tangointhenight
pairing: harry styles x reader (au)
warnings: idiots in love trope, long-distance fwb (sounds weird but it makes sense just give her a read luv), switch!harry and switch!reader, detailed descriptions of female and male masterbation, maladaptive daydreaming during a fanfic, mentions of exhibitionism, edging, one singular âdaddyâ, cum swapping, breeding kink, praise kink and degradation, rope play, spitting, choking, mutual masterbation, overstimulation, use of toys (vibrator mostly), crying after sex (iconic)
word count: 13.3k
synopsis: harry records erotic audios, and y/n is an avid listener
authorâs note: hello nasties, hereâs another filth fic for ya! this has been a long time in the making, and i am so sorry i have been mia for so long, but i am back for the time being to give you this fic. i have wanted to do something like this for a while now, but itâs been a struggle (lots of blood, sweat, and tears put into this). iâm kinda proud of her to be honest, and i hope you enjoy :)
tags: @victoria-styles
masterlist
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Y/N finally sinks into her mattress after yet another tiring day. She can hear her roommate on the other side of the wall, chatting with her girlfriend over the phone, blissfully ignorant to the fact that she currently has a hand teasing the band of her sweatpants while the other scrolls aimlessly through her phone.
Exhaustion burns behind her eyes, but thereâs a desperate ache in her belly, one that demands satiety. She opens the internet app to find it unchanged from the night before, still lighting up in the profile named tangointhenight. His profile picture is a tantalizing photo of his hand, splayed across his thigh, which are clad in tight, floral printed pants, doing wonders for the very prominent bulge. Pieces of paint linger on his thumbnail, a pretty pale mint color, and his skin, tanned with faint freckles and etches of dark ink, looks tempting in the golden light. At his wrist is a braided twine bracelet with cheap beads that have letters that she canât make out, which looks old and wilted.
She scrolls down, only lingering for a moment to appreciate the photo one final time.
There are some cute little posts and polls in addition to his erotic audios. The newest one, posted just that afternoon, warns not to listen to this in public with a series of cute little emoticons following. If thereâs one thing sheâs learned about Tango, thatâs what she and other listeners call him, is that heâs a bit of an exhibitionist; his audios tend to lean toward nearly getting caught or even being caught (oftentimes leading to a âhelping outâ situation). She honestly wasnât into that sort of thing until he started talking about it, and now, she finds it incredibly sexy, the thrill of the quick high and the fear of being caught in such a vulnerable moment.
Sheâll definitely have to give the new audio a listen on one of her morning commute trips to the university; perhaps, she could give it a listen while she waits for her class to start, his deep voice teasing and coaxing her into an aching mess. She hopes that itâll leave her trembling and throbbing for the rest of the day. She wonders if sheâll be able to make it until night before she has to finish herself off or if sheâll have to sneak off to the restrooms during one of her seven minute breaks, foot propped up on the toilet paper dispenser while she rubs herself to her bitter end.
She scrolls down a bit, passing over audios that vary from pillow talk to a dirty fuck in back alleys, before tapping on the familiar link, purple from use, the description teasingly saying: weâve been visiting my mum for a week, and I havenât been able to taste you... I guess weâll just have to be quiet.
Itâs one of the first audios she listened to when she was just discovering this new world of pleasure, so it has a special place in her heart. Itâs one of his firsts from nearly a year ago, of fuzzy listening quality and nervous voice, but she finds his ramblings endearing; although, admittedly, she thinks anything he does is cute.
She tucks in her earbuds and presses the play button. Tossing the phone to the side, her eyes flutter closed, visions of white dotting through the darkness as they adjust. Thereâs a subtle cracking sound that indicates that it has finally loaded, and a fuzzy droning sound filters through the headphones. Thereâs a fan going in the background; it squeaks and grumbles nearby. A door creaks open, one of those fake sound effects that you can buy, but she appreciates the effort.
âHey, lovie, feelinâ better?â
His familiar voice floats through her ears. She settles even more into her sheets. His voice is a nice, hot cup of tea at the end of a hard day, a drug that leaves her head foggy and senses dulled. His voice reminds her of sleep: deep, soothing, persistent, yet ever fleeting. She yearns for it, like being able to listen to that one mazing song for the first time again or the feeling of sunshine after the long winter months. His voice is intoxicating, reaching a baritone timbre that she canât quite put to words.
At first, she wanted to put a face to the man who hummed sweet nothings in her ears, who coaxed her to oblivion for nights on end. Now, sheâs at ease with never knowing. It keeps things interesting, and she doesnât think about it as much anymore.
âIf only mum wasnât home, maybe we couldâve snuck a quick one in the shower,â he says. She smirks, picturing him tucked into his childhood bed, a cozy twin that would be a struggle for the both of them to fit in, and he has his old quilt tucked up to his neck, leaving his bare feet exposed because of how little it is.
Thereâs a moment of silence, then a cute little laugh.
âI know. You wouldnât want to sin in her godly home, but she loves you, probably more than me. I don't think she would think any differently of you.â
Another beat of silence, then his voice catches in his throat. Y/N smiles softly as he stutters pitifully, slowly, struggling to find his words.
âN-no, yâknow tha's not how I meant it,â he says. âLike, she loves you more than she loves me. Not that I donât love you as much as she does.â He moves, the rustling of his sheets crackling in her ears. She can hear his hand run over his stubble, nails scratching over short little hairs. She wonders if he usually grows out his facial hair or if heâs the type to keep clean shaven.
âShe couldnât possibly love you more than I do.â The bed creaks as he shifts again. âCâmon, babe, join me. âS all nice and warm.â
She herself burrows further into her blankets, knowing full well that sheâs probably going to be kicking them off in a few minutes. She turns to her side, blinking her eyes open, trying to immerse herself into the fantasy.
ââM glad you got time off of work to come here with me. I know you could've been spending time back home, but you came here with me instead.â His voice is closer than before, however whispered. Every accentuated vowel that passes through his lips is like a breath of fresh air, and she hums quietly at the sound.
âI really appreciate it. âM glad we got to spend this time together.â
She imagines that he tucks her into his neck, coddling her while his fingers trace over the curves of her face, from the furrow of her brow, down to the apple of her cheeks, before stopping at her lips, lingering only momentarily before his thumb would push just past them.
He chuckles suddenly.
âWhat does it look like Iâm doing? Jusâ lovinâ on my girl.â
His short pecks turn into slow, passionate kisses, deep sighs of relief falling from his lips, and she swears she can almost feel his breath on her skin, nose pressed tight to the pulsepoint in her neck as he sponges his lips over her collarbone, teeth nibbling lightly. She tugs the tee up from where itâs settled at her hips to where the curves of her breasts begin, the material squeezing them tightly to her chest. The sensitive skin aches under the tight pressure. She teases her nipples through her thin bra, feeling the tenderness coax chills down her spine.
âPlease,â he whines. âWanna taste you. You can be quiet. I believe in you, love.â
She could picture him now, chin resting on her stomach, eyes pleading with her. She would flick his head at the patronizing tone before brushing her fingers through his hair. Would he have short tuffs or long tresses that she could run her fingers through after a long day, breaking apart the knots that accumulate throughout the day? Does he have pin straight, dark locks that are cut close to his scalp or sand coloured curls that fall gracefully on his forehead? Perhaps, he has a bit of gray peaking through his hairline to match his wise and weathered voice. She could almost moan at the thought. She has always had a thing for older men.
Tango says something, but she canât really hear it, his words muffled by her racing heart. She pries her pants down shaky legs, leaving them dangling around her ankle, and her fingers work quickly in massaging her puffy clit, arousal wetting the tender skin. Not one for having much patience, she doesnât wait for him to finish worshiping her body with his mouth before she is rubbing herself through her panties, feeling the cold wetness on her fingertips. Eyes closed, her head falls back on her pillows, legs tensing when she stops suddenly.
âPretty thighs,â he mumbles to himself between kisses, and she could almost feel his tender touches on the backs of her thighs, which tremble with anticipation. A wetly placed kiss followed by an appreciative hum signals his final descent to her cunt. The sound of languid licks are nearly enough to make her finish, walls clenching miserably around nothing. Fingers slowing close to a dead stop, barely more than a faint fluttering on her sensitive skin, she attempts to collect herself, but itâs difficult when he moans once again, muffled by his furiously working lips.
âLove your pussy, baby.â She melts at his words, eyes rolling back as waves of pleasure rack through her body, hips stuttering in time with each flick of her wrist. âSo warm and wet and jusâ perfect for me.â His voice, low with need, makes her throb, arousal slipping into her panties.
Sheâs close already, an unfortunate effect he has on her. Barely five minutes into her alone time, and she can feel the orgasm begin to build, like an unyielding inferno spreading through every nerve. The stress from her day, the exhaustion with the world, everything melts into just one prominent feeling threatening to burst from her pores. She has to force herself to stop before she falls over the edge in order to draw out this experience as much as possible. She nearly cries out when she pulls her hand away altogether, her poor, puffy clit throbbing painfully.
This continues for a while, the undulating waves of a blistering release and the torture of a cut off orgasm, until the air becomes thick, her heaving breaths heating her empty room.
âThereâs my good girl,â he says. âUse me, lovie. Want you to choke me with your pretty thighs.â
His voice is more firm this time, and she could only picture his baleful eyes staring up at her, eager to please her and guide her over the edge. It makes her wonder what they look like; she wonders if theyâre a soulful, deep chocolate that darken with lust, a pale blue that reminds her of warm afternoons, or a striking hazel that flickers with green hues in the light.
No matter the color, she is sure that theyâre undoubtedly pretty.
âPlease,â she whispers faintly.
âMore? You want more, my greedy girl?â She nods pitifully, feeling the orgasm build quickly in her belly before she stops once again, fingers pressing into her throbbing clit. âYou want my fingers?â
Her walls flutter fruitlessly for some sort of release, for some sort of stimulation. He moans out sharply.
âFeel so good, babylove,â he coos. âSo warm and wet fâme.â
She wants to slip her fingers inside, to tease and massage that tender spot that she can barely reach until she struggles to breathe. She wants to feel full, but she doesnât want to take care of the mess, and it surely wonât be comfortable sleeping in wet sheets. The wipes hidden alongside her other secret toys, beneath mounds of socks and crumpled underwear, do little to take care of the arousal that has pooled between her legs.
She fishes around her bedside table, fingers raking through bundles of panties to find her vibrator, a cheap little thing she got in a set when she first moved into her apartment. Unfortunately, she ran through the other ones that were in the set, and this is the only one left.
