word count and warnings: 857. no smut, mentions of arousal/sexual tension, spitting, spit-kink, blood mention, blood drinking, spit drinking, song lyrics as dialogue, and finally if you really really squint at it, hints of abuse from a father.
a/n: a short little somethin'-somethin' written to hozier's it will come back. eeehhmmmm, yeah that's it. I could've made this into a full fic but I got nervous. enjoy please!
"No, he ain't comin' in! What in the hell is wrong with you?!"
You blink, and snap your head to your daddy, who is standing next to you, gun cocked and aimed at the stranger who had knocked just after sunset. Naturally, rightly, skeptical of the man, your father ain't havin' it. He looks mad, and his frustration is bleeding out onto you now.
"What? What did I do!?"
You'd just got done sayin' that you thought he was an honest, handsome man, that he oughta' be let in. 'Bout to shake his hand. All because you were thinkin' with your cunt and you knew it. But yes, what did you do?
"Lookin' at him like that! Talkin' to him like that!"
"Daddy, he's just a—"
"Jesus Christ, don't be kind to him!" he bellows, adjusting the shotgun on his shoulder. "Go on upstairs. Let me handle this."
Knowing better about that, you obey your father and recede into the safety of the house, but not before casting one more glance at the stranger. He gives you a smile that says a whole lot and you feel the butterflies start up again, beating their excited little wings against your ribcage.
Your father's words echo in your mind as you sit cross-legged on your bed, staring outside. You don't know how long you've been there, just gazing out through the glass, but it's long enough that the coyotes have started up their yipping and howling outside your window, barely louder than the thoughts swirlin' around your head.
What were you thinkin'?! You don't offer a stranger your hand, you don't let them in. You know better. There's shit in those woods you wouldn't believe.
You.
Know.
Better.
Apparently, you didn't, because the second you think everyone's asleep, you're acting on your own hunger. You pull a blade from the kitchen and hurry to the door, excitement coursing through your system like electricity. You've barely pushed it open all the way before you're calling out to him.
"You still out there?" You ask into the darkness.
If he isn't, you're silently hoping he comes back at the sound of your voice, hoping the breeze carries it to wherever he is. A few seconds pass before he rounds the edge of your porch, coming from the side of your house. His hands are tucked in the pockets of his slacks as he nears the door.
"Sure am," he drawls.
"I have somethin' for ya'."
You lift your hands to the door, and press the blade against the meat of your palm. With one swift flick, you slice deep. As the skin separates, blood welling up from the thin laceration, Remmick's eyes dart to your hand, pupils dilating. He looks starved. You smile softly through the burn.
"Smilin' at me like that… hoo!" He shakes his head to the side like you've just slapped him across the face, a burning desire evident in his features.
You hesitate for a moment, debating on how to get it to him safely. You wince at the thought that pops into your head, but you bring it to your mouth, chasing the runnel that makes its way down your wrist. The stream of coppery, heady liquid that floods your tongue almost makes you gag, but you settle your reflex with a deep breath through your nose. Remmick's head tilts upwards, like he's trying to get a whiff of it.
You gather it in your mouth, and take a step towards him, still not crossing the threshold. If he is what your daddy seems to think, he can't come in unless invited. You launch the mouthful of blood out the door, aiming for him. It lands mostly on his face, splatters of crimson against his pale skin. He's not offended — he knows what you're doin' — and cracks a pleased smile before reaching up, fingertips swiping away the viscous liquids. He looks at it running slowly down the pads of his fingers, and chuckles a little.
"What's funny?"
"You shoulda' listened to your daddy."
"'Bout what?"
He brings the stained fingers to his open, waiting mouth and smears them along his tongue. He swishes it around on his tongue before swallowing it, closing his eyes like he's savoring a piece of succulent meat.
"You know better, babe. Feedin' me?"
For a moment, you say nothing, just watch him. Watch him watch you.
Finally, you heave a sigh. "I gotta' go back upstairs… if my daddy hears me talkin' to you—"
"Let me in." He says abruptly, bracing himself against the door frame so hard you hear the wood creak. His eyes search yours, desperately, and you feel your cunt clench with heat. "Let me in and I'll show ya' a good time, I promise. I've learned the warmth of yer' doorways and —"
You titter, shaking your head back and forth. "I can't let you in."
