I❤️fanfics

he raised a brow, then shook his head before he crossed the room in three long strides and climbed in behind you. his fingers went straight to the hem of the t-shirt you’d put on after finishing your makeup and pulled it over your head. you made a sound of protest, but lifted yourself up just slightly to let him do it. answer enough, you supposed.

he tossed it aside, and his hands were immediately on you, sliding down your ribs until one hand settled on your hip, fingers splaying, while the other dipped lower, cupping the curve of your ass and giving it a squeeze that made you inhale sharply.

“still mad?” he asked, leaning in for his mouth to brush against your shoulder blade. his hand kneaded at your hip, moving to the soft inside of your thigh.

“yes,” you said, but it came out weaker than before. “jack – ”

your words stopped as his hand moved from your hip to your breast, gathering the weight under his palms before his thumb came up to brush against your hardened peak.

“hello? cat got your tongue?” he said through a snort, pulling you flush against him, chin going into the curve of your neck. he ground his hips against you then, letting out a low breath through his mouth. he pushed a fist into the mattress by your ribs, caging you in. “what d’you wanna talk about?”

“i’m serious, jack,” you said, trying to force your voice even. “you wouldn’t call it a date.”

he hummed, fingers shamelessly sliding down as he said, “come on, baby. if you wanna keep talkin’ about this, you gotta do better than that.”

“do better – ” you let your neck turn back to face him, and he immediately tilted his head down, his tongue peeking out as he tried to bite back a grin. “ – my points are good enough.”

he ducked and caught your mouth, teeth nipping at your lip the same second his fingers slid under the lace. he smiled into the kiss, fingers running down your folds. you pulled away immediately, going to face the wall again.

“did this happen when you called me a smug asshole?” he circled the pad of his finger once over your clit, causing you to shudder slightly against him. “or when you decided i’m a liar?”

“jackass,” you muttered.

“real creative.” he shifted behind you, other hand going to shove his slacks further down his hips, freeing his cock. he pulled back slightly, and wrapped his hand around himself, stroking once – twice – before pressing the head of it to the curve of your ass. he exhaled once through his nose, intertwining his fingers through yours and moving them around him.

“i’ve been like this for the last twenty minutes,” he supplied casually, then groaned when your fingers instinctively moved around him.

“i’m still mad at you,” you said, but you were already moving your hand because you did also want him inside you. it’d been too long.

he rocked himself into your hand. “yeah – okay. let’s fix that, too, while we fix this.”

he moved to his side, lining himself up between your thighs before fitting himself in between. his fingers slid down your underwear again, fingers grazing over your folds before pressing down on your clit.

his fingers continued circling, while two others slid lower, the hard line of his cock pressing heavy against your ass each time he rocked forward.

“can’t call this a date,” you muttered, even as your breathing picked up.

“no?” he murmured. “this won’t do?” he nodded absentmindedly behind you, then his fingers came up just to slide down your underwear over the curve of your hips and down your thighs until the lace was sitting at your knees.

“two weeks – missed this,” he muttered, more to himself than you, and immediately pressed back into you, sliding his cock fully between your thighs now, the head of him dragging through your folds with every roll of his hips.

“also, it is a date – i’m takin’ you – ” he said, angling his hips so his head notched against your entrance. “ – as my date.”

“it’s not.” you pushed your hips back against him.

he tutted softly, hand holding the base of him as he pressed his tip against you, just enough to make you feel the pressure of the stretch starting, then pulled back.

“impatient,” he murmured, doing it again.

“we don’t have time,” you shot back. “just put it in – ”

“yes, ma’am,” he breathed out, amused, and angled himself to sink into you with one slow, sharp push. his entire body went rigid the second he bottomed out, a groan rumbling in his chest as the stretch hit you.

a broken sound came out of your throat before you could swallow it, after two weeks of nothing. your walls instinctively clenched around him, and his grip on your hip went bruising-tight.

“fuck, been so empty haven’t you?” his forehead dropped to your shoulder blade. “sorry, sweetheart. forgot you just needed me like this.”

you tried to glare, albeit at the wall, but your hips pushed back to take the last inch of him. “shut up.”

he just laughed softly, already pulling back to go again. “i know i’ve been thinkin’ about this every night.”

your teeth grit together to hold back the moan, your fingers twisted into the sheets as your body clenched around him on instinct, spine arching even while you fought to stay rigid.

“so mad at me – shit, huh?” his fingers came up with some tremor to your shoulders, pulling you into him even further as he slid in. “just ‘cause you missed this, baby? should’ve asked hours ago instead of arguin’ with me about tonight.”

your hips moved back to bury him to the hilt, causing his palm to tighten on your shoulder with a groan. “no, i missed you,” you said sharply. “you, asshole.”

his breath shuddered, and you felt him nod against your skin. “makin’ such sweet words sound so mean.”

he punctuated his words by moving his hand down to your spine and shoving you forward, forcing your chest flat against the mattress. he followed you down, pinning you completely – chest-to-back, hips locked tight against your ass – prone. his knee nudged yours wider, letting him sink even deeper on the next stroke.

he blew out a sharp, deliberate breath into your ear. “can’t run that mouth so easy when i’ve got you like this, can you?”

“are you trying to shut me – ” you started, words coming out into the pillow.

“huh?” he dipped his head to the side to meet your smushed face, brows rising in amusement. his forearms came up to rest at the curve of the back of your neck. “sayin’ something?”

you twisted just enough to glare at him over your shoulder, still trying to form the argument – something about obligations and dates and missing him so much – but the words stayed half-formed when he pointedly drove in particularly deep and your breath left you in a sharp, broken sound.

he watched your face with a small, smug smile, not slowing.