She nestles the vibrator on her swollen clit and ticks it on to the lowest setting. This stimulation is different than before; a vague rumbling rattles her bones, making her lips tremble, with choked cries teetering on her tongue. Obscene wet sounds fill her ears, and for a moment, she wonders whether they are coming from the audio or from her dripping pussy, and her thighs tighten around her wrist. She could only imagine the sight of his hands splayed over her hips and on her belly, perfectly pastel painted nails pressing into her wet skin. The shifting of her mattress worries her for only a moment, but her shame melts away, and she loses herself in the sound of his heavy, stifled groans, as if he is truly choking on her. The addition of the vibrator only serves to tease her more as she inches toward the end, brutally building in slow, abrupt waves. She struggles to swallow her whimpers.
He spits suddenly, and her hips jut forward at the sound, an erotic display of dominance, but he makes it seem like such a tender act; she could just melt.
âCan you take another?â
A beat of silence and a sharp intake of breath, squelching sounds growing louder.
âNo? Thatâs alright, lovie, just two, then,â he coos. Her toes curl up a little at his words, hips rising from the mattress. On any other night, she would have craved more; she would have wanted him to coax her open with him telling her that she can take just one more and that sheâs his good girl. Itâs sad to be turned on by a man simply respecting her limits, but her clit throbs pitifully and some arousal slips out into her underwear.
âGonna come for me, babe?â His words are slurred and wet. âMake me proud.â
Chills rushing down her spine, her body curls into itself, eager for her release. She wants to come so badly; she wants to feel the pleasure for days afterward, to tremble around her hand until she canât take it anymore, to come until sheâs seeing stars. She wants to make him proud, but she knows that she canât come yet, or else she wonât be able to hear him finish. She doesnât have another orgasm in her tonight, and she wants to prolong this experience as much as possible, even if that means holding out on her orgasm. The world spins behind her tightly screwed eyes as she slows her ministrations, the vibrator ticking back down to nothing. Her body reacts before she can even consider the loss, her hips bucking against the toy, attempting desperately to find that little bit of stimulation she needs to finally reach euphoria.
His lips smack loudly as he presses simulated kisses to skin, pulling her back from her foggy mind.
âSo good fâme, pretty,â he says, words muted by skin. âSo good. Hmm, I knew you could be quiet.â His kisses are slow and tired, unlike before when they were rushed and eager. His mattress grumbles as he moves once again, taking his time to, presumably, trail up the length of her trembling body until theyâre suffocating in each other's embrace.
He sighs behind closed lips, heavy and wanton, and she can picture him working his hips into the mattress to find some sort of release. She would pull him up until he was right between her aching legs and press her lips to his neck, feeling his pulse jump at the contact. She would cup his cock through his thin pair of pajamas, teasingly massaging him until he just couldn't take it anymore, caution flying out of his mind as he is overcome by thoughts of her name, her skin, simply <i>her. Trying to form a coherent thought, he would barely be able to hold himself up. She moans quietly at the thought.
âBabylove, we canâtââ He moans, his deep voice splintering. âI donâ know if Iâll be able to control myself.â
She has listened to this audio enough to know what to say to fill the silent gaps to fulfill the ultimate fantasy.
âPlease,â she whispers into the dead air, barely audible over her roommate's voice in the next room. âWanna feel you.â She wishes he was there for her to whisper in his ear, her fingers running up the plain of his back, feeling the heated skin tense at her words. He would quirk an eyebrow.
âYeah? Yâwanna feel my big cock in yâtummy, pretty baby?â
âYes,â she whimpers quietly, suddenly very aware of how much she truly wanted to be filled, to have him so impossibly close to her.
âYâknow I canât say no to you.â She can hear the smile in his voice. She wonders what it looks like, if he beams with an eye-searing grin, his face splitting with happiness, or if he has a shy little smirk, just barely toying on his lips. She likes to think that he has a beautiful smile, filled with warmth and love. She melts a little, a rush of adrenaline coursing through her limbs to the tips of her fingers.
âGet on top.â
She does, eyes still closed as she sits and kneels on her mattress, one hand still between her legs, trying desperately to catch her poor, swollen clit at just the right angle that will leave her thighs quaking, her stomach clenching. Her underwear, which are still stuck around her knees, stretch and snap as her thighs slip and spread further on the sheets.
He moans sharply, and she can feel her hips unconsciously move, as if to pull that sound from him once again. The low vibrations from her little handheld leave her aching for more, nothing more than a faint rumble, but if she flicked it up to the next highest setting, it would surely be heard through the thin walls. Besides, she loves the teasing nearly as much as she hates it, just pushing to the brink before the rush subsides and settles into a quiet lull. Speechless, she gasps for air as yet another jilted orgasm subsides.
She works her hips slowly, careful of the squeaking of her mattress; there are only so many noises that can be passed off as her simply shifting around in her sleep. Her wrist aches at such an awkward angle, but she continues, the burning euphoria just beyond the horizon. He moans, and she nearly follows him, a crest of a cry nearly bursting from her chest but it comes out as a small whimper. She pushes her earbud deeper into her ear, as if to pull him closer.
âSorry, jusâ feel so good,â he says sheepishly, and she can tell that heâs biting his lip by the faint lisp in his words. It would be torture for the both of them, to be so close but unable to move any faster or harder to finally reach the deepest, most pleasurable part, just barely scratching the itch for intimacy. He whimpers pitifully, and she thinks she might fall apart at the sound, but her stupid vibrator leaves her teetering back and forth between over the edge. She wiggles her hips to try to get a better angle, but with just a hint of stimulation, itâs a torturously slow build up.
âThere it is, pretty,â he says, breaths faltering. âThatâs the spot. Make yourself feel good, lovie. Use me.â Her legs ache at the awkward angle, trembling with overexertion. She wishes that she could let go of it, leaving it on the mattress with her pussy and thighs holding it in place, so she can grind on it, unhindered by her own bodyâs exhaustion, eagerly chasing her high. It would also free her hands to tease her breasts again, pulling and pinching at her hardened nipples.
âLove the way you feel, babylove,â he whispers. âFuck, so wet fâme.â He curses again and again, as if no other words can properly describe the feeling of her, so soft, so warm, so fucking good. She could only picture him in abridged visions, his undoubtedly pretty lips parted with his pretty whimpers sneaking through, his features pinched in pleasure. Her eyes roll back as her orgasm quickly approaches.
ââM gonna come,â he says suddenly. âAre you close, too?â She whimpers, arousal slips down her swollen lips and into her furiously working fingers, eager to finish alongside him. âYeah? Yâgonna come with me? Yâgonna come on my cock, pretty?â
She is so close, so unbelievably close, and she struggles to relax her muscles to hold off for just a little longer.
âSo fuckinâ good, such a good fuckinâ girl,â he says sharply. His mattress squeaks now, unable to hold back the sharp jolts of his hips, and he lets go of all inhibitions, moaning freely. She could imagine his hand tracing up her belly, cupping her swinging breasts, and he would suckle on her nipples until her fervent hips faltered. He would brush his hands up the curve of her back, digging into the muscles of her shoulders until she fell forward. Faces nestled together, interlocking like pieces of a puzzle, they would breathe each other in, savoring such a close moment of intimacy. It would feel like a lifetime as they waited with bated breath, using each other to get the most pleasure possible.
She comes when he does, holding her breath to keep the moans from slipping, which makes it all the more euphoric, the chance of nearly getting caught at her most vulnerable and the faint lightheadedness making her vision foggy. Her orgasm leaves her legs trembling, slipping away from her still buzzing toy, falling forward into her sheets. She breathes in sharply, barely holding back a pained cry; fat tears of pleasure soak into her blanket as euphoria crashes and beats into her muscles. The heart-racing, earth-shattering, limb-thrashing orgasm makes her chest heave. Just like she wanted, she is left spent on her mattress, the powerful rush still lingering in her trembling body.
She flips onto her back, quickly pulling her bottoms back up onto her hips. In her drunken stupor, her earbuds fell out, and she can vaguely hear Tangoâs praises. She picks her phone back up, eyes straining under the bright light, and closes out of the audio.
Her head is light, foggy with the residual high. A dazed smile flickers over her lips, exhaustion settling deep in her bones, finally satiated by her orgasm.
She scrolls through his account once again, this time reading through some of his other posts, like links to playlists and cute stories. Suddenly, the little message icon in the corner looks so appealing, teasing and taunting. Perhaps, sheâs feeling a little giddy from her high or maybe itâs from the exhaustion, but she canât seem to find a reason to not do it.
She sends him a message.
Meanwhile, Harry stares at the blinking cursor petulantly. It taunts him amidst a sea of white, a blank canvas in what should have been a completed midterm paper thatâs due in a couple of days. His eyes sink closed, and he starts to drift off, only waking when his hand slips from his cheek, knocking his glasses askew. An old sitcom plays in the background, the canned laughter providing a break in the silence every five seconds. He sighs for the billionth time that evening, struggling to find motivation to even think at this point.
His phone dings, and he happily divulges the distraction, his brows furrowing as he reads a direct message from a user called honeyhi. Heâs used to getting comments on his post, with the occasional direct message (which he usually deletes instantly because of poor past experiences), and now, he usually doesnât think much of them. He isnât doing it to gain anything from anyone. He just wants to put his thoughts out there, and itâs just an added bonus to get validation from beautiful people.
She doesnât have a profile picture, not uncommon on that corner of the web, especially since his posts arenât a lot of peopleâs taste. He wouldnât usually indulge in them, deleting them usually instantly, but something compels him to open her message.
Not to be too forward, but I had the best orgasm of my life, listening to your audios. Iâve listened to your audios for a long time, and honestly, listening to you has become the highlight of my evenings ;)
Honey, you have no idea what that means to me.
Truly, his heart swells at her sweet words. Itâs nice to get complimented on something you put so much effort into. He bares himself for strangers, expressing such an intimate part of himself for their shared pleasure, and it feels reassuring to get compliments.
I mean it. Also, Tango in the Night is arguably one of Fleetwood Macâs best albums. Definitely top three.
Most people assume itâs a sex thing.
I wonder why.
He laughs a little at the dry comment.
So, what are the other two in your top three albums?
Pre or post Stevie Nicks?
Post, of course. What kind of question is that?
That was a test. You passed. I think weâll get along just fine, Tango.
I think so, too, Honey.
