🃏always! open to receiving requests or hearing what’s on ur mind
🍒fav movies • breakfast at tiffany’s, alice in wonderland (1951), bones and all, priscilla, midsommar, bottoms, jennifer’s body, sucker punch, the sweet east, possession
🎞️letterboxd • smartsexylacy
💋fav shows • teen wolf, yellowjackets, the vampire diaries, the oc, the walking dead, euphoria
🥩fav musicians • grimes, lana del rey, ethel cain, deftones, charli xcx, jeff buckley, mazzy star, blood orange
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18+, MDNI!!! we all know peter parker is an awkward sweetheart but i definitely think he loves to top during sex. he loves taking care of his girlfriend, both from the threats of the world and in bed.
peter ate your pussy like it was the only thing he knew how to do. he holds you down with his strong hands, making you cum on his tongue over and over again until you were shaking and unable to speak.
whenever you got too fussy, reaching for his hair to pull him away, he restrains your wrists to the bed frames using his webs, only undoing them when you were completely fucked out.
you tried to top him whenever he was tired or injured in any way, but it always somehow ended with peter servicing you. you’d be on his lap, rolling your hips on his cock until he takes over, guiding you himself.
not only does he service you completely while you have sex, he spends even longer during aftercare. he ran you a bath when you were too exhausted to shower, getting in with you and washing you and your hair even while you fight sleep.
peter holds you close and kisses your forehead in bed, never letting you any more than an arms reach away. he clings to you like a puppy, looking at you with his wide brown eyes while asking if he did okay.
masterlist | peter masterlist
a/n: just a little thought i had while rewatching no way home! not proofread at all :p love u all
Let's talk about how beefy Peter looks like oouuu shiiii
Thinking about him getting a bit more comfortable in the bedroom with different positions cos you turn all soft and malleable when he throws you around a bit– gets rough with sweet words and soft kisses. Hes obsessed with putting you in full nelson.
He likes the way he can pinpoint the exact moment when your head turns all mushy and youre in that warm honeyed space in your head.
"Hey, baby," he breathes against the warm, clammy skin of your jaw as he thrusts up into your heat from beneath you.
You whimper through a weak and wet choke. One of your arms is thrown around his neck, just barely keeping a grip on his freckled shoulders as he jostles you around.
"Mmmff– Petey— oh fuck,"
His balls are flush against your sopping folds, pulsing everytime he presses himself to the hilt with a deep groan.
Your thighs slip a little in his hands but he readjusts easily, pulling them back towards your chest, opening you up a bit more for him.
He sinks even deeper and you both moan. Your head tips back to rest on his bulging shoulder, turning to tuck yourself into his neck as he pumps into you.
He's gotten a little bit better about warning you when he's gonna cum. And you've learned his tells enough to know when he's close.
Usually starts with his thrusts getting a little sloppy, less coordinated, more desperate and quick with less rhythm to them as he pants and groans.
Brunet curls stick to this forehead and his eyes lid, dark lashes pairing prettily against his flushed cheeks.
"Are you close?" He asks and you can tell he's hurrying to get it out. Ever the gentleman.
You nod, rolling your hips back into him so the plush of your ass presses into the warmth of his tummy.
"Oh shit—" Peter clenches his eyes shut, brows furrowing as he pulls his bottom lip up between his teeth, "m'cumming. M'cumming."
You pant, shivering when he pushes himself to the hilt again, big balls pressed up against your folds, pulsing, "yeah?"
"Yeah. Right now. M'cumming right now."
You moan when his spend fills you, warmth spreading throughout your velvet heat.
And hes so cute and sweet. Takes him a good 35 seconds before your legs start to hurt and you've gotta remind him to put you down and he's immediately apologizing and rubbing his big hands up and down your thighs.
