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hanniejji · 2 years

Text

go on and kiss the girl

[ modern!scaramouche x gn!reader ]

summary: you should've kissed him sooner, you dumb fuck.

notes: belated happy birthday my skrunkly babygirl, i spent days thinking of what prompt to write when i came upon this god sent tiktok vid

words: 1032 | warnings: gettin a little hands but all is sfw, first kith is a lil messy but it's safe istg

"what?"

"i—don't make me say it again!" flustered, your voice muffles over the speaker, possibly because you smothered your face over your pillow from embarrassment. he could even imagine you rolling over your bed just from the shuffles that made through the mic.

but scaramouche wants—no, needs to hear it again.

"no, no, say it again," he waits in bated breath, anticipation coursing through his veins that pumped the erratic flow of his blood.

now that he thinks of it, his heart seems to be beating a little too fast.

"i," you pause from the other side of the phone, the sound of your shaky breath unknowingly picked up by your phone, "i wanted to kiss you earlier."

"...."

scaramouche felt his heart do a round somersaults, an unbelievable warmth creeping up his face. before he could even stop himself, his mouth parted to speak.

"then why didn't you?"

another pause commenced, this time he can hear you trying to come up with a response, stuttered vowels left unsaid with sheer fluster and bashfulness.

it's a shame he couldn't see it himself.

"i didn't want to just kiss you out of the sudden!" you finally quipped, voice a tone higher.

"then you should've told me like you just did now."

"i was nervous, okay! stop pressuring me!"

he could literally see the pout on your voice, a soft thump on your side of the phone letting him know that you might have plop yourself on your pillow. "why don't you ask me, huh? bet you'd be too shy to do so too!"

that's it, that's enough talk. he needs to move his ass.

"give me twenty."

"what?"

the call ended.

and there you spent a while vibrating with anxiousness and, if you were to be completely honest, eagerness. in fact, you were pacing your living room floor in circles, staring at your screen where you can see the panicking messages you sent him after he hung up.

he can't possibly be going through all the efforts to get to you, can he? just for a kiss? shut up it's not just a kiss. he just got home after dropping you off at yours when the two of you started the call. he was, he denies it though, unable to go through a night without hearing your voice after such a fun day spending the only proper birthday celebration he had in his whole life, with you—his beloved you.

maybe you shouldn't have told him shit in the first place.

or better yet, maybe you should've just grew the balls and kissed him right after dropping you off at your door. by doing so, you could've saved yourself from this unnecessary feeling of anxiousness. perhaps the two of you might even spend the rest of the night on your couch kissing and kissing and kissing.

"eek!" you squeaked at the sudden rounds of urgent knocks on your door.

he took less than twenty minutes to get here.

standing in front of your door, your hand hesitates to turn the knobs. oh, is your palm sweating? was it just you or is it a little hot in here?

"i know you're right there, open up."

"okay okay," with a huff and a quick prayer to the lord above, you pull the door to reveal a pouty scaramouche, arms crossed over his chest and his foot tapping the ground impatiently. his hair is in disarray, probably from how he haphazardly tossed on his hoodie over his head in his rush to get to you.

"you didn't have to go all the way here."

"i wanted to."

with an attitude huff, he welcomed himself to your house, kicking the door shut behind him before reaching over your waist to pull you close—the corner of his lip twitched up in a smug smile at your silent gasp.

"t—this is a little too close."

"hm?"

you couldn't stop the shiver that you felt when his breath warms your cheeks, the tips of your noses brushing against each other at close proximity and the gentle squeeze of his arms around your waist, chest pressed against yours. it's not to say that he hasn't been this close before, you've latched yourself on him a couple of times, but you've never been this intimately close to the point of kissing.

"you literally smother your face on my neck when you demand your cuddles, i don't see how this is different."

"shut up."

"make me," he grins at the flabbergasted look on your face, "i'm pretty sure you know just how to do that."

"you little shit."

with a sharp tug on his collar, your lips crashed like the rushing waves in the river against a rock. it's incredibly warm, the nerves that you felt when his lips met touched yours in a slightly clumsy pace, not just because his lips are warm but because suddenly your heartbeat started thumping against your ribcage, warm blood rushing through every fiber of your body whilst your lips melted against each other in a messy pace.

scaramouche felt no different from you. he feels too light headed to process that the both of you are still at the entrance hallway and that his hands are clawing around the back of your shirt, his nails digging a little across the fabric, eliciting a gasp from you that only excites him more.

god it felt too good to separate from you, he curses the irritating restriction of human nature to desire oxygen as he slowly pulls away from your swollen lips, warm breath mixing together.

your eyes follow the way his tongue peeks out to lick his lips.

"why didn't you do this earlier?" he groans, lips tracing warm kisses along your cheeks, jaw and neck, "could've saved us from wasting time on nothing."

"i know, i know," you sighed contentedly, brushing your hand through his hair and completely melting in his arms when his lips reached a particular spot on your neck. "but you're here now."

"yeah," he cups your cheeks in his hands, flickering back and forth your lips and your eyes. he whispers lowly before closing the gap once more.

"and i'm not going anywhere."

5K notes · View notes

bradshawsbaby · 8 months

Text

Change of Plans

Pairing: Bob Floyd x Wife!Reader

Summary: You and Bob are supposed to be getting ready to attend the Navy Ball, but after being gone on a mission for three months, your husband has other plans.

Word Count: 4.8k

Author’s Note: Happy International Bob Floyd Fucks Month! Thanks for hosting, @attapullman!

Warnings: 18+ ONLY. Explicit sexual content, oral sex (female receiving), allusions to sex, innuendos, and fluff because I'm physically incapable of not writing fluff.

All the make-up in the world wasn’t going to hide this hickey.

Groaning in frustration, you rose from the stool at your vanity and leaned in closer to the mirror, dabbing delicately at the sensitive, bruised skin at the base of your throat, right along your collarbone. It felt as though you had already applied half your tube of concealer, and still the purplish mark was glaring back at you, mocking you with its prominence.

It was hopeless.

Maybe you could swap out the necklace you had been planning to wear tonight with a larger one from your jewelry box? Oh, but the one you had already chosen paired so perfectly with your dress. Would anyone believe you if you said you had walked into a kitchen cabinet? Highly unlikely.

“Damn you, Robert Floyd,” you muttered under your breath, futilely smudging another round of concealer on your skin with your beauty blender.

You certainly hadn’t been complaining when your husband had given you the love bites the night before, too swept up in pleasure and your desire for him to have had the forethought to consider the impact his mouth was going to have on your attire for tonight’s big event.

Bob had returned only two days earlier from a three-month mission—the longest he’d been gone since your wedding—and he had been absolutely insatiable since coming home. Not to say that the two of you didn’t enjoy a very healthy and robust sex life, but these past two days had been something else. You’d seen a side of your sweet, mild-mannered husband that thrilled you in its passionate desperation. Just yesterday, he’d held you as a very willing captive in bed all day long, his lips and tongue tracing every curve and contour of your body, his mouth memorizing the taste of your skin.