“yeahhh, that’s what i thought,” he muttered and kept fucking you. his mouth brushed the shell of your ear. “poor thing, can’t even finish a sentence. needed this, huh?”

“i did not – ”

“mhm, lying now, too – ” his forearm flexed, fingers coming out to absentmindedly brush your hair out of your face. “thought i was the liar.”

“don’t touch me,” you muttered, turning your face into the pillow again.

“stop squeezing me so tight then,” he said through a rough pant, thrusting up once meanly.

“i’m not kidding – ” you said, firmer now. “it was a – fuck – shit thing for you to do.”

“mhm.”

“i’m not being unreasonable.” you had to grit your teeth together when one of his palm came down to knead the side of your hips. “a date is you and me – your being a shit boyfriend when i haven’t – ”

your words cut off with a sharp gasp as he rolled the two of you in one irritated motion, keeping himself buried as he put you on top. his hands clamped hard on your hips, pushing you down until you were seated fully on his cock.

the sudden shift punched the air from your lungs, and before you could steady yourself, he was already driving up into you.

“jesus, you just can’t let up,” he muttered, eyes locked on where you were taking him. “wanna look at you ride me while you keep running that mouth.”

“getting tired, old man?” you raised a brow.

he shook his head softly, fingers reaching out to rub over your clit.

“old man, shit boyfriend – m’fucking you and letting you argue.” he pressed a harder circle, pausing only to come down on your ass in a sharp slap suddenly, making you gasp. “giving you everything you need at once, and i’m a shit boyfriend.”

he reached out to press his palm flat just below your navel.

“can’t take me on a date – ” you used his chest to pull yourself up, then come down, “ – though.”

his eyes flicked up to your face with a small, strained smirk as his fingers pressed down firmer on your stomach.

“it is a date,” he said, as he drove up hard to meet you on the next downward slide. his other palm flexed on your hip to keep you down as he pushed up even further. “fuckin’ – nice event. you. me. dressed up.” he took in a sharp breath through gritted teeth as your nails dug into his chest. “sounds like a damn date to me.”

“it’s work,” you shot back. “you’re just calling it a date so you don’t have to feel bad about cancelling.”

“i didn’t cancel – anything.” his hand came up to push into your hair, pulling your face closer. “i invited you. you want me to leave you home, huh?” his jaw was tight as he tugged your hair back slightly. “things happen. plans change.”

“i don’t want to watch you work, i want to spend time with you,” you managed, surprised by how even your voice came out, considering.

“christ – ” he used the grip on your hair to keep you close, foreheads nearly touching. “actin’ like i signed us up for a week in the desert. it’s dinner. you don’t wanna go?”

he leaned to press your forehead against his. “don’t. imagine alllll the women who’ll try to talk to me, huh?”

“asshole,” you breathed out, nails digging into his shoulders now as you lifted and dropped again. “asshole.”

he snorted through his nose, tugging once on your hair before letting go, leaning back down onto the pillow. “keep ‘em coming, baby. keep punishin’ me for havin’ a job while you’re sittin’ on my cock.”

his hand went to your thigh, spreading on wider so he could push up even deeper.

“you want time with me?” he muttered. “this is time. right now. i’m in you. you’re on me, and you’re still finding ways to be pissed.”

he tilted his chin to catch your lips between his teeth. “you want me to yourself at dinner? i’ll fuck you in the bathroom if you want that, too.”

“this isn’t the same and you know it.”

“isn’t it?” he sat up further, both arms going around your back so your chests were flush. “because from where i’m at, i’ve got my girl riding me, calling me names, and still taking inch like she’s been starving for it. feels pretty damn close to spending time together.”

“principle – ” you tried to say, words cutting off as your hands got distracted to tug at the short hairs at the nape of his neck harshly.

“principle’s pretty shit when i can feel you’re close,” he murmured, mouth brushing yours.

“yeahhh,” he breathed out, feeling you clench on him as your thighs started to shake. “we’ve got ten minutes and if you wanna finish this fight, you finish it on my cock.”

“won’t make it better,” you said through gritted teeth, trying to push through the building pressure – chasing it, pushing it away. “you still – jack – made this whole thing about you – ”

your sentence broke off into a sharp, helpless moan as the orgasm crashed into you. jack didn’t let up, if anything he held you down tighter, hips rutting up against you as you came.

his eyes were trained to your face, pupils thoroughly darkened. “aw, i’m sorry,” he cooed, fingers coming up to brush the hair off your face. “you were in the middle of tellin’ me off. don’t let me interrupt you.”

you opened your mouth to keep going, voice still shaky, and jack’s arms slid up your back to pull you down flush against his chest, crushing you into him so your face was buried in his chest.

“please finish what you were saying,” he muttered against your ear, one forearm caging you in. he let out a soft snort when you only whimpered, then added, “i’ll help. you were saying i was making this whole thing about myself.”

“you always – always do this. make everything about you and then act like i’m being difficult,” you – well, lied.

jack groaned low at your words, only spurred on even more.

“i do? y’really think so?” he mused, almost conversationally. his hand slipped between you, fingers finding your clit and pressing there, holding the pressure while driving up in one-timed strokes that made you gasp. “i make everything about me?”

“you do – ” you started, but the words dissolved when he pressed his palm flat against your lower belly, the pressure from both angles sudden and overwhelming, making everything tighten impossibly.

you groaned into his neck, and he tilted his face to the side to press his lips along your hairline.