He'll also eat his cum out of you if you let him <3
warnings: brand new day spoilers (but it's genuinely the smallest one you ever did see)
summary: you're avoiding the party that mj and ned wanted to throw, but that doesn't stop you from being found by a stranger. why can't you shake the feeling that he's familiar?
a/n: umm it's been eight years since i posted on this account? we're so back? saw brand new day in theaters (twice) and felt teenage me gnawing on the bars of her enclosure this one is for her (and for y'all). potential for a part two...
You didn’t know exactly what it was. You didn’t mind the music or the alcohol; even being around so many people was fun sometimes. Before everyone got drunk and started spilling things and yelling, obviously. But every single party you’d been to at MIT had felt…wrong. Like you were missing something. Like someone was supposed to be there with you, and they weren’t.
Which didn’t make sense. Ned and MJ had gone to a majority of the parties you’d gone to throughout college, and they were your closest friends. How could you feel like something important was missing when everything important was already there with you?
Either way, you’d started trying to avoid that gnawing feeling in your chest. Besides, you were growing out of the phase where going to every party and meeting every person you could fascinated you. Maybe one day that deep, dreadful sinking would go away. Maybe it would stop appearing at parties, on every birthday you turned a year older, on the small amount of dates you’d gone on where the feeling got so strong it made you nauseous.
Today, though, was an exception. You’d graduated this past summer and moved back to New York with MJ and Ned, and they were determined to throw one last party with all the college friends that had wound up back in the city, too.
Well, Ned was determined. You and MJ were lukewarm about the whole thing.
Which is why you were in your—abysmally small—bedroom, working through this line of code that you were pretty sure was going to get you fired from your shiny new job if you didn’t figure out why it wasn’t working, with your door open to the noise beyond. It was to keep an eye on MJ and Ned, you told yourself, even as you eyed all the swaying people around the TV you’d just spent fifty dollars on from Facebook Marketplace. Ugh, you should have moved it before. If they broke it, you were totally making Ned buy you takeout for a week.
You went back to work, thankful everyone seemed to be too preoccupied with the party to worry about the weird girl staring at her computer screen on her bedroom floor. You couldn’t figure this out. It was driving you crazy. You were sure it had worked yesterday evening, and then when you’d come into work this morning it was all wrong and every single test you did didn’t fix it and you were going to throw your computer—
A knock on your open door. A cleared throat. “Um, hey.”
You looked up.
A guy around your age stood in your doorway. The first thing you noticed about him were his eyes, wide and expressive, looking at you as if you were the one who’d shown up in his bedroom. But…reverent too, almost in disbelief. He was looking at you like he’d never seen a girl before.
But he was cute. And something about him…
He seemed familiar.
“Are you okay?” he asks you. His gaze starts to bounce around the room the second you meet it, avoiding your eyes. “You looked, um, mad?”
“Oh!” You laugh a little at yourself. “I’m just doing some work. I’ve been told I look mad when I can’t figure something out. I don’t even realize it.” But who had told you that? It wasn’t your family, or Ned or MJ. But someone had told you. Who had it been?
The guy shifts on his feet. You realize he’s holding a bouquet of flowers, which is a weird thing to bring to a party, but you find it charming. He squints his eyes at you, but the corner of his mouth is lifting like he wants to smile. It makes something in your chest flutter. “You’re doing work during a party?”
He’s teasing you. You feel yourself smiling back. “Yes, I am. Super important work, I might add.”
“Oh, yeah?” He leans a shoulder against your doorframe, eyes on yours now.
You can’t look away.
“Yep. Keep an eye out because I’m gonna dethrone Spider-Man from the first page of the Daily Bugle tomorrow with my amazing work on debugging this finance app that only has three hundred downloads. Really groundbreaking stuff.”
He smiles fully, now. It makes you feel triumphant, nervous, and warm. “That’s awesome because I love—What’s the name of the app?”
“Financipply” Stupid name. From the doubtful look he sends you, he agrees.
“That’s perfect because I love Finacnipply. Can’t wait to see you on the front page.” You roll your eyes, but you laugh. You both do, his shy and small, as if he hasn’t done it in a long, long time. As if he shouldn’t be laughing at all. But his eyes are bright. They turn towards the floor as your laughter dies, shy. “So what can’t you figure out?”
