#devils night

Late night visit

Will Grayson lll x Reader one-shot

Devils Night Universe

Warnings: NSFW

Summary: On a rainy Thursday night, Will Grayson sneaks through your window after weeks of ghosting.

But who could resist him, as soon as he gets his hands on someone?

Note: English isn’t my first language. Requests open! Pics from Pinterest, character owned by Penelope Douglas

NSFW!

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Thursday evening, 10 p.m.

The soft orange glow of your lamp bathes the room in warmth, casting long shadows across the walls. You are curled up beneath a mountain of blankets, only half-paying attention to the show playing on your laptop. The familiar voices fill the quiet as the rest of the house has long since fallen silent.

Safe. Comfortable.


Completely unaware that someone is about to climb through your window.

A rustle of leaves outside makes you pause, probably just a bird, until a sharp knock cuts through the silence. Your head snaps toward the window. Another knock. You push the blankets aside, bare feet meeting the cool floor, and creep over to peek outside.

Even in the dark, you recognize him instantly.

Will Grayson lll.

You’ve gone to the same school for years, but ever since senior year something has changed. A secret has grown between you, stolen nights, hidden touches, and a connection you aren’t allowed to show anyone. No one knows. Not your friends, not your families. And lately, Will has been pulling away again.

You unlock the window and slide it open. Raindrops slide down his pitch-black leather jacket, his dark hair plastered to his forehead.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he says, that signature mischievous smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

You haven’t spoken to him in weeks. He stopped coming over without explanation. In school you act like strangers, never even glancing at each other in the halls. The silence has been eating at you more than you want to admit.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” you ask, voice dripping with sarcasm as you cross your arms and step aside.

His sharp green eyes drag over you slowly, reading the defensive tension in your posture. Then his gaze wanders across your room, the open laptop on the bed, the flickering candles on the nightstand, the warm little sanctuary you’ve built to escape the mess he leaves in your head. His grin deepens, revealing the dimple you secretly love.

“Am I interrupting something?” he asks, one eyebrow quirking.

“My peace,” you shoot back, almost teasing. Almost.

Truth is, your so-called peace has been fragile ever since he ghosted you. He has this way of slipping into your life, making you addicted to him, then vanishing for weeks like none of it mattered. It drives you insane, how much you crave him, how much it hurts when he disappears. Yet here you are, letting him in again.

He chuckles, low and warm, as he shrugs off his wet jacket and drapes it over the chair. Then he steps closer, closing the distance until you can smell rain and his cologne on his skin.

His large, still-cold hands reach for you with surprising gentleness, uncrossing your arms.

“What’s with the attitude?” he murmurs, voice dropping into that honeyed tone that always undoes you. He leans in, lips brushing just below your ear before pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the side of your neck.

Your eyes flutter shut. A small, pleading breath escapes you.

Pathetic, really, how quickly your body betrays you.

His hands settle on your waist, then slip beneath your shirt, fingertips skating over your skin and leaving goosebumps in their wake.

“Is my girl mad at me?” he whispers, lips trailing lower toward your collarbone.

“Where have you been the last few weeks?” you manage, though the words come out breathy as he pulls you flush against him.

“Busy, darling,” he mutters. And that was all I got. As always.

He steps between your legs, guiding you backward until the edge of the bed hits the backs of your knees. “I’ll make it up to you. Promise.”

One gentle push and you are on your back. Will crawls over you, covering your body with his, heavy and warm. His hands roam everywhere, under your shirt, over your hips, as he kisses his way down your neck and chest. With one smooth motion he pulls your shirt over your head, exposing you to his hungry gaze.

His palm cups your breast through the thin lace of your bra, thumb brushing over the hardening peak. A soft moan slips from your lips, and he groans in response, the sound vibrating against your skin.

He drags your shorts and panties down your legs in one slow pull. You shiver as cool air hits your heated skin. Will settles between your thighs, broad shoulders spreading you open. His breath ghosts over your core before he presses a reverent kiss right to your clit.

You gasp.

His green eyes flick up to meet yours, dark with lust, before he drags his tongue slowly through your folds. Once. Twice. Then he closes his eyes, brows furrowing in concentration, and devours you.

His tongue circles your clit with perfect pressure, then dips lower to taste your entrance before returning. Strong hands grip your thighs, thumbs spreading you wider as he licks and sucks with growing hunger.

“Fuck, you taste so sweet,” he groans against you.

Your fingers tangle in his damp hair. The cool, wet strands brush against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs with every movement, sending fresh shivers racing through you. Your back arches, hips rolling against his mouth as pleasure builds fast and sharp.

He slides two fingers inside you without warning, curling them perfectly against that spot that makes stars burst behind your eyes. His tongue never stops its relentless rhythm on your clit.

Your moans grow higher, shorter, harder to control.

“Oh my god, Will,” you whimper, desperately trying to stay quiet with your parents just down the hall.

He looks up at you, eyes gleaming with wicked satisfaction, his wet hair sticking to his forehead and your thighs. “Louder.”

His fingers speed up, stroking that perfect spot again and again. You are right on the edge, trembling, when his voice cuts through the haze.

“Hold it.”

You whine, thighs shaking around his head. “Please, Will… I can’t—”

“Hold. It.” His voice is pure command, deep and rough. He slows his fingers but keeps the pressure steady, tongue flicking teasingly over your swollen clit while he watches you struggle.

After what feels like forever, a slow, satisfied grin curves his lips. “You wanna come?”

“Yes,” you gasp, embarrassingly fast. “Please, I need it.”

He hums in approval and dives back in, fingers thrusting, tongue working your clit with devastating precision. The orgasm crashes over you hard. You come with a broken moan, thighs clamping around his head as wave after wave tears through you. Will doesn’t stop, licking and stroking you through every pulse until you are a whimpering, oversensitive wreck. The cool strands of his hair keep brushing your overheated skin, intensifying every sensation.

Only then does he pull back, kissing his way up your body until his lips meet yours in a deep, possessive kiss. You can taste yourself on his tongue.

“There you go, baby,” he whispers against your mouth, voice soft and satisfied.