â
Y/N rushes past the postman, nearly toppling over when her bag shifts slightly on her arm, her thick binders peek out of the top and dig into her arm. Her hand furiously slaps the elevator button, and she stands impatiently, her dangling keys shaking at her hip. The doors tremble as the weight teeters down to the main floor, far too slowly in her opinion. For a moment, she considers just running up the three flights of stairs to her floor, but that feels a little too eager.
She and Tango have their weekly phone call tonight, and her classes ran long today; that coupled with the stand-still traffic made her more anxious than usual to get home. She always calls first, since her schedule is the most complicated, and sheâll feel absolutely awful if she was late for their call. She feels silly getting worked up over such a small thing, but their friendship progressed beyond the occasional messages in the past month, and she honestly looks forward to their weekly talks. Tango is such a beautiful and humble person, and he is such a stable place of comfort. She knows that he will be understanding and have an independent, secondary perspective on any situation.
He is someone she can rely on for just about anything.
The bell dings above her, and the elevator doors finally part. After barreling inside, she sinks against the railing, glancing at the time, which is still just before her usual calling time. She sighs sharply when the doors begin to close, relief tugging on her shoulders.
However, a hand pushes through the liftâs doors before they can shut, and she bites back an irritated groan; she probably could have made it to her apartment by now if she had ran up the stairs. The man slides in and gives her a grateful nod, accompanied by a small smile. Much to her delight, he presses the âclose doorâ button quickly, and theyâre met with no interruptions this time. Itâs a quiet ride, despite her nervous feet tapping, and he taps away on his phone,
She admires him out of the corner of her eye, forgetting momentarily about her anxiety. Half of his hair is pulled back in a small bun, exposing the darker locks underneath, and a bandana pushes back the frizzy flyaways that would normally frame his face. The thick strands curl slightly at the ends; thereâs one tight coil that she wants to tug on. She could easily become enamored with him, with his pretty green eyes and day-old stubble. His bag has H.E.S embroidered on the bottom corner. A coral colored, gem necklace rests beautifully on his tanned chest, which is mostly covered by a near see-through white top, covered with a baggy, gingham jumper.
After living in the building for two years, they have run into one another on several occasions but have never really spoken. He lives on the second floor, and he goes to the university as well.
When he leaves, after offering another nod and quick smile, she calls Tango. He answers after the second ring.
âHey, sweets,â he grumbles, not as chipper as his usual self. Her heart sinks a little. He had his midterms last week, and she can only assume that the results are not what he had hoped.
âOh, no,â she says. âWhat happened?â
ââS nothinâ,â he insists, but she can hear the irritation in his voice. ââM jusâ getting myself worked up over nothinâ. How was your day?â
Clearly not wanting to talk, he changes the subject, which is something Y/N has grown used to over the past few months. He doesnât like to vent when heâs too upset because heâs afraid of lashing out and taking his aggression out on her. Thankfully, she has also learned how to distract him. Usually, his annoyance melts away within minutes, and he is his usual, bubbly self again.
âWell, let me tell you, I nearly killed the postman today, and someone nearly hit my car today.â
âWhat?â He asks incredulously. âPlease, elaborate.â
And so, she does.
A couple hours later, Y/Nâs in her kitchen, making avocado and tomato toast for the fifth time this week. Her roommate is gone for the weekend, thankfully, which means she can get more stuff done without interruptions (and she can talk to Tango for as long as she wants without getting interrogated about it). His mood had improved significantly after she was able to make him laugh at her own expense (he especially liked the story about how she grabbed her iced coffee too quickly this morning and spilled it all over the baristaâs hand).
âI have a question,â he says quickly, as if he wouldnât have the courage to ask if he held onto it for a moment longer.
âOkay,â she says slowly, almost fearful at the sudden change of tone in his voice.
âWould you be able to listen to something I recorded the other day?â He giggles nervously. âI dunno. I just feel a little,â he makes a little noise, âoff about it.â
Stunned, she stares at her phone, the seconds ticking by before her very eyes, and despite the fact that the only reason why they know each other is because she listened to his audios, sheâs a little taken aback by the question. Before she knows it, too much time has passed for her to brush off as anything but bewilderment. She stutters.
âIâuhâsure?â
âYou donât sound too sure.â
âNo, I am.â Stubborn and not willing to back down, she digs herself a deeper hole, despite the odd feeling growing in her stomach. âYes, I will listen to it for you.â
âOkay, then,â he says breathlessly. âIâll send it to you.â
Neither know what to say now. Conversation usually came easy to them, so it feels so strange to be stuck in such an uncomfortable silence. Now, sheâs gone and ruined everything because of her hesitation. Why did she even hesitate? Thereâs no reason to be embarrassed. Theyâre both very open, sexual people, and itâs nothing to get so worked up over. Maybe, itâs the fact that itâs him, and she knows him so well now. Compared to before, when he was just some stranger on the internet, she knows his likes, dislikes; hell, she has even spoken to his cat, and it feels wrong because he is her friend, and thatâs not what friends are supposed to do.
âItâs not weird. Is it?â He asks shyly.
âOf course not.â She says it a little too quickly. Admittedly, it feels a <i>little weird, now that she thinks about it. It would be like walking in on your friend having sex. Then again, the only reason why they really know each other is because she listened to his audios (which is basically him jerking off to his dirty thoughts). However, itâs not an aspect they spoke about too often, usually after a couple of drinks. Their friendship, despite how it began, is purely innocent. They were each otherâs comfort person; they were there to vent, laugh, and talk with. Neither ever hinted toward anything different, other than the occasional, playful flirting.
âNo, Iâll listen to it for you. What are friends for?â
She doesnât know why her heart is beating so fast.
âThank you,â he says.
âSo,â she says, âdo you want me to listen to it now?â
âEager, are we?â He hums teasingly.
âShut up,â she scoffs.
âI mean, if you wanted to hear some dirty talk, all you had to do was ask.â
âPlease, stop talking.â
âYâknow Iâm always down to clown.â
âIâm hanging up now.â
True to her words, she doesnât wait for him to answer before she ends the call.
Her phone dings a second later with the link along with another cheeky message. The link is to a private web upload platform, and she feels special for a moment. She wonders if she should just listen to it while eating her toast and go about her usual routine, or if she should do what she usually does when listening to his audios. Is that what he would want, though? Would it make him feel uncomfortable? Is it more weird to just listen to him moan in her ear while doing mundane tasks around the house?
Granted, they have had some conversations about sex and the like, but this feels so much more intimate, especially because he knows that sheâs going to listen to him jerk off, not to even mention the obscene things that come from his mouth.
What does it mean for their friendship? Perhaps, itâs not even meant to mean anything, just a sincere favor asked between two friends. Maybe, itâs meant to be a step toward something more on his part. Is that even what she wants?
She brushes off that thought quickly, as she has for months, because deep down, she knows it would just end up in disappointment.
Oh, what a mess.
Sheâs headed on a downward spiral that has no chance of stopping unless itâs hit by a freight train to hell.
She opts to forgetting her toast and slips into her bedroom, falling onto her blankets giddily. She presses play on the audio, her heart racing as it loads, and leaves her phone face down next to her ear, eyes closing to fully immerse herself, trying to ignore her anxiety.
âHello,â he says slowly, almost shyly, and it feels like one of their late nights again, with him talking through her phone and her cuddled in bed, listening eagerly. âIâve just gotten home, but Iâve been thinkinâ about this all day. Couldnât go to sleep before gettinâ it out there, yâknow.â He giggles, a pretty little noise sheâs heard many times now. He laughs a lot, sometimes at himself, but mostly in response to her. He even laughs at her corny, little puns, which she appreciated.
âAnd âm really hard right now, so that doesnât help either. I havenât really been able to come in the past two weeks. Been too busy with⊠life, I guess. But a friend of mine talked to me about the world of BDSM. Sheâs a kinky little shit.â
Y/Nâs heart lurches, stomach twisting with an unrecognizable feeling, knowing that the certain friend he is talking about is her. She remembers the conversation well, even though she was a little tipsy and very high, mostly because it was also the first time they had actually spoken on the phone, and it began as it normally does, about mundane things that happened that week. Somehow, the conversation shifted to kinks, and she told him that she wouldnât be opposed to more sinful acts in the bedroom, most of which her previous partners had not indulged.
âIâm pretty vanilla, I guess. I just love to love people. I donât think thereâs anything wrong with that. Iâve never really been into that sort of thing, but now, I canât stop thinking about it, and Iâve been kinda into some dark, dom stuff lately,â he admits slowly. âDark for me, at least, which, again, doesnât say much.â Thereâs another laugh, radiant and delicate.
âI dunno why, but Iâve been fantasizing about taking you into our room. A little lackluster, I know, but Iâm not into the dark, dingy places, like those sex dungeons they have in the movies, where thereâs lots of leather, red lights, music, quite the ambience.â He stops suddenly, and she could imagine his lips pursing to cease his ramblings. She wishes he wouldnât do that so much; she wishes that he wouldnât doubt himself and his beautiful way with words. If only he could be as confident in himself as she is in him.
âI just want to lay you down on our bed with our fluffy blankets pushed off to the side. Then, if either of us need to take a moment or stop, we can.â Her heart swells a little at his words. Even though heâs trying to talk about, in his words, âdark, dom stuffâ, he is still so sweet and considerate, and she canât help but soften. He trails off.
Faintly, she can hear him yank his belt from the loops, and itâs, honestly, one of the hottest things she has ever heard; the teasing glimpse of what could come far more erotic than anything any of her other partners could do. She could only imagine what it would feel like to have him in front of her, shirtless with his pants low on his hips; maybe he would be wearing the same floral pants he is in his profile picture, the ones that are unbelievably tight. She would be splayed on the bed, just observing this beauty of a man, waiting patiently for him to come and ravish her.
Sheâs sure that his tattoos cover more than just his arms, but how many more is a question that haunts her. The thought of a big tattoo on his thigh that she can grind on while he moans about how much of a good girl she is has led to many obscene dreams. She imagines black images carved into his chest, perhaps a trail of floating rose petals from his collar bone to his peck or a hellish looking snake wrapped around his waist. More vividly, she envisions a bold tattoo just beneath his belly button, one that she would scratch at while he violently pounded into her, one that she would kiss and lick before she would take him in her mouth.
Oh, what she would do to be able to feel his skin on hers.
She dips her hand beneath the band of her shorts out of habit, toying with the silky material of her panties. She tries not to think too much about her feelings, fearing it would deepen the ache in her heart.
