on days he’s at home, away from all the troubles that come with the 141 and military and stupid warm ups—-he still strains himself from the awful habit of waking up before sunrise. but instead of cold barracks or the hum of transport, he at least wakes up to the sight of your drooling face. he just yawns and grins, petting a few stray hairs away from your face as you shift a little with a cranky whine. he loves that sound, loves the way you wrinkle your nose and furrow your brows. he loves the way you burrow your head deeper into the pillows he insists to fluff up, like you’re trying to escape consciousness itself. still asleep, he just admires your resting face. 

hours go by and he’s whispering to himself about your sleepyhead. “aye, go on. drool on my pillow. i’ll let ye.” he kisses your forehead gently, “christ, bonnie… ye’ve no idea what ye do tae me.”

and you wake up by that probably 20th kiss, groggy yet well-rested, you instantly warm up and grin back at johnny’s clear admiration. it’s his one of his days off, can you blame him for laying there so peacefully—even if he’s been clearly staring at you. you wanna greet home with a good morning, handsome but notice the clock on his bedside table says fucking 12:30 p.m. instead, you bolt up to sit up, curse him out for not waking you up for the morning farmer’s market on weekends. 

“aye, well… maybe if ye didnae look so bloody sweet sleepin’, i’d remember what day it was.”

“johnny, that’s not fair. you can’t just say that everytime!”

“sit down, lass. too distractin’ for yer own good. market’s closed, my arms aren’t.” 

and you throw that same pillow in his inviting arms.

and it just keeps happening. you ask him for help in the kitchen, his arms go for your waist instead of the knives or dirty dishes. kissing your neck and smelling your hair, telling you how perfect you felt in his hands, how sweet you are. you can’t help but lean into it! god forbid you also think he’s even more distracting.

he treats you to dinner, late and with a reservation. you get all ready, so dolled up and in his favorite everything—favorite dress, heels, bag, perfect makeup. you say it’s all for you when he gets cocky to a certain extent, really it’s all for him (both can be true). he stays seated at the edge of your bed, waiting, as you finish up some final touches. you go to him to grab your bag and he just stops you, palms clinging to your waist again. stupid eyes looking you up and down, that dumb expression that’s just so love-drunk. he looks even sexier and clumsier with his attempt to look good for you, it gets your heart skipping beats anyway. 

god, and he just never shuts up. 

“lovely, bonnie… just lovely. could never replace ye. my girl, through an’ through. no one even comes close tae touchin’ ye. c’mere a minute—just a few more, aye? wanna take ye in proper—you’ve got a hair outta place right here—” he brushes it back, fingers lingering, “—drivin’ me mad.” he takes your hand and kisses it, a bunch. you almost melt, combing through his messy hair with your other hand. 

he spreads his legs a little wider, his thighs in those slacks, the kind of sight that makes your teeth ache with the urge to leave a mark. he guides you to sit on his lap. he doesn’t even have to say anything; his hands are already on your waist, guiding you down onto him like you belong there. just to admire you for a little more, he says. 

“ye look good enough tae ruin a man’s self‑control. mmm, lass, d’ya taste as good as ya look?” he’s careful enough to caress your face without ruining anything, even more gentle as to holding your face to kiss your sweet lips. a little lipstick transfer never hurt anyone, he’s man enough to handle it. he concludes, “mmyeah, seems ye are.” he rubs his palm up your thigh, you can’t help but spread your legs just a little for him.

the only time it really gets on your nerves is after. but he swears it’s not you’re being distracting, no, that would imply you’re doing something. he simply just means you exist, therefore he can’t get anything done. 

a/n :: so so sorry for the random hiatus guys! ive been craving to get back into writing and specifically posting. i hope everyone's doing good esp in this climate. i HOPE U ENJOY THIS I CANT GET SOAP OUT OF MY HEAD!!1

you look up at him with big eyes, a little pout, before hooking your fingers under your pink panties. he doesn’t speak at first—not with words. just lets his gaze linger, heavy and unapologetic, trailing slow from your collarbone to the soft sheen of sheer pink that clings to you in all the right places. 