Hence, the hickies.

At least the rest of them were scattered across your body in places no one else would find. It was just this pesky one on your neck.

Sighing softly, you took a small step backward and turned your head from side to side, surveying the work you’d done from different angles. From a distance, maybe people would think it was a birthmark? Or maybe if you wore your hair down, instead of swept back in the updo you currently had it pinned in, it would serve as a shield.

Or maybe you would just have to walk into the United States Navy Ball letting everyone know that Lieutenant Robert Floyd, the shy, meek WSO that so many people underestimated on a daily basis, enjoyed marking up his wife’s neck.

The Dagger Squad’s return had coincided with the Navy’s birthday, which meant that they had barely been home a couple days and already they were having to don their dress blues for the blowout birthday bash. Bob normally enjoyed attending the ball, but this time, he’d been looking for any excuse to get out of it.

“I just want to stay here with you,” he’d mumbled against your lips just that morning. “You’re the only one I want to be with right now.”

Maybe the hickies hadn’t been as innocuous as you thought. Maybe they had been a calculated attack on your husband’s part to convince you to pull the plug on your evening plans. The thought made you shake your head, a small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

Just then, you heard Bob’s voice reverberating through your small bungalow, the sound of his footsteps growing closer as he approached the bedroom.

“Sweetheart, do you know where I put my cuff—”

His voice trailed off as soon as he entered the room, which made you glance over your shoulder to discern the reason why.

He was half dressed, clad in his blue dress pants and a crisp white button down shirt, sans the missing cufflinks. But he no longer seemed concerned about that as he stood staring at you, his blue eyes blown wide behind his glasses. He was drinking in the sight of you like a parched man in the desert.

“Sweetheart,” he breathed out, his voice almost reverent.

“What?” you giggled softly, feeling your cheeks grow warm under the intensity of his gaze.

Bob just continued to stare, wordlessly appreciating you as his eyes raked you over from head to toe.

You turned back to your vanity mirror to figure out what it was that he found so mesmerizing. You’d been so fixated on hiding that hickey that you hadn’t even paid much attention to what the rest of you looked like.

Your hair and make-up were already done, the blush and lipstick you had chosen doing much to accentuate your features. You hadn’t wanted to get anything on your gown, so you were dressed only in your sheer silk stockings and the little chocolate-colored silk slip that you were going to be wearing underneath your dress. You had to admit that you did look quite good. And Bob always did love you in silk.

“Don’t get any ideas, Lieutenant,” you teased, batting your eyelashes over your shoulder as you leaned in closer to the mirror and carefully wiped at a small smudge of lipstick in the corner of your mouth.

“Oh, honey, do we have to go tonight?” Bob groaned, stepping further into the room and walking right up behind you, his eyes meeting yours in the vanity mirror as he rested his hands on your hips.

“Yes, we do,” you laughed, privately reveling in the feel of his large, warm hands pressed against you. “We told all our friends we would be there, and all your bosses are going to be there, too.”

“They know who I am,” he argued, ducking his head and pressing soft, languid kisses to your shoulder. “I think we’re well past the need for making good impressions.” His lips transferred from one shoulder to the other, leaving a trail of searing kisses in his wake.

“But it’s the Navy’s birthday,” you countered, trying not to waver in your resolve. “You love the Navy.” Your breath caught slightly at the end of that last sentence, but you were hoping he wouldn’t notice.

“I love you more,” Bob murmured, his lips now moving towards your neck. “Besides,” he whispered against your ear, lightly nipping at your earlobe, “the Navy’s had almost 250 birthdays. It won’t mind if I miss one party.”

“What about my dress?” you sighed softly, letting your head loll back against his shoulder as his hands began roaming over your stomach and thighs, his kisses against your neck and shoulders becoming more insistent.

“You can save it for next year,” he chuckled lightly, his broad chest rumbling against your back. “As beautiful as I’m sure you’d look in it, I think you look even more beautiful out of it,” he added in a low voice, his massive hands sliding up your body until they were gently cupping your breasts.

“Bob,” you moaned out softly, trying to scold him even as your eyes fluttered closed from how good his touch felt. “We shouldn’t. We’re going to be late.”

Your husband didn’t respond with words this time, just hummed faintly against your skin while he nibbled gently along your jaw, the veins in his hands standing out against his fair skin as he began kneading and massaging your breasts through the thin material of your slip. You’d always loved his hands—after his beautiful eyes and his kind smile, they were one of your favorite features on him.

“You’re not playing fair,” you giggled breathily, your toes curling and an all too familiar heat pooling between your legs as his hands continued to caress your body, one remaining on your breast while the other glided down along your side, tenderly stroking your stockinged thigh.

“I need you, sweetheart,” he whispered, burying his face in the crook of your neck and inhaling the scent of your perfume. It was his favorite. You always sent him with a bottle of it when he left on a mission or deployment so that he could spray it on his pillow and be reminded of you. When he arrived home two days ago after being gone for three whole months, the bottle was empty. “I missed you so much. Please.”

“Oh, Bobby,” you exhaled, reaching behind you and raking your fingers through his hair, mussing his neatly combed locks. “How could I ever say no to you?”

With that greenlight, Bob swiftly turned you in his arms so that you were facing him, your back to your vanity mirror as he crushed you against his chest, his arms wrapped tightly around you and his lips crashing against yours in a heated embrace.

Moaning delightedly into his mouth, you wrapped your arms around him, caressing the nape of his neck with your manicured fingers as his hands slid down your back until they were cupping your butt, pulling you even closer to him.

You felt the loss of him when he pulled back, your lips desperately chasing his even as he lifted those big hands of his to cradle your face, one thumb brushing across your bottom lip as he smiled down at you, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

“What happened to us being late?” he joked, kissing the tip of your nose and then peppering your cheeks and jaw with tiny, barely-there kisses.

“My husband can be very persuasive,” you grinned, fisting your hands in the front of his dress shirt and turning your face upward, willing his lips to return to yours.

Bob chuckled at that, tenderly brushing a loose lock of hair out of your face. “Oh, sweetheart, I’ve been dreaming of this for so long. Just getting to hold you in my arms again. I never want to let you go,” he whispered, his lips ghosting over yours, just enough to send tingles racing up and down your spine, but not enough to satisfy the ache gnawing at you, deep inside. “Sit down,” he told you quietly, indicating your long-forgotten vanity stool with a short nod of his head.

Swollen lips still desperate for more of his kisses, you pouted slightly, but did as he said, slowly lowering yourself down onto the stool and staring up at your husband, wondering what was on his mind.

But then suddenly your tall, strong, handsome husband was sinking to his knees in front of you and all questions and coherent thoughts flew out of your mind.