And you just can’t stop looking at him. You motion towards your computer screen vaguely. “Just this code. I don’t know what’s wrong with it. It’s just not working.”
He takes a small step forward. “Do you think…Can I…look at it?”
“For real? You code?”
He shrugs, one hand in his pocket. Adorable. “I…dabble?”
“Are you sure about that?”
Another flash of a smile. “Yes, I’m sure.”
“Alright then. Knock yourself out.”
He comes to sit next to you on the rug you found at the thrift store a couple blocks away, rubbing his palms over his jeans and looking intently at your computer screen. He smells like clean laundry and the rain the city had earlier in the day, and he’s looking at your code like he actually understands it. “Oh wow. Cool.” He scrolls through it a couple times, up, down. You’re entranced by his profile, so close. He stops to type. “Did you try this?”
You blink. Look at the screen. “Oh my gosh, no.” A simple line edit. You know when you see it that it’ll work. “Holy shit. You did it. Holy crap. Thank you. You’re, like, awesome.”
“It was nothing.” But he's ducking his head with a blush. “Seriously.”
“What’s your name, anyway? Since you saved me from getting fired.”
“Um, May..nard.”
“Maynard.” It sounds wrong. You’ve never had that thought before—that someone’s name is wrong. But it’s a sure feeling in your chest. The one you have when you know your code tests are going to work, and when you decided you wanted to move back to the city. It’s really the only feeling you trust anymore.
“Yep.” He leans back on his palms, and your eyes run down his arms unconsciously, tracking muscles and veins. You have a brief, overwhelming urge to curl closer to him, to run your hands down his biceps, to take his hands into yours and trace the lines of his palms. And it feels normal, to have that feeling. So normal, your body almost starts moving on its own accord. But his voice breaks you out of it. “So, is this what you want to do? Program apps?”
You tell him that your dream is to work on developing video games, and he nods like it makes complete sense and gets you to tell him that you’d love to make a game based off of Star Wars, which makes his eyes light up in a way that has your breath catching.
And that’s how you end up talking to a cute boy on the floor of your bedroom for an hour, about Star Wars and your favorite video games and what got you into them in the first place. He makes you laugh, and talking to him is so easy. It’s hard to believe you just met him now and not in high school. He would fit right in with MJ and Ned. You can almost see it for a moment; the four of you hanging around the diner MJ used to work at before college, laughing and teasing and studying. The image is so visceral that for a moment it feels real.
You’re just about to invite him over sometime because you’re so sure that they’d love him and that you want to get to know him better, when there’s a crash from the living room.
Both of you turn, and your face immediately drops. That better not have been your TV.
You sigh. “I need to go make sure nothing important is broken.” You almost add on a desperate wait for me, but he’s already standing up and holding out a hand for you.
That would have been too weird to ask for, anyway. Right?
You let him pull you up. When your hands touch, it’s almost as if the warmth radiates from his calloused fingers, grips your heart, and drags it all the way down to your toes. He lets go quickly, as soon as you’re on your feet, but you stand there for a moment, disoriented. Feeling like…feeling like you’re right where you need to be. But also like you’ve forgotten to do something. It pulls at your brain like a grocery item list you know you were thinking about five minutes ago, but no matter how far you reach, you can never remember what it was.
It shouldn’t bother you this much—you’ve been feeling it since you went to college. It hung over you during orientation, and move-in day, and every visit home. It reaches you in dreams, and weirdly, whenever Ned shows you the thousands of videos he gets of Spider-Man swinging across the city.
But you’d never felt this close to grasping it before. You can almost see an image in your brain, faded around the edges like an old photograph, a word floating just on the edge of your consciousness.
“You okay?” He’s asking you. Maynard. God, why does that name sound so wrong to think?
He looks about a second away from grabbing your hand again.
You want to let him.