“you give in so easy, doll, just one look and you’re coming undone.” 

you pant, just from the feeling of having him hover of you, taking in everything about you. you keep your legs spread with your raw and uncovered pussy throbbing. “wanna take it, toji, please, wan—”

“here, it’s okay, gotta prep you first, alright? such an impatient girl, where’re y’er manners?” he chuckles and spits a wad on his fingers before rubbing your sheeny folds. he keeps you distracted as he lets his fingers slip in to stretch your virgin cunt out a little, “so, doll, what was with the sudden change of heart?”

“jus’ felt bad, you do so much—oh—for me and–and–” your back arches carefully as he finds your sweet spot,

“yeah, and what?” his fingertips concentrated to keep your body writhing, your face all dumb on him as you blank out on an answer. “you just want some cock in your tight pussy, didn’t you? poor girl, aren’t you? say ‘yes, toji.’” so mean—he fastens his pace as you whine before mumbling out a yes toji. he smiles, taking his fingers out, his thumb pressing a hard kiss against your clit, and peeling his shirt off. your empty cunt clenching around nothing at the sight of his chubbed up body, your eyes immediately trailing down to his boxers. your mouth waters at the sight of his bulge through his boxers, they look tight around his length, you can’t help but imagine the spring of his heavy cock when he takes them off.

“can’t let you come so quick, needa feel you fucking shake when i’m inside you.” he presses his fingers up to your lower lip, “say ahh.” you tug your mouth open as he collects the drool pooling off your tongue, swiping it over his revealed cockhead. he tosses his boxers aside. 

his cock is beyond anything your imagination could come up with, he’s so fucking hung. a nice trim around the base, his tip weighs down because of the heaviness, his balls are heavy, probably due to the lack of emptying his pent up sperm. he holds his cock up, just to tease your twitchy cit before letting the weight rest on your naked pelvis. his balls press up against your wet folds as he coos at the size of himself atop your stomach. the tip passes your belly button and he’s just so thick. you squeeze at his hand,

“it’ll be okay, doll. you worried about it fitting? toji’s gonna make it fit.” he lines it up to your twitching, virgin hole, whispers about how wet you are for him, “letting me in is the hardest part, alright? you trust me, right, baby? just relax—and let me in—” his leaky tip nudges past your slicked folds, and all of sudden, you feel this burning sensation. in your arms, your thighs, your head and heart, a beautiful and hurting burning feeling. the feeling of your man breaking into you, moving his hips gently but firmly to meet yours. your pussy lips take him in, your sweet walls stretch around his firm cock as he just forces himself through.

“toji—oh, daddy—fuckme–” you gasp and dig your nails into his shoulders, he doesn’t stop, chasing that feeling of surrender across your skin and face. It’s not just about control—it’s about the way you unravel under, the way you give your body to him. your nails sink deeper and he welcomes the sting like proof, still reacting just the way he loves—primal. his breath hitches, but his pace doesn’t falter—in fact, it steadies. purposeful, like he’s savoring every shift in your body. 

you calling him daddy with tears swelling in your eyes, your sweet voice mumbling and moaning like this is the answer you’ve been waiting for just hits him harder like no fight ever could. almost couldn’t believe he had waited so long to feel and hear and see this satisfaction come from you. he presses up against you and lets a groan, “fucking god—there you go, sweetheart. that’s all of me, fuck, you’re just so fucking perfect, aren’t you? you want me to fuck you real good now, huh? make you feel me for fucking days, can’t believe i waited so long to fuck this virgin pussy.” your face is wet as you squeeze his hands, he kisses your tears away and gently pulls away only to push all the way back in. admiring the way you take him, just swallowing him like it’s the most natural thing to do. your cunts dribbling slick and pre as he pumps you perfectly, promising you’ll feel full for quite a while! ^o^

THIS WAS SO FUN thankq for reading!

taglist : @tojisfourthbiatchoftheweek@booboobear-12@anthy-jay-ander@euhphoq@duooy@imnotlurkingherepls@satorusprites@kaypinkess@hisarmsaremycocoon@idkk9@channnee@chjinua@thatbitch4u@samisfunky@viluvs-u@doeeyestoji@sxwgal0

he liked using your sweet sincerity. not in a cruel way, not exactly—just enough to get you feeding him cake on the couch. fork to mouth. bite after bite. you contained this sudden excitement pooling in your stomach. he chewed. he wasn’t around much, work kept him late. but the fridge stayed full. coffee never ran out. eggs or bread. that lemonade you like. you started staying out of your room more. started sleeping in, started acting like the place was safe. he watched it happen, almost admiring his work. watched you melt into the furniture. watched you forget to be careful. and, yeah, he liked that too. but he needed something more. get closer to you, stop being so subtle.