“yeahhh, clearly i do.” he pressed a kiss to your ear, almost tender. “it’ll make me feel better to know you’re sittin’ all mad throughout the dinner you don’t wanna go to filled with me.”

You must not have realised he's just returned from a deployment tonight, because he hears you stumble through the living room, giggling. He hears a male voice, and he hears the way your giggles turn into moans when the mystery man kisses you.

Now he's listening to the bed creaking and your muffled whimpers.

The bloke barely lasts 10 minutes.

Simon can't sleep for the rest of the night. His back is acting up, and a migraine is definitely on its way, and his tinnitus seems worse than usual.

He listens to your quiet voices in the morning, listens to the front door open and close again.

Your feet padding across the floor.

Three knocks.

"Si?"

You peek your head in, and he looks at you.

"Hi," you say, a smile growing on your lips. "I didn't realise you were home."

"I figured," he replies, and you instantly become flustered, your eyes widening.

"Oh my god," you say, your mind catching up. He can tell the way embarrassment washes over you as you groan, putting your hand over your eyes. "Please tell me you didn't hear anything."

When he doesn't reply, you sigh loudly before stepping into his room and plopping onto his bed. Years of living together has made you overly familiar with him. He doesn't have the heart to correct it.

He doesn't want to.

"Please pretend it didn't happen," you ask, looking up at him with pleading eyes.

Simon looks back at you. There's a hickey on your neck, one that makes his molars hurt. He doesn't like that someone got to have you like that, in the way he so desperately wants. Got to sink their teeth in what's rightfully his.

"You're a grown woman," he states. "You can do whatever you want."

"Yeah, but I didn't mean for you to hear it!"

You push off the bed, but Simon is quick to grab your arm, pulling you back down. You land nearly on top of him with an "oomf", blinking at him, eyes filled with confusion.

"Was it good?"

"What?"

Your mind seems to struggle to catch up with what's happening, and you open your mouth before closing it again. Simon motions to the hickey on your neck. He wraps his hands around your throat, his thumb digging into the purple mark. Your mouth falls open.

"Was he at least a good shag?"

You flush, but you don't pull away this time.

"Did you even come?" he asks, and the way you pout tells him everything he needs to know.

"No," you say hesitantly.

"Why not?"

"I don't know," you say, hiding your face in his duvet. He lets go of your throat, patting your head instead. "His dick was big, but he didn't really know what to do with it."

Your voice is slightly muffled from the duvet, and your grip is tight around the fabric. You're clearly embarrassed. If anyone should be embarrassed, it's the bloke who failed to make you finish.

Simon feels lightheaded with the way his blood rushes south. He feels himself chub, and he imagines how you'd work to take his cock, how you'd struggle to adjust. How he'd target your sweet spot till you're crying.

"I bet," he says, grabbing you again so he can pull you on top of him. He knows you're feeling his erection, but he can't bring himself to care. "Most guys barely know what to do with pretty things like you."

"What, as if you know better?"

You're teasing him, but to Simon it's all the invitation he needs. He slips his hand underneath the waistband of your shorts, grinning when he finds you wet already. He doesn't waste time, gathering your slick before bullying two fingers into your soft pussy.

He groans at the way your walls give for him, adjusting with ease. Your pretty doe eyes go wide when he curls his fingers and finds your gspot, reaching deeper than you could ever hope to with your own fingers.

"Si," you whimper, clinging to him. He hums as he thrusts his fingers into you, revelling in the sound of your wet cunt filling the room.

You come embarrassingly quick, warmth curling in your stomach as you finish with a drawn-out moan. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you grind your hips erratically into his hands, drawing out your high. Pleasure curls through you from your core all the way to your toes.

"Good girl," Simon drawls, watching the way you twitch. He pulls his fingers out of your warm pussy, licking his fingers clean before patting your arse.

You blink sleepily at him. Post orgasm glow makes your brain foggy, especially with the way your roommate is looking at you, licking his lips hungrily.

"That was a way better shag than him," you say, giggling, but your eyes are droopy. You don't hear his response as you rest your head on his chest, drifting away.

You start to avoid him.

Something Simon finds incredibly annoying.

You're fussing. Definitely ruminating. Possibly spiralling.

He should've kept his cool, and not immediately finger fucked you into oblivion the second he got home. But the fact that you were with another man, just behind that thin wall between your rooms, made him lose his cool.

And now he's paying for it.

It's fair for you to hook up with others. He's barely home. He's not your boyfriend, he's your roommate. He's a soldier.

He's starting to realise he can't keep a clear head when he's with you. He doesn't want to wait. The long game isn't worth much when it comes to pretty girls like you. He'd rather just get it over with and make you realise you're stuck with him. That you're done with quick disappointing fucks once he gets to sink his teeth into you.

He goes to the pub with Soap and Gaz. It's rare for all three of them to be home at the same time, and Soap and Gaz are taking advantage, downing pints and talking away. Simon mostly listens, until his mind wanders to you.

His pretty bird, all alone at home.

He gets up without saying anything, adjusting his crotch that's already chubbing. Soap hollers after him, but he dismisses him with a wave.

He doesn't quite want to share you. Not even with Soap.

Wearing his T-shirt to bed is a particularly cruel move on your end. Simon has to bite back a groan as he climbs over your sleeping body, straddling you from behind. He grinds his dick against your panty-clad arse while he leans over you.

You're sleeping, blissfully unaware. It makes him harder, as he takes out his dick, rubbing it between your arse cheeks. You quietly moan, subconsciously pushing back against him.

