#Neil Newbon | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

gothushi · 3 days

Text

smother me

pairing: rob x fem!reader

warnings: smut, drunk!reader, everything is consensual, rob pulls out, he’s literally so in love with you

note: based on this request! i’m actually making a bot for this scenario rn using the opening paragraph and will have that posted/linked here as well :3 enjoy driving rob insane

word count: 6.6k

———————♡

Music pounds through your chest as you finish your drink, sat ontop of Rob’s lap in your bed. Your bed. You and your friends hosted a party but you’ve since abandoned the fun with the idea to do Rob’s makeup, and him being sober gladly agreed to your drunken antics.

Red plastic cup being tossed to the floor with a disapproving look from rob, you start digging around in your makeup bag, dumping the contents out, straddling him.

“This really what y’wanna be doing right now instead of being downstairs?” He muses softly, hands behind his head.

“Mmmm,” the lazy hum escapes you as you dig out a few different containers, blinking at Rob, trying to figure out where to start. His arms bulge with the position he’s in. “Definitely.” You mumble, grabbing a little pallet and opening it.

Rob grunts slightly as you adjust yourself ontop of him, sat on his lap. He knows you’re drunk and shouldn’t really be doing this. But he’s not one to stop, instead choosing to play along. “What’re you even doing? I don’t wear makeup.” He chuckles, reaching up with an arm to brush a loose tendril of hair out of your face.

“‘m g’na make you look pretty, shhh…” You wave his hand away, so far gone, leaning down with a brush and swiping some product over his cheekbone, staring quite hard as you focus. Wearing a cute little dress, it’s ridden up your thighs, heels on your feet still and the jewelry on your wrist jangles with the movements you make. Rob’s watching, curious but kinda annoyed. You don’t even know what you’re doing, and yet it’s working.

“I don’t need to be pretty.” he mumbles, both hands behind his head again, fingers pressing against his scalp to ignore that one part of him. “You’re pretty though.” The brush over his cheek almost makes him shudder as he lets an arm reach out and loop around your waist, hand flattening on your lower back to pull you closer.

“Shh, stop.” You scold in a whisper, smacking at his arm as it tugs you closer to him, sat on his navel. Your eyes are lidded, focusing as you swipe the brush over his other cheek, something sparkly on it. You own cheeks heat up under the blush you wear, because of his compliment or how drunk you are, you aren’t sure.

Rob sighs, his thumb rubbing on your back. He rolls his eyes and grumbles at you, but there’s a part of him that likes this.

“You’re such a pain in my ass,” his tone is clearly teasing, “Who’s gonna make me pretty?”

“Me!” You huff, seeming agitated to him as you pick up a different brush, a mess of them and little pallets and containers sliding in the dip of the bed against your knee. Another product on his cheek, a little lower, making yourself giggle at the sight.

He raises a brow but doesn’t say anything. The brush across his cheek is a little irritating, not as soft as the other, but the fact that you were doing this had him feeling something, a low burn of arousal that makes his cock jump in his boxers. “You goin’ all out for me?” He asks teasingly, reaching up with the same hand to flick hair from your face. It’s cute when you’re drunk - you’re more forward than normal.

And clumsy, because you drop the brush when he moves your hair back. You fumble with it, picking it back up and moving to the other cheek. “Yeah gotta-... do everything.” Mumbling, words a little slow like you’re thinking too hard.

Rob chuckles at that, biting his lip to stop himself from full on laughing. He takes a breath of air and clears his throat. “Do me a favor,” he muses, hand sliding to your back again, “put the brush down. And do the rest with your hands.”

“My hand- but I’ll get it all over ‘nd it won’ look good!” You mumble in defense, staring at him for a moment as you sit up more.

He rolls his eyes, looking up at you in amusement. Cute drunk. He can’t really complain. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.” He says it confidently, “Just try not to get too much on me, okay?” His hands slide to your thighs instead, at the junction of your hips to hold you steady.

