls the blanket over him. he grabs your arm, pulling you under the covers to join him. you chuckle, sliding underneath the warm blanket.
“mm…one more thing,” peter says, turning over to face you. you perk up, raising an eyebrow.
“yeah?”
“love you.” he kisses your cheek, voice thick with emotion.
the king's mistress runs into the arms of the enemy prince!
You were the King's secret lover, and he is going to be married to another, a beautiful, perfect Princess in fact. You, just a lowly maid and servant can't bear to see the love of your life with another, even with his 'generous offer' to stay a mistress. So you rush off to the neighboring prince and seek employment dick elsewhere - with a man the king utterly hates! what could go wrong?
cruel! yandere king x maid! reader x mad! yandere prince
patreon original series- chapter six is right here
preview below (If you use the code DC52C it's half off the month, hehe <3)
“You didn't want a person with thoughts and feelings, did you? No, you just wanted a pretty little maid welcoming you every day – that warm mouth, her perfect cunt, huh?”
“How the fuck do you know!?” He leans forward now, brows lowering. “Say you touched her and I’ll cut your cock off.”
“You have no claim on her,” the Prince looks at him in disgust. “She's not a thing to be owned, you damned Neanderthal."
“Me? As if you don’t want her for yourself,” he grimaces now, swiping a hand across his face. “She’s not property, I just meant she is mine.”
“Something to conquer, like land, hmm? You’re the pathetic one here, your majesty.”
“You don’t want to own her, huh?”
“I just enjoy her, fuck,” of course the Prince feels possessive, protective, but hearing you spoke of like that?
It makes him sick.
“She’s just a pretty toy for you to dress up,” the King says now, standing up. “I saw her last night, at least I never lied to her about her damn station, filling her head with nonsense.”
“I just wanted to see her in something pretty, not everything is some fucked ass reasoning like your mind,” the Prince says, rising to his feet. They are of about the same height almost, but the Prince was lean where the King was thick and broad, a mountain of a man really.
Yet he didn’t intimidate him, not when they’re eye to eye.
“She's under my protection now. She's my maid, and you have no stupid, idiotic caveman claim over her."
The King laughs at that, a harsh sound escaping otherwise terse lips. "Your maid?”
“Indeed.”
“Don't make me laugh, I see the way you look at her,” he slips his hands into his trouser pockets, ready to fling the Prince into a fucking river, to behead him for having touched you.
You’re his.
The choosing of his words was wrong, but the King always wanted things to himself, and he made sure to keep them. He did not share women, he did not share anything, and he especially never shared you. When men even looked at you he had sent them far away, banishing them or beating them till they lacked proper eyesight.
Those were things you’d never known.
He should have chained you to his goddamn chambers, made sure you never left, done anything and everything to keep you forever bound to him.
“How I look at her, hmm?”
“Yes, like a dumb puppy you’re so pathetic and desperate,” he snorts, as if you’d know how to handle her.”
The prince smirks, and the King’s hand twitches, eager to smack the look on his too pretty face.
“I think I could handle her,” his voice lilts. “Maybe I already know how to.”
“What does that fucking mean!?” The prince simply grins – far too fucking wide for the King’s liking, truly.
sol's soapbox: a gift for my dear friend @cherryysunshine that I hope you all sincerely enjoy as well! credit for inspiration for this divider goes to the immensely talented @blkkizzat who deserves all the flowers and love you can give her hehehe
content warnings: SMUT/18+only, cunnilingus, friends with benefits situation, Wally is obviously in love, wall sex, going commando, reader wears a skirt, reader has a pussy, f!reader
masterlist ao3 requests
PREVIEW:
Although, if Wally has anything to do with it, that's not going to last for long.
Wally West/Reader (18+)
As far as friends with benefits go, you think that Wally West can’t be surpassed. He’s diligent with the backstroke when he sinks into you at that correct spot that makes your eyes flutter closed, your walls clench around him in such delicious manner. He’s so, so attentive to making you come.
Especially when his mouth draws slow and deliberate over your clit, his tongue eager to worship the way your body makes such plaintive moans.
When his fingers crook into you with such ease, his eyes watching you for the way that you gasp at the touch, shudder into the pleasure that his hands coax from you in wonderful meter.
When he says, “There’s my girl, come for me,” in such fond lustful denotation, watching with some type of reverent awe as you shake through the orgasm that he always, always works you to.
And, the rhythm his mouth makes against the inside of your thigh that trembles, kissing you through the wave—oh, he’s an excellent friend with benefits.
Only: you don’t know if friends with benefits do exactly what Wally does after the conclusion of every luxuriating fuck he treats you to. Which is, to put none too fine a point on it: encourages you to stay.
Much as he does now, rolling over to you in prime exhibition of the artistic nudity that artists have devoted decades to commit to canvas.