“Honey,” he groaned out in a husky voice, burying his face in your lap and littering the tops of your thighs with hot, hungry kisses, his arms coming up to encircle your waist. “I love you. I love you so much,” he murmured, nudging the hem of your slip up slowly with his nose.

“I love you, too, Bobby,” you told him, running your fingers through his hair, tears pricking the corners of your eyes at the naked adoration you felt in every little thing he did and said.

Head still resting in your lap, Bob’s arms slowly began to slide back down your body, his fingertips tracing a hot trail down your legs. He loved when you wore silk stockings, his hands running back and forth over the thin, sheer material with a sense of awe. Shifting back slightly, he pushed your slip up so that your stockinged thighs were more fully exposed to him. He gazed at them for a minute or two, as if just wanting to admire their beauty, and then bent his head down, planting one kiss after another on each thigh, all in a neat row. His movements were slow, unhurried, purposeful. He was taking his time worshiping your body and he wanted you to know it.

After several minutes of kissing your thighs, Bob turned his attention to your knees, pressing soft kisses to the insides of each of them. And as his lips danced across your skin, his hands slid up and down the backs of your calves, gently massaging as he went.

“Bobby,” you breathed out, your fingers continuing to run through his hair as you bit your bottom lip, your back arching as you felt your nipples harden and desire pool and pulse between your legs.

“Have I told you lately how much I love these thighs?” he asked, his eyebrows rising as his glance turned upward towards your face, his mouth still skimming the insides of your knees, slowly moving higher. “I could happily spend the rest of my life between these thighs,” he sighed, lightly biting down on the supple flesh.

“Bobby!” you giggled, feeling your skin grow warm from his praise and from how turned on it was making you.

He evidently didn’t want the hickey that you still hadn’t managed to conceal to feel lonely, because he suddenly began a passionate assault on your upper thighs, kissing and sucking and biting until you could see the small red marks appearing, even through your stockings.

Letting out a low moan of arousal, you found yourself tugging on his hair, pulling his head up and dragging his mouth towards yours. Bob happily obliged, his strong arms wrapping securely around your body as he kissed you with a newly unlocked fervor. His long, calloused fingers found purchase in your hair and you couldn’t find it in yourself to care that it would completely ruin the updo you’d spent an hour styling. Your vision had tunneled to only him. He was the only thing that mattered right now.

When the two of you finally pulled away for air, panting and desperately running your hands over each other’s bodies, you couldn’t help but giggle at the sight of your lipstick smudged all over your husband’s face.

“I don’t know if it’s your color,” you teased, wiping your hand across his mouth and chin with an amused twinkle in your eye.

Bob laughed in response, but his blue eyes grew darker with want as he gazed at you, your skin flushed and hot to the touch, your own eyes wide and dark with desire, the lipstick practically rubbed clean off your lips.

“Oh, Bob,” you whimpered quietly, leaning forward and pressing your lips to his neck. Two could play at the game he was playing. You peppered kisses up and down the column of his throat, what was left of your lipstick leaving a trail of seduction in your wake. As you moved down towards his collarbone, you realized you had even left a smudge of red on the collar of his crisp white uniform shirt.

Bob’s breathing was growing heavier, more strained, and as you pressed your body closer to his, you could feel how hard he was for you. But it wasn’t until you began sucking softly on the pulse point just beneath his jaw that a tortured groan burst forth from his lips, his grip on your body tightening as he lifted you from the vanity stool and carried you over to the bed, carefully laying you down so that your head was resting against the pillows.

His glasses were slightly askew, his chest rising and falling rapidly, the tent in the front of his uniform pants standing at attention as he gazed down at you with open and unabashed adoration.

You found yourself squeezing your legs together in anticipation as you stared back, your breath catching in your throat when he climbed on top of you, his nose nudging yours as he pressed your foreheads together, looking deeply into your eyes.

“Those were the longest three months of my life,” he rasped, his voice hoarse from both arousal and emotion.

“I know,” you whispered, reaching up to touch his cheek with gentle fingertips. It had been torture waking up to an empty bed every day these past few months. “But it’s over now. We’re together again. I’m right here.”

Bob nodded, tracing the outline of your face as if trying to convince himself that it was true. “You’re right here,” he repeated, dropping a soft, sweet kiss on your lips. He was quiet for a moment, then said, “And I need you so badly.”

Without further preamble, he began kissing his way down your body, paying particular attention to the spot you’d spent the better part of twenty minutes trying to mask earlier. It seemed you would just have to rock the hickey at this point—well, that or invest in a lot of turtlenecks.

You giggled softly as he kissed down your stomach, his light pecks tickling you even through your slip. But the laughter died in your throat the second he began pushing the chocolate-brown fabric up around your waist, his skilled fingers dipping inside the waistband of your stockings and ever so slowly dragging them down your legs.

Moaning softly, you tucked your chin and lowered your gaze to watch his every movement, noting the way he was careful with everything he did, making sure not to tear the fragile silk as he slid it off you, letting the light material flutter to the bedroom floor as he then focused his attention on the small scrap of material still hiding you from him, the brown silk that matched your slip.

He was careful, calculated in his every movement. He was taking his time with you. He was finally home, finally back where he belonged, and he wasn’t going to take a second of it for granted.

“Bobby,” you gasped softly, your back arching slightly as he began kissing his way up your leg, starting at your ankle. He repeated the same process on your other leg, tormenting you with his languorous movements. You could feel yourself growing soaked with need, burying your manicured fingers in his hair and tugging slightly to signify your impatience.

Bob chuckled lowly against your skin in response, the feel of it causing goosebumps to rise on your legs. His teeth scraped lightly along your inner thigh, and then he was soothing it with gentle kisses. His fingers began ghosting along the waistband of your silk underwear, the dark wet patch at your center only growing as you felt him so close to where you needed him.

“You’re so wet for me,” Bob breathed out, his breath warm against your core as his eyes widened behind his BCGs. You found it endearing, the way he said it. He always said it as if it was the most shocking discovery in the world. As if, even after all this time, he still couldn’t believe that he got you this aroused.

“Yes,” you nodded, reaching down to lightly touch his cheek. “You always get me like this. I need you, Bob.”

Your words lit a fire inside him and all at once he was pressing his face against your clothed core, breathing in your scent and allowing his tongue to gently tease you. You could feel him smiling against you when you let out a gasp of surprise, your hips bucking slightly at the feel of his mouth on you.

“I love you so much, sweetheart,” he whispered, pressing kisses to your hip as he firmly hooked his fingers inside the waistband of your panties and dragged them down your legs, tossing them so that they joined your abandoned stockings on the floor.

“Love you, love you,” you moaned as he pushed your legs open wider, settling himself comfortably on his stomach and getting to work.

Your husband’s tongue was a wondrous thing. The sweetest words dripped off it like honey, words that made you feel cherished and loved and known. It was a tongue that could take your breath away when he kissed you with it, those honeyed words still fresh in his mouth as he sought to communicate everything he couldn’t say with words alone. And it was a tongue that could make you fall apart and turn into a whimpering, writhing mess when he put it to use between your legs.