You glare down at him, glossed lips in a pout as you sigh through your nose. Dropping the brush, you rub your finger in one of the colors, wiping it over the bridge of his nose with tense concentration. He can smell the drinks you’ve had, a sweet candy like perfume that has his mind going a bit dumb, your necklace dangling against his chest. He grumbles as he inhales, though he can’t really complain. Not when you’re the one doing this. Your finger wipes over the tip of his nose before he speaks, “Don’t do anymore.” He whispers, “I’m gonna regret this in the morning.”

“No ‘m no’ done.” You argue, words blending together and not fully pronounced, tilting to look for a different item. You find what you want, a pencil, popping the cap off. You lean back down, nearly just falling forward on him, inhaling deeply, “Mm, eyes. Close your eyes.”

His lips twitch into a smile with that little action, but he actually closes his eyes. The warmth breath on his face as you lean in close feels like an invitation, but he can’t actually act on this, right? Your hand holds his cheek, the other holding the pencil the way a child holds a crayon, swiping it over his eyelid just above his lashes. They twitch from the odd touch, and you being so close makes his cock start to swell, his grasp on your hips tightening just the slightest.

“Stop.” He finally whispers softly.

The pressure immediately lessens as you start to babble, words flowing together, “Did I hurt you? ‘m sorry I pressed too hard I didn’ mean to-” The hand holding his cheek pets over him quite obnoxiously.

His body relaxes a little, but the sensation of you nearly smacking his cheek makes him grin. This is the last thing I should be doing right now. His internal monologue says. Get a grip. He reaches up and grabs your hand, “No- no you didn’t hurt me sweetheart.”

Sitting up a bit straighter again, your fingers curl around his as you complain, “Well I gotta- y’gotta match! I have t’do the other one.” Waving the pencil around seems to solidify your words.

“Don’t.” he says firmly, his voice coming out a little shaky. He lets his hand tighten around yours, other sliding down to the top of your thigh. “I think you’ve put enough makeup on me for one night. I doubt I’m gonna look good.” He grumbles teasingly, smiling softly. But you give him that little look, and he huffs a sigh, “Oh fine. Go on.”

You squeal a little happy noise, leaning back down, finger making his eyelids close. Your wrist rests on his forehead like a damn armrest, coloring the charcoal pigmented pencil over his other eye, giggling a little. He has to resist the urge to arch his back, stomach tensing. The sight of you leaning over him in this position would make anyone melt. But he can’t let himself do that.

“Alright, you’re done.” He murmurs, “No more.”

His hands encircle your wrists, holding onto them. You push back albeit weakly, pencil fumbling from your hand as you whine, bouncing on him a little, “No ‘m not done Rob y’need lipstick and- mmm, glitter. Yeah.”

He chuckles softly, “You’re trying to put glitter on me.” He mutters, shaking his head, still holding your wrists and letting you push back and wave them around. He knows you’re drunk, and he wants to get you off his lap. Especially because this is not good for him. He could kiss you with the way you’re bouncing on him like that. “No glitter.” He says firmly, not even wanting to entertain the idea.

“But.” You whimper softly, makeup accentuated eyes batting down at him as you push at his grasp, “It’s pink! We’ll match.”

His grip tightens as you continue to wiggle, staring up at you as he groans, “Stop bouncin’, I ain’t wearing no damn glitter.”

The wiggling continues, making you slide dangerously close to his lap again, belt buckle nudging against the crotch of your panties, “Rooooob.” The whine makes a shudder of arousal go up his spine, your hands pushing at his back and forth.

He grunts. He wants to pull you closer, press his lips against yours, but part of him really wants you off him. “Stop,” he mumbles, trying to keep control as his heart beats a bit faster, “Don’t make me be mean.” You feel him squeeze your wrists.

You whine again, leaning forward, “Nooo, jus’. See. We’ll match! My eyes are pink, you’ll’s be pink,” even in his hold, you use a finger to point at your face then his face, rings glinting in the dim lamp light of your room.

Rob grunts, his grip shifting to something a little less firm. This is the worst idea.

“I don’t wanna match. I don’t wanna be sparkly.” He says, though his voice is a little shaky in the moment. He just wants to close the gap between you two.

The words though, literally seem to break your heart as you frown, hands going limp in his hold as your eyes shine, “Y’don’t wanna match with me?” You ask softly, absolutely torn apart by his statement.