Every part of his lean body is curled with excitement that he can barely restrain, a fine sheen of sweat that clings to the landscape of his skin as he beams at you. Those sunny blue eyes gleam at you in such cheerful squint as he reaches a hand out, nudging a knuckle into your chin.
You can’t help but lean into it, in a way that doesn’t seem to befit the title your relationship has. Which is to say: nothing, save something sexual.
But his hands, which carried you against the push and rock of his hips as he fucked you so well, are so gentle in comparison now. And they convince you to hear what he says, as he stretches across the tangled sheets to you.
“You want to go get breakfast?” He asks, wistful—yearning—dangerous. Especially when that bright gaze is begging for you to say yes. To an excursion that requires clothes, that requires conversation that you’re no doubt certain that you could go toe-to-toe with him on.
“I have classes later,” You grimace around the apology you deliver his way.
Because perhaps it’s best to truncate the wish so clearly delineated in his eyes with this; because the want that pools in your abdomen isn’t of lustful depravity. It’s of something far more tender that you know how to define.
And, from the way his face restrains the disappointment so plainly spoken in the slant of his eyes: you know it’s for the best. For now, at least.
“Okay,” He says, wearing the wound in his voice that he tries to restrict physically; an emotion that you deny twists in the housing of your ribs. You can’t leave him like this. So you mollify what you can, and push yourself across the rubicon of unspoken feelings to find his mouth with your own.
He returns it, of course; there’s hunger spoken in the way his mouth moves against you, the hand that caresses and finds perch against your cheek. And when you pull back: you can tell that it’s a temporary balm. But it’s worked for now.
“I’ll see you later tonight,” You promise him, the only oath of fidelity that you can guarantee him at this time. Watching the joy break like the dawn over his face is enough to hearten you as well, return the smile in parallel with his.
“I’ll be looking forward to it,” Wally promises—and you know he means it. But you’re too busy saying goodbye with your tongue to really think more about it.
You don’t know if friends with benefits do this either—the aftercare part, that is. Sex is a given, of course; and he did it so well today, holding you in the span of his arms in missionary.
Pressing the tack of his forehead to yours as he groaned your name in such adoring manner through the clench of his teeth. How his jaw jumped with every pump that he rolled into you, that expelled harsh, desperate whimpers he took care to remedy with needy kisses to you.
He was perfect; his teeth as they drew against your collarbone, sucking bruises to mark you as his in mulberry trail down your body. The wonderful, metronomic pace of his hips against the full of your thighs wrapped around the trim span of his waist.
Those hands that took care to slink up your waist, sinking into flesh that he drew to a zenith as you sobbed his name into the crook of his shoulder.
Wally is the epitome of a good lover. But you didn’t know that he was an excellent masseuse until now, as he works his hands into you so gently, meticulous in avoiding pressing his weight to where he’s seated on the small of your back.
You’ve been given the runaround by more brutal hands—Jason had temporarily rendered you incapable of doing anything other than laying in the supine position for 42 hours. And you’ve been subjected to far more ineffective ones that hadn’t accomplished much of anything (Dick and Steph).
But Wally seems to possess unparalleled talents both in the bed and out of it with these hands; his touch exacting but so careful of the glide of your muscle.
So sparing to subject you to any real pressure and yet relieving the ache of a day on your feet, not to mention the strenuous exercise that comes with a mating press.
“Oh, Wally,” You sigh into the crook of your arm as his hands sweep over your shoulder-blades. His fingers are slick with oil he happened to have on hand (part of you wonders if he’s been waiting for exclusive opportunity to lavish you with this gift) as they keep steady angle up your body.
“Yeah?” He asks with a smug grin that he makes no effort to disguise.
You’re turning to pliable human putty in his hands, a new gusty chord of pleasure sighing out of you with each application of his fingers he works into you. You’d complain about how he’s laying it on thick, but his knuckles are working out that knot that’s plagued you for the past week. You think you’ll let it lie.
“You’re so good at this,” You murmur into the sheets. “Why even bother with moonlighting superhero work?”
“It pays the bills,” Wally returns glibly as he shifts around you. You make breezy noise of appreciation as his hands work down the junction of your neck and shoulder.
“Just do this full-time,” You return in pseudo-glum fashion. “I’ll keep you in business.”
Wally snorts through his nose as he continues to press in tender demarcation down your neck. “Like on retainer?”
“More like a concubine,” You answer—he rewards you with a full-bodied laugh; that is, until you continue.
“You’re gonna be such a good boyfriend one day,” You assert to him. His hands don’t still entirely, but they do jump in unexpected tick up your body, an errant twitch in the routine.
And though you’re aware that the two of you resided in cozy silence; it percolates now to something impermeable and without happy categorization.
