#with love ruby

In which Gerard acts out to get your attention, and he bites off a little more than he can chew.

Content warnings: dom reader, sub G, riding, degradation, edging-adjacent, slapping, burning, power dynamics, punishment

Word count: 1.7k

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He’d been an asshole all night.

You had gone to some party together, and all evening he was in a pissy mood, huffing and rolling his eyes and snapping at you for seemingly no reason at all. 

You were ready to go home by only 10pm because of his attitude, and as soon as you closed the apartment door you whirled on him. 

“What’s your deal, Gerard?” you ask, very nearly glaring at the aloof man standing by the kitchen.

To make you even more frustrated, he crosses his arms petulantly. “Nothing,” he huffs, “I’m fine.”

You wish you could grab him and shake some sense into his (infuriatingly pretty) head, but you force yourself to take a breath. “That’s not true,” you say, advancing on him slowly, closing the distance between the two of you. “You’ve been in a bad mood all night.”

You haven’t taken off your heels yet, and they give you a good inch on him as you stand before him. Leaning down a little to be eye level, your voice is lower, almost a growl. “Why are you being a dick?”

Gerard’s eyes had been widening subtly the closer you stalked towards him, and now that you’re close enough for him to touch, his little act falters—big hazel eyes, disarmed stance, no smartass retort ready on his tongue.

But what really gives him away is the way he leans forward towards you—subtly, barely a half inch. But you notice.

And it clicks: nothing is really wrong, and Gerard’s not actually in a bad mood. He just wanted to get under your skin.

“Oh, I see,” you drawl. “You were a brat all night because you wanted my attention.”

Gerard opens his mouth to protest, to argue, but you beat him to it.

“Don’t try and tell me I’m wrong. You wanted my attention so bad that you had to be an asshole? Well, you’ve got it now, baby.”

Five minutes later you had him naked and on his back in your bedroom, window open, letting in the crisp chill of the night.

You’re riding his cock with a disinterested expression—if “riding” is even the right word for it. It’s closer to cockwarming with a little rock or shift every now and then.

You’ve had him like this for twenty minutes.

Gerard is barely holding onto his sanity beneath you. When you first climbed on, he was smirking and all too eager to grab your hips and pull you onto him. But now, he’s begging for it to stop. Every time you feel him start to soften inside, you move just enough to get him fully hard again. 

The urge to slam yourself down onto him again and again until you’re both panting, sweaty wrecks is tempting, but he has a lesson to learn.

“Honey, please… I can’t…” he whines, one hand still clutching your hip, the other squeezing the sheets.

You take a puff of the cigarette you lit—hey, you opened a window!—and glance down at him haphazardly. “What do you mean, you ‘can’t’? I thought this was what you wanted.” 

Gerard whimpers pitifully below you, face twisting in frustration and desperation. 

You let out a soft snort of a laugh, offering a cool smile. “What, did you think you were gonna be rewarded for being a bitchy little brat all night?” You allow your hips to rock back and forth once, pulling a strangled moan from Gerard. “C’mon, baby, I know you aren’t that dumb.”

He musters a halfhearted glare up at you, but the effect is ruined by his glassy eyes and red cheeks. “Shut up, ‘m not dumb, you’re just—“

A sharp slap to his cheek sends his head snapping to the side, but he doesn’t have time to sputter a response before you grab his face and turn it back to face yours. You do your best to ignore how his cock throbs deliciously inside of you and you lean down close, voice velvety and dangerous. 

“Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to, baby? Because I know it sure as hell can’t be me.”

Gerard shakes his head as best he can in your firm grip, gazing up at you with big eyes. “No, no, sugar, I wasn’t—I’m sorry—“

You take a long drag, looking down at him as he sputters out excuses and apologies, before blowing the smoke in his face.

Then you pluck your cigarette out of your mouth and press the cherry onto the pale flesh of his chest, right near his heart.

He cries out, tossing his head back and writhing underneath you, cursing and gasping in pain. His cock twitches so hard inside of you that you have to bite your lip to avoid a soft sigh of pleasure.

“You still wanna be mouthy, baby?” you coo, and he shakes his head frantically, fat tears welling up in his eyes. He’s still whimpering, and now he’s trembling too. You brush the ash away from the circular burn, and he whimpers and hisses as your thumb swipes across the tender, raw flesh.

“N-no, fuck, no, no,” he moans, and his shaking hands are both touching your hips now, gripping then caressing then squeezing again.

It’s like the poor thing doesn’t know what to do with himself. He’s reduced to something weak and vulnerable in your grasp—you control his pleasure and his pain completely and wholly. 

He wouldn’t have it any other way.

When you finally lift yourself up and sink back down on Gerard’s throbbing, weeping cock, he makes a sound like a sob. 

His back arches and his eyes squeeze shut “Ohh, fuck, fuck, thank you, thank you, thank you—“ 

“Eyes open, baby,” you command, and you revel in the way his eyes snap open instantly. “Don’t you look away from me.”

“Okay, okay, mama,” he gasps out. He doesn’t want to disobey and risk you keeping him here for another half hour.

You give him a small, approving nod before repeating the action. It’s a relief for you, too—despite the cool demeanor you take on in these scenarios, you’re also burning up inside with desire, and the feeling of being full of him makes your cunt ache.

You begin riding him at a slow pace, lifting up halfway, sinking down again. “I shouldn’t be touching you at all with the attitude you decided to have tonight,” you tell him, a little breathless both from the action and how good it feels. “You should thank me for even looking at your sorry little cock tonight.”

“Thank you, mama,” he gasps out immediately. He’s been a whining mess ever since you started moving. “Thank you, thank you so much. ‘M sorry.”

“Sorry for what, baby?” you ask, clenching down on his cock and drawing a keen from him.

“Sorry for being a brat,” he whines, head tossing back and forth, as if the sensation is just too much to bear. “S-sorry for being a dick.”

You let out an approving hum and let yourself pull almost all the way off him before enveloping him in your heat again, and this time you can’t help the breathy little sound that falls from your lips. His cock always presses so perfectly against your walls in this position.

Gerard’s hands are squeezing at your thighs and hips, and he couldn’t shut up if he wanted to. Whines, mumbles of “fuck” and “please, mama,” and drawn-out moans leave Gerard’s parted, pouty lips in a steady stream. 

You run your hands up your torso to cup your tits, smirking down at Gerard, who is gazing up at you in such desperation that it’s almost heartbreaking. You bite your lip, rocking and sinking onto him as you squeeze your breasts.

