#insert your fave

pairing: reader x (whoever they please) warning: descriptions of sex. minors dni please. authors note: kinda liking these little insertable, one off drabbles so here you go. wrote this with my faves in mind and the beauty of it, is that you can read it with your faves in mind as well! word count: 500 beans inspo : "spread" by outkast

willingness is enticing. sexy. the body opening like a flower in bloom. like the sun as it breaks against the horizon. that last shudder of breath before lips meet for something more. tension ripping at the seams. words hung up strange in the throat, before they flow bold to cut thick air. "i know who you are". but the usual blemish that little line makes never covers the skin, not now. never stalemates his urges the way it's always prided itself in doing, rushing an attempt in him to run from the expectations of 'fan behavior'. no, this is different. 

your surety, like the filling to the brim of a well without any sense of some nasty overflow. enough to pique interest. to finely stroke his ego without the break in surface tension. 

readiness wrapping about the body. a tucked lip under your teeth, suffering prettily from anticipation. arched and nestled against some soon to be tainted hotel sheets. and sometimes the ego peaks from behind the curtain, measures the eagerness of the audience before a great little tour de force. the curt unzip of his pants and the cold of a ring nestling into your hips. mushy brained but yet to be sated still. the flutter of your clit still rippling something dangerous under the skin. a wave and a rush. trailing slow down from the cliff he'd thrown you off of. lips tucked in and suckling firm. on a mission to do something worth staining your memory. 

"spread for me". 

a mellow bass silhouetting words to rattle your bones. it works. he's high. off the sweet smell from not so cheap perfume and the light sheen of sweat that makes you feel supple to the touch. hips and thighs shifting apart, knees pressing in to move away and the arch driven in deeper. messy from former pleasures and the mean swipe of his tongue. thumb fitting in gentle, teasing. a soft swirl at your clit to test more of that readiness. 

"please". 

fragile, like your lungs haven't made any new attempts at breathing. broken and needful. 

surely this'll help won't it? a sudden, sharp, in take as your body hitches. adjustments and such, before that faithful melt into the sheets. a hiss of a "yesss", stretching into a moan. your lips parted against the sheets as he makes to drag in sweet. shallow but a little thick and persistent. because theres a dangerous patience in the ego sometimes isn't there? the outer admirations that slowly but steadily feed the inner ones. so when his leg, after toying and delay, finally lifts to plant a foot on the bed, hips rocking to stroke deeper, he knows it's not all for naught. 

"so good", lifting off your tongue. 

a gratification that fills in neither instant or weak. 

fingers tucked in your hips to guide and direct. a groan toughing out slow and satisfied. feeling you throb and cling tenderly. a slight dance in where he holds you tight. feening for more. 

sadness.

it slowly seeps, at first. from your heart—always from that fragile spot beneath your breast—too soft to do any good. blue bleeds until it settles in your bones, clouds your mind, wearies your soul. until it wholly consumes.

it’s painful to watch. it doesn’t matter how many times he sees you crumble into dust; each and every instance is no less devastating than the last.

“it’s just one of those days,” you said in the morning, eyes devoid of the brightness that should have accompanied your smile. he knew something was wrong. but he can’t force you to share your burdens.

now, he is witnessing the life leave your body.

you close and curl in on yourself, shrinking, wishing to disappear before him. as if he would let you.

the warmth of his skin against yours makes your eyes sting. he can’t see the tears that sparkle as they wet his shirt—your face is buried in the soft fabric, fingers gripping the garment like a lifeline.

words of comfort light as air leave his lips, but most don’t reach your burning ears. the sentiment is what counts. and the hand that soothes up and down your back is all you can really focus on, anyway.

he never tells you to stop crying. he lets you have your way, shifting to pull you into his lap, palm moving up to smooth over your hair. his chest is damp with your sadness, aches in tune with your own.

how long you stay like that doesn’t matter; it always ends the same. you come up for air, face a mess (your words, not his). your gaze is puffy and your voice is thick as you whisper, “sorry.”

“don’t apologize,” is his reply, kisses dotted on your eyelids and cheeks and nose for good measure.

jealous sex with your fave. they catch someone trying to flirt with you and they would instantly get jealous (maybe your fave would be silently jealous and deal with it later) but they would fake smile their way through the whole interaction but when you guys get back home? oh they would show you that the other guy can’t fuck you the way they can.

they would lay you out on your bed, pinning your hands above your head and fucking into you roughly, practically seeing red. the thought of someone else doing this to you makes them angry, thrusting into you even harder, “they can’t fuck you the way i can. remember how i make you feel, i’m gonna make sure you feel it every time i fuck you.”