He doesn't seem put-off — quite the opposite, actually. There's a fervor in him that wasn't there before. "I'll come back. It won't be them coyotes you hear outside."
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the sadomasochist little fucker that begs for you to bite him, scratch him, make him fucking bleed
touya with a fucking disgusting love for scars and cuts and wounds in general
if you get a paper cut he'll suck your finger and let the blood coat his tongue
god fucking forbid you have a period, because for that week, he's a vampire
"orgasms are good for cramps, let me fuck your pain away baby"
dabi, who has piercings all over his body in addition to the staples because it just feels so fucking good to be hurt
because he cant cry but he loves to watch you sob as you take his dick, ramming it all the way so he can hear you scream because no one else understands how good it feels to suffer like you do
touya who fucking loves how it feels to fuck you senseless and raw, cause when you clench around his dick, it tugs his piercings in such a way it makes his head spin
dabi who asks you to use your fucking teeth when you take him in your mouth and dig your nails into him when he fucks you so you can feel the blood under your nails
touya, the disgusting fucking freak, who loves you more than anything and knows you love him back, and wants nothing more than to feel it in the only way he knows how.
for the valentine's asks may i please ask for promise ring + joel?
thank miss freya
ooooh baby I see angst with this one. WALK WITH ME!
I'm imagining... jackson. a joel lives!universe because joel miller always lives and I won't hear otherwise. I'm picturing... you and him in this almost-but-not-quite sort of cycle, where you're not together but you ought to be, where one of you is always too gun-shy to blurt out what is obvious to anyone else. you have each other, but not all the way. when you stay the night as his, you leave first thing in the morning even though every cowardly cell in joel's body wants to ask you to stay.
then you get hurt on patrol. pack of clickers or raiders - pick your poison - but your partner rides back with you in their arms, bleeding and unconscious, yelling for a doctor. there's no bite. you ain't in infected. but for a long time you lie in jackson's little clinic while the docs do what they can. when you haven't roused in two days, the pit in joel's stomach yawns into an echoing chasm.
what if you hit your head too hard. what if you aren't waking up. what if this whole goddamn time he's been in love with you and never told you, and he'll never get the chance to now.
he spends a lot of time at the clinic. sometimes at your bedside, sometimes out in the hall. he has a difficult time being any further away than that, and often has to be escorted out at night and ordered to go home and sleep.
by the third day, with no sign of improvement except for your stitches holding, joel returns to the clinic with something in his pocket - something he's had for a while now but been too much of a chicken shit to give you. maybe once it could've been the moment he made everything right, but now it's a bargaining chip. now he's just sorry. and so fucking desperate.
in the tiny clinic room you're still out cold. the dressings on your wounds have been changed since yesterday, and someone's brushed your hair away from your face. joel pulls up his usual chair and sinks into it with croaking joints, clearing his throat softly, eyes flitting to the door in case anyone suddenly bursts in. what he's gonna say is only for him and you.
he stumbles through it. mumbling his weakening pleas, begging you to come back to him. telling you you can do it, that you're gonna pull through - not really because he believes it, but because he needs you to. then the mumbling goes on, and the whole room goes wobbly. the hand in his jacket pocket that's been thumbing the ring finally pulls it out. this whole time he's been too scared to touch you, unsure if he's earned the right to hold your hand, but he gently turns it so your palm lies facing up.
it's a little thing. just a band he found out on some supply run months ago that he found himself pocketing before he could think much of it. it isn't for marriage - he ain't proposing - but he'd intended it for you nonetheless as a kind of promise. a promise that he was done running, done hiding. done doing this halfway.
he sets the band in the center of your palm as one wet tear jumps down his cheek. blinking fast, he sniffs and scrubs it away.
"you wake up," he says quietly, the words brittle enough to break. "and tell me to go t'hell for waitin' so long, you hear? just---"
he stops at the first crack in his voice, swallowing dry around nothing.