“If I go faster, you’re not to cum until I say so. Got it?” you purr, and he nods immediately.

“Yeah, fuck, yeah, I’ll hold it, I’ll do anything you want. Just—fuck, I need more. Please, mama.”

And who are you to deny him when he sounds like that?

You steady your hands on his chest and immediately assume a quicker, more aggressive pace that makes Gerard gasp and keen. The meaty sound of your ass slapping down against his thighs is loud in the otherwise quiet room, the only other sounds being your heavy breathing and soft moans and Gerard’s louder ones.

His eyes roll back as you impale yourself on him over and over, and you’re in a similar boat—the tip of his cock is practically kissing your cervix, and every time it throbs it sends pulsing pleasure to your clit. 

“Mmm-mama, ahh, fuck, y’feel so good, s-sooo warm n’ tight,” he babbles, resisting the almost animalistic urge to thrust up into your heat. 

You drop your head for a second, breathing hard from exertion as you bounce on his cock, which is oozing precum at this point. Your eyes find the burn on his chest from the cigarette and you press a fingertip against it, making Gerard moan and writhe in an electric burst of pain-pleasure.

“You wanna cum?” you ask.

A nod.

“You think you deserve it?”

A hesitation. Then a shake of his head.

You nod, not stopping your ruthless pace for a second. Your tits bounce with your movements, and as you drop down your ass presses down tight on top of his balls, which only makes him whimper louder. 

“Good boy, you don’t. But you know what? I’m feeling nice.” 

Gerard gazes up at you like you’re offering salvation. “Thank you,” he moans, hips twitching up just slightly. You let it slide. His voice cracks in pleasure, dissolving into a steady whine. “Thank you, mama, gonna fill you up so good, promise—“

“Give it to me,” you whisper, pressing your fingers against his burn again as you slam yourself down on his aching cock. “Give it to mama, baby.”

The combination of your words, the pleasure, and the searing pain makes Gerard sob, hips jerking up erratically as his cock jumps, spurting his spend deep inside you. The feeling makes you moan, a soft “fuck” leaving your lips, but you can hardly hear yourself over how loudly Gerard is whimpering.

A/n: Gerard asks you to pose nude for him to photograph as a reference for practicing figure drawings. It turns out he wants those photos for very different reasons (based on this lovely anon ask!).

CW: nude photography, somewhat dubious consent (Gerard is lying but reader knows), gross drawings, riding, orgasm denial, restraints, teasing and degradation

Word count: 1,771

“Are you sure I need to be fully naked for this, Gee?”

“Y-yeah, yeah. That’s the whole point.”

You were standing in the middle of Gerard’s basement bedroom, pulling off your clothes.

A few days ago, he had called you up, and you could tell he was nervous. He always stammered more when he was nervous.

He mumbled through an explanation about how he’s been working on figure sketches in the art class he takes at the community college nearby, and that he needs some extra practice outside of the studio.

“I-I thought that maybe… uh… you could model for me. Let me take a few photos of you. Uh, naked. For practice.”

You knew it was a lie straightaway. If he needed nude models, he was fully capable of booting up his PC and searching the internet for naked women. You know he’s done it before.

But you didn’t want to embarrass the poor guy any more than he already was. So you played along.

“Sure, Gee. I’d love to help you with your class,” by letting you take naked photos of me, you’re tempted to add.

“Really?” He almost sounds shocked you said yes. You can hear the lopsided grin in his voice. “Uh—awesome! Thanks, like, a lot. Wanna come over on Friday?”

And so here you are, unhooking your bra, now only in your dark red panties (you might’ve chosen these ones on purpose). Shoulders back confidently, tits pressed out, you tilt your head. “Is this good enough?”

Gerard has to force himself to stop ogling your tits, nipples hardening at the cool air in the basement. 

“Uh, you’ve gotta take off your panties, too.” His voice breaks on the word 'panties.' “I-I need to be able to draw everything."

You shrug innocently and pull your panties down your legs, bending over. You’re trying to subtly show off because you like how you can see him getting hard in his jeans.

Taking a breath and standing up straight, you smile sweetly at him. “I’m ready.”

Gerard ogles for a moment before registering your words, nodding, blushing furiously, and mumbling something about the lighting.

With his Polaroid camera pressed up to his face, he snaps three photos of you. One from the front, one from the back, and a shot of you posed with your body facing slightly to the right, curves accentuated, head tipped back. Gerard’s hands are shaking as he sets the photos out to develop. 

“Thanks,” he mutters, but he’s looking between your legs as he says it.

“Any time,” you reply.

The photos escape your mind over the course of the next week. It isn’t until you’re sitting with him on his bed, passing a packed bowl back and forth, that you remember them.

“Hey,” you say, voice rough from the musky smoke in your lungs. “Have you gotten good use out of those naked pictures you took of me?” 

The bluntness of your words make Gerard’s half-lidded, red-rimmed eyes go wide. His cheeks color at the phrase “good use” and he stammers for a moment, fingers twisting together.

“I-I—uh, yeah, I actually, um… They helped a lot with p-practicing sketching figures.”

A cop-out answer. You know him well enough by now to recognize the look of his face when he’s hiding something dirty.

“Can I see?”

A multitude of emotions flash through Gerard’s eyes. Surprise, panic, arousal, embarrassment.

“Well, they’re, um, they’re not done yet, and I’m still trying to work on them,” comes his lame (and obviously untrue) explanation.

You don’t buy it for a second. You glance around, and your eyes land on his sketchbook, half under his pillow. The polaroids of you are barely sticking out from underneath the pillow as well. You hadn’t noticed the crumpled tissues on his nightstand before now, but as you do, it’s all too obvious what he’s been up to these past few days. You smile before lunging for the sketchbook, holding it up above your head as Gerard immediately tries to grab it back.

“H-hey! Come on, that’s not fair,” he whines, reaching for the sketchbook, body close to yours now. But you know him well enough to tell that he’s getting off on this, on the idea of being caught. “They aren’t done, give it back—“

You push him away like a misbehaving puppy and he whimpers. There’s a page marked in the sketchbook and you flip to it.

Jesus Christ.

There are a couple innocently-drawn studies of your figure, careful and attentive in their accuracy of your form.

…and then there are the ones that focus on different parts of your body. A close up of your tits, your ass, your pussy, a shadow between your legs.

He’s drawn your tits again and again, from angles you didn’t even pose for.

Gerard’s watching you with wide eyes swirling with embarrassment and arousal. He gets off on the shame, twisted bastard. It’s kind of sweet, though, how he whimpers as you flip the page, which sticks to another a little.