But you hear MJ’s voice from the living room, firm in the way she only uses when she’s annoyed, and you know that your TV is probably done for. Maynard seems to be able to sense it too, because he urges you to go.
And your TV is broken, thanks to some idiot and his friend who decided to start play-fighting for no reason. He gives you a twenty from his pocket, but you can’t even focus. Your mind is too busy playing back your night. Warm brown eyes, messy curls, soft smiles. You end up just waving it off—but you keep that twenty—and rushing back to your room to find Maynard.
Only, he’s not there when you return.
Your laptop is closed and placed at the foot of your bed. On top, the bouquet he showed up with.
You stand there, in the middle of your tiny room, touching your fingertips to the carnations and grieving.
Grieving for what? You keep asking yourself. Why do I feel this way?
But you can’t figure it out. It stays, stays, stays.
Later that night, his face comes to you in your dreams. It’s younger, unburdened with the sadness you’d seen lying underneath. He’s laughing, bright and beautiful, and he’s looking at you. You’re on a rooftop somewhere, both of you golden in the sun, and he’s saying your name with a fondness that notches into your spine.
I love you, he says, and he means it. It’s in his eyes, in the way his expression melts into softness, in the way he traces his fingers across your shoulder and pulls you into him.
Peter, your voice sounds just as yours does now, weighed down by adulthood. You run your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, and there’s a peacefulness in your body that you know you haven’t felt in years, even through the haze of the dream. I’ll always love you.
You feel the press of his lips to your hair, the curve of them as he smiles.
You wake up. Gasping, gripping the thin sheets of your bed, sweat gleaming on your collarbone.
Peter, your mind whispers to you in the dark.
“Peter.” You murmur it into the moonlight shining across your floor, to your heart beating against your ribcage, to the knot in your stomach that finally releases.
“Peter.” You say again. Taste it on your tongue, certain you’ve said it a thousand times, in a million different ways.
Hold on lmk cook rn… virgin!Peter Parker (bc I’m like 99.999 % sure he’s still a virgin) getting like super overstimulated and whiny during his first time with reader bc of his heightened senses from his new enhancements in brand new day 🙏🏾🙏🏾
Btw im the same person who sent the other overstimulated Peter ask but i thought of this after so you can lowk just ignore that one 😭
that scene where he was spurting webs everywhere and he couldn’t control it.. ugh
seeing him get all huffy and teary eyed because you just feel so good, his hands pressing on your hips harder than he realizes because he forgets how strong he can be sometimes.. and you’re on top of him, grinding your hips back and forth on his lap just clamping down on his pulsing cock :(( you can literally feel him throbbing inside you, all veiny and hard..
and peters just letting out these little pathetic whines of, “wait, y-you gotta slow down.. shit—“, in the crook of your neck because he’s hugging you so tight, his eyes squeezed shut and his lips in a deep frown—he’s feeling everything around him. he can feel your breast pressed against him, how slick and tight your pussy is around his cock and the filthy sounds it makes when your hole swallows all of him— and he hears your moans even more clearly <33 peter feels himself about to cum since it’s all too much and you won’t let up.. so it’s really inevitable that he just gets so needy for that release that he manhandles your body and grasps at your sides—slamming you down and pounding into you harshly, holding you down on his dick as he pumps his load into you with a loud groan, and he cums SO much! fills your tummy up completely that it spills out your hole and rolls down his cock onto the sheets..
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suddenly having flashes of being fingered by peter parker woah. 18+ MDNI
he’s hovering over you, nuzzling your cheek and jaw with the tip of his nose. you don’t know what he’s doing at first, but you think he’s just listening—tuning in to the reactions your body is having from his hand between your thighs. he kisses your cheeks, your temple, your forehead, all while you’re spreading your legs further apart and wrapping your hands around his forearm.