"just wake up, baby. y'can hate me, but I need ya t'be here."
soap and ghost doing couple-y things without realizing theyre couple-y things. everyone thinks theyre dating.
soap oftentimes waltzes over to ghost when hes on the couch reading and he just throws himself down next to him with a tired groan and lays his head on his lap. ghost always moves his book out of the way without being prompted and he immediately starts running his hand through johnnys hair. no words are spoken. its just what they do.
simon will wipe away whatever gets on johnnys face- oil from whatever work theyre doing, sauce from a meal, ash and soot from the explosion he just set off- he just reaches out and wipes it off and chides him for being a mess. johnny always just grins at him and says something along the lines of "thats what i have you for, lt."
johnny is always prepared for if simon gets overwhelmed from his environment. he knows the signs and tells, and he can tell when an environment is going to be difficult for simon. he also knows that it helps for simon to bury his face in the crook of his neck or in his hair. he doesnt question it when simon stands behind him and wraps his arms around him, he doesnt acknowledge when he hides his face in his shoulder, he just simply raises a hand and covers one of simons own.
johnny even gives him good luck kisses when ghost is going on missions. he gets on his toes and leans up and places a kiss on his cheek, mask be damned, and tells him to come back in one piece- with all his blood in his body.
everyone just assumed theyre dating. when someone calls one of them "his boyfriend" they look at them confused. they dont fucking realize that its not really Two Homies Hanging Out thing to cuddle tenderly and stare at each other with unrestrained adoration.
eventually its fucking Rudy who goes "you know you two are dating, right?"
"...what?"
"youre dating. you and ghost. you two are dating."
"... no?"
"yes."
and so he thinks about that, starting with denial, but he slowly realizes that Oh Fuck, Theyre Dating.
and so soap busts into ghosts room (not that it phases simon, it happens all the time.) and goes "DID YOU KNOW THAT WE'RE DATING?"
and simon just goes "what?"
"we're dating. we're a couple."
"...are we?"
"i guess? i mean, think about it! we cuddle!"
"platonically."
"we hold hands all the time!"
"..platonically."
"we KISS???"
"...platonically?"
"si, i told you i loved you last week. in your bed. you kissed my forehead. and then we went to sleep."
for @the-road-betwixt. happy birthday. i did some recon on your favorite tropes and i hope i hit close :)
--
"Love is a lie," Caroline declared, throwing back a glass of $418 zinfandel like a shot of tequila and slumping back on the couch in Kol's exquisitely decorated mid-century modern condo. "There's no such thing as soulmates. If I can’t find mine after over a thousand years of trainwreck relationships, it's fake."
"Cheers to that, darling," Kol said, waving his own glass in the air.
"You're so lucky you're not half-wolf," Caroline grumbled.
"Love can be a lie for me too, now. Don't be racist."
"Okay, yeah, but you don't start every relationship knowing that it's probably not right and that your soulmate could interrupt at any time and completely nuke it, so what's the point of even trying."
"I ruin things just fine on my own, it's true," Kol allowed. "But I think you're being a bit fatalistic."
Caroline huffed, propping her bare feet on the coffee table and idly wondering whether painting her toenails a mopier shade would be warranted. Pale grey, the color of the dead corpse of her love life, perhaps? "The concept of soulmates is by definition fatalistic, Kol. And that's what post breakup wine nights are for. Fatalism, derogatory!"
"You'll find him," Kol insisted, in a rare moment of genuine emotional support. "You have forever, after all."
"Yeah, I do! What if he's already dead? What if I missed him?" Caroline asked, now drunk enough to give voice to the fears that she usually kept compartmentalized in the most out-of-the-way part of her mind. "What if I didn't find him in time and now I'll never have anyone?"
"Ah, we've had enough to invite the entrance of sad-drunk Caroline. A pity."
"Shut up," Caroline whined. "You're not being very helpful."
"I like to think I've been an excellent support system," Kol said indignantly. "I've listened to you mope for centuries and haven't encouraged you to contact an ex-boyfriend once. Do you know how rare that is in this day and age? In the era of looking up your ex-husbands on linkedin because it's the only platform they've not blocked you on?"
"Well I don't have a linkedin or an ex-husband, so that wouldn't be very helpful," Caroline said, glancing at Kol, whose eyes were shifting guiltily. "What?"
"Sorry, darling," he said quickly, chugging some wine straight from the bottle.
"For what? It was a joke," Caroline said slowly, her eyes narrowing.
Kol was being. Weird.
So weird.
"But we've never talked about it," Kol said, avoiding her gaze. "Scrupulously avoided it, in fact."
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It takes you completely by surprise, digging through the folds of leather to fetch some cash for him. It’s not one you ever remember being taken, much less being printed. From the looks of it, the image is from several years ago, displayed on a tiny little 2.5” by 3.5”, perfectly laminated and everything.