You gently pull the pages apart—dirty boy—and your eyes widen at the drawings on this page.

They’re certainly not ones you posed for specifically. Gerard must’ve drawn them from memory.

Your tits covered in bite marks and hickeys, nipples dark from being sucked on and played with.

Your pussy, glistening with arousal, dripping with a man’s—Gerard’s—cum.

Your ass, spread open, revealing the tight little hole there. 

When you look up from the pages, Gerard looks painfully hard in his sweatpants, and he’s breathing heavily.

“Is this what you needed those pictures for?” You ask him almost condescendingly, and revel in the way he nods meekly.

The pictures. They’re still under his pillow, the corners of the polaroids just barely peeking out. You reach over and pull them out.

Each one is crusted and a little sticky, and it’s all too obvious what it is that’s smeared across the glossy surface of each photo. Gerard whines, hiding his face in his hands.

It’s sick, really. He had lied to get nude photos of you. You knew he was a gross perv.

But it makes you grin. You know exactly how to deal with him.

Only ten minutes later, you’ve got Gerard’s hands tied above his head with your panties and you’re riding him at a ruthless pace, skin slapping every time you sink back down onto his cock.

“You know you could’ve just asked, baby,” you taunt him patronizingly, hands on his chest to steady your movement. “You didn’t have to lie like some fuckin’ loser creep.”

Gerard groans, head tilted back, eyes glassy and half-lidded.

“‘M sorry,” he whines, resisting the urge to fuck up into your tight cunt, the one he drew five times over in his sketchbook then jerked off to those drawings.

You chuckle breathlessly, squeezing around his cock on purpose just to feel it twitch and to hear him gasp brokenly.

“You’re gross, Gee. Like, really fucking gross. Needed to lie to get nudes from me for you to pump your sorry dick to.”

You love the way his groans and whimpers start sounding like sobs the harder you ride him. Your thighs burn, but you don’t stop.

“Mmm—ah, fuck, please—uhn, I can’t—!” He begins to stammer and whimper, voice pitching high. You can tell he’s close.

“No,” you say firmly, making his eyes go wide in despair. “Not until I say so. You don’t deserve to cum at all, really, but I’m letting you because I’m so nice. Thank me.”

“Thank you,” he echoes desperately, pretty hazel eyes wet with tears of pleasure. “Thank you, sugar, thankyouthankyouthankyou—“

His hands twist in their restraints, and you slam down again and again. His cock is thick and makes you moan when you grind on it just right, the swollen head nudging against your g-spot.

“I could tell everyone, you know,” you murmur to him, voice edged with cruel mockery. “I could spread the word about Gerard being a sick fuck who gets off on his own drawings of my body. I mean, do you realize how weird that is?”

He keens, poor thing, body arching so sweetly. A complete surrender. “No, no, please—I-I know I’m screwed up, I’m sorry, just p-please don’t tell—“

His voice is so desperate it almost makes you laugh. 

“You’re lucky I’m so nice to you. That I pity you so much,” you coo, rising and falling on his cock, even as you’re breathless.

Suddenly, your eyes land on his Polaroid camera sitting on his nightstand. You pause your movements (to his whine of protest) to untie your panties from his wrists, then you reach over, picking up the camera and pressing it into Gerard’s now-free hands.

“You want naked photos of me? I’ll do you one better,” you hum to the gobsmacked, helpless man beneath you.

Another roll of your hips draws a mewl from him.

“Take a photo of me full of your cock.”

Gerard could’ve cum right there on the spot, but your command to wait rings in his head. And he’s nothing if not obedient for you. So, with shaking hands, and a broken half “thank you,” half moan, he snaps a picture of your bottom half, his cock disappearing into your pussy, your thighs glistening with your own wetness.

Who said you weren’t enjoying this, too?

He ends up taking another as you resume riding him; one of your bouncing tits and dominant, smug expression.

You’re nearing your peak. You can’t help it with the way your swollen clit catches on the head of his cock when you pull off almost all the way, only to sink back down again.

“Want you to cum,” you rasp, your own composure breaking for only a second as your head leans back. “Cum inside. Cum like how you did to those pictures of me, y-you freak.”

The permission has Gerard’s hips thrusting up once, twice, three times before he’s crying out, cock twitching erratically inside of you, pumping you full.

The feeling pushes you over the edge as well, cunt spasming around his oversensitive cock.

Panting, you pull off of him, and you both moan softly as his cum leaks from your pussy onto his softening cock.

You pluck the camera from his hands (he’s too fucked out to protest) and move down to lay between his legs. Flipping the lens to capture your face, you lean down to press a kiss to his tip, creamy with his own cum, softening from orgasm. The flash goes off and the shutter clicks.

Alien Gerard who is so fascinated by humans, he’s kept a journal of his “research” the entire time he’s been your roommate. He’s always observing you, asking about how humans digest food, why they go on jogs, what the social pleasantries are—he’s got an endless curiosity for humans and their behaviors.

It’s endearing, how interested he is. He loves going out with you to the grocery store or the park, loudly asking questions about the people you pass (“who decided that canines are the ideal pet rather than squirrels?” “What vitamin do humans get from the sun again?” “Why does that man have hair, but that one doesn’t?”).

You’re patient with him, and he grows very fond of you. Why wouldn’t he? You’re the only one who knows that he’s not of this planet, who only assumes a human form to blend in. You’re the only one who knows his smaller quirks too, like how he eats spaghetti one noodle at a time, or how he loves the taste of artificial banana (“it reminds me of a dish I have back home!”).

One evening, he comes to you as you’re lounging in your bed. His brows are furrowed, and he looks curious.

He asks you about a video he came across on the cellphone you made him buy. The way he describes it is odd (“They’re, like—naked? And it almost looks painful, but I can’t tell if it is or isn’t?”) and you quickly realize he’s found a porno.

You sit up and try to give him the birds and the bees talk, but that only seems to confuse him further, hazel eyes glimmering with curiosity.

“If it’s the mating process, why are they recording it?” he asks. He’s sitting close to you on your bed.

You tell him that many humans have sex for pleasure, and they record it for other humans to watch and make themselves feel good to.

“Like, touching yourself. Between your legs,” you explain, trying to ignore your warm cheeks. “It makes you feel good.”

Gerard seems to be intrigued by this. “Touching yourself between your legs?” he repeats. You nod. For a moment, he’s quiet, pensive. Then, he asks “Can you show me?”