“Stop that.” He whispers harshly, narrowing his blues at you. The little pout is enough to make his cock swell more, his heart pound in his chest, make him forget all the reasons why this is not something he should be doing.

“I-I just..” he starts, argument dying before he can even come up with it, his mouth dry, “just get the damn glitter.”

Another happy squeal leaves you as he lets go of your wrists, hands returning to your hips. Your own hands dig in the pile, finding the item you used hours ago. “Here, see! It isn’t pink pink it’s a softer pink so it won’ even show up really.” Rambling, leaning in after swiping your finger in the product and then over one of his eyelids.

He tenses as you lean in just as close as before. The smallest sensations make him tremble, and his back arches slightly. He shouldn’t be doing this, this is dangerous territory. But he doesn’t stop it. Instead, he lets you swipe away. “There,” he whispers.

“Other one,” You slur, so matter of factly, doing the other one with the pad of your ring finger. You begin giggling, fixing it a little as you wiggle happily ontop of him, “You look prettyyyy.”

“Shut up.” He manages to growl out. The way you act proves just how drunk you are, and it only makes his brain more fuzzy. He should’ve said stop, he should’ve gotten you off his lap the moment you clambereed onto him. But he hasn’t and isn’t doing any of those things.

“I’m not pretty, I’m a zoologist.”

Giggles galore, the pink pot of glitter tumbles down with the rest of the products as you use your hands on his chest for support as you sway, “Think the lady big cats will have a crush on youuu?”

“Doubt it. If they liked pretty, they’d be all over you.” He rolls his shoulders, trying his best to ignore the way your arms push your tits together. He’s pushing his limits here. “You’re really drunk, huh?”

You giggle at his words, his compliment, and when he asks that you just hum, leaning down to nuzzle your head into his neck with your fronts flush together, back arched, “Mmmmmm… yes.”

“You’re gonna have a hell of a hangover.” He murmurs, arms slipping around your waist and keeping you flush against him. You can feel how tense his muscles are, his belt buckle knocking into your crotch, cold through your panties and sending a shock up your spine that you don’t react to. He inhales, smelling the scent of your shampoo, something vanilla, mixing with the alcohol and makeup and perfume. He’s warm, your safe space always, even now.

He feels like he’s a teenager again, getting wrapped up in his first crush. This is so unhealthy. Yet he holds you tightly, feeling your legs on either side of his waist, body heat warm on his.

Suddenly you gasp, sitting up abruptly, looking at him as if he offended you. Your hands find his in a smushing grasp, “Lipstick.” You completely forgot to give him lipstick. You move, climbing off of him, off the bed, losing a heel in the process as you go to your vanity.

This is such a bad idea. His thoughts hammer through his head as he watches your drunken form moves, looking at your little stand of lipsticks. He fingers tense, curling against the duvet, jaw tensing. You find what you’re looking for and Jesus Christ, climb on the bed on your hands and knees, crawling up his body to straddle him again like you previously were. Popping the cap off the lipstick, he groans, it’s bright red.

“You are not putting that on me.” He manages to get out, his hands staying against the duvet next to your legs.

“Bu…” You huff, “You need it!”

“I-..” He starts to groan, trying to find a way out of this, without touching you. If he touches you, he’s done for. The second he lets his hands wander after the sight you just gave him, he won’t be able to resist. “Just… just stop, I don’t need lipstick.” His tone sounds frustrated, more angry at his hardening cock than you.

But the color matches yours, a deep pinky red covered in gloss. Whining again, wiggling, complaining, “I did-.. everything else,” You gesture with a wave of your hand, “it looks silly without lipstick.”

“Stop wigglin’ around on me like that.” He outright warns, voice throaty. But he doesn’t push you away, not even when your ass pushes against the growing bulge in his jeans. “I don’t need lipstick.” He tries again, tone firmer, “This is a stupid idea, don’t-”

“‘s no’ stupid.” Whimpering, sitting your weight fully on him. Your dress rides up your thighs a bit more, tormenting him. “Do you not like that color?” You whine, swaying a bit.