It’s from far earlier in your relationship, your hair is cut in a bit of a different style, your skin a little bit smoother. Head resting on a pillow, all of the muscles in your face lax in your convalescence, you seem to be fast asleep.
“Levi?” You call over your shoulder, aiming your voice towards the next room over where Levi is waiting with the pizza delivery man.
“What?” he calls back just as loud, no doubt not even talking to the poor man -boy really- waiting for his tip. Just staring at him awkwardly, making the kid uncomfortable with his sharp, thoughtlessly stern gaze while they wait in the entryway.
Eyes drinking in the little photo once again, this time you notice one of Levi’s hands is cupping your cheek, his thumb caught mid-swipe along your skin. The image makes your heart flutter, stomach flooding with butterflies at the captured fondness. “Can you come here a sec?” you ask, voice catching in your throat.
“Hold on a moment,” you hear Levi say to the boy, before footsteps begin to make they’re way from the room. “Is something wrong?”
“No…just…” you pause as Levi slides next to you, wrapping an arm around your waist, his face full of concern. “You have a picture of me in your wallet?”
“O…oh,” Levi stutters, the pale skin at the tips of his ears immediately flushing red. “I…I’m sorry if it’s weird…I can get rid of it…”
He sounds so sad at the end of the sentence that your heart aches just a bit. “No!” you rush to correct him, voice a bit too loud. “I think it’s cute!”
“It’s not…it doesn’t make you uncomfortable?” Levi asks, steely eyes glued to the picture in question. It must have been taken with his cell phone -probably his last one given the age- because the image is dark and somewhat grainy.
“Not at all, though you could have taken a better one,” you reply, curling your fingers around the hand resting on your hip to reassure him. “When is this from?”
“The first night you slept over at my old apartment,” Levi explains, embarrassment tinging his cheeks now as well as his ears.
Now that he mentions it, you do recognize that pillow, the dark black of his old bedsheets. The pajamas he’d offered you -a shirt he’d bought in college that ended up being way too big on him- are still in use, even now that you’ve moved in together. “The first night? We didn’t even sleep together! I ended up passing out midway through the movie!”
“You smiled…in your sleep,” Levi explains, voice fond and eyes a bit misty with emotion. “You just looked so…”
You see it now, the soft upturn of your lips right next to where his thumb is caressing your skin. After all these years, you know Levi well enough, to know that he struggles with his words, especially when it comes to expressing his emotions. What he means is clear, given the love struck look on his face. “Oh.”
Voice nothing but a quite rumble, he pulls you against his warm side, breathing into your ear, “I think that was the moment I knew you were the one for me.”
The one corner of the image looks well worn, as if he swipes his finger along the edge as often as can be. You can picture him at work, opening up his wallet to catch just a glimpse of you, fingers swiping lovingly along the edge. The image, combined with his admission, makes tears well up in your waterline.
“I love you,” you warble, your voice cracking a bit with emotion.
“I love you too,” Levi responds, voice steady despite the tremor of emotion in his throat. “I know I don’t say it enough…”
He rarely tells you those words, yes, but he portrays them in little ways everyday. You move to kiss him, every nerve in your body screaming for you to take his lips with your own. Levi’s head tilts to meet you, his nose brushing against your own to nudge you into place.
“Hey guys…” you hear a voice call from the room over. The words startle you apart before your lips can meet, sounding a tad bit angry in complete juxtaposition to the emotion emanating the small space.
“Fuck!” Levi curses quietly under his breath, fingers winding fond circles into your hip even as his other hand moves to take the cash from the upper layer of his wallet. “I forgot about the pizza guy.”
Before leaving the embrace, Levi presses a quick kiss to your forehead, complete with a soft hum. He sways with you, pulling you tight to his chest and teetering you both from side to side. “We’ll continue this later, okay?”
“Mhmm,” you hum in confirmation, pressing a wet kiss to his neck. You want a little photo of him now. Something where he’s caught unaware and looking cute for you to tuck into your own wallet.
“I love you,” Levi repeats, eyes dark and fond as they bore into your own. He’s almost smiling, his lips curved upwards just a bit in a rare sight. That’s the image you want to capture forever.
“Lee-”
“Am I getting my tip or what?” The delivery boy startles you once again, cutting you off mid reply.