âAnyway, youâd be on the bed,â he says, his usual slow, stifling voice pulling her deeper into the fantasy, ânaked, on your knees with your pretty pussy facing me. Youâre all tied up, starting at your wrists and ankles, and there would be a pretty knot down your spine that I can grab while I fuck you from behind.â
Her cunt throbs at the sudden turn. She could only imagine: her face pressed into the pillows, choking on the sheets, her muscles tight, aching beneath the restraints, and her voice raw, sobbing from overstimulation. Exhausted and wanton, she would take anything that he would be willing to give her. He would shove her face into the mattress, mounting her, and he would tug on the rope until it felt like it would permanently embedded in her wet skin, telling her how much of a good little slut she is, taking him so well.
She doesn't know why sheâs drawn to rope play; perhaps, itâs all a part of the subtle nuances of the sex, the intimacy of tying the complex binds around your partner and the intricacies of sensory manipulation with such overwhelming stimulation. Itâs so much more than just being bound while fucking. There is such a deep reliance on the other person to understand your body, your limits, your needs. Itâs about trust and vulnerability. She thinks of it in such a melodic and romantic way; it must have resonated with Tango.
âOr Iâd tie your arms to your legs, keeping you spread open for me on your back, with knots around your belly, the lead falling between your tits.â Her eyes flutter closed. While rope play is something that she has always wanted to try but never felt comfortable enough with another person to act on it. He would be different though. She cups her pussy, languidly running her fingers through her wet folds, feeling the arousal slip down her skin before settling on her sheets.
She pinches her clit, and her legs immediately jerk around her arm. Feeling far too sensitive for that type of stimulation, she simply strokes through her lips, focusing her ministrations on the delicate inside, close to her sopping entrance, enjoying the slow build.
âThen, I could hold onto your neck while I fuck you, and I like being able to see your face, to see how good Iâm making you feel, to see tears of pleasure run down your pretty face. You could suck on my fingers while I fuck you, deep and hard. Dâya wanna choke on my fingers, pretty?â
She wants absolutely nothing more. She would gladly suck on his fingers if it meant that she could see the look of awe in his eyes, lust darkening his features when she bites teasingly on his nail.
âBut if youâre on your knees, I could watch you in the mirror and still see your face. From behind, I can see your pretty, tight pussy take my cock.â He whimpers. âI havenât decided which I would rather have.â
She canât decide, either.
Then again, they could always have both.
âOf course, I wouldnât give you my cock that easily. No, youâre going to be crying for me, begging for me to fuck you, and I dunno if I would fuck you right away or make you beg for it. I think for the first bit, after youâre all tied up for me, Iâll tease you, just barely touching you, pulling on the lead, the ropes tightening around your aching body. I think your tits would look so pretty all tied up fâme, babylove.
âWhen youâve finally had enough, crying for me to stuff you full of my cock, Iâd let you come, but Iâd only use my fingers, never giving you what you really want. Maybe Iâll put a little vibrator on your clit and leave you there, having you come again and again until it hurts. Iâd have you keep your panties on, of course. Donât want you making a mess of the sheets, and then, when I finally give you my cock, Iâll put them in your mouth to keep you quiet, and so you can taste yourself.â
His moans are in the forefront in his sensual song, mixed amongst a symphony of bed and friction sounds. She matches his pace, flicking her wrist in time with the sound of him working his wet cock. She massages the entirety of her pussy, messily rubbing her fingers from the tip of her poor, swollen clit to her throbbing opening.
âFuck, babylove, youâd be so good fâme, taking my cock so deep in your pussy. Would you cry fâme, pretty? Cry for daddy to fuck you into the mattress.â A rumbling groan finally breaks free, and she is so close to falling apart, her high festering into her muscles, burning through her nerves; her skin feels hot to the touch. She struggles to breathe, but she doesn't yearn for air as much as she does her end. Tears in her eyes, she clutches onto her blanket, tugging it in her mouth to keep from crying too loudly. She sobs, feeling a familiar tightness in her body, just beyond her grasp. Her hand still moves over her pussy, arousal seeping through trembling fingers, but she canât reach her peak with such light, varied stimulation, her hips buckling.
âMy pretty rope bunny,â he mutters. Heâs desperate, truly just rambling on and on about anything that comes to mind. âMy pretty honey,â he whimpers, almost inaudibly, âhoney, honey.â
For a second, she thinks of the times that word has passed through his lips in less sinful situations, a slow, lulling honey when heâs trying to get her attention, sweet and innocent. Thatâs his special name for her, and she wonders if, possibly, he thinks about her in the same way she does, if he wishes to be with her in such an intimate way, just as she does. She thinks, incredulously, that maybe she isnât overanalyzing the situation.
His bed squeaks faintly in the background, just barely heard over his withering voice. She can only begin to imagine what he looks like in that moment, legs tense, feet digging into the mattress, his hips thrusting to fuck himself into his fist. The head of his cock would peek through the top of his fist as he coerced his release free. She wishes she could see what he looks like when he comes, when he finally reaches his most euphoric moment. Itâs such a primal thing to witness, to see someone liberated of all inhibitions, to observe them completely succumbing to their instincts. Itâs such a beautiful thing to see someone acquiesce control and thrive so harmoniously with their body.
âI wanna wrap my belt around your throat.â He swallows thickly. She whines along with him. Perhaps, sheâs just fooling herself, but she can swear that she could almost hear the sound of a leather belt squeezing in his fist. A pitiful pool of wetness slips between her ass cheeks.
âMy cock hurts just thinking about how youâd sound.â He moans, mimicking the desperate heaves that would undoubtedly slip through her lips as he pulls his belt tightly around her throat. âThen, when youâre bratty, I can just wrap my hand around the belt and make it tighter.
âPlease,â he mocks weakly, âplease, sir, Iâll be good. But youâre just saying that to get what you want. Youâre just a naughty, little slut arenât you?â
âYes,â she returns weakly.
âMaybe, I could get you a collar and pull you around with that. Would you like that?â He hums. âOf course, you would. Youâre my pretty, little bunny.â
In any other instance, she would feel humiliated to be so aroused at being so weak and submissive to another, but he could convince her to do anything at this point. Sheâs close, toes curling and muscles tightening, and she waits for his familiar profession that he is also near the edge, but the silence that follows is deafening, a disappointing resolution to an intense narrative. It makes her stop completely, wet hand flipping her phone over to see that, indeed, she had listened to all of the audio. It knocks the air from her lungs when she realizes that that was it. She isnât going to hear his cute little whimpers as he comes nor his sweet aftercare.
Frustrated from her ruined orgasm, she calls him instantly, and he picks up after the fourth ring this time, as if he <i>knows</i> that she is this needy and frustrated. She doesnât give him the chance to greet her.
âThat couldnât have been all of it.â
âWell, hello to you, tooââ
âI didnât get to hear you come.â
âIs that what you wanna hear, honey?â
âWell, yeah, I always come withââ She stops before she says something sheâll regret, but by the sound of his laughter, itâs already too late. She wants to hide away in embarrassment.
âItâs only partially finished. I thought I told you that.â She can hear the teasing smirk he surely has plastered on his face, the cheeky bastard. âI just wanted to hear what you thought so far before I finished it. Thereâs no point in finishing something that I already feel isnât worth the time.â
âWell, then,â she stutters quickly, âHow does it end?â
âHow do you think it should end?â
Thereâs a certainty in his words, as if he has already accepted her as a lover, and she knows that he is giving her the opportunity to initiate the next step. Fear squeezes her chest, and for a second, she worries that she isnât brave enough to follow through. Every fiber of her being is pleading with her to just take that risk, but another, more rational side of her, is saying itâs better to say a quick I donât know, and they would move on as normal.
âWhere would you come?â
Oh, it feels so filthy to ask that, but itâs so relieving to hear the hum of approval that passes through his lips.
Her heart races, not like before; this is exciting and new and arousing, and it feels wrong. She doesnât even know what he looks like; hell, she doesnât even know his real name, and sheâs so fucking ready and willing to give herself to him. Thereâs just so many reasons to not pursue him. She feels ashamed, almost, that she is weak for a man she knows nothing about.
âHmm, thatâs a good question. Where would you like me to come?â
But how can she not get weak when he asks her things like that?
Shivers bloom on her skin in sunflower blossoms. She knows what he wants to hear, and usually, she would tease him, telling him that he didnât care if he even came or not, but the throbbing between her legs is relentless, and sheâs just lust-drunk that sheâll say just about anything to get what she needs. She begins rubbing herself again, focusing solely on her clit this time instead of the entirety of her pussy in the palm of her hand. Breathing out shakily, she answers honestly.
âEverywhere.â
He moans, and she knows that was the right answer.
âEverywhere? Such a greedy girl. You want me to come down your throat? You wanna taste it? Maybe, Iâll have you choke on my cock, fuck yâface until youâre crying.â
After he was done fucking her, sheâs sure that he would yank her up either by the rope around her breasts or by the belt around her neck (she canât decide which yet) and put his cock by her mouth, rubbing himself over her lips and chin, but never quite pushing past the barrier of her lips; no, she would be the one to open her sweet mouth for him, her jaw lax and tongue wet as she takes everything heâd give her.
God, yes, she wants to taste him. She wants him to use her in every possible, degrading way: to use her mouth while she tied up, under his mercy, to fuck her face until she has tears dripping down her cheeks, wetting her heaving chest, to come down her throat until sheâs choking on him, but he would pinch her nose and make her taste it until her vision was blurry.
âYouâd take it all, babylove. Wonât you?â
He asks so innocently, his deep voice having a soft twinge, but she knows that itâs not optional, not that she would choose otherwise. She would greedily lap at his cum and drink it all, proudly showing off her empty mouth when sheâs done. Maybe, he would insist that she keep it in her mouth and pull her into a wet, heated kiss, prying her lips apart so he can taste himself on her tongue.
âI could make a mess on your belly or your tits, and then, I could lick you clean. Or I could mark up your thighs and watch it drip onto the sheets.â
The thought of him marking her with his come is nearly enough for her to reach her peak. A voice in the back of her head chastises her for being so greedy; this is something she has fantasized about since they started talking, and itâs going to be over before it can even begin at this rate. She needs to distract herself, to focus on anything other than the painful throbbing between her legs.
âOr I could come inside you.â
Thatâs the last thing she needed to hear.
Only because it makes a thick bead of arousal seep into her sheets. It makes her finally give in and sink two fingers inside herself, and <i>fuck, sheâs so wet and swollen and pliable. She sobs, truly biting back even louder cries behind gritted teeth. She curses again and again at the feeling coursing through her veins, heat spreading in her belly as her hips frantically move against her ministrations.