he knew you liked to masturbate. hidden in your room, if he or price came to knock, you’d take a little to actually open the door. the buzzing would stop, the blinds were always closed, the room was dark, and the sheets would be pulled over. sometimes pillows would be out of place. poor girl, he once thought, no one to help her.

and now you’ve forgotten to lock the door, simon forgot to knock and there you were, legs open with your hand down your panties. probably the most beautiful you’ve ever looked in simon's mind,  you’re frowning—not in a sad way, but just struggling to reach your high. before you see him and even apologize, he’s sitting on the edge of your bed. 

“shouldn’t hafta work so hard, bird.” he strokes your naked calf, much too casually for your liking. he sees the wet patch of your panties grow, he smiles, “take ‘em off, go on now.” you obey, slight disbelief in your eyes as you roll them down, tossing them as he keeps your legs open. “yer not jus’ a pretty face, then.” 

your face burns up when he rubs a thumb down the slit of your heat, moaning gently at the feeling of your clit being stimulated. he keeps you relaxed, telling you that it’s gonna be fine—he knows how your mind wanders. “jus’ wanna help a sweet girl like you out.” he tells you to use your bullet vibe, to fuck yourself with it. and you do, you take it back in your fingers and switch it back on. you maintain eye contact with him as you slide it inside yourself, you wished it was one of his fingers instead, maybe even his cock. he’s hard, too, you caught a glimpse and mentally frown. he wants you and you want him—can’t he just give it to you now?

“behave, bird. continue.” he noticed your lack of movement before you go back to twisting it back in and out. and then as if he read your mind—“come for me, baby, you want it? gotta earn it.”

the hallway is dark, simon isn’t home, but the faint blur of the tv’s light catches your eye. you walk to the living room, gripping the edge of the wall, just to peak. inhaling sharply, john’s body is lying lazily on the couch, pull-over blanket just draped over him while his arm rests above his head. but his eyes are closed and his chest is rising slowly, you catch your breath. 

he’s asleep, and you’re hesitant. he comes to you when you're sleeping, and you’ve never winced, never turned him away. 

what’s the worst thing he could do? maybe laugh in your face, but maybe this is what simon was talking about. 

you walk up to his resting body, they have to be messing with you for a reason, 

but even if they weren’t—after pulling the covers off of him—this is what they get for throwing all your shit out, you sit on him. your thighs on either side of his burly lap. your cunt swells at the sight of him, you grind down and bite your lip at the slight groan he lets out. 

you’re falling for it.

you lean down and press kisses. romantic kisses, it’s been romantic all this time, at least you hope for it. and it’s been so long, you hope you remember how to kiss properly. part of you hopes he’ll wake up, to show you how. how to move your lips to make him feel good, hold your hips to grind down on him in a way you’re connected. you lean back up, back arching at the way you’re slowly rubbing your clothed pussy against the hidden girth below his jeans. you wanna get him all comfy, so that he feels no shame falling asleep in a shared flat with just his boxers on—both simon and john. you squint, peeping down at his tired face, imagining his cock underneath is all leaky and hard because of some soft grinding. you study his face some more, his coming face must be so fucking hot—

“mmhm…birdie..? is tha’ you?” 

“john—’msorry–i—”

he just groans, right after getting a tight hold of your hips and humping right back up into your mound. you squeak, squeezing his shoulders as he moves his hips in waves, trying to hit your vulva’s sweet spots with the zip of his jeans. 