Sliding out from your embrace, Levi presses another quick kiss to the top of your head before starting towards the entryway. Cash in hand, he calls, “Yeah, I’m coming. I’m coming…”
Garrett sat silently at the edge of his bed, a second (forgotten) cigarette slowly burning to ash on the nightstand. Curled in his palm was his ring, with the old photo of his family held between his fingers. In his other hand, almost dead from how many times he'd been clicking it on and off, was his lighter, electric purple arcs ticking for a few seconds before shutting off again.
He'd been stuck in this loop before. Burn the photo. Bury the ring. Let them rest. Let them GO.
But every time the lighter got near the edge of the photo his fingers trembled, and he snatched the two apart again.
Why was this so fucking difficult?? What GOOD had holding on so tightly ever done for him?? Rage over affronts to two people long dead had driven him to consume his own Fledgling’s blood and soul, he'd damn near ALMOST done the same to Byan for the exact same reason…!
Holding on so tightly was costing him control of his Beast. It was affecting his discipline in a horrible way. That alone should have had him getting rid of the mementos. So what if he'd never gotten closure? His wife and son were DEAD and GONE, for over seventy years at this point. They had NOTHING to do with his life in the modern nights.
Do it. Burn it.
His jaw clenched and he brought the lighter to the edge of the photo. But again… he couldn't bring himself to do it. He lunged to his feet and threw the items to the ground with a snarl of “DAMN IT!” The creased photo fluttered and drifted somewhere under the bed while the ring pinged off the pavement and rolled into the dark.
For a long few moments he stormed back and forth across the basement, claws digging into his palms, teeth bared in a frustrated snarl. He KNEW this was something he had to do, why was it so difficult?!
He dropped into the chair at his desk, letting his head rest in his hands with an exhausted sigh. Get ahold of yourself. After a long moment of quiet, he felt Betty pawing at his head, and he lowered his hands to see her sitting there with the photo in her mouth. Even she knew how much it had meant to him over the decades.
Taking it was bittersweet, and he focused on scratching her behind the ears as he dropped the photo into the bottom drawer of his desk.
Warnings: Fellatio, Cunnilingus, Reverse Cowgirl, Spanking, Hint of a Breeding Kink, Pain Kink if You Squint, Real Hard
BBJ Masterlist
“Warriors for the Dub,” I confidently yelled across the hall.
Chuckling as I stride back into the office, coffee in hand, I’m mad excited for tonight's game. Right now it’s a toss up between the Warriors and the Cavaliers and my hating ass coworker is a diehard Lebron fan. I’m talking this man can do no wrong. And I’m all for Lebron don't get me wrong, I can respect the hustle, but that man cries way too much for my taste. Just get in there and play the fucking game without calling for fouls every quarter.
The door slamming against the wall interrupts my thoughts and I look up to see just who has the motherfuckin audacity; my posture relaxing as soon as I eye Damon’s bitch ass stepping through the threshold.
“Ayo for real that boy Curry is done for,” he boomed. “So you might as well just run me my money right now.”
“Just because your rent is due doesn't mean you get to walk around here harassing people; budget better bitch.”
“Ain’t nobody short on money Luke it- matter of fact, lets double up on it.”
“You really wanna go double or nothing?” I questioned.
“That’s what I just said, don’t bitch out on me now.”
“Damon ain’t nobody worried about a few dollars,” I countered. “That’s chump change.”
Damon is what I’d like to call a competitive wagerer. That man will quadruple up on a losing bet even if all he has to give for it is the pants around his ass. Just constantly tripling up on a stake in hopes that the next one guarantees him a pocketful of money. How he still walks around here with two fully functioning knee caps is beyond me.
“Ain’t y’all niggas spose to be working?” comes a voice chiming in from the door.
“Yes sir, I’m just finalizing some of these last minute reports before I hand them over to Luke for the Swiss fiscal account.”
“That’s real cute Damon, but I heard you motherfuckers all the way from the bathroom.”
“Well what you riding a nigga for then?” Damon groaned.
“My bad boss,” I conceded. “But by the end of the day all the statements will have been completed.”
“If y’all two sons of bitches gone be gambling in my establishment, at least have the decency to do it quietly,” he barked. “And while we’re at it, Luke, I need you to stay behind tonight to get a head start on the Cayman Island accounts.”
“My man, any other night and I got you, but tonight is the finals and I already have everything all set up.”