âBy the sound of that moan, I think thatâs definitely preferred. Such a filthy girl. Yâwant me to fill your belly? Want me to mark you as mine?â
She just knows that he could fill her to the brim, but he would want to prolong the experience as much as possible, teasing her with his cock and coaxing her to beg for his cum.
She could just imagine the determined look in his eyes, so close to coming, but he would pull out, just barely teasing her trembling entrance with his twitching cock. He wouldnât move, and when she would beg for him to put it back in and just fuck her until she couldnât breath, he would say very simply: if yâwant my cum so bad, put my cock back inside.
God, his face would be gleaming with this power, satisfied with seeing her so needy for his cum. Shamefully, she would put one of her hands on his hip while the other grasps his cock, pushing on him until he sinks entirely inside her once again, but he still wouldnât move, simply filling her, the both of them twitching with arousal. He would demand that she make him come if she wants it so bad, as if it's a gift from the heavens.
âAre you touching yourself?â He asks, and only then does she realize that she was drowning in her fantasy; the sudden change makes her stop rubbing herself, her vision hazy. She parts her lips with wet fingers, slipping back down to her entrance, gently prodding inside until that euphoria builds once again.
âYes,â she admits shamefully. ââM so fucking wet for you.â
âDirty little slut,â he says sharply. He has no room to judge, especially since she can hear the all-too-familiar sounds to him jerking his cock, wet sounds of his fist passing over the thick head echoing in her empty room. She is near tears at this point, so needy and high and horny, but she wants to make this last.
âWould you let me come? Please, can I come?â
Itâs his turn to moan with approval, and she feels proud. His heavy breathing in time with hers, he seems to be lost in pleasure, voice hitching as he struggles to find words. Her orgasm swells to a near crest once again, but she wants to hear him finish. At this point, she knows what it sounds like, from the frantic ramblings to the guttural moans, and heâs not quite there yet.
âDo you think you deserve to come, honey? You think youâve been a good girl fâme?â
âYes, Iâm a good girlâfuckâplease, please, I need to come.â She stumbles through her words, what little power she held in her withering grasp deflating instantly from his words.
âI dunno, I think youâre a brat who just wants to get off.â
Itâs painful how much his words impact her, volatile muscles spasming while she staves of hee end. She whimpers, sinking further in her headspace; she feels a cloud settle in her vision (or perhaps those are tears), overwhelming yet freeing.
âNo, Iâm your good girl,â she insists.
âI think youâll have to prove it to me, honey,â he replies slyly. âI donât think Iâll let you come quickly. I want you to beg for it. Can you do that fâme, babylove? Beg me to come.â
âFuck, Iâm so close,â she says. âPlease, please, I need it. Please, let me come.â
âYou can do better than that,â he says, voice cracking. Their harmonious sounds of excitement drive both of them closer to their orgasms.
âOh, godâplease, IâfuckâI need it so bad. âM so close, please.â She can barely speak coherently. Chills wrack her sore body, waves of throbbing pleasure threatening to break her. She wantedâno, neededâhim to finish.
âCome fâme, Honey,â he says. âYouâre my good girl, so good fâme. Câmon, babylove, come with me.â
She does. With ears ringing and eyes closing, she comes until her pussy aches. It feels never ending, euphoria consuming every part of her sweat-laden flesh, chilling and fiery, for hoursâor perhaps only seconds. She canât tell.
âThank you,â she whispers, her vision blurry. Her body trembles with residual aftershocks of her intense orgasm. She lays spread open on her bed, her pussy still too sensitive to close her legs entirely.
âThank you for letting me come.â In her daze, her limbs fall away limply. All she can do is exist at this moment. She vaguely wonders if he finished with her, the thought of his deep moans fueling another fire. A part of her is disappointed that she wasn't present enough to listen to him, but another part knows that more opportunities will come.
âYouâre so welcome, honey,â he says sweetly. âI think we both really needed that today.â
She hums, still recovering from such a powerful end. She slowly regains her breathing.
âI guess I should be thanking you because thatâs one of the best orgasms Iâve ever had,â he says. She laughs.
âYou flatter me.â
âIâm serious. Nearly gave myself a pearl necklace.â
And just like that, everything continues as normal. Both know that the other is naked and satiated, but neither feels uncomfortable with the fact. If anything, it makes things relieved, open, or comfortable. Theyâre both giggly in the golden after-glow.
âWhat does this mean for us, Honey?â
As, yes, the dreaded âtalkâ. Fear immediately spikes in her veins, and she struggles to find her words. Before she can answer, he begins speaking again.
âLook, I really like talking with you, and I donât want this to make things weird, but I meant what I said earlier. That was probably one of the best orgasms of my life, and I donât think that I could live without your pretty little moans now that Iâve heard them. Maybe, we can do that again. We donât have to put a label on it or anything, if you donât want to.â
Her heart sinks. Is that all that he wants?
âRight, it doesnât have to be anything serious, just us having some stress relief.â Her words are dry and forced, feeling like bile in her mouth. She grits her teeth. What the hell had she just gotten herself into?
âHey, uh, itâs late, and I have to wake up early tomorrow. Same time next week?â
She hopes that he doesnât think that she regrets what they did, and she hopes he doesnât think too much into her abrupt ending of the call. Itâs not a total lie; she does have work early tomorrow morning, but she has had more than a few days where she was running on two hours of sleep and a miracle. She just wants to get off the phone before he hears the contemplation in her voice.
âYou think I can wait a week after that? You have too much faith in me.â
âI think youâll survive, babe,â she says.
âGood night, babylove.â
âGood night.â
She falls asleep quickly after, dreaming of the nameless, faceless man who she bares her soul to.
Later that night, as Harry edits the finally finished audio, he thinks back to Honey and their mutual pleasure, feeling like an absolute idiot for saying that it was nothing serious. He wasnât expecting her to agree so emphatically, so quickly.
Although, what had he expected? He was the one who suggested it. No matter, he canât have a relationship right now, especially a long distance one. He would just end up getting hurt, but he likes her too much to stop talking to her completely. He finally took their relationship further even if it wonât lead to anything more.
â
âAre you ready to admit defeat?â
Y/N lets out a breathy laugh, despite her current situation, her hand rubbing leisure circles on her already sensitive clit, which still throbs from her first orgasm of the night. Tango murmurs praise in her humming ears.
Sheâs not really sure what they are, and she doesnât want to think about it. It would only complicate things more.
Friends? Definitely.
Well, maybe not definitely, since she doesnât even know his name, but what other word could she use to define their relationship? What sort of friends would say such filthy things to each other? Why would he call her âmy honeyâ so emphatically if they were âjust friendsâ? Too afraid of misinterpreting his intentions and embarrassing herself, she doesnât mention anything, and he never does either, but it keeps her awake at night, wondering what they could be if she could just put her feelings to words.
This would be the second hour of their phone call, and it only took them ten minutes for the conversation to turn into one of their âstress relieving sessionsâ. Both of them had a terrible day; she was late for the first day at her new job (they were understanding given the circumstances, but it still left a sour taste in her mouth), and he slept through an exam. She eased him into a submissive headspace quickly, babbling about what a good boy he is and how proud she is of him. Within minutes, he came, and she whispered all the filthy things she wanted to do to him until he was completely spent, his cock milked of all remnants of his seed, twitching and throbbing with empty orgasms.
He easily fell into the dominant headspace after his quick high, and he was adamant that he could make her come more than any of her other partners, even without him truly there. She knows that he can; hell, she has touched herself to his voice more times than she could count, but she likes teasing him, hearing him get all riled up and stubborn.
âAre you gonna come again, honey?â
âNope,â she breathes, âNot even a little close.â
âYouâre obviously lying or not trying,â he says sharply, and a sense of pride swells in her chest at her ability to get a rise out of him without even trying. She smirks.
âWhat are you gonna do? Punish me?â
âI might have to.â
Sheâs sure he would, too, but it would be in the most pleasurable way possible, with his mouth and fingers and cock stimulating her until she comes so many times she canât take anymore. Her fingers trace her most intimate area, nails scraping against her quivering core. She sinks two fingers inside, feeling her sopping pussy swallow them easily, adjusting quickly and craving more. She tries to find that sweet, spongy spot inside her, but she canât seem to reach it.
âWish it was your fingers,â she mumbles, her movements certain and even, but itâs never enough for her greedy body.
âYeah, lovie?â He croons, âtheyâd be so big in your tight little pussy.â She hums, wishing that he was there to stuff her in every way possible.
âWould you wear your rings?â
âFor you? Of course.â Her eyes roll back at the thought; his thick fingers could tear her at the seams, and with the added texture of his rings, she would be coming within seconds. Her clit throbs, blood rushing in time with her racing heart, and she massages it harder, wanton and waiting for yet another release. âCâmon, babylove, Come for me. Make me proud,â he coaxes. His words make her fall over that edge once more, thighs shaking and pussy weeping. Sheâs sure thereâs a creamy stain beneath her, seeping into her wet skin.
âAgain,â he demands. She thinks she may break. âKeep going, babylove. Whereâs that toy you told me about?â
He knows that she wonât be able to come much longer on her own, with the pain overwhelming the pleasure.
âItâs so far away,â she whines.
âGo grab it, love,â
Her legs tremble as she twists around, reaching blindly into her bedside drawer. She canât close her legs too much without getting overstimulated; her legs ache and twitch. Once the toy is situated just above her clit, she ticks it on. Her body reacts immediately, limbs jolting about, hips ducking away, and her voice catching. Gasping, she almost wants to take the toy away, the stimulation being far too much.
He thinks differently.
âTurn it up higher, lovie,â he says so sweetly. Her chest feels like it could almost collapse into itself. Still dizzy from her orgasm, sheâs not sure if she can take it, her body fighting against her. She wants to beg and plead for something, but she doesnât even know what for. Is it for yet another orgasm that will surely be more powerful that any other? Or is it for the burning at every nerve ending to stop?
âI dunnoââ
âYou can take it, such a good little bunny for me.â
The vibrator ticks to the next setting, a sharp, persistent sound echoes in her empty room, followed by an even louder shout. She has not control anymore. Thankfully, sheâs home alone or else it would be an awkward morning with her roommate listening to her cries of pleasure well into the night. Her hand shakes, but she presses the head of the toy harder to her clit. She lets out a guttural groan, feeling euphoria seep from every pore.
âThere it is,â he moans, breathing growing ragged. Heâs surely jerking himself off, basking in the pleasure with her, and it makes her arousal burn deeper. She wants to put on a show for him, to egg him on and make him feel as good as he makes her feel.