And right now, he was putting it to use.

“Bob! Oh, Bobby!” you cried out, drawing your knees up slightly as he licked a few firm stripes from your entrance up to that tiny bundle of nerves that he knew like the back of his hand. When you felt his hands come to rest on your hips, pressing them down into the mattress, you draped your hands over them, clinging to his fingers like an anchor.

He knew just what to do to get you going, just what to do to turn you on and make you feel like your body was singing. Half the time, you were convinced that he knew your body even better than you yourself did.

Right now, he was lazily tracing figure eights against you with his tongue, a warm-up for the intense pleasure that you knew was soon to follow. You continued to moan and whimper in pleasure, knowing that your husband loved it when he could hear how much you were enjoying yourself. Wanting to encourage him further, you removed one of your hands from his and pressed it against the back of his head, carding your fingers through his soft locks.

You were about to let out a noise of protest when he pulled back slightly, but it was quickly replaced with a sigh of gratification when he used the calloused pads of his fingers to spread you open, gathering your slick on his fingers and spreading it up and down. You could hear him sucking it into his mouth, a pleased hum rumbling from inside his chest, which only pushed you closer to the edge. This man was going to make you come and he had hardly even done anything yet.

“Taste so good, honey,” he mumbled against you, his midwestern drawl coming out thicker, which made you smile. That always happened when he was turned on.

Clearly he was starting to grow as impatient as you were because he dove back in, warm-ups forgotten, and wrapped his lips directly around your clit, sucking with all his might. When you cried out and arched up off the bed, he ran a soothing hand down your thigh, squeezing your flesh to keep you grounded. His glasses slid forward as he pressed his mouth more tightly to you, kissing and sucking and licking like his life depended on it.

You were completely incoherent at that point, reaching out to grip the bedsheets in white-knuckled fists as your husband brought you closer and closer to the brink of an orgasm. When he slipped two fingers inside you and began curling them gently, your mind went completely blank and you found yourself incapable of uttering any word other than his name.

It fell from your lips in an endless litany, your hips grinding against his mouth and your fingers digging sharply into his scalp. He didn’t mind in the slightest. In fact, your actions seemed to spur him on further, his fingers increasing their pace as his lips and tongue continued their joint attack on your most sensitive parts.

From the way he was gasping and moaning against you, you knew that he was turned on, too. That was another thing you found so incredibly endearing and so unbelievably sexy about your husband—he loved going down on you. There had been times when he had gotten off from that alone. And he was unapologetic about it.

“Just love the way you taste, sweetheart,” he often told you, a sheepish smile on his face as he pushed his glasses up his nose. “I love making you feel that good.”

Glancing downward, trying so hard to catch your breath, you realized that Bob was grinding his hips against the bed as he continued to devour you, and it nearly made you climax right then and there.

Between his ruined shirt and his soon to be ruined pants, you were going to have to get his dress blues to the dry cleaner ASAP.

“B-Bobby, baby, I’m close,” you keened, your eyes squeezing shut as the sensations of pleasure washed over you and coursed through your veins. “So close.”

Bob didn’t reply, just doubled down on his efforts, slipping a third finger inside you and circling your core with his tongue, not relenting until he felt your thighs begin to shake in that telltale way he recognized so well.

The white hot coil that had been tightening deep inside you was nearly at its breaking point, your cries of pleasure turning into breathy pants as you felt yourself teetering right on the edge, hardly able to breathe as your legs tensed up, trapping your husband between your thighs, just like he’d wanted. Both of your hands found purchase in his hair, your legs draped over his shoulders and your body bucking upward off the bed.

With a loud sob of his name, your orgasm exploded around you, stars dancing in your vision and your entire body trembling as the aftershocks coursed through you.

Bob held onto you tightly through it all, gently removing his mouth and his fingers as you became too sensitive, whimpering softly.

“I’m here, sweetheart,” he whispered soothingly, collapsing beside you and taking you into his arms. “I’m right here,” he cooed, pressing gentle, tender kisses to your cheek, his fogged-up glasses bumping against your temple.

“Oh, Bobby,” you sighed happily, curling up against his chest and letting him hold you.

The two of you laid there like that for several minutes, lost in the haze of the afterglow. You didn’t speak. You didn’t need to.

Then suddenly Bob was shifting slightly, moving to get out of bed, which had you clinging to him.

“Don’t get up,” you begged, kissing along his jawline. “Let’s just stay in bed.”

Bob chuckled quietly, adjusting his glasses. “What about the Navy Ball that you were so adamant about getting to?”

“I changed my mind,” you grinned, running your fingers over the buttons on his shirt. “Besides,” you added with a wink, “you ruined my hair.”

He laughed loudly at that, pulling you towards him and dropping a kiss on your forehead. “I’ll be right back.” he promised you, giving you a few more quick pecks before climbing out of bed.

Sighing softly, you rolled onto your back and twirled a lock of hair that had come loose around your finger. You weren’t sure where your husband was going, but you realized he must have left his phone in another room when you suddenly heard his voice coming from the direction of the living room.

“Hey, Phoenix,” you heard him saying. Even from the bedroom, you could hear the blush in his voice, could imagine him sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. It made you smile. “Change of plans. We’re not going to be able to make it tonight.”

There was silence for a moment, and you could imagine his frontseater teasingly giving him hell for ditching when the rest of the squad was being forced to attend after just getting back home. You laughed softly.

“Yeah, tell everyone I’m sorry,” he replied, his voice getting closer. You sat up slightly when you heard Bob tell Phoenix that he thought you were coming down with something.

It was quiet again as Phoenix must have been saying something, and then Bob was back in the room, standing beside the bed and grinning down at you. “Yeah, I think she’s got a fever or something. She’s just burning up,” he said, winking at you.

Giggling softly, you picked up a pillow and whacked him in the leg with it.

“I’ll tell her. Thanks, Phoenix. Have fun tonight,” Bob told her before hanging up with a chuckle. “Phoenix says she hopes you feel better.”

“Robert Floyd!” you laughed, whacking him again. This time, however, he caught the pillow in both hands and used it to pull you closer to him.

“Sorry, sweetheart, I needed to find a quick excuse,” he grinned, kissing you softly. Pulling back, he took the pillow from you and dropped it onto the bed, crawling back in beside you. “Besides, I really do think you’re burning up,” he teased, pressing a hand to your forehead.

“Oh, yeah, I do think I’m coming down with something for sure. I feel hot all over,” you smirked, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“I guess you’ll just have to stay in bed all night,” Bob mused, his blue eyes twinkling behind his glasses. “As your husband, I think it’s only right that I stay, too, to take care of you.”

“Mmm, yes, I think that sounds like a very wise plan indeed,” you nodded sagely. “But, you know, you might as well get comfortable and take off all these clothes,” you went on, fingers fumbling with the buttons on his shirt.