“is this still good for you?” he asks, yet again. and again, you nod, breathless, choosing to focus on the sensation of peter’s thick, calloused fingers over attempting to speak. “can you tell me?” peter requests, his voice soft and gentle.
you lick your lips, preparing to speak, but it’s then that peter purposefully presses his fingers against the spot inside of you that eliminates all words.
instead of affirmation, you say “jesus fuck” and peter laughs. the smile spreads across his face, making him like younger like it always does. you don’t chastise him but peter still apologizes with a swift “sorry” and a kiss to your lips.
“let me make it up to you,” he offers, smile still on his face, now twisting into something more seductive. and it’s clear what he means. especially as you watch him descend down your body, his eyes watching you the entire time.
you nod, entranced on the way peter removes his fingers from your cunt and gives himself a taste, previewing what he’ll soon have littered all over his molars and tongue and lips and any skin within the general vicinity.
18+ ⫶ MR. FAUX SYMPATHY ℘ requested
jack abbot who fakes sympathy while cooing you through overstimulation .
you don’t know which one is worse. the way jack’s hips are angled with the cruelest precision, the head of his dick charging sweet into that soft, spongy wall inside of you — bullying that poor spot until your toes are curling over by overwhelming pleasure.
or the way each word falling from his lips feeds you nothing but sweet praises laced in such a condescending manner, feigning compassion while milking every ounce of pleasure from your overstimulated cunt.
either way, your answer wouldn’t matter. not when abbot’s screwing every fathomable thought loose outside of your head, turning you into a blubbering mess underneath him.
“mmgh— pl-please, j’!” you slurred stammering, swallowing the saliva pooled at the back of your throat from your never ending moaning. the soft pads of your hands push against his sculpted chest, attempting to flee from the merciless thrusts of his hips as you push from underneath him.
“awn- c’mon, sweetheart.” his eyes dragged over you body, taking in the very few millimeters of space that you created between you two before pulling you back down onto cock making you gasp for air.
your fingers folding inwards, clawing into the flesh of jack’s chest as he buries himself further inside your pussy making your insides choke around his length, involuntarily twitching and squeezing as your spine arches forward — pressing yourself against him.
jack feigns a frown, biting back an uncontrollable smile because he just thinks that you look so fucking adorable beneath him right now.
eyes glossed over with lashes clumping together from those thick tears fall down your cheeks, and the little sniffles you take every other second to not snot yourself as you cry from an indescribable amount of pleasure. you can’t even moan jack’s name without it turning into an incoherent mess. “j—j .. ja-nnghn.”
“that’s it, my sweet girl.” jack coos, a gentle rasps scratching at his throat as he brings one of the hands locked behind you knees to your face. gently cradling the side of your head as his thumb brushes away any stray tears. “so damn sensitive, all for me.” he watches you nuzzle into his palm, and it makes his cock twitch as he lets out a gravelly groan before grinding his hips deeper into you — a direct target against the spot that makes your bladder feel instantly full.
“i can’t, i can’t, mmff— you c-can’t!” you yelp, pleading as you shake your head feeling the throb of your clit want to burst. “shh.. yes you can, darlin’.” he shushes, ducking down to press his forehead against yours.
his eyes on yours, convincing you that it’s possible as his thrusts never stop bullying into that sweet spot. he has no intention of stopping, even with your begging. “please, ja—mphck!” a moan rips through your throat as jack delivers the cruelest, toe curling stroke that makes you go completely mute as your eyes roll back to your skull.
your body quivers under his, mouth open with no words coming out as you take each and every thrust he feeds your abused pussy.
“look at you, baby— you’re doin’ it right now.” he hums satisfyingly, watching you choke to find inaudible words as his groan lingers. “i know, sweetheart i know— jj knows it’s a lot for you, yeah.” he whispers, lips grazing against yours, “it’ll all be over soon, okay baby?” he assures, as his hips tell the complete opposite. “just keep singin’ my name would’ya’.”
content <𝟑 .ᐟ 18+, mention of a panic attack & arguing, drug use, unprotected sex, talks of unplanned pregnancy, dirty talk, dubcon, pet names, messy sex, creampies.
the first time—
bobby recovers from his panic attack faster than you expect.