âThereâs my pretty girl. Let me hear you, baby.â
She can barely squeeze out a few breathless whimpers from her chest, hedonisticâno, animalisticâsobs crash through her. Pain and pleasure fight for control, just as her mind and body do.
âFeel good?â
âYes,â she says weakly. âFeels so good.â
She comes quickly with a silent cry, her lips parted and face scrunched. Saliva slips from her open mouth, and she is unable to wipe it away, lewdly dripping down her chin to her neck before finding itâs place on her dirtied sjeets. The recovery period is quicker this time; itâs either that or her body is becoming numb to anything but pleasure. It feels like itâs never ending with the vibrator still nestled tightly to her puffy cilt. Her lips are surely swollen now too, tender from too many orgasms, yet still sopping with arousal.
âDonât take it away,â he says, âYou got another one in ya. You can do it, lovie.â
His voice is muffled beneath blankets where her phone lies, lost in her ravenous bouts of pleasure, limbs writhing and tossing. Her body aches when she twists to put it back up by her ear to hear him more clearly, muscles tight from her previous orgasms. Legs closing slightly, she whines when the toy presses harder against her clit, hips ducking away from the strong vibrations, eyes fluttering closed. Her phone falls out of her grasp once more, but the light illuminates the dark room, casting a warm glow.
âPleaseââ
Sheâs not really sure what sheâs begging for; it just slips out, a weak plea. Perhaps, she just wants him to be there instead of on the other end of a phone call, in some faraway place she doesnât even know. The room would feel so much warmer with him here, her back pressed to his chest, their sweat mingling. Maybe he would wear those pretty lace stockings he showed her a picture of once, the glittery fabric coarse against her skin as he teases his toes along her leg, keeping them spread. His freckled and inked arms wrapped tightly around her middle, paying special attention to her tummy, he would whisper sweet things in her ear and press on the area right below her belly button, telling her of how he wants to grind his pretty cock against her soft middle until she is sticky with his precum, how he can fuck himself that deep inside her. She would feel him for days after.
âI know it hurts, baby, but just one more, then you can go to bed.â
It sounds so nice, the thought of sinking into her pillows for a good night's rest, but an orgasm sounds even better, one leaving her spent and satiated and sleepy.
âSuch a good girl fâme.â
As much as she wants to, the sensitivity becoming nearly unbearable, she canât stop; she wants to make him proud, to prove to him that sheâs his good girl who can take it. Even though heâs not truly there with her to hold her and make sure she comes, she still wants to do as he says. Her legs tremble, threatening to close.
She squeaks when the vibrator hits a particularly sensitive angle on her clit, and she bites into her pillow to keep from crying out. Her hips work desperately, to reach that high for the last time, just one more, like an addict itching for one more hit. Itâs her fourth orgasm within ten minutes, and this might just be her breaking point.
âI dunno if I can.â Her words slur, and she can feel spit dripping down her puckered lips. She suddenly wishes he was there to wipe it away, thumb soft and subtle against her skin, lingering on her puffy lips.
âOne more, babylove,â he insists. âJust one more. Youâre doing so well.â She bites back a mangled cry, eyes squeezing shut, her thoughts lost in a dark chaos. His voice is the only anchor amidst a dizzying high, coaxing her through her stupor with sweet words.
âMy pretty girl, my good fucking girl, taking it so well.â His gravelly voice pulls her from drowning, his words gritty from his clenched jaw. âYouâre not hurting too much, are ya?â
His deep voice is soft, lilting with a tender care she needs. She could simply melt, blanketed in the warmth of his rich voice.
âA little,â she admits, a dull ache in her belly when she clenches too tightly. âBut it feels so good.â
The vibrations pulse through her body, leaving her voice shaky, and she shifts slightly, hips digging into the mattress. It settles on the underside of her clit, and itâs so close to that one spot, until finallyâthere, there, thereâright there. She groans, low and guttural, drawn out from the depths of her chest, animalistic almost. Her body burns and trembles for a second before yet another strong, unrelenting wave drowns her. Every muscle in her body tenses as the head of the vibrator finds the one tender spot on her clit, catching at just the right angle that leaves her eyes teary, world dizzy. She knows itâll be painful if she doesnât pull away, a harsh orgasm building, but she canât stop, not with him listening to her, waiting for her final bitter end.
Sheâs doing so good for him, such a good bunny. She trembles in the wake of such a violent euphoria, weak moans slipping in time with her belated breathing. It passes through in waves, the pain, a bittersweet burning welling deep inside her, but a different ache persists, one that leaves her yearning for more, one that makes her dig her feet into the mattress and press herself harder on the toy. Her toes curl, and her back arches, free hand twisting the sheets.
He hums appreciatively.
âMy bunny likes it when it hurts. Doesnât she?â
âYes,â she sobs, âI want it to hurt.â Hips shuttering away from the relentless vibrator, Y/N feels her final orgasm build, pain lingering around the edges as her muscles twitch.
âSuch a dirty little slut.â Her back arches at his filthy words, arousal pooling beneath her. She could feel it wetting her thighs. âJust fâme, right, honey? Just my pretty slut.â
She comes quickly, eyes rolling back as it overwhelms all of her senses. She feels tense yet relaxed. A broken cry breaks from her swollen lips as she shatters, falling apart for the final time. Her muscles quiver, tiny shocks lingering in the aftermath of so many orgasms in such quick succession. Her limbs ache. Her heart races. Her pussy throbs. She knows that this will be all she can take, her body completely spent. She canât find the energy to keep her eyes open, and they roll back.
âYou alright?â
âYeah,â she says, still struggling to find her breath and collect her thoughts, but when she does, a smile breaks her face. She feels everything and nothing all at once, so perfectly numb. She finds herself laughing incredulously because that cocky little bastard was right: he made her come more times than anyone has before. She laughs until tears slip down her warm cheeks.
This is the part where the emotions start to become just as overwhelming as her release. So much sinks in all at once, and she realizes just how alone she is, and she wishes he was here to pull her back down to earth, to hold and to love. She feels deflated. The sexual release is such a rush, but it brings devastating lows. With tears in her eyes, she struggles not to cave into herself.
âYou sure youâre okay?â
âYeah,â she lies, a sob curling in her lungs, forcing its way out in a blubbering mess. Once the first one escapes, the rest follow easily. She canât seem to stop, heaving cries wracking her already sore body as she clutches onto her pillow. She fists her phone to her ear in an attempt to be closer to him, but that makes the feeling grow worse, settling to a black hole in her stomach, sucking all euphoria from her. Tears soak into her skin and sink into her ear, muffling his comforting words.
âLet it out, babylove,â he says softly. âI know, I know. I know. Sometimes it can just get really overwhelming.â His words are gentle, just as he is, and maybe thatâs what makes this even worse. He is everything she wants. He is just so perfect for her in every way, but he is ao far from her reach. Maybe it would be better if he wasnât such a good person. Maybe that would make the yearning go away. Sheâs quiet, slowly breathing through stuttering sniffles.
âHey,â he says softly, âGo pee and clean yourself up, babe. Know you donât like feeling all wet down there. It makes your peach all sticky.â
She nods, knowing full well that he canât see her, but doesnât move. She honestly doesnât think she can.
âGo on,â he murmurs when he doesnât hear the familiar rustling of her sheets. ââM right here, honey.â
A few more tears squeeze out of her eyes at his words. It makes her whole demeanor crumble once again; sheâs upset because heâs not really there, heâs not there to hold her and kiss her and love her, and thatâs not fair. She just wants to have him here to tell her that everything will be alright; she wants him to be there to laugh with, to just be with. He is such a good part of her life, but she just wishes that he could physically be there in the way she dreams.
She cleans up quickly, tossing her spent underwear into her dirty laundry. Just as she had suspected, the remnants of her orgasms stained her thighs.
Whatâs that ache in her chest?
âGood girl, feel better, lovie?â
She nods and whimpers, unable to calm her trembling lips.
âGood, âm right here, babylove. Yâdid so good, so proud of you.â
She crawls back to bed moments later, shuddering breaths and swollen eyes being the only remnants of her breakdown. She sniffles and wipes her wet eyes with the back of her hand, which smells vaguely of her feminine wipes.
âSorry, if it was too much,â he says.
âNo, no need to apologize,â she says quickly to get rid of any lingering guilt he has. It felt amazing, to be tested just beyond her limits, to be pushed to a shattering breaking point, to trust him to know what she can take. âIt was nice. I just sortaââ Her voice breaks. âI dunno. Everything just got a little overwhelming. I think Iâm better now.â
âWhat do you need from me, honey?â
She nearly starts crying again at how sweet he is. She almost could imagine that only a few minutes ago he was calling her his dirty little slut and demanding her to come until she could handle it.
âJust talk to me,â she says.
âSo, I saw a couple dogs today,â he begins awkwardly. âWell, I was attacked by two little frenchieâs when I was walking to class, and it completely made my day ten-times better. They were so cute with their chubby little legs.â
He rambles on about his week, and it feels nice and familiar.
Sheâs nearly asleep when he begins talking about his mother. Apparently, she was visiting him last week, which was nice for about a day; then, he began realizing why he moved away in the first place: she is so smothering.
âAnd my mum is always nagging me to go out and socialize. She was like,â he breathes in, adjusting his tone to a falsetto. âHarry, youâre never gonna be able to find anyone if you donâtâŠâ
He continues as normal, chattering away in his low, sleepy voice. She doesnât think he even realizes his slip up, words spluttering out of his mouth so quickly that even he probably couldnât hear it. She smiles as sleep finally overwhelms her.
Harry.
His name is Harry.