“I like the color, looks pretty on you.” He grumbles, the sight of your dress hitching up further nearly enough to break him. In fact, every little movement you make is nearly enough for him. You’re making it so hard and so easy for him at the same time, and he has no idea which side is winning. “Just stop moving for a second.” He hisses, cheeks warm under the blush you gave him earlier.

“‘m not!” You complain, fully convinced you’re right as you bounce, wiggle, swaying at you lean forward. His belt buckle knocks into your clit, making you whimper in complaint, hand on his chest. He can feel the heat, the weight over his cock. Your drunken state makes things that are already too damn unbearable absolutely impossible.

“Y/N-” He grunts.

“Y’ don’ like the color, just, admit it.” You keep whining, sitting upright fully, holding the lipstick in front of his face. You sway a little again, a little too much because you start wobbling to the right. His hands are already on your waist, catching you.

“Jesus-” He groans, heart skipping a beat, “Just stay still.” He can feel his breath quicken, hands firmly holding your waist.

You’re already giggling when you start to fall, his hands nice and warm tickling your sides. You wiggle to adjust, upright, eyes lidded as he barely has to use any strength to keep you still. “Jus’ be honest you don’ like the red! What about the pink, see?” You pucker your lips, leaning forward to show off your own lipstick.

It kills him how cute you look right now. The blushing, your nicely done makeup, the dress that’s way too revealing, it makes it difficult to be really mad at you. He feels his breath hitch. “Fine.” He mumbles, barely able to move his mouth at the sight of you puckering at him, “I.. I like it.”

Giggling again, hands falling flat on his chest, “I fixed it before we started,” words smoothing together as you keep going, “so it’s perfec’.” Your hands slap his cheeks, holding his head still as you lean down and press your lips hard to his.

He’s frozen, eyes widening in a stunned daze. His brain isn’t working at the moment. And then you’re pulling away, giggling at the imprint of lipstick on his own lips now, color smeared a little.

“Y/N!” He hisses out, voice breathless.

“What?” You keep giggling, before your face drops on your gasp and smack a hand on his chest, “I should’ve asked. Sorry.” God you’re so drunk, because you start giggling again, “Looks pretty.”

Rob swallows, “Yeah?” He can feel his heartbeat in his throat, mouth dry. The feeling of your hands on his cheeks lingers and the sticky lipgloss makes heat coil in his gut. “Are you.. are you drunk enough that, if I ask you something.. you won’t remember in the morning?”

“Mm. ‘m not drunk.” You wave off, but you’re leaning down to snuggle against his neck like before, legs stretching down along his, cock pressing against your navel. You’ll be lucky to remember this right now.

“You’re drunk.” He confirms for you, a hand moving to your back and another going to stroke over your hair. “You’re a damn lightweight.. just answer the question.”

You giggle against his collarbone, nuzzling close like a kitty getting pets, “Am not! Nuh uh.. mmm.” You then become aware of his question and shrug, “Mm, probably- not.” You yawn on the last word.

He groans, your soft movements against him making it difficult to think. His fingers slide over your hair, cradling your head, “If I ask you something you’d say no to, would you say yes because you’re drunk?”

You lift your head to try and look at him, back arching further as you crane up, hips pressing down against his denim. “Mmmm, how do you-” you plant a finger on his chin, “know I’ll say no.”

“Because I know you too damn well. Just answer the question.” He repeats.

“Not enouuugh.” You stretch your arms up a bit, laying your cheek back against his chest, “I do-.. anything y’ask me, doesn’t… matter if ‘m drunk.”

“You’re an idiot.” He mumbles into your hair, fighting back a smile.

You whine, tilting your head back up, chin on his chest, “Tha’s mean..” Pouting a little, you stare hard before planting your hands on his cheeks like before, “Can I kiss you? I’ve always wan’ed to kiss you.’ You blurt out of no where, also seemingly not remembering I did kiss him to transfer my lipstick.

He’s silent for a few moments. The words are a hit to his heart, and his cock. He wants you so badly. He grumbles in protest, but he doesn’t have the heart to push you away. All he can do is grit his teeth, “Don’t… don’t say that just because you’re drunk.”