Wally doesn’t let you stew in it for two long, nor does he cease his ministrations. But the way that his voice sounds above you is carefully maintained with uncharacteristic reticence.
“I could be a good boyfriend right now,” He says in manner that you assume kicked puppy would. The clutch of his hands as they work down your waist don’t seem so fond as they did before.
Now, they seem to be clutching for straws that are sliding out of his grasp. Articulating something he doesn’t want to say, that burgeons so badly on his soft palate.
You don’t want to say something yet. You want to stay with him, with his comforting words and his hands and the peace that he brings you so often. So all you do is take aim with your gaze up to him, crooking uneven smile his way.
“Pretty cute one, too.” You say—neither affirmation nor negation.
Placing you both in that comfortable limbo that the two of you are suspended in, with lack of labeling. And the smile he returns to you is genuine enough. But he doesn’t say another word until he finishes, pressing a chaste kiss to the nape of your neck.
“All done,” He whispers into your skin. You wish you didn’t feel the longing that twists in the dearth of your stomach as he says it.
It comes to a head. Wally keeps doing these acts of services, lingering kisses that carry communicable weight, keeps fucking you into euphoria every time you come over to his place.
You know that this is an unsustainable environment that the two of you are cultivating. So you take matters into your own hands.
You and Wally are supposed to get dinner before the two of you return back to his place (and perform the horizontal tango you’re so very fond of engaging with him). But you’ve decided on an addendum to the typical wardrobe you don at his place.
“You look—”—Is all that Wally’s able to communicate in flustered, awe-stricken measure—“—You look amazing.”
And you know you do, because you were particular in ensuring you would be. With a cute shirt that matches an equally tantalizing skirt leaving little to the imagination: and so much real estate for his eyes to take particular visual inventory over.
Which he does. Which you accounted for him doing.
“You gonna let me in?” You ask, arching a brow as you shift the strap of your bag over your shoulder. He drinks in this movement with such desperate consumption he almost forgets to step aside. But he does, and herein you can execute the masterstroke of your best-laid plan as you walk in.
So: you trip, and fall, allowing the contents of your bag to spill all over the hardwood floor of his nice hardwood foyer floor.
Given his capabilities as a speedster, it should be no great difficulty for him to gather them all in a picosecond’s blink. To wrangle them all before they even grace tactile surface of the ground.
But that would mean that he was focused on stopping their fall, rather than focused on the way that the fabric of your skirt rises. Rises so high, given the descent of your search to prevent the irrevocability of gravity, that he’s allowed to see the lace of panties he’s grown rather fond of.
Except you’re not wearing panties. You’re not wearing anything under the skirt at all. And as the air graces the soft pliable flesh given exposure to be seen: you can feel the roil of his stare upon the promised land.
Everything clatters to the floor in pell-mell discordance, the silence stretching in yawning elapse. But still you play the oblivious, letting your hand grasp over a highlighter that you tucked away into the folds of your crumpled bag. It lies on the floor next to the rest of the discarded contents, untouched as the other goods you’ve carried to his place.
Your heart paces steadily increasing interval in the clutch of your throat, as you rise and turn to Wally. You can’t restrain the coy denotation of your voice as you take in how thunderstruck, how truly unmoored he is. He seems to be apparently lost in the sight that he is reliving in storied memory.
“Something the matter, Wally?” You ask, and when you smile slyly: you can see he knows.
The next moment, you’re pressed against the wall, strong, firm hands grasping the diameter of your arms, the wet heat of his tongue taking carnal swipe up your neck. You make involuntary, whimpering moan as you feel his hands ruck up your skirt, desperate to confirm through navigatory feel what he has already seen.
“Oh, fuck,” Wally breathes as he swipes a finger against your clit, feels how wet you are—growls as you gasp, arching into his touch. “You’re so fucking hot.”
He’s stymied of further word, too busy working the pad of his finger in slow, torturous whorl that makes you say his name in strangled whimper. His mouth hums a needy groan at the chord of his name, but it doesn’t slow his pace. If anything, it makes it quicker, frantic as he seeks your body with his fingers.
The two of you don’t even make it to the room. Instead, he chooses to be pragmatic; your skirt ends up pulled to the median of your waist, leaving your bottom half in such lewd exposure, though you give it little care.
Not when you’re held in the span of those arms that maintain such easy, effortless hold over you. And not when he guides you down to sink onto his cock, letting you bottom out to the hilt.
“Oh my God—”—You whimper as he dots kisses up the edge of your jaw, gentle in physical persuasion even as he spreads you with the taper of his length. “Wally—I—”
“I know, baby, I know,” He huffs against you, syllables broken as he basks in the pleasure of your walls fluttering around him. “I just couldn’t—you feel so good—”
You twist your hands against him, from where you’ve anchored them on the spread of those magnificent biceps. Glassy, beautiful blue eyes find yours.