“Excellent point, sweetheart,” he replied, the two of you finally dissolving into a fit of laughter as you helped him strip out of his uniform and throw it to the floor, joining the pile with your previously discarded clothing.

The two of you spent all of that evening, and most of the following morning, in bed. It was just what the doctor ordered.

And when Phoenix texted you the following afternoon to see how you were doing, you were pleased to tell her that you were feeling much better.

#international bob floyd fucks month #robert bob floyd #bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #x reader #x female reader #top gun #top gun: maverick #lewis pullman

593 notes · View notes

hellfirenacht · 2 months

Text

Splash Zone

Summary: You and Eddie go to Gareth's Pool Party

Fluff and bullshit, no y/n, reader not described, I don't think I used any pronouns for reader actually, not beta'd, implied Eddie x Reader

1k words

Eddie knew that of all the members in Hellfire that Gareth was the most well off next to Jeff. Well, in theory he knew that since it was Gareth’s parents who allowed Corroded Coffin to play in the garage a few times a week for practice. Eddie had even been inside of the home once or twice to use the bathroom, and had only caught glimpses of the pool in the backyard.

It was the hottest day of the year when Gareth invited everyone over to his place for his birthday. He grumbled that it was his parents that really wanted to throw him a huge bash for his 17th, but it’s not like the kid had any friends outside of Hellfire to come. So it was decided that after practice, Hellfire Club would spend the afternoon in the backyard eating cake and pizza and enjoying the freshly cleaned pool.

You showed up an hour after practice ended, and made your way to the back yard where music was blasting out of a very nice looking boombox. You dropped your birthday present for Gereth off on the table and made your way over to where the boys were all lined up with their heels against the edge of the pool. Most of them were soaked, but Eddie was still bone dry, they all looked excited and nervous as Eddie paced the line, holding what looked like a small magazine in his hands.

“Gareth. You have entered the long corridor and there are two doors. One red, and one blue. Which door do you enter?” Eddie had a maniacal grin.

You walked over beside Eddie, raising an eyebrow. “What’s going on here?”

“We’re just playing a game.” Eddie said waving the magazine. ADVENTURELAND was written on the front with a picture of a dragon. “I’m running the game and every time they die or make a stupid decision, I push them in the pool.”

“Are you a fucking nerd or something?” you asked, stripping down to your swimsuit, and making your way to the line up.

You had always known Eddie as a passionate DM, but seeing him now was next level. Everyone was taking the game seriously, but you just couldn’t. Normally you gave Eddie the respect he deserved as a dungeon master and rarely derailed on purpose but this was a special occasion.

After a few rounds of staying dry, Eddie approached you with the magazine and read from it dramatically. “Adventurer, you have made it to the cavern and inside you see a sword, a golden apple, and a letter. What do you do?”

“I attack the darkness.” You said, crossing your arms.

Eddie raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure about that?”

“Did I stutter?”

Eddie turns and sets the magazine down and the others take a step to the side away from you. You stood there with a smirk and crossed your arms as Eddie approached you.

“Using your fire ball, you attack a dark corner of the room.” He says. “The spell lights up the walls for a brief moment, and the air grows hotter. Then.... nothing happens.”

“Damn, I was sure that would do someth-THING!” Your response quickly turned into a squeal as he shoved you into the pool. You flailed as your back hit the cool water with an impressive splash. You stayed below the water for a moment before resurfacing with a laugh, wiping the water off your eyes.

You darted over to the stairs and hurried back into your place in the line up, feeling better about the heat now that you were soaked as your friends laughed and rolled their eyes.

This continued for the rest of the afternoon, as Eddie gave you all guidance and you all decided on what your shared character should do. With each misstep, one of you would be hurled into the pool by Eddie.

By the end of the adventure about an hour later, you all were soaked to the bone but emerged victorious with the treasure and the day saved. In victory, everyone except Eddie jumped in the pool and started splashing each other.

You looked over at Eddie with a raised eyebrow. “Not going to join them?” you asked.

“Yeah, I don’t exactly have swim trunks.” He said, glancing down at his shirt and cut off jeans.

“So?” you raised an eyebrow. “Oh shit, is that why you were playing? You didn’t want to get in without a swimsuit?”

“It’s fine. No use buying one when you’re not exactly in the vicinity of any pools.” He shrugged.

“Can you even swim?” you asked.

He glared at you. “I can swim. I grew up swimming in Lovers Lake.”

“Cool. Get in the pool.” you said.

“Are you serious?”

“It’s a pool party. Get in the pool.”

“Listen I-” He started backing up towards the pool as he saw the feral look in your eyes.

“Can swim. You’re getting in, Munson.” You adjusted your stance, getting ready to pounce.

“Hold on- shit I have- shit- wait!” Eddie reached into his pockets and frantically pulled out his lighter and wallet and threw them onto the table.

You weren’t a monster, so you waited politely as Eddie removed anything that he didn’t want to get wet, including his shirt. There was no stopping the way your eyes raked over his torso and the ink on his chest. The site only made your heart beat faster.

Once you decided it was all clear, you ran at Eddie, ready to push him into the pool. His arms wrapped around your waist and with a jump and a twist, the two of you toppled into the pool together as the rest of your friends cheered.

Eddie’s fringe fell into his eyes as he emerged from the water with you. He shook his head like a wet dog and splashed you immediately.

“Do you always have to make things harder on me?” he asked.

“Only when it’s fun for me- HEY!” You sputtered as Eddie splashed you with the might of poseidon.

You countered by jumping on his back and clinging to him like a tree. “I’ll remember this next time we’re alone.” You said quietly to him.

“Yeah? I look forward to it.” Eddie smirked and jumped backwards onto his back, taking you down with him once again.

---

A/N: I'm trying to write more drabbles because I'm always writing and have very little to show for it. So expect more one shots and short fics between chapters <3

#nacht fic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n

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saintsenara · 7 months

Note

Favorite Ron Weasley fics?

thank you very much for the ask @thesilverstarling! my king's birthday seemed like the perfect time to drop this...

six ron-centric fic recs

[for the best sixth son in literature]

envy by @floreatcastellumposts

harry potter & ron weasley teen | 8.6k words

why i recommend it:

ron's capacity for jealousy is something which generates a lot of fandom discourse - especially the role it plays in his relationship with hermione. this fic is a look at one of the canon moments which foreground this trait - ron's falling out with harry when his best pal's name comes out of the goblet of fire - and it does a wonderful job of exploring ron's less pleasant characteristics without bashing him.

like a brother would by @wolfpants

harry potter/ron weasley explicit | 5.2k words

why i recommend it:

i have a real weakness for ronarry - largely because i love how ron would give anything in the world to get to take care of his bestie. this fic takes that urge to its natural conclusion...