â
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dig it!
pairing: jj maybank x bisexual!reader
warnings: smut (18+ only!!), jealous/possessive!jj, choking, mentions of ex-girlfriend, fingering, spitting, slight edging, unprotected sex, jj has an affirmation/praise kink and no one can tell me otherwise, tiny hints of a pain kink, finger sucking, thereâs some mushy stuff thrown in for some reason
word count: 4.4k
synopsis: y/n wears her exâs shirt, and jj does not get jealous
authorâs note: hello! this is my first time posting in a million years (only three months but still)!! sorry for my followers who are patiently waiting for me to finish that smut fic, but i have lost a lot of inspo to write for harry atm :/ anyway i hope you enjoy!! :)
masterlist
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JJ Maybank does not get jealous.Â
He has never felt the gut-wrenching, predatory fire in his bones that makes people do crazy things. Heâs the calm, cool, and collected one. Even if Y/N (or anyone else who has ever met him, for that matter) claims that he is, heâll deny (deny, deny) it with his last dying breath because JJ Maybank absolutely does not get jealous. This feelingâthis crushing and maddening and dominating feelingâin his stomach is something entirely different.Â
Y/N lays innocently on the pullout, tempting legs tangled in the loose-knitted blanket that Kie made, clad in a faded pink shirt, which is the reason for his inner turmoil.Â
JJ doesnât remember much of Y/Nâs ex, but he sure as hell remembers that shirt.Â
She was nothing more than a summer flingâand a kook, neverthelessâbut Y/N insisted that it was serious and that she really liked her and that they had to play nice, despite the fact that she kept calling them by the wrong names and scrunched her nose at him when he kindly offered her a warm, shaken up beer. The first and only time Y/N introduced her, they spent the day on HMS Pogue, where the kook would pull Y/N away from the group to whisper secrets in her ear. JJâs feeling only worsens as he recalls them sitting at the bow of the boat, clinging to one another as if they would be torn apart by some cosmic phenomenon if some part of them werenât touching, Y/N laughing lightly as the two shared mushy whispers and tender kisses in the moonlight.Â
He remembers vividly that the kook was wearing that exact shirt, that stupid shirt with cheery, warped bubble letters, which clung to her shapely figure.Â
Lifeâs a garden. Dig it!
He scoffed at it at the time, wondering what kind of hippie bullshit this wanna-be rich girl was pulling. That cursed shirt is tight on Y/N, stretchy material cupping her tits, which makes it even harder for him to know whether heâs upset or just turned on. That stupid shirt mocks him as a living proof of the hold that kook still had on her, and her disregard to his obvious discomfort makes it even worse. He clears his throat, suddenly more aware of how dry his throat is, despite the summer humidity.Â
âIs that a new shirt?âÂ
He tries to sound indifferent, but the tremors in his voice deceive him.Â
âNo, I just found it in my drawer,â she says. Thereâs an unfamiliar look in her eyes as they flicker away from her phone, teeth-bitten lips swollen and curled into a devious smirk. Realization washes over him; he knows damn well what sheâs doing, and he is falling for it.Â
âIs that so?â He licks his teeth, and he could almost laugh at the foreign feeling only growing stronger in his stomach (still definitely not jealousy). He cups her face and pulls her closer, their lips barely grazing. His nose runs along the rounds of her cheeks, and she holds onto his hands, tracing the lengths of his fingers which tense with purposeful movements, the thick veins pulsing as he traces the curve of her jaw.Â
âYeah, itâs just some old shirt.âÂ
She bares her teeth in a wicked grin and leans in just close enough to tug his bottom lip between her teeth. He shakes his head in disbelief at her teasing.Â
âIâm not stupid. I know what youâre doing.âÂ
âAnd what are you gonna do about it?âÂ
She tilts her head back as his hands trace down the length of her jaw, the pads of his fingers pressing down just enough to make her breath strain. She falls, shoulders set back in the uncomfortable couch, old springs that poke through the worn fabric digging into her skin, and nearly slips down the opening at the back. He can feel her pulse beneath his fingertips, racing and thundering, and the look in her eyes is begging for him to push in just a little further. Heâs suddenly all more aware of the power he holds in his hands, and it makes his eyes glaze over.Â
âDid you want me to get mad? To rip that shirt off and fuck you into the mattress? To remind you who you belong to?âÂ
The marsh, usually cluttered with noise from lingering waves that hit the dock or insects chirping in the distance, falls silent, a heavy stillness as the world holds its breath. Darkness never seems to fall on the island, but it lingers on his face, a lustful shadow on his otherwise sweet features. She spreads her legs, feet slipping on the old sheets, and he finds his usual place between them, his hands cupping the backs of her thighs, the pads of his fingers tracing her warm skin. He still has his rings on, something that isnât familiar in their nightly escapades, and they make her shiver. Â
âMaybe you thought I would tie your wrists together with it or shove it in your pretty mouth like a gag so you can scream into it all night.âÂ
She holds his face like he did to her just moments before, a look of pride crossing her features, and he knows that thatâs exactly what she wanted.Â
But he isnât going to give her the satisfaction. Â
âNah, Iâm not gonna do anything like that,â JJ says, leaning back a little.Â
He can see the outlines of her nipples through the shirt, and he has never seen something so tempting before in his life, something so utterly divine. He feels up the shirt to hold them, a familiar action he finds himself taking even in the most innocent of nights, just cupping her softness. He doesnât take the shirt offâno, in some twisted way, the thought of fucking her in her ex-girlfriendâs shirt makes it feel more dirty. He wants to prove that he is the only one for her. He wants to make her forget about anyone but him.Â
JJ bites on her breasts through the fabric, teeth sliding against the embroidered lettering, spit seeping through to warm her tender nipples. She jumps a little when his hand grasps one rather firmly, again through the tee, giving him an unneeded excuse to hold it just a little tighter than usual, twisting and kneading and tweaking until her hips rut into his, eager for more. JJ slips further down, his hands lifting her legs up until theyâre over his shoulders, and he nestles his nose into her stomach, breathing in the unfamiliar scent.Â
Sliding his thumbs beneath the elastic, he snaps her panties against her hips. Not normally one for teasing, his patience even surprises himself. He kisses the side of her knee, nipping at her tense muscles. She smiles, reaching down to play with his hair, brushing back the ones stuck to his red, heated flesh. He melts a little, sinking down into her plushy thighs, head fallen back into her hold and his lips eagerly pressed to her skin. With his resolve weak and mind preoccupied, she pulls harshly at the roots, and he whines, his cock twitching in his boxer shorts. He grinds against the mattress.Â
Tugging her underwear to the side, he spits lewdly on her folds and watches in fascination as it slips down to the sheets, and he does it again, thumbing along her wet skin, spreading her open to see her most intimate parts. She clenches under his stare, arousal dripping down to her panties, which are pressed tight between her ass cheeks. His tongue dips in at her entrance, wet and aching, and he teases her with calculating movements. He knows exactly what makes her twitch and whimper and beg. He could pull her apart with a few, well-placed kisses and a couple of fingers.Â
Heâs the only one who can make her feel this way.Â
He just wants to hear her say it.Â
A familiar warmth settles in her belly, tingles spreading down her extremities, and it makes her toes curl, her legs tensed around his head. His teeth gently graze her sensitive folds as he sucks on her clit, all while his tongue paints languid circles on any place it can reach. Saliva and arousal drip past his working lips and pool on the worn sheets, and he uses his thumbs to pry her lips apart and get easier access to her most sensitive parts. His pretty blue eyes wide and watery, he stares up at her.
âDo you miss her? Is that why you wore that?âÂ
He rubs his thumb lazily along her folds, occasionally slipping inside, just to give her a taste of whatâs to come, all while he sucks her clit until her legs tremble.Â
âDo you miss her mouth on your pretty pussy?âÂ
Y/N canât even begin to form words, breath caught in her tightening throat. He doesnât let up on his stimulation as he speaks. The vibrations from his voice, the fleeting movements from his lips, and the heat from his skin, itâs nearly enough to make her fall apart.Â
Then, he sinks two fingers inside her, twisting and curling them to reach the deepest part of her, and she suddenly lurches up, the new sensation sending an entirely new shock through her body. He sits up on his knees, fingers pounding into her at an unrelenting pace.Â
âWhat about her fingers, huh? Do you miss them?
âNo, JJ,â she whimpers, eyes rolling back, âYour fingers feel better.â
He hums appreciatively, and he can feel himself harden even more. She stammers through choked breaths about how good he feels, but itâs not enough. He wants to make her fall apart, to shatter from the pleasure only he can bring her. Furiously, he thrusts his fingers inside her with no true direction, scissoring and prying at her soft walls, while knowing that it wonât be enough to bring her to a fast high. He wants to watch her get lost in the pleasure. Thatâs the best part of sex, to see how many different sounds she can make, how many sensitive spots he can stimulate before she blindly falls off into the abyss, gasping profanities and thanking him for guiding her.Â
âGod,â she moans, gritted whimpers cutting through the still night air. Her arousal slips down his fingers in a heated mess, lewd squelching sounds only serving as motivation for him to go harder, faster. A drawn out whine stuttering in time with his thrusting fingers, she lets her head fall back a bit, eyes closed, her hand blindly reaching for his wrist because itâs all too much, but she doesn't want it to end. Itâs a feeling of indecision, torn between wanting to get lost in the pleasure of her high or savoring the fiery build up before the final resolution.Â
âDonât close your fucking eyes,â he growls, and it makes more arousal gush down his fingers. Had it been with anyone else, she probably would want the floor to swallow her in such shame, but he likes the feeling, that much she can tell from the look of satisfaction on his face. This dominantâpossessive, evenâversion of her otherwise sweet boy makes her tighten around his fingers. She follows his demand, lashes still fluttering precariously, but she canât help it; her head is all foggy. He cups her neck with his free hand, squeezing until her voice is strained, weak and hollow breaths barely escaping her puffy lips. Her vision blurs, and she grabs ahold of his wrist.Â
âAre you gonna come, princess?âÂ
With trembling lips and teary eyes, she nods.Â
âYes, please, make me come,â she says, âso close.âÂ
She needs more, but she doesnât know how to get it. Futilely, she works her hips to meet his fingers for just a little more, just enough to finally push her over the edge. JJ, his hand still wrapped around her throat, forces her to look him in the eyes, that same lustful shadow darkening his face. Â
âDid you ever fuck her in this shirt?â Â
âWhat?â She sobs, her world spinning.Â
âAnswer me,â he grits out, his fingers unrelenting.Â
âNo, no,â she cries, âno, we didnât. Please, Jay, âm so close.âÂ
Suddenly, he pulls his fingers out of her with an embarrassingly wet sound, and what was once a brutal chase for her high settles to nothing; she could almost cry.Â
âI donât believe you.âÂ
He traces the tender skin of her cunt, swollen and wet, her clit visibly throbbing, and it takes everything within him not to latch onto it, lapping and suckling on the sensitive bud until she comes, her fingers twisted in his hair and her legs tight around his head. He doesnât, despite all primal instincts, and he continues to rub her gently.Â
âJay,â she moans, her hips chasing anything heâs willing to give her, feeling the burning of a blissful end simmer away as he pulls away entirely this time. His head cocks to the side innocently.