“‘m noooot.” You defend, “I wanna. You’re pretty and I love you.” You shake his face back and forth, wiggling atop him.

“I know, I know,” He murmurs, not wanting to push you off even as you wiggle on him, swaying. He’s gotta compliment himself on his patience and will to not move because you’re nearly grinding onto him. “Just… just go to sleep, huh? I know you really wanna kiss me but.. you’re drunk.”

“I don’ wanna sleep,” It leaves you in a whine again, so whiny tonight, tits pressed flush to his chest, “Wanna… do y’no’ wanna kiss me?” Pouting, you seem hurt by the idea you think of.

Your pouty attitude is enough to melt whatever remaining resistance he has towards kissing you. You’re so drunk, so needy… so damn hot right now. He’s already in too deep, he just couldn’t push away if he tried.

Not unless he wanted you to be unhappy.

“Just… just one. Okay? Then I’ll put you to bed.”

An excited squeal leaves your lips, wiggling to get closer, but it just makes your hips grind down into him and you exhale with a puff of air through your nose. Hands still holding his face, you crowd into his personal space, leaning down and pressing your lips on his. Eyes fluttering closed, he groans, hands sliding onto your hips to keep you stable. Every movement of your hips make him shamelessly grunt now, heart beating in his throat.

He tries to keep it a short kiss, but your tongue licks over his lip, lipstick smearing over both your mouths as he caves and parts his own lips. Your tongues meet and it makes you whine softly, breathless, and a long, low moan comes from him. He easily takes dominance, one kiss becomes a bit of tongue becomes making out.

He seems to snap out of it, pulling back, panting softly, “Dammit, you..”

Except your lips are already trailing over his chin, down his neck, “Mmm, more.”

This is a terrible idea. “That’s enough.”

Panting against his neck, you whimper, a pouty noise, “But I wan’... want mooorre.” You plead sweetly, back arching as your hips press into him, dress hiking up over your hips with the effort. The harder part of denim covering his zipper rubs into your clit and you moan.

It’s like a flip switches for you and him, as you push your hips down again to meet his, craving that friction again. “Rob, mmm, please, more.”

A low rumbling groan reverberates in his chest, his cock straining in his boxers as he fights the urge to grind up into you. “You need-” he tries to say before he’s overtaken by your whiny moans, “Y/N.. god.”

Against his better judgment, he pulls you back, kissing you hard, his hands squeezing on your hips. Your hands grab at his face, his jaw, whining lewdly against his lips with the slick noise of your tongues meeting. “Rob- mmh!” Pleading, begging.

He doesn’t hesitate this time, his hands sliding over the flesh of your ass to roll your hips down into him, his knees bending a bit for leverage. His lips make a mess of yours, smearing color onto your chin and above your lips, panting between open mouthed kisses. With a moan of your name, he leans up a little, lips moving onto your neck feverishly. Lidded eyes, he can still see the smeared lipstick his own lips leave on your skin, making a shudder run up his spine. You’re arching, head tilting to the side as a hand curls into the hair at the nape of his neck. His hands work your hips down, fabric of your dress riding up higher around your waist as you draw your knees back up to properly straddle him, you need it, need him, more.

“Fuck,” He groans against your skin, letting you roll down onto him, his fingertips pressing into your ass so hard they turn white. His grip turns tighter sliding up to your hips as he tries to still you, God dammit he shouldn’t be doing this now.

“No- wan’ it,” You’re pleading so sweetly, trying to press down onto him with a gasping noise. Your panties are ruined, slick turning the fabric darker and sheer, his lips suckling at a spot on your neck that makes your eyes roll back with a whine, “Rob!”

He hums against your skin, “Just-” He can’t resist. He doesn’t want to. His one and only goal in this moment is to give you more. He knows he shouldn’t… but this is what you want right?

And he’d do anything for his favorite girl.

“C’mon,” he mumbles, easing your hips back down in a slow rhythm, teeth nipping at you in little bites, suckling over them to soothe the barely there pain. His hands shift up to your hips, expecting to find the bunched up hem of your dress but instead he feels the soft cotton, smooth lace waistband of your panties. It makes his cock ache, a groan leaving him as his big hands rub over the skin, thumbs catching on the lace but not pulling it down, sucking another hickey into your skin. “Y/N, you’re gonna kill me.”