“Luke, if I don’t see at least some headway on those reports by tomorrow, don’t even bother coming in.”
“Sheesh, so much for a work environment that feels like family.”
“Damon shut yo ass up and clock out while you at it,” he ordered, stomping out the room; Damon angrily puffing behind him.
“Fuuuck,” I muttered.
Five days worth of planning down the damn drain. I’m talking surround sound installed and ready to go. Acoustic panel strips glued to the door of my mancave for the perfect noise cancellation, effectively soundproofing it. And wings from my favorite spot preordered and ready to deliver for the exact time I pulled into the driveway. Deadass, the only thing I had left to do was take a quick shower once I got inside. And with how long it takes me to get home once I got off, I would’ve been out the tub just in time for player introductions.
Now my boss wants me to sort through this pile of shit tonight? It’s gonna take me at least an hour to make even an ounce of progress trying to unscramble these makeshift ass policy reports. Truth be told, he’s only doing this cause he thought his underdog ass team was gonna come through and make their way to the finals. Well jokes on him cause the Celtics haven’t been relevant since Rondo was on that bitch. I mean he’s a cool boss when he’s ready, but I need to square up with him at least once outside of work hours. Nothing too hectic, just long enough to let out some frustrations.
|~~
Tonight's game starts at 7:00, meanwhile I just barely wrapped up everything for the Swiss fiscal accounts; my impatience growing as I eye the current time of 6:30. Vigorously rubbing my temples, I let out a sigh of annoyance as it dawns on me that I may very well spend the first half of the game in this office - all my weeks worth of preparation wasted.
Sending a quick text to my wife that I’ll be working overtime, I set up the game on my phone and give myself until the end of the first quarter before I call it a night; opting to stream it for some background noise.
|~~
Halfway into the second quarter, I’m just shy three pages into the Cayman Island files, stopping every so often to watch Draymond run a foul. Honestly I couldn’t tell what’s going on with that paperwork, but I’ll be damned if I sit here and find out. The very least I can do is finish up these last two quarters in the comfort of my home. Boss said I had to make some headway not finish it, I thought to myself as I packed up to leave.
“Boy aint no fucking way,” I screamed to no one in particular, hands slamming against the steering wheel; those orange striped cones tall and unwavering as they barricade the street, mocking me.
Ten minutes into my drive home and my usual route, of all times, is blocked off. Now I gotta take the residential area which is chocked full of stop signs and speed limit ass followers. The third quarter is just beginning and the fleeting thought crosses my mind about finishing the game at the nearest bar; dismissing the idea soon after, my heart intent on salvaging whatever is left of this night.
“Agghhhh”
Five minutes away from my house, the sportscaster announces the end of the third quarter with the Warriors at 88 and The Cavaliers at 73. They cut for a short commercial break and I floor it the rest of the way home, fingernails digging painfully into my palms.
Bursting through the front door, I fling my jacket on the back of the couch. My tie follows shortly after, softly slithering onto the floor. Feet noisily slipping out of each shoe, it’s become a messy clothing trail left behind; a chaotic version of footprints left in the sand, and although my steps can be retraced, it’s far from picturesque.
Mancave be damned I think, making a beeline for the front room which to my surprise is already playing tonight’s game. I plop into the seats, confusion etching onto my features as I get the strangest case of deja vu.
“I swear I’ve seen this before,” I whisper.
Sitting up further, ass dangling off the edge of the seat, this game is starting to look a little more familiar than I’d like. And it isn’t until I peep the infamous two player scuffle that I realise it's an old game, head hanging in irritation as I pinch the bridge of my nose to calm my nerves.
A quiet, but unmistakable giggle sounds from behind me and I turn around to eye none other than the culprit herself, bursting into hysterics like shit is funny.
I go and make my way to the basement to try the game down there, but I just about tore that place up looking for the remote. Stomping up the stairs, I try our bedroom as a last resort to see the actual game playing; only it's muted. Eyeing the remote, relief washes over me and I quickly snatch it off the dresser trying to press the buttons as I aim it at the tv every which way, to no avail.
Muffled laughter in the background has me turning over the remote to see that the batteries are missing. Tongue poking against my cheek, I try to weigh my options of giving into her shenanigans or just watching the game on my phone like I did earlier tonight; not that I think she’ll let me.
