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jordiemeow · 2 months ago

Text

pairing: riff lorton x uptown girl!reader

summary: riff has never pressured his pretty lil’ princess into having sex. he wants to make your first time real nice for you, special. but a man has needs… and you’re eager to satisfy them.

warnings: smut, m!receiving oral, inexperienced!reader, uhh sry i hate tagging general nsfw warning. giving riff head for the first time

This is how it usually goes. You in Riff's shitty little apartment every Tuesday night when your daddy is at the gentlemen's club; sometimes you clean together (because this place sucks), sometimes you sit and talk about your lives, or sometimes you just sit on his couch and shove your tongues down each other's throats.

Like now, for example.

Hands in his hair while he licks behind your teeth, the taste of your peachy lipgloss mixing with the gum he always chews in preparation of your arrival. He's particularly handsy today, with you perched on his lap and his fingers groping at your thighs under your dress. Maybe it’s the fact you’re wearing red, or the way you keep mindlessly grinding down against him, but he’s no saint.

It’s only natural that his cock is getting hard in his jeans. Restrained by the tight material, the friction of the denim each time you shift sends little jolts of pleasure up his spine. It’s not the first time you’ve given him an erection—no, far from it. But it’s the first time it’s felt this bad. Like he might just cream in his pants if you don’t ease up a little.

"C’mon, girly—" He starts, breaking away from your mouth. He has to fight back a laugh when you chase after his lips; for a virgin, you’re always just so eager to push things. Cute. "Gotta stop, m’kay?"

"What? Why?" You blink, a tiny little pout on your pretty lips. He can’t tell if you’re oblivious to his plight or the fabric of your dress just means you can’t feel the bulge in his jeans.

"‘Cause you’re gettin’ me a lil’ too, uh…" Riff jerks his head to the side, as if that’s a proper explanation. Most other girls would get his meaning, but you’re just so innocent with your little bewildered frown. He feels like he’s leading a damn lamb to the slaughter when he’s with you.

"Too worked up," he elaborates. He guides one of your hands from his hair to the space between you, placing your palm against his arousal. He has to suck in a breath and fight back the urge to grind up against your hand to relieve the tension when your fingers curl instinctively against it.

"Oh," you blink. You aren’t stupid—you know what that means. But it’s a little flattering that he’s sporting such a raging boner after just making out for fifteen minutes on his couch.

"Oh," he echoes in agreement. "So… m’gonna need you to stop."

Your mouth opens to protest—no doubt something like "but Riff, it's just kissing!"—but he's already easing you off his lap. Oh, how he wishes he could just kiss that pretty little pout back off your mouth again. He rises to his feet with you, giving your hip a playful little pat.

"You'll live. But I need a cold shower."

You tilt your head. "What—"

"Makes it go down," he explains.

... Ah. Your gaze flicks down to the bulge contained within the denim of his jeans.

"Weren't you complaining your water bill was too high?"

Sneaky little minx, you are. He has to give you credit for that one. One little shower won't make much of a difference, but he's definitely rubbing off on you with that line.

And you're looking to rub off on him. Literally.

"I'm sure I could try to... you know." Your cheeks heat up at the implication of your words, but your gaze is unwavering as you blink up at him. You look way too innocent for what you're offering.

"... Balls in your court, girly. Don't wanna pressure ya," he says. But that little quirk of his lips is enough to indicate that he very much wants you to relieve his little (big?) problem.

Riff's living room seems to hum with energy; it's not just the stifling heat of the summer New York air between you both anymore. Then you step forward, hands moving gingerly to the buckle of his jeans.

Riff feels his throat go a little dry at the movement, watching the way your fingers find his button, undoing it and slowly, oh so slowly sliding his zipper down. The sound of it feels obscenely loud in the quiet of his apartment. His fingers curl into fists by his sides, blunt nails digging crescents into the calloused flesh of his palms; he's unsure whether he wants to pry your hands away and tell you to stop, or yank the damn jeans down himself.

Both of your hearts are in your throats as you undress him. Pushing his jeans down past his hipbones, past the 'V' of his hips, revealing the taut muscle and trail of hair leading into his boxers. The denim falls to his ankles, and the remaining fabric surrounding his crotch does nothing to hide the aching arousal underneath.

"Fuck."

Oh, you hadn't even meant to say that out loud. But you've never seen a man down to his boxers before, never mind fully naked. Seeing the tent in his briefs is going straight to your head, and your tongue darts out to wet your lips nervously. But hearing that curse come from your mouth—because he can count on one hand the amount of times he's ever heard you swear—goes straight to his head, too. (Which one... well, he's not so sure.)

He's not going to pretend that you staring in such aware at his bulge isn't doing a lot for his ego. The only thing stopping him from making a "you like what you see, girly?" comment is the lump in his throat.