You shift, tilting your head up, glossy lips finding his neck and leaving sticky pink residue on his tanned skin. His head falls back against the duvet, growling lowly as he breathes out. Another grateful moan leaves you as he cants his hips up against you, denim pushing against the slick fabric of your panties, and if the music downstairs and you’re own moans weren’t so loud he’d have heard the slick noise it made.

Rob rolls over, hand on your back as he lays you on your bed, hovering over you. Your legs drape over his lap, his knees digging into the bed as he grinds his hips down with a louder moan this time. He’s still fully clothed, rutting against you and causing you to cry out. The spaghetti strap of your dress is falling off your shoulder, back arching as you grab onto his biceps with a whine, “Rob, please, need- need it,” your dress is hiked up your waist now, and looking down he can see the cute panties you wear ruined by your slick.

“You want it huh?” He pants out, arms bulging as he holds himself up over you. A part of him hates how this is the only way he’s gotten you, but another part of him loves it, you’re so desperate, needy, begging so nicely for him. He grumbles something against your neck.

“Yes!” Your hands are trembling, shoving them between your bodies to try and undo his belt. You can’t get a good grip though, not with the way he keeps rutting his hips down, “Rob,” you whine, needing help.

He obliges, sitting up on his knees with a hand ghosting over your thigh, the other undoing his belt flawlessly. It clanks as his fingers twist to undo his button, “You want it that bad?” He mumbles, his own skin flushed down to his neck, zipper undone as he lets go of your thigh to push his jeans down his hips.

“Yes! Yes, ple- mm, pleeaase.”

The sight of you squirming like that has him moaning softly, pushing his boxers down a few inches to finally get his aching cock out. He leans over you for another kiss, sloppy, panting against each others mouths. His hands paw at you, pulling your panties to the side, fabric wet against his fingers. Your own hands find his hair, tugging at the hair tie that keeps it half up, getting rid of it. He breaks the kiss just to go biting at your neck again, one hand between your legs. A finger pushes into you almost immediately, both of you moaning, he just has to feel you. He presses the heel of his palm against your clit, skin sticky with slick as he pushes in deep.

“Please,” He pleads this time, “I need to-”

“Take it, ‘m begging, please Rob.” You interrupt, tangling your hands into his soft hair and tugging it back to keep it from falling in his face. His grasp tightens even more, and he already decided he can’t say no to you. He pulls his finger out, fisting over his cock to spread your mess before pushing in slow. It draws a loud groan from him against your neck, making your back arch as you practically wail, hugging him tightly.

“God- sweetheart, you’re so fuckin’-”

“Mmm! Rob, Rob,”

“Easy, y’feel good, fuck.” He soothes, hips flush to yours and his pubic bone grinding into your clit as he moves slow. His elbows dig into the bed as he moves a hand to the back of your head, cradling you close. “You’re so damn hot..” He breathes, a slight whine to his tone.

Your hands leave his hair, grasping at your dress to try and tug it up, pull it down, you don’t know. He helps, free hand slipping the other strap off your shoulder and tugging the neckline down to free your tits, no bra. He groans softly, instinctively leaning down to latch his mouth to one of your nipples.

“Rob-!” His tongue swirls around the peak, sucking hard, moaning against your boob as the other is massaged roughly by his hand.

“So good,” He mumbles, not willing to pull away fully as he suckles, hips speeding up as his knees spread further. He adjusts his position and lets loose, hips smacking into yours hard with a loud slap of skin each time. It has you jolting against the bed each time, weeping with moans and whines. He eventually swaps tits, sucking on the other and massaging the spit soaked one, lips straying from your nipple to mouth at your skin and leave hickies.

He sits up a little to take in the sight of you, and his cock throbs. Your covered in hickies on your neck and tits, nipples reddened and swollen, lipstick smeared on your neck and mouth. Even your eyes are shiny, starting to water and smear the eyeliner on your lash line as tears drip down into your hair. His hands find your face, cradling your cheeks, thumbs wiping at the mess and smoothing over your chin, “So messy sweetheart.”