He slips his cock into your panties, using your thighs to stroke him. His cockhead pokes at your clit, and he feels you start to grow wetter with each push and pull of his hips.

You let out a tiny moan in your sleep, and Simon grunts as he leans over you, trapping you underneath his weight. He licks and bites at your throat, right where the hickey is starting to fade. He wants to erase it, make you forget there's ever been anyone other than him.

You wake with a jolt when he bites down particularly hard, and he feels you tense up beneath him as your mind catches up to what's happening. You scramble, but he's pressed up so close behind you that you're immobile.

"Jus' me, love," he murmurs, and you whine, attempting to look over your shoulder. He feels you relax, but then he starts to fuck your thighs again, and you tense again, gasping at the feeling of his cock nudging your clit.

"Si?" you ask, confusion and fogginess from your sleep making you struggle to realise what's happening.

"You were wearin' my shirt, doe," he says, kissing behind your ear. He slips one of his big hands underneath your shirt, cupping your tit and squeezing till you moan. "Couldn't help myself."

"Why didn't you, ah, wake me?" you whine, arching up into him so desperately it makes him dizzy.

In a quick motion, he flips you so he can see your face. Your pretty face is puffy, your lips all pouty as you sleepily blink up at him. He slips his cock into your knickers again, watching the light fabric darken with his precum.

"Didn't wanna interrupt your beauty sleep."

That makes you scoff, and he slaps your tit in response, making you gasp in surprise. Before you can tell him off, his cock catches your entrance, head popping inside your tight cunt, and you let out a strangled moan as you squeeze down on him.

"It's too big, Si," you whine, starting to back up, but he grabs your hip tightly, pulling you back onto his cock. He presses another inch inside you, brows furrowing at just how damn snug you are. He presses soothing circles into your clit with his thumb.

"You can take it," he says, nodding at you while you shake your head. "You're a big girl."

A pitiful whimper leaves you when he presses in yet another inch, and his eyes roll back at how warm you are inside.

You're rendered speechless as he slowly pulls in and out, making you take inch after inch. It stings, but pain mixes deliciously with pleasure as he thumbs your clit and licks and kisses your throat.

"How much more?" you ask, staring at your ceiling with knitted brows. The man on top of you rumbles as he kisses your lips, licking into your mouth.

"Halfway," he replies, and your eyes widen, because he's already splitting you in two. You look down to where you're connected, and a rush of arousal hits youwhen you see how his fat cock is practically bullying your poor pussy.

Simon must feel you clench, because he laughs.

"You're doing good, baby," he says, and your concerned eyes find his, looking for reassurance.

"Yeah?"

"Uh-huh," he replies. Taking pity on you, he starts to fuck you like that, with only half of his cock. "My pretty baby,"

It's almost an art form. That he can fuck with half his inches and still have you writhing underneath him, whimpering each time his cock hits your sweet spot. Your cunt drools around his length, allowing him to slowly push further and further in, till you're taking him to the hilt without even realising. Too busy with your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

Your orgasm creeps in on you, sweeping you underneath the waves of pleasure as you choke on air. Your cunt nearly squeezes the life out of him, and he leans over you, reminding you to breathe through it as you choke on a sob. You cling to him, digging your nails into his biceps, as he slowly fucks you through it till you're boneless beneath him.

Your eyes slip closed as sleep overtakes you again. It makes him groan, getting impossibly harder as he thrusts into you the last few times before spilling into your welcoming cunt.

He flips you around so you're on top of him, your poor pussy still stuffed with his cock and cum. Content, he gets the best sleep he has in years, despite the flare-up in his hip.

He doesn't know how long he's out for, but he wakes to the sweet sound of your moans. You're straddling him, bouncing on his cock with all your might. It must be hard on you, sweet thing. You're doing so well, though, despite your pinched brows. He traces his hand over your stomach, trying to feel himself in there.

You jolt when you realise he's awake, and a giggle escapes you.

"Good mornin', love," he rasps, and you lean down to kiss him. He grabs your hips, helping you ride him.

"Hi, Si," you say, pressing your lips to his. "Sleep well?"

"Yeah," he murmurs, licking into your mouth. "Don't mind being woken like this, though," he adds.

Your cunt clenches around his length, and he grunts.

"You're gonna make me come like that," he says, and you moan into his mouth.

"Want it," you gasp, raking your nails over his scalp. "Inside,"

You don't have to tell him twice. He rubs your clit in messy circles, pulling you over the edge with him as he spills into you for the second time, pumping you full. You whine, swallowing his moans with your sweet kisses, as both of you grow sensitive.

When you pull off him, it's with a wet pop, cum spilling out of you. Simon watches the sight, satisfied with his claim.

What a perfect roommate he has.

hi i started writing this last night but i fell asleep halfway through (ironic) so here you have it. i only edited it like two times so if you find any mistakes ignore itttt …. 🫪

“S’this not nice?” you’d asked, frowning, your lips jutting out so sweetly. 

“It’s really nice.” He reached over and tugged your strap up onto your shoulder, knuckles dragging down your bicep once it was fixed, gooseflesh chasing the graze of them. “It’d be nicer if you’d sit still for two minutes.” 

“I’ve missed you,” you murmured, because you had. 

It was almost embarrassing how badly you’d wanted to simply push him onto the bed once you were both ready; your stomach coiling as you watched him spritz on the cologne you liked and roll his sleeves. You’d sat on the edge of the mattress in your robe, watching him. And then he’d told you that your makeup looked just so pretty, how the night was going to be so much fun, and you’d realized there was no way you were going to last through this dinner. 