the english opening by lordrowantree

fleur delacour/ron weasley teen | 55k words

why i recommend it:

because it respects ron’s canonical rizz and asks the very important question: what would happen if fleur said yes when he asked her to the yule ball?

and, in doing so, it also respects all the rest of ron’s canonical traits - his intelligence, his kindness, his big-picture thinking, his sense of daring - and uses them to offer an exploration of fleur’s character which is considerably kinder and more nuanced than the one she receives in canon.

plus, it’ll teach you something about chess, which is a bonus.

ghouls in the attic by speechwriter

tom riddle/ron weasley general | 8.9k

why i recommend it:

because - as the author correctly notes - i have seen your heart and it is mine is an outrageously romantic thing for the horcrux to say to ron [especially because it happens just before voldemort canonically suggests that hermione is mid].

collateral damage by @danpuff-ao3

draco malfoy/ron weasley explicit | 16k words

why i recommend it:

i also have a weakness for dron - above all because the two of them are narrative mirrors, defined by their relationships to their families and their relationships to harry, brought into conflict by their polar differences [draco's wealth versus ron's lack of it, etc.], and possessed of similar personality traits [a desire to be recognised as important and be the centre of attention; a capacity for jealousy]. this fics plays with those similarities - and also with ron and draco's more positive shared traits - in a really striking way. i ship these two losers. i hope they're happy.

some i love who are dead by brightened

hermione granger/ron weasley teen | 2.2k words

why i recommend it:

because it's a lovely, bittersweet look at ron's character from the perspective of hermione's old age - thinking about the man he became and the husband and father he was.

#asenora fic recs #ron weasley #ronarry #romione #ronmort #dron #flon... i guess

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onceuponaoneshotfanfic · 6 months

Text

Summer Sun, Something's Begun

Part of my Birthday Bash!

Request: "You're so cool, it makes me hate you so much." with Roy :)

I'm Bright Baby Blue, Falling Into You

Roy Kent x Reader

2.1k words

Warnings: Language, Chelsea!Roy, lots of fluff and flirting

Author's Note: This takes place during Roy's time in Chelsea, so he's in his mid-20s. The reader is his manger's very off-limits daughter, early 20s. I loved writing this so much, I'm going to add more to it later- so keep an eye out! 👀

Summers were for Chelsea.

For as long as you could remember, as soon as the school year ended, your mind focused on nothing but football. Throughout your childhood, you’d join your father at the facilities, watching the team prepare for the new season. Everything about it felt magical: the green of the pitch, the bright blue skies above, the shouts and excitement from the team. You looked forward to the first day of term, when everyone spoke about their summer holidays, the places they’d visited and the friends they got together with, when you would gush about the players you watched train and the matches you attended.

Now, you packed your bags at the end of each term and came home from uni, still feeling that same flutter of joy as you thought about training. A young adult yourself now, your dad still let you loiter around the team. Pretty much since you were old enough to drive, he treated you more like an assistant, asking you to grab lunches or help answer emails. As far as summer jobs went, this one felt like a great deal to you; hang out with your dad and the squad all day and get paid in match tickets whenever you and your mates wanted.

Of course, your role at the club wasn’t the only thing that changed. As a child, the players doted on you, asking about your dog or kicking around the ball with you before hitting the showers. You were Chelsea’s little princess, running around in jean shorts and too-big t-shirts. But now? Now you were the same age as many of the players, a young woman. Sure, the older players who’d known you for years, the ones who had watched you grow up, still joked around with you and treated you like family. But the younger players, the ones who were closer to your age than your father’s, definitely saw you differently. You caught the lingering stares, the cocky grins shot in your direction when they did something impressive on the pitch, the nudges when you strolled by the weight room when you brought the coaches their lunches.

Not that a single one of them would ever do anything about it. They were young, but they weren’t stupid. You were the manager’s daughter; you were the very definition of off-limits.

Which was totally fine with you, by the way. You didn’t care much for the attention of the young footballers, no matter how fit or wealthy they were. Not when you only had eyes for one midfielder in particular.

Roy Kent. Roy freaking Kent. With those brown eyes and those little smirks and that growling voice, not to mention that gorgeous chest hair you thought about way to often to be healthy, you were positively, absolutely smitten. He was brilliant to watch on the pitch, and he was pretty clever and funny when he cared to be. While his reputation centered around his scowls and brooding air, you often found yourself falling into step with him in the halls, offering teasing remarks back and forth and eliciting light chuckles from the mouth you thought about all year long back at school.

Ever since you started university, your dad had joked about not dating footballers. And normally, you were a good kid and listened to your parents. But the sound of Roy Kent’s laughter and the sight of his bare chest in the changing room always had you wanting to ignore your dad’s advice.

Because ever since he arrived at Chelsea, summers were for Roy Kent.

This summer was no different.

After a full week of Roy catching you staring at him on the pitch and making jokes that you laughed a smidge too hard at, you discovered him on the pitch long after practice had ended for the day and most players had begun to go home. Well, maybe ‘discovered’ was the wrong word. That made it sound like a coincidence, like you hadn’t quietly slipped away from your father’s office and followed the midfielder out of the building. Like you hadn’t perched yourself in the stands, not in an obvious spot, but definitely not hiding either as you watched him absently dribble around the grass while the sun began to set. Like you hadn’t been doing this for three days in a row now.

After maybe five minutes of watching him, he finally turned his head in your direction. “Oi!” he called out. “You just going to sit there and watch?” Even from a distance you could see the smile on his face, the one he usually saved for you.

You shrugged and stood, smoothing down the dress you may or may not have chosen while thinking about what Roy would think of it. It took every ounce of self-control not to skip down the stands, across the grass, and fling yourself into his arms, the way you wished you could after Chelsea victories. Instead, you strolled casually towards him, hands innocently behind your back, until you were gazing up at those pretty brown eyes, the ones that always seemed to sparkle when he looked at you.

“Enjoy the show?” Roy razzed, quirking one of those thick eyebrows at you.

“I always enjoy watching football,” you countered. You bent down to pick up the ball and began rolling it between your hands. “Especially when I get to watch talented people play.”

Behind the teasing look on his face, you could see in his eyes that he was pleased by your indirect compliment. “You think I’m talented then?” he hummed, doing his best to maintain his indifferent manner.

You wrinkled your nose at him and tossed the ball at his chest, which he caught with a soft grunt. “Who said I was talking about you, Kent? I was just stating the fact that I like watching football.”

His face lit up at your banter, eyebrows raised and mouth agape. You never saw him make that face at work except when you joked around with each other; you wondered if he ever made that face away from the pitch, if he ever made that face at anyone else, at any other girls. “Fuck me then,” Roy laughed, holding the ball close to his chest. He dropped it to the ground with a thud and nudged it towards you with his foot. “Come on, then. Let me prove myself.”

“Me, who hasn’t played football since I was eight, versus you, a Premier League star.” You rolled your eyes and bumped the ball back to him. “Yeah, sounds real fair to me, Kent.”