As if you couldn’t get any hotter, you tilt your head down and capture his thumb in your mouth, sucking at it and it makes him growl, hips pounding into you harder. You’re both panting, he’s pulling all kinds of embarrassing noises from you, little squeals and whimpers. Reluctantly, he pulls away from you to grab his shirt hem, tugging it up and tossing it onto the floor.

Greedy hands find his chest, feeling his muscled form, scratching over onto his back as he cages you in with his arms again, hair falling in your face. A hand hikes your hips up further onto his lap before resuming the hard pace, and he whines out your name as his eyes flutter. The hand on your hip slides, trying to push your dress up and off you. You assist, arching your back to tug it up and over your head, leaving you in just your panties and a single heel.

Hands find his back again, “Hah- mmmph! Harder, Rob- please,” you can’t even string proper words together. He nearly snarls at the plea, giving you what you want as he pounds into you. Slick drips down your ass, making a mess of his cock, his jeans, the bed.

“You’re- fuck!” He pants, forehead dropping to your collarbones. He can’t even hear the music downstairs anymore, nor the people, just the pounding of his own heart in his ears and your sweet whiny noises. Your hands run along his back, scratching the skin, feeling the scar on his shoulder blade.

“I’m gon’- Rob! I can’t-” Tears roll into your hairline, sweat making your skin clammy.

“I know, it’s okay, fuck,” he growls, “Y’can cum.”

“Uh- huh-” The heat coils further and further, tighter, one of his hands slipping down to practically smack against your clit, rubbing with three big fingers in circles, fingers turning slippery.

The coil bursts, an orgasm ripping through you that has you sobbing against his hair, gasping for air as you tremble. You’d fear you’d have blacked out for a moment if it wasn’t for the way you heard him moan, cock slipping from your pussy to cover your stomach in cum, groaning your name low into your neck. He can feel you shuddering, trembling, aftershocks jolting through you and him. Your thighs pressing against his waist going limp, he bites at your neck, licking over sweaty skin with a satisfied noise.

You’re a mess. A good mess. Chest heaving as you pant, your eyes fall shut, makeup smeared at the corners. One of his hands moves to your cheek, cradling you so gently, thumb swiping under your eyes, leaning in to kiss your lips.

“Mmmmm.” You hum happily into the kiss, slow, soft, all muscles like jelly.

“God, you’re a mess..” He mutters once he pulls away, eyes staring at you like you’ve hung the stars. He kisses your cheek, brushing hair from your face, wiping more tears away, “Are you okay?”

You start giggling when he calls you a mess, weak hands grabbing at his biceps, “Mmm… mmhmm.” You hum lazily, exhausted.

A genuine smile spreads over his face, a laugh leaving him at your reaction. “How drunk are you? Y’gonna forget this?” He whispers, voice a bit raspy.

Another tear, body slowly calming down, giggling again, “‘m not drunk..” You defend, arms looping around him for a hug.

“Oh really?” He smiles, his own arms keeping you close as he hovers over you. He pulls out, a mess of slick coating his cock and dripping from your entrance, making his breath catch and a shock of arousal spread through him again. But you nuzzle into his neck, pulling him down onto you more.

“I love you.” You mumble. You say it just like you do before you hang up with him on the phone, when you two part ways after lunch, but you mean it.

He tenses, cradling you in his arms as he slides over onto his side, pulling you close. His grasp on you tightens, not intentionally, subconsciously not wanting to let you get away. “You love me?” He plays softly, chin resting on your head.

“Mmm..” This is different. “No’ like.. normal.. but.. I really do.” You nod, getting sleepy already.

He tilts his head and stares down at you, eyes a bit wide. Surely you’re joking, right? Before he can form words, you relax into his arms and mumble again, “Y’don’t have to… say it back. Jus’.. stay tonight.. please?”

Part of you fears he doesn’t feel the same, that this will be a nice dream before it all goes to shit in the morning.