We’re currently in the fourth quarter with 10 minutes left on the clock and everyone still has all their timeouts so I can realistically catch another 25 minutes of game time. Again, I doubt I'll get a chance to watch any of that, at home that is.
And I peep exactly what’s happening too, she ain't slick. Knowing how important this game is, she chooses to pull these childish ass stunts to get a rise outta me cause apparently I get “erotically aggressive” when I’m frustrated, or in this case, competitive.
Albeit, I think it’s mostly stemming from boredom. Something about taking matters into her own hands cause she's been feeling overlooked lately. But I’ve promised her more quality time between us as soon as I wrapped up the Swiss fiscal accounts. That project has taken more time away from us than I’d like, but it was crucial that I made the deadline. Shit, the bonus coming my way has already been spent if I’m being honest. I even made plans to take a few days off from work in preparation for a surprise getaway to show her how sorry I really am. Then she goes and pulls this fuckery. This right here is why she can’t have nice things.
“Y/N, please don’t do this, at least not tonight,” I warned.
Stepping into the room, batteries in hand, she twirls them through her fingers taunting me with each swipe, pondering exactly what I’d do for the batteries in question.
“Imma count to 3.”
“ONE!” she so boldly started for me.
Head cocked to the side, I have to forcibly tuck my lips between my teeth to hide the impressed grin that threatens to show. Meanwhile her eyes are narrowed into slits just daring me to make the first move; and I’ll be damned if I don't.
“Three,” I barked.
Stalking towards her, I scoop Y/N up and over my shoulder to which she purposely tosses the batteries throughout the room. I land a handful of smacks to her ass, clenched fists beating on my back in return. Slamming her onto the bed, I crawl between those pretty, brown thighs and wrap my hand around her neck.
“You wanted my attention so badly mamas, now show me why you should keep it.”
A dry, gagging sounds from the back of her throat, but I don’t have time for nonsense tonight. Releasing her neck I send a quick love tap to Y/N’s cheek, instructing her to tell me what’s next.
Pushing me to the side, Y/N quickly switches positions as she straddles me, grinding her clothed pussy into my dick while she catches her breath.
Swallowing a groan, I send a sharp smack to her thighs and demanded a speed up in pace, lowkey hoping to have a quickie so I can get back to the game.
Scrambling, she reaches for her shirt and throws it over her head, my favorite laced bra flying not too far behind. My dick twitches as the sight before me, pathetically rubbing against the friction of my pants while she plays with her nipples until they harden underneath the touch. Moans tumble from those luscious lips as she begins to circle her hips over mine once more, rubbing her core deliberately into the growing tent of my pants.
Raising up ever so slightly, Y/N’s underwear follows suit and she so boldly crawls over to my face, easing on down until her lower lips align with mine. Hands cradled around her plump ass cheeks, I pulled her closer and got to work, munching on the pussy like it was my last meal.
Tongue swirling through her slippery folds, I slide it further toward the glistening center, flattening it as I apply some much needed pressure. Hips thrashing away, I clamp down on her thighs until she has nowhere to run, intent on letting her feel every ridge of my tongue as it slithers toward the throbbing of her hooded clit.
We build a nice rhythm, the buckling of her hips a clear indication. Head thrown back, her hand tightly grips the headboard as the other sinks into my hair, roughly pulling on my coils while she whimpers into the quiet night. Body quivering above mine, I begin sucking on her clit without relent and it doesn’t take long until Y/N stiffens, a mouth full of her sweet essence the end result of a wave well rode.
Shallow panting turns into quiet breathing and usually after an orgasm, she tends to doze off, but I'll be damned if she gets a good night's rest after tonight's mischief. Shuffling on the bed, my clothes land next to hers in the corner of the room, my dick now at full attention.
Sliding my hands up to her waist, I hurl her onto the mattress below. Back to the sheets and legs spread eagle, I instruct her to finish what she started. Deciding to crawl on top of me, I stopped her mid-climb emphasizing, “aht aht aht, turn around and give me sumn good to watch.”
Tongue seductively gliding over her bottom lip, Y/N sends a knowing smirk my way as she readies herself to ride me reverse cowgirl. Hands wrapped around my dick, she gives it a few strokes, pussy teasingly hovering over where I need it most. A thunderous smack to her thighs gets the message going, her shrill shrieking turning me on a little more than I expected. Hips finally lowering onto my shaft, I let out a breathy moan, fingers sinking into her soft skin, all but ready to slam her all the way down.