he was pacing, telling you to shut up as you tried your best to reason with him after his fuck up. he was nearly yanking his hair out at one point … all that just to find himself sitting at the end of the bed, rolling a joint in nothing but his boxers. you watch his fingers work, your heart hammers in your chest as your eyes move from his hands and up his arms to his face— focused and relaxed all at once, with his dirty blonde hair falling over his brows. he shouldn’t be allowed to look this good. not after almost knocking you up and being a bitch about it.
you’re laid out, still puffing out little breaths from both your orgasm and your argument. adorned in nothing but one of his shirts and a pair of socks, and the pout that you haven’t been able to shake.
“now you’re too calm.” you mumble as you nudge his side with a cotton clad foot like a gentle form of revenge after the emotional damage he caused, just by thinking with his dick.
“whatever. worst case i’ll scrape up some cash and get you one of those pills. you know i got you.” he murmurs in return, not bothering to look over his shoulder. he’ll get hard again if he does, he’s learned his lesson. a part of him is more focused on smoking and easing what’s left of his fried nerves. a smirk pulls at his lips, “super worst case … you pop out a baby in nine months, we have to quit our dreams and i get an office job. all that nuclear family shit we hate.”
you throw a pillow at the back of his head with all of your fucked out might. you watch him dodge it, and then his tongue peeks past his lips to seal his roll one last time. your eyes follow the dragging movement faithfully as you mutter, your irritation running deep— “you’re not funny, like not even a little bit.”
one hand grabs your ankle and pulls enough to make you yelp, while the other reaches for a lighter off the nightstand. the joint sits between his lips as he lights it, inhaling deeply before offering it up to you.
“just shut up and hit this.”
the second— no, actually … the third time—
bobby doesn’t seem to care anymore.
he’s terrible at this, he’s admitted it every single time you whine at him and try to stop it from happening, before it becomes an even bigger habit. you can only get lucky so many times. something is bound to take. but he shushes you when you start whimpering for him to pull out, distracting you with sloppy kisses and sweet rubs on your clit that have your brain all fuzzy and useless for the moment. something to keep you on the edge and close to cumming yet again.
“bobby, you cant keep doing this,” you whimper into his mouth just as he presses his hands into the backs of your thighs and spreads you out some more. a sign that he’s about to lose control. you can feel every inch of him, can hear every lewd sound that comes from between your thighs and every deep groan falling past his lips. he nuzzles his face into the side of your own, ignoring your hiccuping and babbling entirely. you’re trying so hard to get him to listen with your slurred and breathy words, it almost makes him feel bad, “you have t’pull out.”
“baby, baby— don’t make me.” he chokes out, sweaty forehead resting against your temple as he triples his efforts. he ruts into you as he rambles, sloppy but practiced enough to have your toes curling and your brain liquifying in your skull, “i fuckin’ can’t. i can’t do it. you feel so fuckin’ good, baby … gotta stay right here in this perfect pussy.”
he knows he’s got you the second your nails claw over his shoulders and down his back with no intent other than begging him for more. the sharp sting forces a growl out of his throat before he muffles himself with your mouth, his tongue rubbing against your own as he spills his messy load in you with stuttering movements.
“fuuuck—” he breathes over your lips that are covered in a mix of his saliva and your own, nearly whining as the aftershocks take over and bite at his heels. he grunts, pressing into you like his life depends on it. his gaze drops between your thighs, seeing a mess of white that makes him shudder, “i’ll clean you up after, baby, i swear. jus’ let me have this, pretty girl. give me a second. please.”
you huff under him, mewling as your used up cunt milks him without trying. like it’s second nature, devastatingly.
hi okay just read your little fic for what bobby's into and i had thoughts on one...
you said he likes being mean and condescending in bed, but how far would he take it? like if hes a little extra mean one night and his girl starts crying, does he take a step back or does he just like it even more?
content <𝟑 .ᐟ 18+, dacryphilia, overstim.
bobby would never, ever take it that far. it would be difficult for him even if it’s something you really wanted. it could be done, though.