And at this point, you’re already feeling a little hot under the collar, and Gerard just looks so earnest—how could you refuse?

He watches with laser focus as you circle your clit with two fingers, legs spread wide apart.

“It’s… wet,” he says slowly, eyes not moving from your pussy. “Does that happen when you feel good?”

You nod, breathing heavily.

Something about him watching you makes you throb, and it’s all too easy when you sink two fingers into yourself, a soft moan escaping you.

Gerard’s breath hitches visibly. Your eyes dart down and you can tell that he’s affected—there’s a bulge in his pants.

Fuck, you can’t help but imagine him in you, sinking in so slow. You wonder how he’d sound, how he’d react.

He’s so absorbed in the sight of you that he doesn’t acknowledge his erection, if he even notices it at all.

Soft, wet sounds fill the room as you slowly pump two fingers in and out of yourself, and god, you need more. It isn’t enough, especially with him looking at you like that. You open your mouth to speak, but he beats you to it.

“Can I touch you?”

He’s looking straight into your eyes now, gaze earnest and aroused in ways he doesn’t fully understand yet. You’re nodding before you realize it.

His touch is tentative, softly brushing two fingers over your slick folds, catching on your clit in a way that makes you gasp.

His eyes dart up to you in mild alarm. “Did I hurt you?” he asks, as if it’s the most horrifying prospect in the world.

You shake your head quickly, letting out a breathless laugh. “No, no—feels good, Gee. Really good.”

He nods, a more determined look crossing his face, tongue peeking between his lips in concentration as he touches you attentively, paying attention to what makes you gasp and makes those sounds like the ones he heard in that video. His fingers circle your clit, clumsy at first, then more confident.

“Fuck—“ you whine, and you’re desperate to be full, you feel so damn empty. You know he could help you. You know he’d say yes. So you reach down and wrap a hand around his wrist, stilling his movements.

“Do you want to try something else?” You ask in a murmur. Holding your gaze steadily with his big hazel eyes, he nods slowly.

Ten minutes later, you’re riding his cock, which is pressing against your walls in all the right ways. It feels like heaven, the head nailing your sweet spot every time you impale yourself on him.

And Gerard—god, he’s a mess. He’s gasping, shaking hands grasping at your hips, not to guide but to ground himself.

“Mm—ah! Oh my g—is it supposed to feel like this?” He asks, voice breaking and high. He’s staring up at you wide-eyed and flushed, breathing heavily through his whimpers.

You nod, rocking your hips to feel him press deliciously against your walls. “Yeah… feel good?”

He nods frantically, a choked whine escaping his throat. “Don’t… don’t stop. Please, please don’t stop.”

Your thighs flex and your tits bounce as you ride him harder, raising yourself up and dropping yourself down. As Gerard gets closer and closer to orgasm, he babbles more.

“So good—w-wanna feel this all the time, mmf—! Please, more, more, I can’t—I feel—“ His hips have begun to meet your thrusts with unconscious pumps of their own, driven by a pleasure that’s new and intoxicating.

He gasps, eyes going wide, lips parted, trembling. “I-I feel—what is tha-at? Ah, ahnnn, what—?”

You shush him, and he whimpers. “Just let go,” you murmur, voice tight and breathless from pleasure yourself. “Let it take you over. Come on.”

A/n: in which your phone call with Illi turns very intimate very quickly, and she shows you how "inexperienced" she really is. Inspired by this lovely ask!

Word count: 2,499

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“You’ve never even kissed a girl before?”

“Oh my god, shut up, I shouldn’t have told you anything.”

Some people’s idea of a good Saturday night might include parties and drinking. And typically, you’d agree—but tonight, you aren’t at some stranger’s house feeling the bass shake your bones while drinking tequila out of solo cups. 

You’re on the phone with Illi McMillin, a cute girl from your Communications course.

You’re unlikely friends from different walks of life, but you ended up clicking all the same. That is how you found yourself sitting against your headboard at 11:30pm teasing Illi about her lack of experience.

“No, no, it’s cute,” you laugh, smiling like an idiot at the thought of Illi flustered. “I just wasn’t expecting it, that’s all.”

You hear Illi huff on the other line, and you can practically see her pink cheeks. “What, you thought I was an overflowing beacon of experience?”

Her sarcasm makes you giggle. You’re having too much fun. “I don’t know, I guess I didn’t expect you to be totally inexperienced.”

You know you’re riling her up, but you keep teasing her anyway. It’s too entertaining to listen to her try to defend herself.

“I feel like ‘totally inexperienced’ is a stretch,” Illi says, rolling her eyes even though she knows you can’t see her.

“Really?” You tease, your smile visible in your voice. “‘Never having kissed a girl’ sounds pretty inexperienced to me.”

“I read,” Illi protests, and it makes you laugh aloud.

“I’m serious!” She groans. She waits for your laughter to die down. “You’d be shocked at how much you can learn from reading.”

“Yeah? And what kind of dirty things are you reading, Illi?” You giggle.

You miss the soft inhale this pulls from her. When her voice comes, it’s a little lower.

“Things that would make your pretty face go pink.”

You pause. There’s a shift, you can feel it—from playful teasing to something more charged. Illi takes your lack of response as a sign to continue.

“Nothing to say now, huh? What, does the thought of me reading smutty shit get you off?” she asks, sounding far too cocky for her own good now. You knew you shouldn’t have let her get the upper hand.

“No,” you say unconvincingly. You can already feel heat blooming between your thighs, and you shift on your bed.

“Liar,” Illi says simply. “Bet your nipples are all stiff at the thought of me locked in my room, reading gross shit and getting off like a pervert.”

Wow, that’s intense. And shockingly enough, it’s working. You bite your lip before a sound can escape. Because yes, she’s right—your nipples are hard, poking through your soft tank top. 

You shift your thighs together to try and ward off the growing need between them in vain. 

At your silence, Illi laughs. “I’m right, aren’t I? Your nipples are hard. God, you have pretty tits,” she adds, voice breathless at the thought. “So hard to take my eyes off them sometimes. Especially when you’re wearing one of those low-cut shirts.”

Your cheeks bloom with heat. “You’re such a perv,” you whine, but Illi chuckles.

“C’mon, play with your tits a little bit.”

And that makes the problem between your legs worse. Still holding the phone to your ear, your free hand runs up your stomach to one of your breasts, and you gasp softly as your fingers brush over one stiff peak. You palm your breast, breathing getting heavier.

“Are you doing it?” Illi asks, and her voice sounds a little more strained now.

“Yeah,” you answer, voice nearly a whisper.