This time, the surprise he wore was genuine. “You haven’t played since you were eight?” He shook his head at you. “Your dad coaches fucking Chelsea. How the fuck did you manage to not play?”

“I prefer spectating and being a fan,” you stated simply. You wrinkled your nose. “Plus, I wasn’t very good,” you admitted. “I think Dad found it all a little embarrassing. He didn’t make much of a fuss when I quit.”

Roy shook his head and took a step back, dragging the ball with him. “Well, your dad’s not here now,” he pointed out, something close to flirtation in his voice. “And I’ll try to go easy on you, princess.”

Your heart fluttered at the teasing nickname. A few of the players called you that, always playful and joking, but when Roy said it, it made you wonder how other pet names would sound coming out of that beautiful mouth of his. “Fine,” you conceded with a huff, as though you weren’t thrilled at the opportunity to be close to Roy. “But go easy on me.”

Playing football in flats and a dress was not the easiest thing in the world, you discovered. Especially not when your opponent was Chelsea’s skilled and beautiful superstar. Still, you had to admit to yourself that it was fun. It was obvious that Roy did his best to go easy on you, but it wasn’t natural for the midfielder to give anything less than one hundred percent, so even his “easy” was a challenge. But he chuckled as you ran around each other, and a couple times he even laid a hand on your waist; you wondered if he knew the effect it had on you because each time he did, you froze and he was able to steal the ball with ease.

Eventually, you managed to break away from him with the ball at your feet and happiness in your lungs. You really thought you had a chance at scoring a goal when that firm hand landed on your hips. As you tried to wriggle free, your feet tangled with his, and the two of you fell to the ground, a jumble of laughter and bodies and a football. You managed to roll onto your back, grinning at Roy as he sat up and gazed down at you.

“You do suck,” he announced with a smirk. “Better study hard at uni, princess, because even with your daddy in charge, you are never getting signed to Chelsea.”

“I think I’ll live,” you huffed back as he laid beside you. You felt keenly aware of his body next to yours, of his breathing, of how close his hand was to your own. You wondered if he could feel your heart pounding through the ground; part of you worried it would cause the earth to quake, it was beating so hard.

Roy’s voice cut through your thoughts. “Glad to be home for the summer?” he hummed, his casual tone a sharp contrast to your nerves.

You cleared your throat. “I am. It’s always nice to be back with my family. And not worry about schoolwork. Plus, I love being here.” You gestured broadly around the pitch.

“Hmm.” Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Roy squinting at the oranging sky. “Any big summer plans?” His voice was heavy with interest, something rare for Roy Kent. He always seemed so aloof.

“Working here,” you said with a huff. “Same as every summer.” After a moment, you realized he was waiting for you to continue talking. “What about you? Training, training, and more training?” you teased.

He sighed, a low growling sound that had the hairs on the back of your neck prickling. “’ve got a fucking photoshoot tomorrow,” he grumbled. “For fucking Nike. Some international ad campaign or some shit, I don’t fucking know.”

You were instantly reminded that Roy Kent was a professional footballer, a celebrity, a legend in the making, who already had a track record for bedding models and actresses. He was on magazine covers and advertisements. And you were… you. He wasn’t like the boys in your uni classes or the fellas in your neighborhood, earnest young men who nervously asked girls out at pubs and prayed for a ‘yes’. He was a star.

In an attempt to ease your sudden angst, you let out a light chuckle. “Nike photoshoot, huh? Wow, Kent. You’re so cool.” You turned your face towards him and stuck your tongue out playfully. “It makes me hate you so much.”

Roy shifted his head so he was looking at you. “Me? Cool?” He rolled his eyes. “I never feel fucking cool. Especially not around you.” He gazed back up at the sky. “Always feel like a clumsy little kid around you.”

Your heart stuttered in your chest. His voice was so sincere, not an ounce of the joking and teasing usually aimed at in your direction. And you swore his cheeks were tinted pink- and you didn’t think it was from all the running around. Although your mind was racing to a million different places at once, the only thing you could manage to murmur was, “Well, I think you’re pretty fucking cool, Kent.”

He faced you again, squinting at the setting sun that was hitting him just right. “Thanks.” After a moment, you felt his finger brush tentatively against your knuckles. “D’you think I could call you sometime? While you’re home for the summer?” He shrugged, clearly trying to appear more casual than he felt. “We could… hang out or something.”

If you thought your heart was racing before, it was nothing compared to now. You searched his eyes, looking for some sign that he was goofing around, just fucking with you, but all you could find was sunshine and anticipation. Swallowing the lump that had formed in your throat, you nodded, turning your palm upwards so Roy could rest his hand on yours, intertwining your fingers.

“Yeah, Kent,” you finally whispered as a smile crept across your face. “You could call me sometime.”

#tally's birthday bash #request ❤️#Chelsea!Roy #he's here he's there he's every fucking where #roy kent #roy kent x reader #roy kent fanfic #roy kent fic #roy kent fanfiction #roy kent imagine #ted lasso #ted lasso fic #ted lasso fanfic #ted lasso fanfiction

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onsunnyside · 2 years

Note

me thinks a belated balls birthday bash would be so … nice. please. and thank you. it was the crotch shot when it wasn’t loaded at first when my eyes went 👀

bestie el... i hope you're strapped in for a very nasty drabble/snippet tonight with the dirty trailer daddy himself and some puff puff... and his big fat balls 🫡🫡

PUFF PUFF FOR ALL @comfortcap

#el<3 #ask sonny #balls birthday bash #<- i WILL throw one SOMEDAY #sonny loves balls #balls besties #puff puff club

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insidious-journalist · 2 years

Note

(@bloodshedaria) Lost - for our muses to get lost in the hedge labyrinth

Danny had a feeling something was up.

It was the eyes burning into the back of his neck firstly. Secondly it was the fact that whenever he'd turn around someone would shift away suddenly, lost in the crowd and leave him unable to gain insight into who exactly was so adamantly staring him down. To stalk the stalker was a bold move, and one he didn't want to indulge in exactly. And so after finishing up a quick chat with another partygoer, he opted to abscond away towards the garden area, figuring he might lose the other or better yet lose their interest.

Champagne in hand, Danny somewhat hurriedly stepped into the beautiful greenery and took no time to observe the flora around him, aiming to just find a nice solitary place to settle down and collect his thoughts. But the rustling of leaves has him on edge, and so in a stupid last minute decision he turned tail into the hedge maze, thinking that maybe this would finally deter whoever the hell was following him.

He turned and twisted in the labyrinth until he was confident he was alone, taking a deep breath and sighing out in relief... Until a sharp pain forced him to jump to the side, nearly spilling his drink as he looked over to his left with wide eyes. What the fuck kind of outfit was that?? Why did this feel familiar?

"Can I fuckin' help you?"