You hesitate for a moment to just take in the sight, before your hand moves forward. Tentatively placing it over his clothed cock, the sensation is foreign. You never expected it to feel so... firm, you suppose, as the warmth of pre-cum seeps through the fabric as you touch him. You aren't entirely sure what you're doing. Are you touching him for the sake of exploration or actually trying to pleasure him yet?

God, this is all new territory.

Riff thinks it's cute how you don't know what you're doing, though, and the way you're hesitantly palming him over his boxers is only really serving to make him harder. The little movements would be kind of pitiful if he wasn't so damn head-over-heels for you. But he's not complaining, not when he's got you touching his cock like that after months of lusting after you and satisfying those needs with his own hand in the dark of the night.

And he's definitely not about to make you feel stupid for being a little ignorant. He's a smarmy prick on a good day, but he's a little more tactful when it comes to you (... sometimes.) Besides, he's pretty sure you would burst into tears if he made a comment that wasn't lavished in praise for your efforts.

He reaches up to your shoulders and gently pushes, a silent request for you to fall to your knees. Which gives you a little pause, eyes flicking up to him, uncertain. On your knees? For what? But you oblige anyways, because you trust him, and soon your knees are pressing into his scratchy carpet.

The look in your eyes is so sweet, so innocent, almost a sense of trust, and it warms his heart seeing you down there on your knees. The battle between arousal and affection is a potent one right now.

"You sure you wanna keep going, girly?" he asks softly, and his hand comes up to lovingly caress your cheek, his thumb sweeping over your bottom lip.

"Yeah, of course," you say, with a jerky little nod of your head. The lip he's currently touching is drawn between your teeth with a shy little smile. "Just... not really sure what I'm supposed to do."

God, he loves when you’re all bashful like this, and the way your face looks in this moment is just so goddamn cute he’s about to combust. Or maybe cum in his boxers.

"It’s alright." He pushes the tip of his thumb against your bottom lip, just to watch you bite down on it. "I’m gonna show ya."

You’re just downright adorable, sitting there at his feet, looking up at him all sweet and eager to please, and it makes his chest swell up with warmth (and his cock swell with blood). He lets his hands slide away from your face, and reaches up to hook his thumbs in the elastic of his boxers, pushing them down over his hipbones.

The first thing that hits you is the scent. It’s musky, heady, thick in the air and emphasised even more by the heat. The second thing is, of course, the size. You can only hope the expression of awe on your face isn’t too obvious. But Riff has never been one to be shy with his body, and he’s not about to start being modest now, not when the look on your face right now has him feeling that damn cocky.

He gives you a little moment to just sit there and look at it, before he speaks.

"See that?" He says, and there’s something almost lazy to his drawl; it's safe to say he’s enjoying the experience of having you look at him like this for the first time. "See how it’s all nice and hard because of you, sweetheart?"

You just nod, hands flexing when they're sitting in your lap atop your red skirt. You really have no idea what you're supposed to be doing right now, carpet digging into your knees, wide eyes fixated on his length. But you trust him... somewhat.

Riff can see your uncertainty coming through in the way you look at him, in the way your hands are just sitting there like you’re too nervous to do anything about it. So he gently takes one of your hands from your lap, and guides it up to his cock, just to let you touch it with your fingertips. And Jesus, even that first bit of contact is just electric. Your fingers are so damn soft on him, nothing like the working girls he's ever been with.

It almost feels wrong, having a pampered little princess commit such a filthy act on him with your unblemished hand.

"Yeah, like that, like that," he murmurs, as he guides your hand, letting you wrap your smooth fingers around the base of his cock. You're still a little hesitant, but you allow him to hold you in place there, just feeling the way it throbs beneath your touch.

"It’s not gonna break, you know," he tells you, a lopsided smirk quirking at his lips at how delicately you're handling it. He gives a little squeeze of his fingers around your hand for emphasis. "You can keep goin’."

You do your best to take notes on how he guides your fingers. It's different than playing with yourself, that's for sure, but that probably comes down to the anatomy difference. He seems to be enjoying himself, though, if the way his breath seems to quicken is any indication. Your eyes flick back up to his face, with another sheepish smile.

"... Yeah. Yeah, okay," you say, your voice a little quiet as you grow used to the feeling. You begin to pump your hand up and down experimentally under his guidance, watching the way the veins on the underside of his cock seem to pulse with the movement. It's fascinating, in a weird way.

You have to fight back the urge to make a comment about them, because you know he'll laugh at you for it. "Jesus, girly, you're jerkin' me off 'n' givin' yourself a biology lesson at the same time?" Yeah, just the thought makes you smile, and your motions grow a little more confident.