“what’s the matter, love? need to let off a bit o’ steam?” he sits back better, straighter posture with his hands rubbing gently on the fat of your waist, as if he wasn’t trying to replicate fucking you. and it’s working, he’s got you like a kitty in heat. you slide your needy hands up his neck, feeling the light scruff there on your fingertips, only making you more feral, “you know what it is, john.” 

of course he knows, and what he does is give you a light grin, just behind his mustache. maybe softening his touches like before, you’ll comply, like warm butter on his skin and you’re just ready to melt. it’ll hide the fact he’s been overzealous, it’s a fucking miracle he’s been able to control himself for this long. just finally, he has his hands on you with the intention to break you open. 

so what if you’re not a virgin, you certainly felt the fear creep back to you when you fished out his heavy cock. absolutely like nothing you’ve seen and awfully perfect. he squeezes your face like the greedy brat you hide, “what’s it you want, hmm?” you look at him, in slight disbelief considering his hard cock is in your hands, as if your drooling cunt isn’t raw and dripping on the leather couch. “answer me, bon. i don’t take silence for an answer.” hasn’t it been obvious this entire time? “baby, you know it’s better not to make me wait.” 

your mouth drops gently, “your cock. want you—want this.” he smiles back like it was just common sense, he takes you carefully, hovering over his thick length. don’t have to worry about lube or spit to fuck ‘er open, he thinks, practically drooling all over me. for me. taglist :: @thbidkbutok thankq for all the positive feedback on the last one hehe !!

but nights there weren’t so bad, in fact they were comforting. you’d doze off in your smaller room, nose in notes and snoring into highlighter ink but would wake up on the couch with a hefty blanket atop you. they’d be gone, left a little plate of breakfast on the coffee table. 

slowly, living became less of a hassle without the extra stress of no food, no time to clean, no shelter in general with them. everything seemed so—in control. your favorite lost pens would show back up, sleep didn’t feel like such a privilege. time started letting you catch your breath.

even with all these unexpected advantages, you kept your space and silence. you wouldn’t really run into them very often, not really leaving your room. staying quiet and controlling your breath. but it slowly wore off and you noticed the little things. john smiled at you, often. they both seemed to get along well—had the accents always been there? simon’s footsteps felt like a ghost passing while john was a bit heavier. they had deep inside jokes, you could tell by the way simon would even smirk and shake his head at the bearded man’s recalls. 

you’d start hanging out more in the living room, maybe join them on the balcony. john’s little grins made your thighs feel like tacky magnets. and he noticed.

john was bolder with his moves. you really couldn’t tell when he’d cross the line of platonic and sexual. until one sunday morning before your exams, your breath is picking up as sunlight hits your face. soft winces and thrives of your body until you yawn yourself awake to see john. his fingers lightly skimming over the pretty throb behind your damp panties. he greets you with a good morning like he usually does, your name on his tongue like it’s the only thing that has meaning. casually, as if he didn’t wake you up with his thumb gently stroking your clit. 

“big things comin’ up later this week, yeah? you wouldn’t mind if i lent a hand, just a bit, would you now?”

“john…” 

he moves up next to you, cooing just above your ear. your legs never close, so he takes that as an invitation. he slips his thick fingers behind your panties, humming at the obvious heat and wetness. you’re too tired—too comfortable to resist. he just wants to help you, he knows how stressed out you are, how long you’ve gone without getting touched. 

he was sweet; every time you’d leave for class he’d land kisses on your cheeks, if he’s lucky, your lips. maybe a soft grind to your lower back as he whispers in your hair. displays such acts of attraction, but only when simon’s not around. 

simon had his own ways, he was much more aggressive. once when he came back from the gym, shirt off with a sheeny layer of sweat on his pecs and broad shoulders, just dropped onto the couch and jerked his chin toward you. “c’mere,” he said—he didn’t say things twice. you finished fixing a plate of fresh tiramisu for yourself and sat beside him. 

“rough day?” he asked, “how’d the tests go?” his hand dropped to your knee—bare skin, warm palm. the kind of touch that didn’t ask first. you almost choked on your dessert. he never really talked unless price was nearby. never more than a nod, a grunt, and most definitely didn’t touch you so blatantly. he asked about the homemade trifle on your plate and you offered some to which he just opened his mouth. you hold back your smile, taking a good bite on your fork and feeding it to the older guy. he groaned in satisfaction—one that might as well have had you like a waterfall. you take turns taking bites before he finishes it with a lick to the fork. 