“Mhnmmm, stop playing and put that pussy on this dick mamas,” I groaned. “C’mon and soak it real good for me.”
Knees connected to the sheets, one hand cradles my thigh for support while the other guides just the tip along her sopping lips. Now moist with her slick, Y/N raises up entirely and continues to jerk me, head diving down south to swallow my nuts whole.
“Aghhh shit, where the fuck you learn th-”
Pressure on my sac and hands swiftly stroking my length has me turning pussy real quick, encouraging her to keep going, my earlier outburst quickly forgotten. It may not be the sensation I was going for, but it for damn feels good as hell. Fingers digging into her flesh, they envelop those thick thighs, opting instead to knead them soothingly, sensually - her warm skin almost as sizzling as my desire, our low grunts bouncing against the still walls.
“You missed me real bad huh? Show me just how much.”
Tongue sliding against my balls, I feel every ridged texture coupled with the strokes she refuses to slow down on, it makes for a mind blowing sensation. Eyes rolling back, I almost miss the way her pussy slowly drips on my belly.
Removing my hand, I slide a thumb inside, sending slow, languid thrusts. After a few minutes, I inch my thumb closer to her clit, rubbing that mother fucker in steady motions of figure eights. Mouth hung open and hand movements sluggish, we stayed like that for a moment; slowly milking each other to the brink of pleasure.
Releasing my member Y/N sits up, my thumb falling to my side. Hands now resting on my thighs as she makes eye contact over her shoulder while slowly sliding down my shaft.
“This feel good baby?” she faux’s innocence. This woman is gonna be the end of me.
“Mhmm, squeeze me how you know I like it.”
That kegal shit she does makes my eyes cross over. The way her warm walls hug my dick in all its spongy goodness, mhnnmm fuck I could stay like this forever.
Grabbing a handful of each ass cheek, I help guide her on a rhythm that makes us both feel good, one where she actually makes use of her ankles instead of scooting on my dick like she’s trying to push in a chair. It's a position where I know she won't last long but also one where she experiences the best orgasms. Apparently from this position my dick rubs along her clit in all the right places and I ain’t mad at a two for one special.
Sitting forward, weight pressed on her forearms, Y/N garners better control and starts to bounce on me in earnest.
“Unhh, just like that keep going,” I grunt.
“Tell me you love me,” she screams.
“I love you.”
Raising my hips to meet hers, I grab a hold of her waist and drive into that pussy full force, the headboard viciously knocking into the wall behind us.
“Say it again Luke!”
“I love you,” I croak.
“Tell me what you want baby,” she coos.
Coming up off her forearms, Y/N slowly sits up and gets into a squatting position, hands nestled on her kneecaps as she readies herself to drain me dry.
Intensely rocking her hips, the steady sound of skin slapping against skin fades into the background as my heartbeat loudly pounds in my ears, toes tightly curled while my hips continue to meet hers thrust for thrust.
“mamas *thrust* I’m so *thrust* sorry,” I growl.
“Aghhh say it again.”
“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” is the tantrum that spills from my lips, shouting as I hit my peak. Fingers damn near embedded into her skin while I empty my load inside her fertile walls.
Y/N comes shortly after, her juices splashing around us. Falling on top of me, her back to my chest, I wrap my arms around her as we lay there in our post orgasmic bliss, heavy breathing coming to a slow stop.
“Mamas, I am so sorry that you’ve felt the need to resort to this as a result of my neglect,” I apologized.
“Luke, I just wanted you present is all, I feel like we were starting to drift and I got scared.”
“No, no, no if ONLY you knew what I had in store for you; but I’ll do my best to at least check in when work seems never ending,” I assured her.
Holding up her pinky, I lock mine with hers to which we share a kiss to our thumbs and then to each other. Promising a better act of communication between us, I wrap her in my arms and assault her face with slobbery kisses, encouraging her to never pull this shit again and to get a full night's rest as she’ll need her energy for the morning.
The game is still playing mute in the background and from what I can see they just wrapped up, GSW blowing a perfectly good 15 point lead.
“Well I’ll be damned. Damon really did win the bet, and double at that.”
A vibration from my phone has me already knowing who’s on the other line but I don’t have time for that man’s antics tonight. I can wait a few more hours before I have to sit up and listen to non stop gloating.