He hears your words, his arms tightening around you. He wants to say that he loves you too. That he means it. That he’s felt this way for a long time. But the words are caught in his throat, lips barely able to form a whisper before you’re already asleep.

—

The noise of the party has died down over the past few hours, well into the early morning. You roll over, makeup products crunching under your weight and a stray arm still around you. The uncomfortable plastic makes you whine, blindly shoving at the items. Rob is still awake at this point, though he’s half asleep. Your whine makes him murmur, brows raising a little as he turns his head to you. Rather than speaking yet, he wraps his hand around your front and tugs you back against him.

“Mmm..” You grunt with the movement, turning to look up at him with bleary eyes, still a little drunk but some alcohol has worked its way out of your system.

He cracks a little smile down at you, “Hey..” he murmurs, hand brushing your hair back.

You giggle softly, leaning into his chest, “Hi.”

His chest vibrates with a chuckle at your drowsy state. He admires you silently, petting over your hair, the other hand on your bare waist. “I hope y’don’t hate me in the morning.”

A frown tugs at your lips, pushing into a pout, still not being very rational, “Why would I?” It leaves you in a little whine, latching onto him like a koala. One arm over his chest, leg thrown over his lap.

He laughs quietly at your whining, the way you cling to him, something he’s familiar with. “You don’t regret what we did?” It’s a genuine question, the worry in his voice clear that he’s concerned about you waking up in the morning and feeling shameful.

“Mm mm,” you shake your head, eyes so in love as you stare up at him, “Do… do you?”

“No.” The answer is immediate, “No I don’t.” His hand squeezes on your waist softly, though he wonders if you really understand the gravity of it right now.

Deep down you know. You’ve thought about this more times than you can count and it happening whilst you’re drunk might have been the only way you would’ve allowed it to come true, too fearful of ruining the entire friendship we’ve built over the years.

His response comforts your bleary mind as you nuzzle back into his neck, mumbling a content noise.

He doesn’t let a good moment be spoiled, holding you close to fall back asleep.

—

The morning after, he’s slipped downstairs to make some coffee. Luckily the house isn’t very trashed, just lots of garbage to take out and drinks to clean up, a living room to rearrange properly again. Footsteps on the hardwood catch his attention as you come into the kitchen. Hair messy, makeup smeared on your skin and eyes, picking at something in your eye, in his shirt.

The sight alone has him exhaling softly, he can’t stop himself from staring. “Morning..” He murmurs, trying to sound more put together than he is.

You shuffle over, blindly hugging him, arms looping around his bare waist. For a moment you just stand there, his hand finding your back, before you lift your head up with your chin on his chest. Despite the pounding headache you have, you start giggling at the sight of him, a hand reaching up to smear on his eyelid, “I didn’t do a bad job…” Commenting on his, backwards, sloppy makeup job you gave him.

You’re so adorable. He breathes out with a smile, shaking his head, “No you didn’t.” Kissing your forehead, he loops both arms around you. He doesn’t want to ever let go.

You let a few moments of silence linger, resting your cheek on his chest against as you think. You remember every moment from last night, every action that led to you two fucking. And you don’t regret it. But you also don’t want to dwell on it, make it some big conversation, that doesn’t feel right. So instead, you tilt your head up again, “Do you wanna take a bath together?”

He stares for a moment, as if expecting something else, “You mean, like, right now?”

“We are kinda… nasty.” You mutter, shrugging your shoulders. Smeared makeup on both your faces, necks, not having cleaned up from last night either. He huffs a small laugh at that, nodding in agreement.

“You want to?” Rob rubs his hands up over your back, smiling.

You seem to hesitate for a moment, staring up at him, before nodding. Not just in confirmation to the bath, but to this. The hesitance seems to make him understand a little better. You had said it wasn’t a regret, and now you’re acting normal, close to him, standing in his shirt with what he’s gonna assume a hangover headache.

This was intentional. A deliberate decision on your part. He grins, and hikes you up against him, hands under your thighs. You squeal out a noise, grabbing onto his shoulders so you don’t fall, “Rob!”

Not that he’d ever drop you.

———————♡

#neil newbon #neil newbon x reader #extinction rob #rob extinction #extinction rob x reader

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