“Under the shirt?”

You pause, resist the urge to playfully roll your eyes. Weirdo. You put down your phone just long enough to peel off your tank top. Now bare-torsoed, you lean back against your pillows, picking up your phone again. 

“Yeah,” you sigh as you tweak a nipple with your fingers. “Just took my shirt off.”

Illi inhales sharply and grits out a soft “fuck…” from the other side of the phone. You can tell she’s getting off on this just as much as you are. Maybe more.

“Bet you look so pretty. Fuck,” she continues, and you can’t help but find her voice attractive like this, all low and breathless. You bite your lip as you roll your nipple between your thumb and forefinger, then switch to the other breast to give it some attention too. 

You can hear her swallow thickly. “Are you wet?” she asks a second later, almost whispering.

And that question, so simple and blunt, makes your breath hitch. You reluctantly stop playing with your tits to slide your hand down your body and under your soft sleep shorts and panties. Shockingly, you’re soaking, the flesh between your thighs hot and slick. Usually it takes a little more for you to get this wet, but there’s something about this—Illi’s voice in your ear, her surprising dominance—that arouses you immensely.

“Yeah, fuck. Really wet,” you answer, bringing your slick fingers up to your mouth to suck them clean. And maybe you spend some extra time doing that, and maybe you suck them louder than normal… all for Illi’s benefit of course.

And as soon as she hears those soft slurping sounds through the receiver of her phone? She’s a goner.

“Shit,” she hisses, and, unbeknownst to you, shoves a hand down her pants. “You wet for me baby? Soaking through your pretty panties?”

You only make a soft noise of affirmation as you use your free hand to try and pull your sleeping shorts off. When it’s too difficult, you put Illi on speakerphone and set the phone beside your head, using both hands to pull your shirts down and off your legs.

“Are you wearing the same pretty panties you were wearing today?” she asks, and before you can ask any questions, she continues: “I saw them in class, when you sat down. A tiny glimpse of black lace peeking over the waistband of your jeans… are you wearing those ones now?” 

God, she’s such a creep. But for some reason, it’s really doing it for you. “Yeah,” you laugh softly, strained. “Yeah, I am, you freak.”

A muffled “god” from Illi’s end. You hear some rustling, and you open your mouth to ask about it, but Illi speaks first. 

“Touch yourself through your panties. And—and pretend that it’s me. Please.”

And maybe it’s the way her voice is nearly trembling with want, or maybe it’s the “please” tacked on the end like a good luck charm, but you find yourself powerless to disobey. 

Slowly, you let your hand drift from your chest to your stomach to that spot between your legs that’s hot and damp and aching. Your soaked panties cling to your core, and when you trace your fingers over your clothed folds, you gasp softly.

“Illi…” you half-sigh, half-whine, pressing down with more pressure now over your clit. You can feel that it’s stiff and wanting even through your panties.

“Yeah, fuck, that’s it,” Illi encourages breathlessly, sounding almost wrecked already. “Tease that pretty pussy for me, okay? I’d touch you so good over those panties—maybe I’d even make you cum like that first before I even think about taking ‘em off you.”

With a full-body shudder you whine, using two fingers to rub tight little circles over your clit, sending shockwaves of pleasure up your spine. “Fuck, is that what you want me to do? Cum in my panties for you?” you pant, and if that’s what she wants, you’ll do it.

A pause. Some rustling. You can hear Illi breathing heavily. “Maybe,” she says after a beat. “Just… rub yourself and tell me when you’re close.”

Well, that won’t be an issue considering you’ve been doing just that and you can already feel your orgasm building. You’re hardly aware of the sounds you’re making—but Illi can hear every one, and it’s making her fucking throb. 

“Close,” you gasp, whining over the word like it hurts to say. Your fingers rub faster. “Illi, close, ‘m gonna—“

“Stop.”

The firm command makes your eyes, which had slipped closed in pleasure, snap open. Your hand freezes over yourself, and your body twitches and writhes a little as that overwhelming pleasure is abruptly ended.

“Illi, no, no,” you whimper, high and desperate. “Don’t be mean, please, need it.” Your hand is still between your thighs; no pressure, no touching, just waiting for her next words.

You don’t know it, but Illi’s just impeded her own orgasm too, squeezing the base of her cock so hard she whines, and it gives a throb of protest. It’s only fair, right? 

“Take your panties off,” she breathes out, and you quickly obey, sliding the offending fabric down your legs.

Leaning back against your pillow, letting your legs spread, you wish so badly she could be here, seeing you like this. Touching you. 

God, you want to know how she’d touch you.

So you ask. “Illi…” you murmur, fondling your breasts as you speak, staring at the ceiling. “What would you do if you were here right now?”

She hums. You hear the sound of something slick; she must be using lotion or lube to stroke herself. Slowly, it sounds like. As if she’s getting lost in thought. 

“God, I’d fucking devour you,” she admits—why bother being polite? You’re both touching yourselves. If there’s any time to be bold, it’s now. “I’d hold your legs open and eat you out until you’re crying.”

The words make your cunt ache with want, and you make a soft sound in the back of your throat. “Fuck, Illi.”

“You have no fucking idea,” she continues, voice dripping with desperation. “I bet you taste so goddamn good. I’d suck on your clit with two fingers buried knuckles-deep inside you. Maybe three if you can take it. Have you? Taken three?”

It’s an invasive question, but to your lust-addled brain it’s the sexiest thing you’ve ever been asked. “A couple times,” you admit, cheeks warming. As if you have the gall to act coy and shy now. “But I need to stretch myself out first.”

It seems the thought of you stretching yourself with your fingers makes something break inside Illi, because she makes a sound that’s between a growl and a moan, and you can hear the sound of her stroking herself faster.

“Jesus fucking Christ. Touch yourself again. Rub your clit while you fuck yourself with a finger.”

And who are you to say no? You let your finger slide up and down your folds a few times before slowly pushing it in with a soft gasp. It’s a relatively easy fit with how wet you are.

When you start simultaneously circling your clit with one hand while you pump your finger in and out of yourself with the other, Illi’s name spills from your lips unbidden. 

“Oh, Illi… oh, oh…”

“Feels too good, huh?” Illi teases, but not without sounding a wreck herself. “God, I bet you’re so tight—bet you’d squeeze me so nice, huh? Jesus, I’m so fucking hard for you. Like–so hard.”

The thought of Illi’s cock—hard and insistent—stuffing you is enough to make you crumble. A throb of need pulsates between your legs. You made her hard. You’re almost embarrassed at how hot that gets you, and how early you’re begging, but you can’t help it. 