You’d been starved of him the past week, practically living on scraps of him. You had a feeling Jack knew exactly how much you’d missed him. You weren’t sure what hint you’d ever given him that made him think you were going to play fair.

“Missed you, too,” he said, thumb finding your wrist on the table. “That’s why we’re here. Missed you so much I got us to the place you’ve been goin’ on about for a month. You can do all this at home.” 

Wine-fueled and pouty, you said, “Should’ve just stayed home.” 

“You’re complaining about being taken to the hardest reservation in the city?” Jack’s brows went up to the middle of his forehead and he set his fork down. When you opened your mouth, he shook his head and said, “No. No. You’re right. Should’ve done the couch. Saved myself a fortune.” 

That may have been the straw that broke the camel’s back, because now, you were walking beside Jack – past midnight – trying to find a dessert shop in silence. He’d indulged you when you quietly, hesitantly, asked him if you guys could get something else after trying the tiramisu, which had been – you’d whispered it – kind of dry, actually. His jaw had tensed, and he’d nodded quickly and said, “Sure,” reaching for the check, “let’s get you somethin’ else.” 

Your heels clicked too loud on the pavement and Jack was a half-step ahead of you the whole way, hands buried in his pockets, so silent. He wasn’t holding your hand, and Jack was a hand-holder through and through. A small-of-the-back toucher. A man who steered you like a wheel through the world. And now, it felt like a very, very painful punishment he was doling out on you. 

“Are you mad?” you tried. 

“No,” he said, tossing the words over his shoulder without looking. “Looking for your dessert.” 

“You could hold my hand,” you said, and hated just how small you sounded. “Jack,” you tried again when his hands stayed exactly where they were. “Are you going to talk to me?” 

“When you’ve got somethin’ to say,” he said, shaking his head with a small click of his tongue at a closed bakery. “There’s a place two blocks up that stays open late.”

Two fucking blocks. Your heels clicked, and his footsteps stayed silent. You let the gap between you stretch – a foot, then another, as you slowed and he didn’t – until you were trailing him down an empty midnight street. Groaning to yourself, you bit the bullet, speeding up to catch up to him properly. You slid your hand into the crook of his elbow and pressed yourself into his side, tucking your cheek toward his shoulder. 

“Sorry, Jack,” you mumbled. 

He breathed out through his nostrils, pulling his hand out of his pocket to maneuver it around you now, pulling you in. Still tense, but the relief of being by his side was so immense you sagged against him, still wine-drunk and loose. 

“Woah – ” he muttered, trying to catch you as you tipped into him, your heel skidding a little on the pavement. His arm clamped tightly around your waist, hauling you upright to his side before you could go anywhere, and he huffed out a small laugh. “Who told you to drink this much?” 

“Was trying to match you,” you mumbled. 

“Now, that’s stupid, isn’t it?” He patted the side of your waist once. “Gotta take care of you now. Wound me up all through a nice dinner ‘cause you wanted my attention and couldn’t ask nicely. Congratulations, you got me.”

“You’re being kind of mean,” you mumbled, tucking into his shirt.

“Not getting you out of the doghouse, so don’t try it.” 

“I’m in the doghouse?” you asked, surprised. 

“Oh, you’re in the doghouse,” he said, chuckling, steering you around a crack in the pavement. “Forget brunch and the whole big day we planned tomorrow. We’re on house arrest.” 

You squeaked out something incoherent. “How do I get out of the doghouse –?” Your words trailed off, when your eyes landed on the photobooth – wedged into an alcove between a laundromat and a corner store, a curtained one with the pale blue fabric hanging crooked, its light still buzzing faintly. It was like a star in a cloudy sky to you, your body perking up at his side, feet slowing as the wanting rose brightly, childishly. 

But you were in the doghouse, so you made your lips clamp shut. You’d be surprised if Jack ever did an outside-activity with you ever again, much less indulged a wine-drunk detour into a novelty photobooth this late. You were pretty sure you’d used up your whole allotment of Jack’s patience when you’d stood up on the pretense of the ladies’ room and instead leaned over to whisper something dirty in his ear as the waiter arrived with the entrées. Somewhere in the gauntlet, Jack’s amusement had faded and you were now, a little too late, sure you were the worst, most ungrateful girlfriend ever. 

So you did the hardest thing ever: you said nothing. You looked at it like you were a kid looking at a toy in a shop window – doomed – and you dragged your gaze forward to keep your feet moving. 

Jack, whose open book you were, read the longing off you in an instant. “No.” 

“Didn’t say anything,” you mumbled.

He got four steps forward before he paused, craning his neck down to look at you nuzzled into him. His arm tightened around your waist, and you had a feeling that this time, it was more exasperation toward himself. 

“What is wrong with you?” he mumbled. “You don’t want a picture with me?” 

“I do,” you said, immediately, through a sharp breath. Your shoulders stiffened at your sides. “But I’m in the doghouse.” 

Jack let out a laugh at that, disbelieving. He turned, so the two of you stood across properly, chest to chest, and his face dipped down toward yours. “You know you can ask me for it.” 

Your hands came up to fist at the fabric above his chest. “Can we take a picture?” 

He took his time, eyes dropping from your face, down your throat, lingering on the silk covering just more than a third of you, how the fabric clung and skimmed and gave everything away. Your brows furrowed in suspicion when his tongue quickly dragged over his bottom lip. 