“Don’t stop,” You command with what little verbal acuity you have left. And from the way that his jaw sets, his eyes return back to the drunken bliss of your body; he’s happy to obey.
He’s usually more considerate, more sensual, far more loving. But you started this: so he finishes it with a greedy, rough fuck. The slap of his thighs against your ass is pornographic, the needy, stuttering pleas that are pushed with every thrust he sheathes into you obscene.
Each stroke summons that familiar pressure that he’s so good at encouraging from the meter of your body, while his mouth works to make continual mark on the tapestry of your shoulder. Each panting, wanton groan that he makes encourages you further to make ascent to familiar peak he’s pushed you towards.
“Wally—Wally—”—You beg, trying and failing to signal the approaching crest—“—Wally—”
“Yeah, baby,” He groans against your pulse, mesmerized by the plateau of your body, “I know—”
“Wally—”—Your voice bears that disoriented, unanchored urgency as he continues to fuck you with such perfect precision. Your fingers clench into him, only invigorating the pace that he keeps.
“I know, baby,” His lips drag against your neck as he rolls his hips with such fluid motion, “I love you, I love you—”
You come in slow-burning spread, with tandem comprehension of what he says. Broken by the wave of pleasure that capsizes you, as you come undone in the fold of his arms.
You’re vaguely aware of his own orgasm that is in quick succession as he bucks lazy thrusts on the come-down; but you’re too busy with the necessity of breath. Too busy internalizing through the haze the confession made in throes of passion, from eyes that seek out yours.
His shoulders heave, but his gaze is sterling, his grip comfortable and well-known to you. But he doesn’t speak, waiting for executioner’s blade to drop.
“I was waiting for that,” You say, working your hips in better accommodation around him. He smiles shyly, in that boyish charm that you so very dearly love about him.
“So,” He swallows in thick enunciation, “Now what?”
And you find that the answer comes easier than air, as he tightens clutch in preparation of losing you. As he hopes against hope.
“Well, are you fine fucking a girlfriend instead of a friend with benefits?” You ask with burgeoning grin.
The smile that breaks like sunshine through arterial clouds tells you all you need to know.
“Yeah,” He sighs in palpable relief, in incandescent joy, “I think I can do that.”
When he kisses you in spirit akin to baptism of eternal glory, evocative of blossoming love that you are happy to accept: you know that you made the right decision.
banner and divider made by me :)
request: (in addition to Cherry's idea she gave me hehe)
summary: she thought she had everything figured out. senior year, a leadership position in her sorority, a bright future, and a perfect boyfriend. just a perfect little life. until her perfect boyfriend decided to dump her out of the blue. her perfect little life now had a crack, and her entire winter break was spent heartbroken. by spring semester, she’s determined to move on. then, she unexpectedly runs into her ex one night. he swore she was still hung up on him. panicked, embarrassed, and desperate to save her ass, she blurts out that she has a boyfriend. the problem? she doesn’t. the bigger problem? the arm she grabs belongs to one of the most recognizable athletes in Boston…and her ex’s favorite baseball player.
warnings: cutie tootie sweetness, idiots finally confessing their love, no use of y/n
a/n: sobbing, i love these two sm 🥹 wtf am i supposed to do now????
MAKE SURE TO CHECK THE PLAYLIST FOR UPDATES!
Graduation day was as hectic as she thought it would be.
With as many graduates as they had this year, she got overstimulated very easily. Luckily, she knew she had her Mom and her sisters up in the stands watching her. She should feel happy. She should feel so accomplished. She was about to get the degree she had worked her ass off for. She knew this was a big step for her.
However, she couldn’t shake the sadness. She was finally letting herself feel her emotions about the break up. She knew that she loved him so damn much. She was just stupid and never got to tell him. He probably hated her by now. That or he probably already moved on. She’s not sure she ever could move on from Jarren.
Still, she walked the stage with a big smile. She looked down to her Alpha Phi stole and realized that, maybe that was all she needed. She didn’t need a perfect boyfriend. Or even a perfect life. All she needed were the ones who truly loved her. As she walked back to her seat, she looked back over her last four years. She spent so much time being perfect, that she missed out on a lot of life.
She knew that she had to change that.
Luckily, she has a whole life ahead of her to do that.
The crowd outside of the stadium was so big it was almost suffocating. Families were taking pictures with their grads and handing them gifts. She had found her mom, Anna, and Kayla after a long search. They were taking pictures and absolutely doting on her. She noticed her mom had a little smirk on her face. She knitted her brows together at the sight.
“What’s that look for?” She asks with a laugh. Her mom smiled big at her.
“I think there’s someone else waiting for a picture with you…” She pointed behind her daughter. Her face scrunched in even more confusion as she turned. Her breath almost got knocked out of her when she saw who was standing there. Jarren stood there with a small, proud, smile as he was holding some flowers for her. He took a couple steps closer and held them out for her.