“Please,” you whine, pumping, rubbing. Your wrists are starting to ache, but you don’t care. “Want you so bad. Want—want your cock.”

“Shit, I wanna give it to you. Add a second finger,” Illi hisses through the receiver. It sounds like she’s gritting her teeth. Like she’s just as affected as you are.

The stretch of a second finger takes a minute to get used to, but then you're pumping them again, crooking them inside yourself to feel that delicious press against your soft walls. You keen at the sensation, biting your lip hard to muffle the sound.

Illi doesn’t like that. Not one bit.

“Don’t you dare try and hide those noises from me,” she pants through the phone, jerking herself with a tight grip that borders on cruel. “Let me hear how good it feels to fuck yourself on the phone with me. Please.”

Please. It’s cute that she’s still being polite while her words are making your brain feel like a horny, mushy mess.

“Ahn… ohh… Illi, I—mmf…”

“You like this? Listening to me?” Her voice is low and needy through the phone. You give a little uh-huh.

“Does it get you off knowing that I’ve imagined what you look like touching yourself a million times? That I fantasize about the way you bite your lip, how you’d grope your own tits, how you’d fuck yourself down on your own fingers, whining in frustration because it just isn’t enough?”

Illi knows she should probably shut up, that she’ll be embarrassed when this phone call ends. But how else is she supposed to act when she’s got a hand on her dick and a pretty girl touching herself on the phone? 

Besides, her words are inching you closer to your orgasm. You squeeze your eyes shut. “Fuuuck. Wish you could see me.”

“Yeah?” She almost sounds surprised. “Maybe next time I can come over for a sleepover and you can show me how you like to play with your pretty cunt.”

Fuck. You’re close. You can feel the familiar heat coiling in your belly. Your wrists are cramping, but you just need a little more.

“Ill—Illi, gonna… oh my god, ‘m gonna cum,” you whisper frantically, your moans now breathless little ah, ah, ah’s in time with the thrusts of your fingers. You grind down against them. Illi was right—this isn’t enough. The thought of her pushing into you makes your pussy clench around the digits.

“Me too,” Illi whines. She sounds so pretty, like you’ve never heard her before. Sort of how she does when she sings, but more desperate and obscene. “Wish I could—ohh, shit, fuck—wish I could cum all over your fuckin’ tits, paint you up all pretty—ahh, oh…”

And it’s that thought that pushes you over the edge, crying out as you fuck yourself through your orgasm, even getting a little rough as you frantically rub your swollen clit and fuck your spent pussy until you’re shaking.

And the sound of you, orgasmic and overstimulated, is what sends Illi fucking up into her fist, shooting ropes over her stomach and fingers. Only, she had told a little lie. She didn’t cum to the thought of jerking over your tits. She came to the thought of filling you up with her, of fucking her spend so deep inside you that you can taste it. Maybe it would even knock you up—but that’s a thought for another day, she decides in her post-orgasmic haze (even if the idea makes her spent cock twitch weakly).

This was the last place you thought you’d be giving a blowjob, but here you are, on your knees in Gerard Way’s basement bedroom with a cock teasing at your lips. 

It’s a fucking pigsty, with laundry strewn all over the floor and furniture, empty energy drink cans on his desk, even his bed is a wreck. But somehow, the mess—and the smell—does nothing to dampen the unexpected arousal coiling low in your belly.

Gerard had a certain… charm to him. You met at the comic book store he worked at, and the way he couldn’t meet your eye and stammered through “W-would you like the, uh, receipt with you, or—or in the bag?” made you feel unimaginably powerful.

So you went to the store more often, just to watch the way his hands twisted anxiously in his shirt when he watched you bend down for a comic on the lowest shelf, knowing your skirt rode up just enough to give the poor pervert a glimpse of your lacy panties. At the time, you had shamelessly imagined those thick fingers shoved down your throat.

This is a whole different level. When Gerard invited you over to watch a movie (“it’s—it’s this stupid s-slasher flick, we can, um, we can make fun of it, or whatever”), you didn’t know what to expect. Some tension, maybe. Plenty of awkward looks, maybe some snacks. 

Never in a million years would you have expected to catch the poor guy getting hard as a girl was getting hunted on-screen by a masked maniac. 

He had tried to hide it, shifting, subtly adjusting his jeans. But every time you glanced over, you saw how big his pupils were, how he kept chewing on his lip. You decided to put him out of his misery when you said “are you getting off on this? You really are a freak.”

He went red, eyes round and panicked as he tried to explain it away, as if anything could make the situation any less disturbing. Something about it made you want to eat him alive.

So now, you’re getting what you asked for. The poor thing’s a trembling wreck as your tongue circles the swollen head of his cock, thick and hard and weeping. 

"Uhn—please, I-I ca-an’t—" he sounds like a wreck, voice high and breaking just from the slightest touch of your lips on his dick. You take pity on him, engulfing him in the hot wetness of your mouth, jaw opening to accommodate him.

And it’s like a switch flips. He grabs onto your hair hard enough to sting and thrusts into your tight throat, whimpering when you gag around him.

“Fuck—‘m sorry, ‘m so sorry, I just—just can’t, fuck. Let me, please, l-let me just have this, honey, fuckfuckfuck you’re so tight here, is your pussy this tight? Shit, this is so much better than—than the pictures I took up y-your skirt. I’m such a fffffuck—fucking freak, ‘m sorry baby.”

“Fuck–fuck, I’m sorry, sososo sorry–”

She’s whining so loud you have to clamp a hand over her mouth. The other is wrapped around her flushed, dripping cock. 

“Oh, she’s sorry,” you coo mockingly in her ear before laughing breathlessly. “Maybe you should’ve thought about that before being a pervert.”

In all honesty, maybe you should be more upset about it. But when you caught her with her cellphone held down, camera aimed up under the pleated skirt you were wearing that day, you didn’t feel horrified or furious (like any sane person would). You felt horny. And you wanted to make her cry.

Illi’s head is tipped back, panting and practically drooling against your palm as her hips jerk up in needy little thrusts into your fist like she can’t help herself. She’s a fucking mess, with her jeans undone and pulled down (along with her panties) just enough to have let her cock spring free.

You swipe your thumb over the tip, collecting the pearl of precum there and smearing it down her length. 

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it, you filthy little freak?” you purr, pulling back to get a good look at her. You lower your hand so she can speak, but only whimpers come out.

It would be cute if it wasn’t so pathetic.