“Why, yes, we can.” His hand slid up your spine as he leaned down to press his mouth against your forehead. “Can’t have you this dolled up and nothin’ to show for it.” 

He pushed the crooked curtain aside and held it, nodding his head for you to go in first, and you ducked into the little box. It was three feet with a lightbulb as the screen flickered awake to throw its glow across the two of you. Jack folded his frame down onto the single stool with a low grunt, one hand bracing against the wall, taking the weight off the prosthesis, settling back against the metal. He worked the ache out of his thigh with the heel of his palm before he spread his knees wide enough that it took up the entire square footage of the space. 

You stood in the vee of them, hemmed in, and looked down at him. His knee bracketed you in, the walls an inch off your shoulders, the heat of them crowding out the air outside. 

Your bottom lip tugged between your teeth as you watched him thumb through his wallet. He glanced up at you through his lashes as he counted coins into his palm, heavy-lidded, a slow curve pulling at his mouth, and he looked suddenly, thoroughly, indecent. He placed the coins into your open palm, then gestured to the slot. 

When you turned to feed the coins and leaned down slightly, Jack’s palms came to the sides of your thighs, sliding up to go up to your bare skin under the dress, and he let out a pleased hum. 

“This is a nice view,” he murmured, his thumbs pressed to the side of your hips before he turned his palm to squeeze the globes of your ass. “Take your time there.” 

His hands filled themselves with no hurry at all, kneading slow, palming you like he’d also been waiting all night for you to shed the layer off your skin. 

You let out a small fuck as the quarter hit the slot and clattered somewhere on the floor. 

“Butterfingers,” he mused, palms sliding up from the curve of your ass, dragging the dress up until it bunched up around your waist, exposing the tiny black lace pair you’d picked out before dinner. 

Before you could say anything, his mouth pressed over the base of your spine, letting out an appreciative hum into your skin. You’d chosen it for this reason, only you hadn’t expected it to be revealed in a shitty photobooth. You hardly had time to think about dignity, or anything dignity-adjacent, because Jack blew out a long breath that ghosted over your skin while pulling away, and his thumb hooked into the delicate band at your hip and snapped it along your skin. 

“Maybe we shoulda stayed home,” he muttered. 

“Thought you wanted a nice dinner,” you said, palm bracing flat to the wall as you tipped your head down, having no space to spread out. 

He clicked his tongue, letting his hands go greedy, spreading his palms wide over the bare curves of your ass. “S’my fault for thinking my girl wants to be wine and dined.” He gave a pointed squeeze, humming delighted as your back arched in response. “No, this is all you wanted.”

On any other day, you would’ve – you were sure of it – had some quick thing to fire back at him, some retort to keep the game going. But the calluses in Jack’s palm were kneading slowly, the roughened skin catching the softness of you with each pass, and the friction of it scattered every thought you’d ever had. His hands were so functional – so broad, innately warm, scarred at the knuckles – and they moved over you so achingly slowly, and the wit just drained straight out of you and pooled right about where your dress was shamelessly resting on his wrists. 

The box had gone humid, the air thick with the warm cedar of him and the wine, your breath fogging on the glass every time you exhaled. You managed to shove a coin in with wobbly hands, determined – for what? You didn’t know. 

“Hey, look at that. Cat finally got your tongue.” He let one of his palms drift down, finger reaching out testingly where the damp fabric sat between your legs, tracing one feather-light stroke along the lace, and your knees buckled slightly, your head pressing against the cool, glowing glass of the screen, your reflection – completely undignified – swimming an inch from your face while his breath fanned against your back. “This the off switch for your mouth now?” 

“Jack–” Your hips went to chase the touch before you could think better of it. 

His hand went to splay wide and heavy over your hip, pulling you back slightly closer to hold you steady as your legs shook. His other finger hooked the lace aside – one blunt finger easing the sodden fabric out of the way – and pressed the pad of his thumb through the bare, slick heat. You let out an embarrassed whimper, teeth digging into your lips as your eyes pinched shut. 

“Did all this to yourself thinkin’ about me at dinner while I was right across from you, huh?” 

Letting out a low groan, he dragged you back in one motion, tumbling you into the sprawl of his lap. His arm wrapped around your waist to hold you right there, and he ground you down against him, so fucking mean with it, slow and fast all at once, so you felt every inch of two hours’ worth of tormenting him pressed against your legs, the blunt drag that made you chase more, more, more.

His free hand slid beneath your thigh, fingers digging the soft crease on the inside of your thigh, and pulled it outward, patting your skin once. “Open up.” 

He rolled his hips up when you did, and your eyes snagged on the screen in front of you, catching your faces from the neck-up. His head tipped back against the metal wall, hands sliding up under the silk bunched at your waist, up over the bare plane of your stomach, and closed over your breasts, palming them full and greedy – the band of his watch a shock of metal against the warm underswell of you – as his thumbs grazed over the hardened peaks until you arched back into him with a broken sound. 

“Jack,” you said, trying to force a hiss as you looked down, noticing how your dress had bunched into nothing but a few inches of fabric sitting shamelessly over his forearms like a tiny towel. “Someone could walk in –” 

“Mhm – they could, couldn’t they?” His chin fell onto your shoulder to watch your face on the screen. His tongue dragged over his lips before his mouth found the shell of your ear. “Someone could see my pretty girl fallin’ apart on my lap.” He shifted his hips forward, pressing against your core with a groan. “Wanna take the risk?” 

Your teeth gritted together as you tried to focus on him, focus on the screen, focus on his hands that had seemed to already have done a clean sweep of your entire body. “Thought I was –” you started, and his brows furrowed in amusement, “in the doghouse.” 