“Congrats, grad.” He tells her. She lets out a small laugh as she slowly takes them from him.
“What are you doing here?” She asked. Jarren shrugged.
“I told you I would be here.” He said it so nonchalantly. She stares at him in disbelief. She didn’t notice, but her mom and her sisters had slipped away to give them some space. She also didn’t realize that they were the ones who gave him the extra ticket. They stand in silence for a moment, just looking at each other.
“I just wanted to-” She said
“I needed to-” Jarren said at the same time. They laugh at the awkwardness of it.
“You go first.” She tells him. He shakes his head and motions for her to go.
“You go.” He smiled. She let out a breath and looked at him, a little more serious.
“I’m sorry. I know that I should’ve told you about London.” She looked down then back up again. “I’m also sorry for saying it was all fake…” She swallows. “It wasn’t…for me, it wasn’t.”
“No shit.” He teased. She rolled her eyes and laughed.
“I’m serious.” Jarren laughed and tilted his head as he listened to her. “I…I spent so long trying to make my life perfect that I missed a lot of good things. You being one of them.” She smiled softly. “You’re not perfect…but, that’s why I fell for you. You showed me that I don’t always have to stick to the plan.” Jarren’s face softened at her confession.
“I’m sorry too.” He started. “I was a dick. I shouldn’t have lashed out at you like that.” She shrugged.
“I deserved it.” Jarren shook his head.
“No, baby, you didn’t.” The pet name had her stomach doing the all-too-familiar flip. Her face flushed and she felt a small spark of hope come back. “That’s not how I should react when I’m hurt. You told me that, remember?” He gave her a little teasing smile that had her laughing. “I was just mad that my baby was leaving. I still kind of am, but I’m willing to make it work.” He stepped closer, smiling down at her. He saw how flustered she was and he knew that they were so back.
She stepped closer as well. The space between them shrinking. She took a deep breath before finally telling him.
“I didn’t take the job.” Jarren’s eyes widened at that.
“What?” She nodded. Jarren shook his head in disbelief. “Baby, that was your dream job. Why wouldn’t you take it?” She shook her head.
“It was my dream…but, I don’t want that anymore.” She takes another deep breath. “Jarren…I was basically killing myself trying to be perfect. All of that changed when I met you.” She laughs a little. “I never felt more alive than when I was with you. You took some of that stress and weight off my shoulders. And, like I said, you made me realize that I don’t have to be perfect for anyone. Not even myself.” Jarren’s heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest.
“You gave up your dream job for me?” He asks.
“I’d do anything for you.” She tells him. He was smiling so hard that his face hurt. His own words echoed from her voice and he never felt happier. He took the final step closer and reached out to hold her waist.
“You’re unbelievable, baby.” She laughs and wraps her arms around his neck. The flowers hit the back of his head, but they both just laugh it off as they hold each other.
“I am a little crazy, aren’t I?” She asks, making him laugh again.
“A little…but, that’s why I love you.” The confession slipped out before he could even think about it. His eyes widened slightly, but his smile never faltered. He didn’t care how soon it was, because he knew he meant it. She felt her heart start to pound and her smile was bigger than ever before. “Shit…did I just say that?” He asked.
“You did…” She says.
“Fuck” Jarren laughed. He shrugs it off. “Oh well, I meant it.” She laughed with him. She leaned in closer, bumping his nose with hers.
“Good…cause, I love you too.” Jarren felt as though he just won the world series. He couldn’t take it any longer. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers. She smiled against his lips as she kissed back. Sure, they were in a huge crowd and were probably getting started at. However, they didn’t care. They were in their own little world and there was nowhere else they would rather be.
Jarren pulled back first, but not before stealing a couple more pecks. He rested his forehead on hers and they just smiled at each other. He pulled back with a mischievous little smirk.
“Okay, hear me out.” He says. She laughs and then offers a playful, questioning, look.
“That sounds dangerous.” She tells him. He rolled his eyes.
“Just listen.” He bit his lip as he looked down at her. He knew exactly what he was about to do, and he was sure she would get it. “I need you to be my girlfriend.” She playfully widened her eyes, immediately getting what he was doing.
“What?!” She gasped. He laughs.
“For real this time though.” He told her. She smiled.
“So…you want me to be your real girlfriend?” She asked him. Jarren grinned.
“Can you do that for me, baby?” He asked her. She was now smiling so big her face hurt. She leaned in again, closing the distance.
“I think I can manage.” She said before pressing her lips to his again. Jarren gladly reciprocated the kiss, wrapping his arms tighter around her. He held her so tight, he was able to lift her off the ground and spin her. She laughed and pulled back as he spun her around. He placed her back on the ground and gave her a few more pecks before motioning towards her mom and sister’s.