“Don’t even think about showing those photos to anyone,” you taunt, a hint of cruelty oozing into your tone as your hand speeds up. “What would you do if it got out that quiet little Illi is a closeted sex-pest perv?”

Illi whimpers something that sounds like a cross between “fuck” and “‘m sorry.”

You squeeze her in a tighter grip, jerking her off rougher. Her precum makes the slide sound slick and obscene.

“Oh god, I’m close,” Illi gasps out, those pretty hazel eyes flying open, and as soon as her hips stutter, you stop, giving the base a firm squeeze. She mewls in protest, hand grabbing at your wrist.

“Aw, did you wanna cum? Were you about to squirt all over my hand?” You taunt. Illi squeezes her eyes shut, whether in shame, embarrassment, arousal, or all three at once. 

Her chest is rising and falling rapidly with each shaking breath. “Please,” she whispers, sounding so utterly broken it makes you ache. “Please.”

That’s all you need. Your hand resumes a fast pace as if it never stopped, and Illi keens, doubling over. You shove her back against the wall. 

but i feel like we have an under-apretiation for like teasing while the guy is wearing boxers…so basically frank x reader pls just do wtv u want but i need that

No need to be nervous, honey, over-the-underwear teasing is criminally underrated ;)

I feel like Frank would have a love-hate relationship with the way you tease him over his boxers.

On one hand, it’s the hottest fucking thing to watch you mouth at his cock through the fabric, suckling the leaking head until the fabric’s soaked with your spit and his pre.

On the other, it drives him absolutely insane. He can’t stand how much power you have over him, and in those moments, it’s undeniable. He starts out all furrowed brows and low tone, voice firm as he tells you to “stop teasing, baby, suck me good and proper” while pushing your face into his crotch. You inhale deeply, savoring his musk and rubbing your face against his bulge. His impatience is clear as he groans and tugs your hair. “I said don’t be a fuckin’ tease, sweetheart. Gonna fuck your face till you taste me in your throat.”

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Ray takes aftercare very seriously. It’s almost funny how he can go from holding you down, arms hooked around your knees to pull your legs up and back as he drives up into you with powerful thrusts from beneath you, to pulling out so gently, murmuring that you did so well, pressing you down into the cozy softness of the bed as he goes and gets you water and a snack. When he moves to leave the bedroom, you catch his hand (“don’t be gone for too long”), and he gives it a squeeze and a kiss before pulling away (“I’ll be right back, baby”).

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He’s a pretty humble guy, but he has to admit that his favorite part of his body is his hands. They’re big; he can hold a guitar up in one hand like it’s nothing. His fingertips are calloused from years of playing, and you’ve found that makes it feel extra nice when he’s circling your nipples. He’s obsessed with every bit of you, but if he had to choose one body part of yours, it would be your thighs. He loves grabbing them during sex, kneading at the plushness, and sometimes, red-faced and soft-spoken, he begs you to just let him use your thighs to get off, to let him thrust his cock between them as you squeeze them together. He also loves laying his head on your thighs when you two are watching a movie, often drifting to sleep as he uses them as a pillow.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Ray cums hard. Thick, hot ropes that land heavily across your face, your chest, your back—he loves cumming on you, seeing you painted with the evidence of his pleasure. But make no mistake!! He’s all too happy when he’s got your knees practically touching your ears, driving in so deep it makes you cry, and you start babbling “fuck, inside, just—in me, fuck me full, Ray”—he’s a goner as soon as you start planting the idea of you getting knocked up into his head.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Ray is a big fan of physical media not only in terms of music, but also in terms of you. He’s printed out every nude or suggestive photo you’ve sent to him, little wallet-sized, glossy prints that he can stuff in his pocket and sneak peeks at when he’s alone. He keeps one of your tits tucked away in his wallet at all times, and once, in the heat of a very needy, very desperate moment at Warped Tour, he’d locked himself in a porta potty and jerked off to that exact photo. Only after cumming did he register how gross it was in there.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

He’s got a fair amount of experience. Nothing crazy—he’s not the type to go and pick up a new girl at every show—but, being a talented, attractive man in a popular band has allowed plenty of opportunity to hone his skill, if you will. Which means that by the time he gets to you, he is familiar with some surefire methods to get you clinging to him and squealing.

F = Favorite position

This man loves missionary. He loves any position as long as it’s with you, but when you’re underneath him, he gets to watch the way your face twists in pleasure and how your eyes tear up in ecstasy and how your tits bounce obscenely in time with his powerful thrusts. He loves grabbing at your thighs and pushing them further apart, murmuring at you to “let me in, babe, you’re so fuckin’ good…”

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? Are they humourous? etc.)

Things can go either way with Ray. Sometimes, if it’s a lazy Sunday afternoon and the two of you are playfully wrestling, it’ll turn into sex that’s riddled with playful bites and smirks and laughs that morph into moans. But other times—typically after shows—he’s got a one-track mind to get you off. You’ve seen the way he bites his lip as his fingers fly along the frets of his guitar during a particularly demanding riff, and it’s similar to the look he has when he fucks you fresh off the stage. Determined, laser-focused, confident in his actions. He plays you like you’re an instrument yourself, pressing and prodding at every spot that makes your back arch.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? Does the curtain match the drapes? etc.)

Ray takes care to keep himself well-groomed and neat. He trims, mostly because he doesn’t like the look or feeling of being completely bare. He leaves a small thatch of dark curls by the base of his cock, so your nose presses against it when you deepthroat him.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? The romantic aspect)

You’ve never been with someone as sweet and romantic as Ray can be. Other guys you’d been with had been selfish with their pleasure, prioritizing their own needs, but Ray couldn’t be more different. He is always concerned with how you’re feeling, if you’re alright. Even when he’s pounding into you so hard you’re practically drawing blood from how hard you’re digging your nails into his back, he presses gentle kisses to your face and neck, grunting between moans about how pretty you are, how good you feel, how gorgeous you sound. Foreplay often involves a lot of sweet talk and lingering touches, his big hands taking their time as they drift up your body, squeezing languidly.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Ray is very careful with when and where he masturbates. Other members of the band might care less about being heard through the thin walls of the tour bus, but Ray isn’t wild about the thought of everyone hearing what he sounds like when he’s fisting his cock. Because of this, he’s only really comfortable masturbating when he’s the only one there. This leads to him feeling very pent up at times, and when he finally gets some privacy, he doesn’t have the patience to do anything but fuck into his fist like it’s you,