because truly the most he wants out of you is a little pout, a tiny sniffle, or teary eyes that he can remedy within the following seconds with some more touches and kisses. sure, he runs his mouth enough for the two of you. he calls you messy and points out that you’re adorably pathetic when you’re needy and so, so dirty for him. but he immediately soothes the ache his words leave behind in your chest by making your back bow off of the bed and a pleasure drunk gasp expand your lungs, with a roll of his hips and one warm hand smoothing down your tummy.
however …
if and when you do end up with hot tears running down your cheeks, accompanied by stuttered breaths and hiccupy sounds falling from your lips— bobby’s whole face twists up. a mix of pain from seeing you in distress and pride because he brought you to this point with how good he can make you feel alone. it’s precious to him, it’s perfect, and it fucks with his heart.
he sighs, a calculated breath that’s all soft and reverent and too sure of himself for a guy that makes weed jokes and loses his keys every single day. he holds you close but whatever he’s doing that has you in hysterics doesn’t stop. whether he has you folded in half under him or one hand stuffed in your panties, he’s not stopping. not when you’re so pretty and absolutely gone.
his lips press against your warm cheek with kisses so sweet that they might as well be sugared, not minding the wetness as he makes his way to your pouty mouth.
“bet you’re all embarrassed now, huh?” he croons. he’s not mocking you, you can tell the difference. instead he’s gently asking. he’s showing that he cares, all while searching your eyes for any bit of true discomfort.
“there’s no need to be, i promise. i love making you feel good. you can be a crybaby for me anytime, pretty girl. especially like this.”
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He’s literally so annoying but he’s super sweet and that makes up for all his brattiness. You help him with film projects, he smokes with you, he always has snacks for you, but he’s soo mean! Like he’ll hide around corners to scare you just to watch you jump and squeal. He absolutely laughs in your face when you hit and lecture him for being the way he is.
Hd’s also the touchiest and most clingy person when he’s high. He always apologizes and teases you for getting shy, but he’s still trying to convince you that high orgasms are the best while you shyly giggle and squirm ! ˖°📷༘
18+ mdni thinking about jack abott and his sweet girl who gets distracted during sex n can have trouble finishing…
he can see when you’re into it— meeting his eye, smiling, responding to his words with sweet whimpers n hushed whispers as he fucks you… but then he can see when your head goes elsewhere. your eyes glaze over a bit and drift to the ceiling, you stop grinding down to meet his thrusts.
His hand comes up to cup your face in an attempt to draw you back, and you turn your face to kiss his palm, but he knows it’s just an absentminded reflex.
“Hey.” Jack urges, voice a low rasp. “Hey, doll. Look at me.” He smiles gently when you finally meet his eye with a small one of your own. “Where’d you go, pretty girl? Gotta stay with me.”
“Sorry,” you murmur, all breathy as Jack’s hips snap forward n his cock kisses your cervix. “Just thinking.”
Jack shakes his head, light and easy and hardly a reprimand. “You’ve got all the time in the world to think, sweetheart. I need you to focus right now, can you do that for me?”
You nod.
“Feel this?” He rolls his hips again, slow and deep. “Feel how full you are?”
You nod again, and this time your brows furrow n your face scrunches in pleasure as you fully find your way back to the present.
“Yeah. Attagirl. Feels nice, doesn’t it?”
“Yes,” You breathe out. You let your back arch, rutting down against Jack to chase that build-up you need. He nods encouragingly.
“There you go. You’re doing such a good job.” Jack’s hand moves low between your bodies. He finds your clit, rolls it between the pads of his index and middle fingers.
He smirks when you moan and tremble. He knows you’re getting there, but also knows that you could just as easily lose it again. So he keeps talking.
“Such a good girl for me. Look how fuckin’ perfect you are.” He presses a kiss to your cheek, then your neck, then he connects his lips to yours and lets his tongue sweep inside, swallowing your next moan. He’s panting softly when he pulls away.