“Oh, you are.” He slid his fingers back down, bumping his hip against yours to slide his fingers down the lace, thumb finding your aching and circling it. “You love it here, too.” 

“I don’t–”

“No?” he drawled, thumb circling while his teeth nipped at your throat. “Coulda fooled me.” He let his fingers drift down, the pads of them gliding through the slick heat you’d made for him until two fingers pressed against your entrance while his thumb rubbed over your clit. The lace was now clinging in a dark, translucent patch against your inner thigh. He tapped his fingers against your entrance. “You’re soaked for me, baby. I could slide right in here.” 

You let out a small whimper at the words, and like you’d done a magic trick for him with the sound, his fingers sank deep in one broken press until his knuckles rested against you. On the screen, you watched your own mouth fall open, watched how he smiled against your throat like he’d won something. 

He curled his fingers, dragging them over a spot that made your whole body seize in Jack’s cage, the sound following was filthy enough to make the entire booth feel smaller. His smile widened, and he pressed a lazy, open-mouthed kiss right under your ear. 

“Got myself such a pretty girl,” he murmured into your skin, the lower half of his face nuzzling into the flush emanating off your neck. He kept dragging his fingers in you, always knowing your body better than you knew yourself, until your thighs trembled against his. 

He shifted behind you, free hand pressing flat between your shoulder blades, folding you forward until your palms hit the glowing glass of the screen and your spine curved down.

“Hold there,” he rasped, the new angle somehow driving his fingers deeper. “Attagirl.” 

Your eyes flickered up to catch him on the screen as he worked his shirt open one-handed, thumbing the buttons loose. The fabric fell away from the broad stretch of his chest, exposed in the wash of the screen, and you watched him move behind your own reflection with your breath picking up. 

“See somethin’ you like?” His hand gathered a fistful of your hair and tugged, drawing you up back against him in one motion. Your spine hit the heat of his chest, the sweat sticking to you, and your head tipped back. “Got warm in here,” he said, smiling when you tried to press even closer to him.

Your hand awkwardly reached up to his neck, manicured nails raking up the hot column of it, scraping through the short hairs at his nape and holding on for life as everything in you wound tighter, brighter, and turned completely unbearable. “M’close,” you said, words slurring together, and your head nuzzled the side of his face. 

“Aw,” he cooed softly, fingers continuing their rhythm. “S’that what that is?” He curved them inside you pointedly, and you bit down a sound. His thumb pressed into making quick, merciless circles. “That why you’re squeezing my fingers, huh? Spoilt girl.” 

When you pulled at his hair, he tsked, amused, and brought his free hand up to wrap loosely around the front of your throat, thumb resting against at the hinge of your jaw, dropping your head back against his shoulder where he wanted it. His thumb, pressed at the corner of your mouth, and your mouth just felt so empty, so achingly unoccupied, so you turned your head and drew it in – the blunt salt-and-soap of him, slightly rough against your tongue – and the weight of it in your mouth settled the frantic-ness in you, gave your restless want somewhere to wrap. 

Jack’s face in the reflection had gone hooded, brows drawing in together at the sight. His pupils swallowed the last of the color from his hazel eyes as his jaw clenched. His hips rolled helplessly beneath you. 

His thumb pressed down onto your tongue, forcing your mouth open, then dragged his thumb along your bottom lip, pressed it back in, out, and every second your throat worked around a sound or your lashes fluttered at the overwhelm of him, his fingers stuttered still buried in you. 

And fuck, the relentless attention of Jack tipped something in you. You’d spent all night starving for exactly this – his eyes, his focus, all of it aimed at you, selfishly – and now you had it completely that it made you drunk in a way the drinks hadn’t managed.

“I think you like watching us,” you said around the shape of his thumb. 

He chuckled, and his thumb slipped from your mouth to trace along your jaw, tilting your face just so, and his lips curved into a crooked smile. 

“No, I think I like you,” he said, fingers still working you through the peak. His mouth pressed to your temple. “Love you.” 

“Jack,” you said through a small, cracked whimper. You almost hated how he could do that, how easy it was for him to reach past with two plain words and disarm you so thoroughly. You turned your face to nose against his jaw, greedy for him. “Love you, so much. Even when you’re mean.”

He laughed at that, fingers moving your jaw so you could face the screen again. “So mean to you, huh.” He tilted his head in the reflection, amused as he watched your face scrunch up. “Looks like you’re suffering real bad.” 

He pulled his fingers out of you completely, and they came away slick. He dragged them up over your clit in one small smear, then pushed back in almost as quickly as they were gone. 

Your hips ground down into the heel of his hand, chasing that unbearable brightness winding tighter and tighter behind your stomach. And Jack, watching you on the screen with such naked curiosity, chose the exact moment to reach with his free hand and jab his thumb against the plastic of the machine. 

Your eyes, hazy, barely caught the countdown on the screen. Behind it, your head was lolled against the crook of his shoulder, throat damp with sweat, your mouth slack and parted, the hints of gloss coating your lips and around. Jack’s jaw shadowed your temple, his eyes hooded with pupils blown out, fixed on your reflection, one hand a clear hard line where it disappeared beneath the dress bunched underneath. A loving couple, from the collar up. A postcard, and below the frame, his fingers buried deep, your lace panties shoved aside, and his whole length straining against his pants and rubbing into you.

The countdown blinked, and Jack’s fingers curled for the final few pumps so knowingly, your vision had started going white at the edges.