#bloodshedaria #ji woon hak #masquerade ball #masquerade event #Bastard's Birthday Bash #ask answered #this can only end in good ways and nothing bad ever

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jolapeno · 1 year

Text

phone sex

javier peña x f!reader | bonus scene of late night texts

summary: It's the year 2000. Javi is minding his own business on the porch of his pop's ranch when a text from an unknown number vibrates his phone. The only problem is, no one knows he has a phone and no one has his number.

chapter warnings: smut. phone sex. 18+. masturbation (female) i'd recommend you having read chapter four before reading this bonus scene. an: part of my birthday bash, hope you enjoy this little bonus treat.

text key: bold is you/reader | italics is javi

You still think you’re that good you could destress me miles away?

most definitely

Do it then.

what call you

Call me and de stress me, Javier.

I dare you.

where’s your phone

I have a phone in my bedroom. I call you a lot from it.

you tease

“I can’t get over how you make saying hello sound so good.”

You laugh, it travelling down the phone, settling his nerves. “I still can’t get over how sexy your voice sounds.”

Smiling, he runs his palm over his thigh. “Is it sexier if I tell you to take off your clothes.”

“Getting straight into it?”

“I’m an efficient man.”

You don’t answer, but he does hear you take a breath.

A loud one.

One which puffs and then simmers down the phone, through his ear until it settles in his chest. Stretching, spreading across his chest and down his stomach.

“Take them off slowly for me. One by one.”

“All of them?”

“All of them.”

He tunes into the rustle, to the movement of the phone against your ear and the occasional noise he can’t ascertain. Briefly whispering to tell him what you’re removing, earning him a half-sketched image of what is happening.

Trousers first, pooling at your feet. A blouse that slides down your arms. Then, to torture him, he hears the snap of one of your bra straps, a slight whimper—

“That for me?”

It’s soft, your laugh. Laced in heavy lust. “Maybe my finger slipped.”

“Bullshit, baby.”

“Bet you wish you had a phone in your room.”

“More than fucking anything.”

Your laugh is different, briefly interjecting that you’re bra has met the floor, followed by your underwear.

“Now what?”

You’re nervous.

He can tell from the infliction in your tone. He knows your voice now—can tell when something is off.

Usually, you’re so confident, put together, quick on your feet—likely even used to being in control, meeting him tit for tat.

Now, he wonders if it’s apprehension or shyness. Whether you’d attempt to hide parts of yourself from him, not realising, or ever being told prior how good you look. How pretty.

Because he knows you’re pretty. And he knows you look good. He feels it. He imagines it—you. The outline of a person he doesn’t yet know and skin he doesn’t know the feel of, pebbling in the air of your room. Fingers fiddling, standing close to your bed but not quite on it.

Licking his lips, he adjusts himself in his jeans. Thankful the house is alone—but still not risking undoing the button on his jeans. Not releasing the zip down the teeth of his trousers—freeing his hardening cock.

“Lie down for me, baby.”

It’s soft, the whisper of okay. It likely slipping out from between a teeth-bitten lip. Hearing shuffling, before nothing.

“You there?”

You swallow, it loud down his ear. “I’m-m here.”

“It’s okay. Gonna look after you.”

It’s sweet, almost comforting the way you sigh. Mumbling that you know, as he asks you where you’d want him to touch if he were there.

And it awakens you, stirs something which banishes shyness. Hearing how you’d want his lips on your neck first, hand on your breast—that you’d want him to kiss down your collarbone, taunt you, tease you—

“Make me wait. Keep me on the edge.”

His eyes close for a second or two longer as your words meet his ear. Hand rubbing his jaw as you continue to tell him how you’d want him to make your toes curl without so much as touching between your legs—

“And then what?”

Javi balls up his fist, his jeans impossibly tight. The hour impossibly quiet. So much so, he can hear the blood pounding through his ears—can hear the way he lets out a breath. Not shaky. But close.

“Want to feel how heavy your cock is on my tongue, Javi.”

He groans. Actually fucking groans.

It stirs something in you that makes the softest whimper of his name travel down his ear.

“Then want you to touch me, taste me, Javi.”

Fuck.

“Bet with how much you talk, you’d be good with your mouth,” you add.

His lips curling, laugh hovering on his tongue. “Oh I am, baby.”

It’s the way you moan at that which makes him consider licking a stripe up his palm. He could take a hold of his cock—just hold it. Release the tension, waiting and stemming off the pleasure he could so easily let himself feel.

If only he had a fucking phone in his room.

He could be palming his cock, doing so with you.

“Wish you’d called my handheld now.”

You let out a breathy laugh. Hearing how it’s followed by a gasped-moan.

“Fuck, I like the noises you make.”

“Yeah?”

He smirks, hand tightening around his clock. “So pretty. Gimme more, lemme hear more of them, slide another finger in—please—”

“Fuck, Javi, how’d you know—”

He can hear it. Even through the shitty phone—the little frustrated groans you’re emitting because it’s not enough. But you wish it was.

“Do it,” he says, eyes closing as you moan his name as you slide another in.

Wishing he could hear it, the sound of them sliding in and out. Desperately wanting to forgo responsibilities and fucking fly to you and do what you just asked him to.

“So good. You’re so good for me.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, baby. Doing so good—“

“Fuck, Javi.”

He brushes his palm against the outside of his jeans, a spark rushing through him at the contact—not enough, but something. Desperate to keep his hand there, roll his hips to alleviate some pressure in the centre of his childhood fucking home.

He needs a phone in his room.

Half-tempted to even risk the bill from calling you back from his mobile, pay the charge—get to chase release the same as you.

“Wish you’d come with me, Javi.”

He balls his fist, pressing it to his forehead. Wishing the very same. Wanting it more than fucking anything.

“Bet you sound g-good too. Moaning my name—“

“What I’d do to you if you were here,” he interrupts.

Hearing you go silent. Words fading to nothing. How your breathing is heavier, quicker. That you’re suddenly whispering his name, closer to a chant than pleading.

“I’d grip your thighs, keep you in place as my tongue tastes how much you want me.”

“J-Javi.”

“I know, baby,” he soothes, hand over his jean-covered cock. “You’re so close, aren’t you? Just need to come.”

You don’t manage to scream it, never mind mumble a yes. You just make a sound that shoots fire and desperation through him—from head to fucking toe. The hand clasping the receiver so tight, he could crack it—the other palming himself like he can’t control himself.

And he can’t.

Not with you.

“Shit,” he hears you say. “Fuck.”

He smirks, still hearing your orgasm in his ear—the way his name ripped out of your throat. How it sounded so fucking good.

“You de-stressed?”

It’s breathy, the way you whisper yes.

Clearing your throat, the sound of you moving before you pause.

“Javi?”

“Yes, baby.”

“Put the phone down, go to your room, and answer your mobile—“

“Wait, it’ll cost you—“

“I said—“

“You fuckin’ got it.”

an: see you on tuesday for chapter five

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