His fingers speed up just a bit when he can tell that you need more. He nods, urging you along when your hands come up to grip his shoulders and you look at him with desperate eyes. He keeps the encouragement flowing freely. “Good girl. Come on, you can do it. I feel you getting close, babydoll. You’re doing so well. I wanna feel you to cum on my cock.”
Your brows knit in concentration and you writhe on the bed, trying to move the right way and find the right angles to finally send yourself over the edge.
When it works you tighten up everywhere— your fingers dig into the freckled flesh of Jack’s shoulders, your body goes rigid, your mouth slackens in a long, airy moan. Jack groans lowly at the feeling of your walls clenching up around him, pulling his cock in deep.
“Goood girl.” Jack grits out. His hips stutter as he diligently fucks you through your orgasm. “You’re so good, honey. Fuck.” His forehead falls against yours, sweaty gray curls pressing against your hairline and lust-blown eyes mere inches from your own. “That never gets fucking old.”
thinking about sitting on jack abbot’s thigh, lazily rolling your hips and leaning into his chest, just enough for stimulation but not enough to actually get anywhere.
jack’s wearing his dumb cargo pants, his work phone shoved in the pocket you’re currently sitting on. you learn rather quickly that jack (the old man he is) has his phone set to vibrate. you also learn that someone is very intent on getting a hold of him.
jack realizes his phone is trapped under you, undulating and grinding into the new sensation. grins when he discovers, yes, you are wanton enough to treat his vibrating phone like a pseudo sex toy, grinding harder every time a call or text comes through.
“i should probably get that.” he murmurs, not actually making any effort to dislodge you from his thigh. you just double down, arms around his neck, pussy directly on his dumb cargo pants that you hate so much, clit catching on the rough fabric and the corner of his phone, chasing the periodic vibrations.
“gonna let me get that baby?” he teases, grabbing your hips to lift you up. you retaliate by sinking your teeth into his shoulder, fighting his grip to get your wet cunt back on his thigh.
“oh, she’s feral today,” he comments, smacking your ass once in response to the bite - jack knows it’s gonna leave a mark.
you don’t even react, focused on wiggling your way back down onto his thigh and phone, which is still vibrating through his pants. you were so close, and jack is being so mean, making you hover over the embarrassingly large wet spot you left behind.
“you’re gonna water log my phone,” jack notes, following your eyes to the wet patch. “gonna have to stick it in rice after this. how am i gonna explain to IT that my work phone is broken? tell them it’s because i have a very demanding little girl at home with the world’s wettest cunt? and that she sat on my phone like a little slut, using the vibrations to get off?” jack paused, grinning at the long whine you made, embarrassed and turned on by the idea, hips still wiggling. “is that what i’m gonna have to tell them?”
you don’t respond, mainly because you’re not sure if you can form words at this point, and finally win the war against his grip to drop back down to his thigh, cunt once again pressed hard onto the cargo pocket. you immediately start humping, only further proving jack’s point. you don’t care - you’re so close.
jack leans forward, stubble brushing your ear as he growls, “maybe i should make you tell them. call them and apologize for ruining my phone with your wet, selfish cunt. what do you think about that?”
you come - embarrassingly hard, hips stuttering against him as you continue to soak his pants, vaguely aware that jack is cooing and encouraging you as you do so.
“atta girl, so easy for me. coming just from a few calls and texts from robby,” jack rubs your back, letting you collapse into his shoulder, bright with embarrassment and exhaustion.
after a couple of minutes, jack works his hand into his pocket, slowly removing his phone, making a point to wipe the sheen off on his shirt before checking it.
“hm. lucky girl. robby said they got a hold of shen,”jack tips your chin up so you look at him, stupid smirk on his face, “he apologizes for all the calls.”
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What’s so fun abt the character is that she’s incredibly viciously independent (and this is a direct response to her traumatic childhood) and simultaneously she is desperately embarrassingly heartbreakingly dependent (and this is also a direct result of her traumatic childhood).
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