“jack, please. you know that it’d be better if you had bunny first. plus, maybe it could be a point of bonding for the two of you.”

“mike, you want our bonding to be me fucking her? jesus christ, brother. fine. what the fuck anyways”

so now jack has to figure out a way to get closer to you. this begins at bed time. in someways you’re like a cat. you can sleep whenever which works out in robby and jacks favor because they both like to spend time with you. the only thing you need is a nice little orgasm and you’re fast asleep!

jack usually doesn’t do much more than let you grind upon his leg. he worries for you after all! he doesn’t want to frighten you. but after some encouragement from robby, he’s decided to be more engaged.

after robby drops you off at the pitt and jack takes you home, he can tell how sleepy you are. ‘wanna nap now bunny huh? you’re just so sleepy baby, i know’ he sympathizes.

now while you might be a sleepy bunny, you’re not a dumb one. you know that when you’re with jack you’re usually rutting against his thigh and your little feet are thumping against the ground. so this time you prepare yourself to do just that. which is why you’re so suprised when he sits you around on his lap, his thighs hooked behind yours and spread you out.

‘something different and more fun this time, bunny girl’ and you just love fun things! so you nod eagerly along with him. he runs his fingers along your clit and watches as your little nose twitches. your little hands scratch at his forearms when he teases and he tuts and rubs quicker circles.

when you finally cum against his fingers your ears are twitching and your toes are thumping against the floor. you’ve curled into him in a way you’ve never done before and when you murmur ‘more more more please daddy’ he knows he’s got to fuck you.

but, you’re a considerate little bunny! and you know that your daddy was on his feet the whole day, so when he takes you into the bedroom and lays you down, you hop back up and push him down. ‘oh we’re a brave bunny now aren’t we?’ he teases. you don’t take it as such and nod enthusiastically. ‘alright then big girl, come hop on daddy’s cock’

you do just as your daddy says! and line up your wet cunt with his red cock. and usually you’re a little more talkative, but god his cock is so big and it stretches you out so nicely. so you just whimper and whine and thump your feet against the comforter.

and you’ve never felt like this before! never seen anything like your daddy’s head thrown back. never heard anything like the groans and moans that fall from his mouth when you settle fully down onto his cock and he is suffocated by your tight cunt. never felt anything like his rough hands bruising into your thighs!

and you don’t know what to do with this feeling! so when you whimper out a ‘daddy daddy please it’s not the same!’ you just don’t know what to do with yourself! and in your haze of pleasure, you cum more violently than he’s ever seen anyone. your head is thrown back and your eyes are rolling around in your poor little head. your thighs are quivering and your whole body wracks with sobs.

after your orgasm is finished, you think that you’re completely wrung dry. it’s not your fault that you piss all over your daddy’s belly and cock! you just have so many big feeling and you’re just a little baby bunny!

and it’s not his fault when he comes. the hot liquid just adds an level of pleasure and your ashamed little bunny face and twitching nose makes his orgasm imminent. you sit for a minute letting his cum fill you up and feeling his cock soften within your cunt.

the two of you lay there until he worries about eh possibility of you getting a uti in your little bunny pussy and he makes you shower. when you’re all clean and fast asleep, he texts robby at work.

brother, i think we’ve really bonded.

It's one of his favorite parts of the day: waking in the early hours of the morning and rolling over to watch you. The steady rise and fall of your chest, the vague flutter of your eyelashes, all the little movements when you would shift to get comfortable. It was also inevitable that watching his lover do something so natural would make his body react. At first he fights the urge to do anything, you're sleeping and it's wrong. But you agreed to it before and always loved when he touched you. So he lets his calloused hands slip under your clothes, squeezing and lightly pulling at your flesh.

He's whispering apologies as he tugs off your pajamas, sliding under the blankets and between your legs. Pope eats you out like it's his last meal, dragging his tongue through your folds and suckling on your clit. Your sleepy little moans and the way your hips grind up toward his mouth is just encouragement. He's kneading your thighs like a kitten while his face stays buried between your thighs, tugging your legs shut enough to squeeze his head. It ends with him pressing reverent kisses up from your sex to your hip bones.

Now that you're properly soaked he's finally tugging down his boxers and shuffling around to toss them off the bed. Leaning down to whisper sweet promises against your cheek as he presses home. Nudging himself into you as he presses one of your legs up and down to the bed to keep you open for him. Pope's thrusts are controlled—slow and even—doing his best not to wake you up. Though his best effort is in vain as his thrusts grow sloppier and rougher in his eagerness to be closer to you.

By the time you wake up he's whining, his face pressed into your neck as he slams into you. Choked off moans falling from your lips as you squirm under him. Pope sobs, "I'm so sorry, so sorry..."

He strokes your sweaty hair back and out of your face, "I-I couldn't help it. You just feel so good! Do you feel nice? I felt you cum earlier, lemme—lemme help you cum again"

Now that you're awake he's able to lift your legs, guiding them to wrap around his waist. Pressing sloppy kisses to your lips as he tangles his hands in the pool of your hair spilled across the pillows.

Finally, his hips are starting to stutter, pretty tears rolling down both of your faces as he rubs his nose against yours, "You're so perfect. Taking me in your sleep like that...you tasted so good creaming all over my mouth. Were you dreaming about me?"

Wdym his touch is so warm and tender that when he says bye in the morning it makes your cunt puffy all day until it hurts?

Wdym he has to stay in the bathroom and help you wash your hair in the tub because he has to 'make sure you don't hurt yourself' but the whole time he's just staring at your nipples