he makes more moves after that, obvious pushing to the kitchen counter. wrapping an arm around you while watching late night television. may have helped you finished one time after hearing you struggle in your room. he sat on the edge of your bed and intoxicated you with praises laced with his accent, your orgasm hitting you like a coma that blocked out the sound of his voice and the buzz of your vibrator. simon took that to his advantage and learned about all your little gadgets. finding each of them and tossing them out—you’ve got two guys in the flat, you need something more natural anyway. 

he ignores your sarcasm and slides his hands on yours, “reckon it’s time for somethin’ to eat, yeah? know a spot not to fa’h that you’ll adore.” you comply. you’ve had no groceries and didn’t wanna cook something anyway, plus you know he wouldn’t let you pay for anything. 

older boyfriend!simon makes you put something more decent on. he got such a pretty little thing, he can’t just show her off so easily! you both compromise on his hoodie (it’s been at your pace for so long that it’s practically shrunken down to your size) and shorts. he’ll stand behind you to the right with his arm around you on the sidewalk (he follows the sidewalk rule without even knowing it, he thought it was just basically common sense.) 

he knows the staff and orders his usual, suggesting you try it. the waitress there calls you both darlin and love, squeezes her server book when simon holds your hand across the table a little too tight. he likes having you beside him but sometimes you’ll sit across, he likes the way you chub your mouth full when you’re hungry, grinning at the taste. he’ll make you try something new off his plate, feeding you with his fork and wiping a crumb off your lower lip as you nod with a oh yeah that’s good. 

he knows not to make a scene over paying the bill, it’s his natural language of care/ the last time you tried letting him know you could also pay it, he just gave you this dirty look. god forbid you feel a little guilty because he’ll stop you with a “don’t even start, love.” 

older boyfriend!simon wouldn’t call himself toxic, he wouldn’t call himself anything. so what if he likes the fact you’re not too close with anyone? if you’ve only got a few girlfriends to hang out with, he gets all the precious time with you in the end. he likes how you’re always free, anytime he calls you’re already out the door. it’s either you're bored at home or you’re finishing up your shift, he’ll pick you up and treat you. 

maybe you rely on him a little too much. simon never forgets his kiss before showering so what the hell could you have done to upset him? he’ll leave knick knacks like candy or a book you’ll like just around instead of handing it to you to see your reaction, does he just not care anymore? it’s just his way of being petty, even at his old age. 

he’s not big on solo trips. what if something happens? you’re all he’s got and so what if something goes wrong, the only close person you’ve got around is him. it wouldn’t look too good if the police had to ask a man twice her age where his lady went, now is it? it’s better if he looks after you. 

older boyfriend!simon is big on routine, he wouldn’t call it controlling. it’s just unspoken: don’t cancel friday night, nothing too scandalous unless he picks it, and definitely no declining his calls. its good for both of you, he swears it. the weekend’s where you both can wind down, he can’t have certain men playing cheap games around you, and he doesn’t see a reason you can’t accept his calls. he knows your routine and he barely does anyway. 

you like his little rules too. you don’t admit it but his guidance makes you wet like nothing else. he can tell—he can always tell. when he’s got his fingertips grazing your mound before sliding his hand under your panties, the way your cunt drools when he talks about why he doesn’t do this too often, “don’t wan’ you gettin’ too used to it, birdie. i know you can only take so much.” his gruff words make you twitch and you swear if he went on a little longer, you’d come. 

it’s anything he says mixed with the accent, if public humiliation weren’t a thing, you’d drop your panties any time he’d try to correct you. 

when you confront him about not kissing you, not touching you like he normally does, that you'd rather have him raise his voice at you, he tells you, “ain’t raisin’ my voice. you’ll know when i’m bitter, love.” his arms crossed with a smile tugging a little at his lips–what were you even upset about?

or when it’s late at night and he’s damn tired but you can’t help yourself. you’re rubbing up on him like a minx, he sighs and slides his hand to your ass, “don’t start thinkin’ you can get away with that pout every time. s’gonna stop workin’ one of these days.” you know it won’t. 

older boyfriend!simon makes sure to take care of you so you can take care of him. The best way to make sure he stays steady is to make you feel safe enough to soften. he despises when you ask for his help, he thinks of it more as since you look after everyone else so much, thought it was my turn, yeah? more like his purpose to have this quiet authority over you.