âTell me,â he implores.Â
âJJ, please,â she sighs. His nails dig into her hips as he pulls down her underwear, far too slow for her liking, until they are stuck just below the curve of her bum. He snaps the elastic band against her skin when she struggles to speak. He smirks.Â
âTell me, baby.âÂ
She knows exactly what he means; he wants her to beg to come, to stroke his ego, to admit that she wore the shirt to get a rise out of him, and to tell him that heâs the only person for her. She is too weak to argue, and honestly, she wouldnât be able to tell him no anyway.Â
âPlease, JJ, youâre the only one I want, the best Iâve ever had,â she says dramatically, but thereâs a hunt of truth to her words. âYour mouth, fingers,â she moans, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip, âcock.â She pushes his boxers down a bit, teasing the skin of his lower abdomen, fingers grazing the faint hairs. âYou make me feel like the only person in the world. You make me feel beautiful and sexy and no one has ever made me feel the way you do.âÂ
He smiles, satisfied with her words. He pulls her panties down, but neither of them have enough motivation to take them off entirely; instead, they dangle at the crook of her knee.
âThatâs right,â he says, running the head of his cock along her folds. âYou canât have anyone else. Can you?âÂ
âNoââ she chokes on her breath as he sinks into her, a feeling of utter relief making her muscles fall lax, and he lets out a deep groan, shuddering until heâs buried completely inside her. Faint whispers, like a clandestine confessional, fall from her sinful lips, grateful for him finally giving her what she needs. JJ rocks his hips purposefully, a bead of tantalizing sweat slipping down his chest.Â
âYouâve ruined me, Jay. Canât have anyone other than you.âÂ
She honestly doesnât think sheâs said anything so truthful that night and laughs in a moment of incredulity because it finally sinks in: she truly is ruined. There isnât a moment where she isnât thinking of him or wanting to be with him. She doesnât know if she can go back to a time where he wasnât an active part of her life; sheâs just too far gone.Â
And that absolutely terrifies her.Â
However, like an addict, fear and remorse and logic donât matter when it comes to getting the next fix, the next high that makes you feel like youâre floating. She canât quit him.Â
She digs her nails into his chest, dragging them down to his lower stomach. His eyes roll back at the sting, muscles tense as he works his hips, thrusting into her roughly. The angry red lines only serve to provoke the lust within him, and he wants more, a sick part of him needing to feel her mark him. The couch shifts and squeaks beneath them, weak beams threatening to break under their weight, but it doesnât deter them.Â
JJ pounds into her at a needy pace. The printed daisy on her shirt stares up at him with an artificial smile, crinkled and faded from years of washes, and that unfamiliar feeling comes tumbling back, overwhelming and burning. He twists the shirt into a fist, tugging on it in tandem with every thrust, and the fabric snaps under the pressure, but his grip doesnât falter; instead, he tightens it, nearly ripping it apart at the seams.Â
âYouâre mine,â he says. Incoherent, he babbles between sharp grunts and breathy whispers. âAll mine, baby, these fucking legs, this pussy,â he moans, teasing his thumb over her clit, and her legs jerk up a little. His hands push up the tee. âCute little tummy.â He cups the skin, and his gaze moves to her chest where her breasts move with every rough jolt of their colliding hips.Â
âThese amazing tits.â He shoves his face into her chest, burying himself into the soft skin, and they both laugh, her hand reaching to part his wet hair. He moves up, his lips tracing the pulsing vein in her neck. Her hips met his stuttering thrusts.Â
âThese beautiful lips,â he whispers, tracing the puffy skin, wet with saliva. His thumb sinks a little further, and she suckles. He moans. âPerfect mouth, pretty eyes.âÂ
Forehead to forehead, they fall into an otherworldly existence, where they are the only ones who matter, where the problems of their lives cease, where this fleeting moment is the beginning and ending to their short story. He grinds his hips against hers, pressing himself deeply inside to feel every part of her.Â
âYou,â he trails off, as if the thought of her has made him at a loss for words. âAll mine.â He whispers, sultry and needy, but thereâs something in his eyes that make it seem more than before. With her head thrown back, his name whispered like a prayer from her sinful lips, which are curled in an innocent smile, she looks like an angel, a light in his otherwise dark world, a glimmer of hope in his dreary life, and any other clichĂ© he could think of.Â
He kisses her with such fervor it knocks her back, pressed tightly to the pillows. Everything else falls away, and they both still, swept away from their worldly existence by such a powerful display of affection, of love. A lone tear slips down his red cheeks, which she wipes away with gentle touch. Itâs not the first time she has brought tears to his eyes, and it certainly wonât be the last, but she will always be there to wipe them away. He doesn't think there is any way to put this feeling to words; desire seems too degrading for her, and love feels too stale to be compared to so precious. Instead of contemplating it, he dips down for one last kiss, his hips finally finding their steady pace once again.Â
âSay it,â he pleads.Â
âIâm yours,â she whispers.Â
âThatâs right, baby,â he says, âAll mine.âÂ
He pushes her thighs to her chest, his hands nestled in the curve of her knee. He just wants to feel her, truly, madly, deeply. Itâs not a salacious, greedy fueled fuck like before; instead, his hips meet hers with purpose, a rhythmic verse to her irregular prose, but it works. JJâs arms tremble from overexertion, but he doesn't want to stop.Â
When her breath tapers, he looks up, adjusting his position to see her more properly. Thatâs when he feels the familiar burning of his impending orgasm. She tightens around him, and he nearly comes.Â
âAre you close?â He brushes back the hair from his eyes.Â
âAlmost,â she whispers, âjust a little harder.âÂ
He does as she asks, focusing on trying to push her to the end rather than how badly he just wants to come. His movements are sloppy, not at all like his learned touch from before. She lets out a sharp gasp.Â
âJJ, Iââ She struggles to put words to her racing thoughts. She can feel the burning euphoria once again, but itâs only a fragment of what it was before he ripped it from her grasp. With her heightened senses, she can feel every stitch on the blanket that rubs against her back, every breath that passes from his weak lungs, every bead of sweat that pools between their bodies, every pulse in her veins, everything, but itâs just not enough to push her over the edge. Instead, she teeters on that same line between longing and relief.Â
âC-can you do the thing?âÂ
Of course, he knows what sheâs trying to say. She wants to reach that edge with him, to feel their highs as one. She used to feel guilty about how long it took for her, and she often wouldnât be able to finish with him. However, with practice and a lot of communication, they were able to get to where they are now.Â
âOf course, princess.âÂ
He kisses her forehead before falling back on his heels, arms hooked around her hips, lifting her up from the mattress. Back arched, she is able to take him much deeper than before. He pulls her onto him, her hips meeting him harshly as he fucks himself into her. The power behind his thrusts forces the breath from her chest, reaching deep inside her.Â
âYes, yes,â she gasps, her eyes falling closed. Blindly, her hand reaches down to where theyâre connected and rubs her clit in fast motions, sending a whole new swell of pleasure in her body, muscles feeling tight yet relaxed. Skin slapping and harmonious moans fill the room, they both chase their highs.Â
âCâmon,â he grunts, âcome for me.âÂ
White spots flicker in her vision as she drowns. Blinded by euphoria, she clutches onto anything she can reach, the pillows beneath her that are wet with her tears and sweat, the shirt thatâs stretched beyond belief, or JJâs arms, which tremble just like her. Pained whines escape her lips as wave after wave of bliss. Vaguely, she can hear his affirmations, soft words coaxing her through her orgasm.Â
âThereâs my girl,â he moans, âthereâs my pretty girl, so good for me.âÂ
Through her fluttering lashes, she can see him smile. His hold on her hips tightens, and he stills inside her, letting her milk his cock until the last possible second.Â
He pulls out at the first crest of his orgasm, cum marking her trembling thighs. His eyes fall closed, head tilted back, baring his chest, his cock twitching and throbbing as he rubs himself against her pussy. He falls on top of her, nestling his nose in the crook of her neck, arms wrapped tightly around her middle. She kisses his forehead, brushing back sticky blonde hair.Â
Heâs slow to come down, taking deep, shaky breaths to calm his racing thoughts. He falls into a heap on top of her, neither caring about sweat or the heat between them, and Y/N traces a hand along his back, vague and fleeting, which makes a shiver run down his spine. JJ can feel his heart slow, but his hands still tremble terribly. He pushes himself up with a groan, muscles aching.Â
âYou were totally jealous,â she says breathily. He shakes his head, a lazy smile splitting his face.Â
âI totally donât get jealous,â he mocks, tugging on his discarded boxer shorts. He grabs a joint from the tin on the side table, carefully holding it between the fingers that were inside her only ten minutes ago.Â
âSure, Jay,â she scoffs, straightening out her shirt, which is stretched beyond belief now from JJâs grip, and itâs even split at the seam on the side. He slips down the hall quietly, but heâs back only moments later, lit joint now between his teeth, and he wipes off her thighs with a damp rag, lingering a little too long on such sensitive skin. He then sits back on his heels, sliding a new pair of panties on her. Lips pressed to her cheek, he murmurs.Â
âYour little plan didnât work at all.âÂ
âAre you sure about that? âCause you fucked me âtil my legs were numb, babe. I would say it worked.âÂ
âNo, I knew what game you were playing, and I flipped it on you. We fucked because I wanted to, not because you wore her shirt.âÂ
âOh, really?â She sits up on her elbows. âDo you see what you did to this shirt? It was like when Bella found out that Jacob imprinted on Renesmee.âÂ
âPlease, donât talk about Twilight while Iâm between your legs,â he says, âand it didnât work.âÂ
âI am so glad you understood that reference,â she says, âand it definitely worked.âÂ
JJ rolls onto his back beside her.Â
âTell me, baby.â Y/N deepens her voice to imitate his moans. He sits up to flick ash off in the tray on the side table while she laughs at herself. JJ is unimpressed.Â
âY/Nââ
âTell me how much you canât live without my dick.âÂ
He turns away, pouting.Â
âShut upââÂ
âYou know Iâm just kidding.â She wraps her arms around his waist, squeezing her cheek to his back. He still feels flushed and heated, and he can feel it worsen as she presses wet kisses to his freckled skin. âIâm not gonna lie. It was kinda hot.âÂ
She rocks him back and forth, humming an unintelligible tune, their breathing falling in time with each other.Â
âI love you, JJ,â she says softly, and he looks over his shoulder to see her gazing up at him, lashes fluttering innocently. He smiles, passing the joint over his shoulder. He looks at her with glittering eyes, his lips curling into a soft smile.
âEh, youâre not too bad, either.âÂ
She takes a drag.Â
âBut you were totally jealous.âÂ
âI was not!
â
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