"Yeah, just like that," he murmurs, his breaths coming out in soft, uneven grunts with each stroke of your hand. "Nice and—Jesus—slow, nice an’ easy—"

It’s a little clumsy and awkward, but it’s already better than any handjob he’s ever gotten before. Sure, your pace is still a little off, and your movements are a little jerky and unsure, but you’ve got a really good grip on him, and the way you feel wrapped around him is something fuckin' else. He can only imagine how good it’s gonna feel to have you wrapped around him in other ways.

He's getting a real kick out of being your first, that's for sure. Something about corrupting a sweet little daddy's girl into jerking him off in his messy apartment, dolled up all pretty just for him. He almost climaxes at the mere idea of it all.

"Slow down, slow down a little bit—" There's a little hitch in his breath that betrays just how much it's all getting to him. How just a few firm jerks of your hand and his imagination are threatening to release months of pent-up arousal.

Slow? You're not sure whether that's because it's too much in a bad way or a good way. But you can't bring yourself to ask (because you're already nervous enough), slowing down the pace of your hand to stroke him a little slower. But if the amount of pre-cum leaking out of his tip to make the motions slicker and slicker with each stroke is any indication, you're doing okay.

He lets out a moan of approval when you slow down. "Yeah, like that," he says again, managing to sound somewhat even despite the almost-whimper that had left him just a minute ago. "Need ya to do somethin' else for me, m'kay?"

"Yeah. Yeah, okay," you agree breathily as your eyes shift from his throbbing cock to his face.

"Keep goin'," he instructs gruffly. "But I need you to—ah—need you to open your mouth for me."

Open your mouth? Okay, that doesn't make any sense to you. Your friends recounting losing their virginity to upperclassmen did not prepare you for all the foreplay. But you oblige, lips parting obediently as you look up at him, still pumping your hand slowly up and down his length.

"Atta girl," Riff croons. And oh, he almost loses it right then and there at the sight of you. All pretty and wanting, just for him.

He holds it together just enough to gently rub a thumb across your bottom lip, tugging it down gently. "Mhm, jus' a little wider for me. You're gonna put my cock between your lips 'n' then suck it for me."

Oh, okay. Now that makes a little more sense, even if you do seem caught off guard for a moment... because, what? Is this really a common practice? It seems so filthy. He's lucky you love him enough to actually try it. Your hand keeps moving dutifully at the base of his cock as you lean forward just to take the tip in past your lips. The heady scent is so much stronger up close, and you can taste something... salty? on your tongue. Weird.

It's a miracle Riff manages to keep himself still. His hands move to brush your hair out of your face, gripping it in a loose fist to keep himself occupied. It takes a lot of self-control (which he has very little of in the first place) not to push your head down a little further. No, no, he reminds himself. Easy does it for his princess' first time. But god, if seeing your mouth stretch around him as you gingerly take it in a little deeper isn't enough to test a man's patience...

"Mhm, watch your teeth. That's it," he coaxes. "You can move your hand faster again 'n' just—yeahhh—that's good, baby."

You're taking all of his vaguely moaned instructions in your stride. Stroking the parts you can't take into your mouth with your hand, using your tongue (he really seems to like the attention to his slit), moaning around the intrusion in your mouth... Yeah, he should have had you try this out ages ago. Didn't know you'd be so fuckin' eager to please.

At one point, you take it a little too deep for someone of your experience, or lack thereof. You pull your head back following the trigger of your gag reflex, the hand on his cock stilling as you cough into your other fist. He's too aroused to feel guilty about how pretty he thinks you look when your eyes start to water, lips slick with saliva.

"Sorry," you manage to choke out. Too damn sweet.

This is the party where he's supposed to reassure you, right? He can do that. He's capable of being decent. You're not some quick lay he picked up on the streets, after all—you're his girl. "Hey, s'alright. You're doin' jus' fine for me." He can tell you're feeling a little self-conscious by the way your eyes don't quite meet his, and your grip has gone completely slack around his length. "Just need to remember it ain't supposed to go that deep, alright? We'll work on that another time."

Yeah, you bet he's already planning on easing up that gag reflex of yours. The thought of doing this again (and taking it deeper) is enough to make you feel a little nervous... and yet your thighs are clenching in anticipation. Riff doesn't bother hiding his smirk when he picks up on that little motion. Duly noted.

"C'mon. Keep goin' for me. You can do it. Wanna make me feel good, don't ya?"

Another jerky little nod of your head in reply. "Mhm," you confirm, a little too eagerly for a girl who was gagging and regretting doing this in the first place just thirty seconds ago. You take a few deep breaths, and then you're taking him back into the warmth of your mouth.