They walk hand in hand with huge smiles on their faces. To think that he wouldn’t even know her if she hadn’t grabbed his arm at the bar.
To think that they wouldn’t be head over heels in love if it wasn’t for the deal.
Contains: p*rn no plot, oral m! receiving & f!receiving, facefucking, riding, missionary, unprotected, p in v, creampie
Wc: 2.2k
This content does NOT contain AI and may not be used to train AI.
The lights were low backstage at the L.A. Forum, the air thick with the scent of sweat and cologne. Michael stood in front of his full-length mirror, adjusting his jacket, glancing over his shoulder to find you leaning against the doorframe watching him.
He didn't say a word, just crooked a finger, beckoning you into the dimly lit dressing room. You locked the door behind you, the bolt clicking shut to separate the two of you from the chaos of the concert crew outside. The moment you turned around, Michael was on you, crowding you against the vanity table until your back hit the cool wood.
His mouth was hungry on yours, tongue forcing past your lips as his hands slid down your sides, squeezing your hips hard enough to bruise. The sequined jacket slipped off his shoulders and fell forgotten to the floor, revealing a smooth chest that glistened with stage sweat. Your fingers fumbled with the buckle of his belt, and his breath hitched in your ear - sharp, needy.
You freed him from the confines of his tight pants, and his erection sprang free, heavy and leaking against your stomach. Before you could wrap a hand around him, Michael’s fingers tangled in your hair, guiding you downward until your knees hit the carpeted floor. You didn't hesitate; you parted your lips and took him deep, the salty taste of his precum coating your tongue immediately.
Michael groaned loudly, a hand covering his mouth to muffle the sound. His hips began to move, fucking into your throat with slow, deliberate thrusts. You could hear the wet gagging sounds echoing in the room as you struggled to take him all, your eyes watering from the effort.
His fingers tightened in your hair, rhythm increasing. The sound of his cock sliding in and out of your mouth grew louder - slick, sloppy, wet. A guttural moan escaped when you took him particularly deep, his abs flexing beneath your fingertips as you gripped his thighs for leverage. His hips twitched erratically, cock twitching inside your throat. "F-fuck... right there..."
You swallowed around him, hollowing your cheeks and sucking hard while your nose pressed against his lower belly. Michael's thighs tensed, trembling violently as his head fell back against the vanity mirror.
"Gonna—" He whimpered pathetically, the word high and desperate. "Can't hold it, baby—"
His cock pulsed against your tongue, and suddenly hot spurts of cum flooded your mouth, coating your throat in thick ribbons.
You gulped greedily, swallowing every drop he offered, your eyes streaming tears of triumph and submission. Michael panted heavily, his body jerking and twitching as he continued to pump his release into your waiting mouth. Some of it leaked out around your lips, coating your chin and dripping down your neck.
His cock throbbed against your tongue long after he came, whimpering softly like a wounded animal. The cum continued to leak out in slow spurts, mixing with your spit and dripping down your chin onto your chest. Michael's hand stayed tangled in your hair, trembling as he tried to catch his breath, chest heaving. "Oh god... oh fuck..." Your face was absolutely messy, painted white with his thick release—strings of cum dripping from your nose, lips, and chin, sliding down your neck to soak your chest. Michael looked down at you with ruined, hooded eyes, utterly wrecked. He brushed his thumb over your sticky bottom lip, absolutely mesmerized by how messy you looked. "Holy fart..." he whispered breathlessly.
Before you could even wipe your face, Michael was pulling you up, crashing his mouth against yours in a filthy, sticky kiss, indifferent to the mess coating your skin. He spun you around and lifted you effortlessly onto the vanity, knocking over hairspray bottles in the process. Without a word, he hooked your legs over his arms, yanking your skirt down and discarding it onto the floor.
Your panties were dragged down your legs and tossed aside immediately. Michael hooked your knees over his shoulders, burying his face between your thighs. His tongue dove straight into your soaking pussy, licking a flat, messy stripe from your hole up to your clit. You cried out, head falling back against the mirror as he began eating you out aggressively. No teasing, just sloppy, desperate oral.
The sound was absolutely obscene—wet, squelching noises filling the dressing room as he devoured you. His tongue swirled rapidly around your clit before sucking it hard between his lips, sending electric shocks up your spine. You gripped his hair, rolling your hips against his face, thighs trembling around his head. He groaned into your pussy, the vibration making your toes curl.
Your fingers tightened in his hair, nails scraping against his scalp as you pulled him closer, grinding your pussy against his mouth shamelessly. You could feel his Afro brushing against your inner thighs with every thrust of his tongue, the texture driving you absolutely wild. You moaned loudly, pulling his hair harder, your thighs spreading wider around his ears. Your juice was all over his face - his forehead, nose, lips, and chin. He was practically inhaling your scent, his tongue working relentlessly inside your hole before sliding up to punish your clit again.