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks

This man has a size kink. He loves how easy it is for him to pick you up and position you exactly how he wants you, loves teasing you about how “your little hole is so tight, baby, can barely take my fat cock…” He works out for a reason, and that reason is being able to toss you around with ease. He also thing for marks—a fact you learned after some gentle prying on a tipsy night. Blushing, he’s admitting to being strangely fascinated and aroused by the hickeys, scratches, and bite marks you leave across his body, and often, the morning after a particularly rough night, he would stand in friend of a mirror, twisting and turning to look at every proof of pleasure you left on his skin, prodding bruises and pressing scratching until they’re sore and his cock is hardening.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Ray loves having sex at his place or yours in bed. Simple? Basic? Maybe. But in the privacy and space of a bed, he gets to have all the time in the world to make you feel everything. He doesn’t have to rush as he kisses from your mouth down to the apex of your thighs, large hands splaying across your skin as his plush lips seal over your clit, sucking in rhythmic pulses. One hand palms your breast as the other presses down on your lower stomach, pushing his tongue into you.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

The way your body moves when you cum. He can’t fucking get enough. Your thighs tremble, your hips twitch up, your head tosses back and your face twists in ecstasy. Sometimes, if he’s pounding you fast and deep, hand clamped down on your stomach to make you feel every inch, you even squirt, whining as your body is overwhelmed with pleasure. He loves making you cum, it’s a huge turn-on for him.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Ray is down to try out most of the kinky stuff that pops into your brain. Bondage, roleplay, wax play… but he just can’t bring himself to want to try knifeplay. He doesn’t want to make you bleed; the thought makes him queasy. Even the threat of the blade against your soft skin is too much for him to bear.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

As far as preferences go, he’s pretty torn. On one hand, he loves getting his face between your legs, thighs pressed against the sides of his head like earmuffs as he laps at you. He’s pretty good, too, and he knows exactly how to make you cum in an embarrassingly short amount of time. But he’d be a liar if he said the sight of you with his cock in your mouth didn’t make him want to bust on the spot. Since you guys started having sex, it’s been his weakness. You use it to your advantage, kneeling in front of him, slapping his swollen, weeping head against your tongue, nuzzle his heavy balls… he has to force himself to resist fucking down your throat when you finally wrap your lips around him and take him down though you’ve begged him to fuck your mouth before, and you gagged so much you almost threw up, but the feeling of his big hands gripping your hair and his grunts and muffled curses made it so worth it.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Ray can be romantic, slow, and sensual if that’s what the moment calls for. As aforementioned, he loves doting on you and worshiping your body, drawing a crescendo of ecstasy from you after an intense buildup. Other times, often with your convincing, he’s less romantic. You had to reassure him over and over the first time you said you wanted it rough—he’s just afraid of hurting you, especially with how strong he is! But once he’s certain that you want it, and that you won’t break, he lets himself take what he wants. Doggy style with his hands wrapped around your hips, pulling you back jerkily to meet every hard thrust. Mating press, the head of his cock bullying against your cervix as you sob, arms around his neck. Slapping your ass and grabbing bruising handfuls of the flesh as his thick cock pushes between your thighs. He’s a sweet guy, but he can fuck.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

If that’s what’s available, he wouldn’t turn it down! Any time with you is better than none, in his opinion. And he has to admit there’s something naughty and risky about having to be fast, and especially if you have to be quiet, too. But nothing beats getting to take his time plucking every whimper, moan, and sigh from you until you’re thoroughly spent.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? Do they take risks? etc.)

He’s as game for a little risk every now and then, but that “mother hen” attitude he takes with the band dies hard. He’s responsible, and although he’d like nothing more than to fuck you wherever, whenever, he knows how much you guys can realistically get away with. You tease him about it, but you’re thankful he thinks things through.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? How long do they last?)

Have you seen the man?? He’s got serious stamina. He can make you cum multiple times without breaking much of a sweat (though you love him when he’s sweaty). In fact, it’s rare that you don’t cum at least twice when you have sex with Ray. He puts those muscles to good use, bending and pressing you into various positions, hammering or rutting or lazily pushing into you until you’re crying and arching. Only once you’re satisfied does he chase his own orgasm. He’s a gentleman, isn’t he?

T = Toys (do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

Ray doesn’t use many toys, but he does own a cock ring. He was embarrassed when you found out, having stumbled across it while looking for something in his bedside drawer, but you cupped his face and looked into those puppydog brown eyes and told him that it’s super hot that he likes curbing his own orgasm. Of course, that conversion resulted in you coaxing Ray to “just try it on” for you. But of course, things progressed, and forty minutes later you had teased his cock with your hands, mouth, and pussy, and he was so hard he could cry, begging you with a shaking voice to please, please just let him cum. It’s nice seeing him desperate and wet-eyed for a change.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He’ll tease you lovingly, like when he’s slowly pushing inside of you (“big stretch, angel, can barely fit in here, huh?”) or when he’s flicking your clit with his tongue just enough to feel good, but not quite enough to get you off. But ultimately, you get what you want with Ray. Some sweet begging complete with fluttering lashes and whines of his name will get you anywhere. You’re his weakness, and he just can’t say no to you.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He isn’t the loudest, but the sounds he does make are enough for you to get off to any day. Low grunts and muttered curses and praise are most typical, but certain situations bring out certain reactions. When you ask him to take you roughly, for example, his grunts and words are more like growls, raspy and rumbling. When you tease him mercilessly, he whines, all sweet and pathetic. You just need to find the right buttons to press.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Once, when you were both high and passing a joint back and forth, you wound up on Ray’s lap, kissing between drags. You felt him, hard and heavy in his jeans under your ass, and you began to rock your hips. It started out playfully, with him steadying a hand on your hip, giving you a strained, blissed smile (“what’re you doin’, baby?”), but it quickly devolved into you grinding your ass down harshly against his bulge, murmuring in his ear about how good he splits you open with his big, fat cock, how you’d even let him fuck you in front of his friends so they can see how good he is. He came in his pants at the thought, and was embarrassed after (though you thought it was cute, and comforted him after).

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Have I mentioned he’s packing? A solid eight inches when hard, with a flushed tip and a prominent vein on the underside. His balls are nice and heavy, perfect for squeezing and rolling around in your hand. He’s got a happy trail that leads down to his neatly trimmed dark curls at the base of his dick.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

He’s ready whenever you are. He most certainly seeks you out for sex very regularly, but you’re a little minx and you can’t keep your hands off him. Whenever you want him, he’s there and ready to take care of your every need. He’s got a very healthy, and very reactive sex drive.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)