Your moans grew louder, more desperate. You were tugging on his Afro like it was the only thing keeping you grounded as he ate you out with reckless abandon. His hands gripped your thighs tightly, fingers digging into your soft flesh as he held you open for his hungry mouth.
A high-pitched moan escaped you, your back arching off the vanity as he sucked your clit into his mouth like he was trying to devour it. Your fingers tangled deeper in his Afro, pulling his head down harder against your dripping folds. "Michael— Michael fuck—" you whimpered, juice running down his chin and onto his throat.
Your entire body seized up, thighs snapping shut around Michael’s head as the orgasm ripped through you violently. You cried out his name, pulling ruthlessly on his Afro while your pussy convulsed against his mouth. He moaned into your pulsating clit, helping you ride out the waves as you squirted into his waiting mouth, coating his chin and lips in your release.
Your legs turned to jelly, shaking uncontrollably as he licked you through the aftershocks, savoring every drop. When he finally pulled back, his dark skin was glistening with your cum, his afro slightly rumpled from your desperate grip. He looked absolutely filthy and completely satisfied with himself.
He smirked up at you, his chest heaving with exertion, a string of saliva connecting his mouth to your still-spasming pussy. "You... fuck, you taste good," he panted, wiping his chin with the back of his hand, only serving to smear your juices even more.
Before you could even catch your breath, He stepped between your spread thighs, rubbing the head against your dripping entrance without actually pushing in.
"I need you," he growled, his voice low and desperate. "Right here, right now." He pressed the head of his cock against your sensitive clit, sliding it up and down your folds to coat himself in your juices.
He pushed inside slowly, inch by inch, filling you up completely. You both groaned at the feeling—him from the tight warmth, you from being stretched so perfectly. His hips stopped when he was balls deep, his breath hot against your neck. "Yeah, just like that," he murmured, already pulling out to thrust back in with a wet slap.
The dressing room filled with the sounds of your bodies meeting - wet, sloppy noises as he fucked into your dripping pussy. Your juices were coating his cock and balls, making everything slide easily.
Michael set a brutal pace from the start, pistoning into you like he couldn't get enough. Your tits bounced with each thrust, your moans turning into desperate whimpers as he pounded your sensitive, freshly-orgasmed pussy. He leaned down to kiss you messily, his tongue invading your mouth as his cock invaded your needy hole. "You feel so fucking good,"
he gasped against your lips, his hips slapping against yours loudly. One hand gripped your ass, lifting you slightly to change the angle and let him drill into your g-spot. The other tangled in your hair, pulling your head back to deepen the kiss.
The new angle had you seeing stars. He was hitting that perfect spot inside you with every brutal thrust, his cockhead rubbing against your g-spot relentlessly. You could feel another orgasm building already, your inner walls fluttering around him. "Michael— Michael, I'm gonna—"
"Do it," he growled against your mouth, refusing to slow down or let you escape. "Cum all over this dick, baby." He slammed into your g-spot with ruthless precision, the wet slap of skin against skin echoing in the room. The coil in your belly snapped violently, your walls clamping down on him as your second orgasm ripped through you, soaking his cock even more.
You wailed through your teeth, gripping his shoulders so hard your nails left marks. Your pussy was clenching like a vice around his shaft, and you could feel yourself leaking. His hands tightened on your ass, lifting you even more to meet each brutal thrust. "Oh god— God damn it," he muttered, his forehead pressing against your shoulder as his rhythm faltered.
Your overstimulated body twitched uncontrollably, your pussy squirting hard around his cock, soaking his length and dripping onto the vanity. Michael let out a broken, choked sound, overwhelmed by the way your walls were practically milking him. "Fuck, fuck, fuck..." he groaned, slamming into you one last, deep time before burying himself balls-deep.
His cum exploded inside you, thick and hot, flooding your already overflowing pussy. You could feel each pulse as he emptied himself completely, his hips twitching erratically against yours while he stayed buried deep. Your combined juices—your two orgasms and his release—gushed out around his cock, running down his shaft, over his balls, and dripping onto the vanity below.
The room filled with the heavy scent of sex - sweat, cum, and your arousal. Michael's cock remained hard inside you, twitching occasionally as aftershocks rippled through both of you. He kissed your neck lazily, his hands still gripping your ass possessively.
After a moment, Michael slowly pulled out, his cock sliding free with a wet plop. You could see his release leaking out of you, running down your thighs. He looked down at the mess you'd made together, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips.
Michael stood between your legs, staring down at the cum still dripping from your pussy and running down his cock. He looked at your flushed face and messy hair, the marks from your nails on his shoulders. He took a slow breath, trying to recover, but there's no mistaking the raw lust in his eyes. He didn't even bother to look away.
He stepped closer, his semi-hard cock brushing against your sensitive inner thighs. His hands slid up your body, leaving trails of stickiness from your combined fluids. He leaned down, capturing your lips in a deep, dirty kiss, sharing the taste of you both on his tongue. "Turn around,"
You turned slowly, your legs trembling so hard you had to grip the edge of the vanity to stay upright. Facing the mirror, you saw your wrecked reflection—flushed skin, swollen lips, and cum dripping down your thighs. Michael stepped up behind you, his chest pressing against your back, hands gripping your waist. He kissed your shoulder softly, looking at your reflection in the mirror.
His hands slid down to rest on your hips, his thumbs stroking the skin just above your skirt. The mirror showed everything—the way your breasts heaved, the glistening cum coating your thighs, his dark hands stark against your skin. He bent down, lips brushing your ear as he watched your reflection. "Beautiful," he murmured, pressing his softening cock against your ass.
His cock was softer now but still thick, sliding between your ass cheeks, coating himself in the mess that had accumulated there. Your skirt was hitched up around your waist, panties somewhere on the floor. In the mirror, you watched him deliberately rub his length between your cheeks, not pushing in, just... teasing. His reflection showed his jaw clenched, his dark eyes fixed on yours through the glass.
"Absolutely gorgeous," he murmured against your ear, kissing your neck slowly while rubbing his messy cock between your cheeks. It was lazy, intimate worship rather than fucking now. You watched the two of you in the mirror—your swollen pussy, dripping with cum, and his gorgeous body pressed against yours.
A knock at the door made you both freeze. "Yo, Mike, you good in there? We gotta go." It was most likely one of his brothers. Michael cursed under his breath, still not pulling out. Your juices were still leaking between you. He glanced at the mirror, then at you, then at the door. He leaned in, mouth hovering near your ear.
Michael sighed against your neck, pressing one final lazy kiss there. "Coming," he called out, his voice steady despite what they were doing. He slowly pulled away, tucking himself back into his pants. You stayed leaning on the vanity, watching his reflection—the way he straightened his clothes like nothing happened.
He turned toward the door, then stopped.
Quickly, quietly, he stepped back to you, pressing a soft kiss to your lips before you could react. It was gentle and deep and completely opposite of the rough fucking from minutes before.
fucking obsessed with the thought of valko cumming sososooo much inside you
he's thrusting and thrusting before eventually he can't hold it in anymore. valko is desperate for his release but he can't bring himself to pull out from your slick, dripping warmth to cum on your stomach or thighs.
"gonna cum baby, mfhh~ hold still." you hear close to you, seconds before sexy sounds of uncontrollable grunting and deep growling.
like a man starved of pleasure, he's howling loudly. the moans escaping his needy lips are overpowering, as your beefy boyfriend atop you isn't afraid to be noisy because he knows that you enjoy it.
he spurts his thick seed between your velvety walls, long rope after long rope with yet another aggressive moan. it's too much for you to take, too much for your pussy to hold. before valko even pulls out, it's already spilling.
each time he breeds you, he releases an impressive amount of cum. lots more than any previous boyfriend you've ever been in love with, and he knows that fact.
it takes two entire minutes before all of it spills onto your asshole and for that time, he's there lovingly with his big nose just inches from your hole intensely watching you push it out.
He has you pined back against the cold concrete of the roof of some building, your shirt torn, thighs pressed into your chest as he mercilessly drills his aching cock into your wallls. The sound lewd sound of wet skin slapping and your desperate moans echo from the roof top. “You like that everyone can hear you getting off on my cock don’t you” he whispers in your ear. Just the sound of his voice alone makes you squeeze around him. His black eyes feel like they are looking into your soul making you squirm under him. A dark chuckle come from him. “ you you like that huh? You like when your sweet Peter gets a little rough? How adorable” he is now drilling into you at an incredible pace making tears fall from you eyes and for just a second you see his face soften, and those beautiful brown eyes that you love come back. Before he wipes your tears and whispers repeated “imsorryimsorryimsorry- i just I can’t stop please please let me continue” he begs before you feel him start slamming harder into you his tip bruising your cervix. “I’m gonna cum in you baby imsorryimsorryimsorry-” you feel him pump his warm cum inside you but he doesn’t stop, infact he starts going harder. Moaning in your ear. “Please I need it again baby I can’t stop you feel too good squeezing me like that”
When he eventually stops you’ve lost count of how many times he finished inside you much less how much you’d cum. You laying on the roof naked and absolutely filthy covered in bruises he wraps you in his coat before swinging you to his apartment and running you a bath the night ends with soft kisses peppered across your face. 
A/n- I will come back and fix mistakes when I’m not exhausted sorry it’s not proofread