You're definitely getting the hang of it now. A few more mishaps occur where you gag and pull off, but Riff just laughs and encourages your head back onto his cock. "Watch yourself," he teases, only to break off into a low groan when the heat envelops him again and your hand squeezes around his cock.

You've mastered being able to breathe through your nose without having to pull back for a gulp of air. Progress is progress, right? Still a little too much teeth, but if Riff is being honest with himself... he kind of enjoys it. Doesn't stop him from being a little condescending about it; you're too busy trying to take him deeper to really listen, though.

It doesn't take that much longer until his hand is tightening its grip around your hair and he's gritting out, "m'gettin' real close, girly."

Close... to his release, you assume. That's enough of an indication for you to redouble your efforts to push him there.

Despite the fact he's a panting mess, he smirks down at you. "Y'gonna swallow for me, huh?"

Wait, what? Swallow? Oh, surely that's just a joke. He can't actually expect you to—

Before you can even finish that train of thought, your mouth is being filled with more of that warm, salty taste you've been getting traces of over the last ten minutes. Your nose scrunches up distastefully, and any attempts to jerk your head back are stilled by his hand in your hair. Yeah, okay, a little bit of a dick move... but he's been on his best behaviour this entire time.

Give him a lil' leeway, okay?

"Hnghh, jus' like that, yeah— take it all f'me, that's right— that's a good girl— ungh—"

The hand on his cock moves to join your other one on his hips, curling into the skin there enough to bite into it. You can feel your eyes tearing up; it's not entirely unpleasant, just very unfamiliar, and it takes a lot to try and stay still until his climax has passed and there's nothing left to swallow.

He finally loosens his grip in your hair, and you're able to pull back with another series of coughs. Riff doesn't look remorseful in the slightest, but he does have the decency to wipe the drool from your chin. You give him the dopiest little smile from your place on the floor. Pretty girl.

"Real fuckin' proud of yourself, ain'tcha?" He laughs.

"Shouldn't I be? I mean, that was good, right?" You ask breathlessly. Your eyes are a little wet, but you're mostly unscathed, save for your wet chin and slightly hoarse voice.

He helps you to your feet with a crooked smile. "Don't go gettin' too cocky on me now, ya hear me?"

You give him a sheepish little smile, pushing yourself up on your toes to kiss him. Which, of course, he dodges, and your lips end up planted against his cheek. He has no intentions of tasting his own cum, thank you very much.

You don't seem very bothered by it, though; you're still feeling too over the moon about actually not making a total embarrassment to take much notice about where your lips are landing. At least he plants a kiss on your forehead before he shimmies his jeans back up. What a gentleman.

"Bet your daddy doesn't think you're out suckin' cock while he's at the gentlemen's club, eh?"

... Okay. Moment ruined.

#jo writes ⋆˚࿔#riff lorton x reader #riff lorton #mike faist #riff lorton x you #riff lorton fic #riff lorton smut #west side story 2021

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lvve-talks · 3 months ago

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not a fuckin' toy. `✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹ tw gunplay

His body was all sweat slick heat against yours, both of your chests heaving in time as you caught your breath from tustling around in his threadbare sheets. One of his arms was haphazardly thrown around you as he leaned against the wall his bed was pushed up against, lacking a headboard.

It was always like this on lazy days with Riff. Lounging around in each other’s body heat in between rounds, never really cooling off. Especially in the summer when the heat pressed in from the outside, too. The window was thrown open for the occasional breeze, but you’d both rather stay naked all day for a couple of reasons.

You slide out of his rickety old bed casually, your feet dropping onto the wood floor to carry you across the room in search for his cigarettes and a lighter. You picked through the clothes strewn across the floor when something catches your eye on his dresser, sticking out from under one of his shirts thrown across the top.

It glinted in the light as you approached, tugging it out from its hiding spot and feeling the weight of it in your hands. The steel was heavy for something so small, cool compared to the heat of the air around you. You turned halfway to face him, rotating the gun in your hands.

“The hell do you have this for?” You question, shooting him a look as you tear your eyes away from the metal in your grasp.

“Don’ worry ‘bout it. Put it down,” he answers dismissively, pushing his dark hair off his sweaty forehead and beckoning you back to the bed with a jerk of his head.

You ignore him, a strange fascination with the piece in your hands taking over you as you look back down at it. You grip it like you’ve seen in the movies or like the cops do, admiring how it looks in your delicate hand.

“Hey,” his voice is a bit sharper now when you don’t listen to him. “That ain’t a fuckin’ toy. Put it down,” he demands again.

To his dismay, his tone only makes you feel even more defiant, a mischievous smirk settling on your lips as you approach him, pointing the gun right at him. “Put your hands up, delinquent.”

His eyes narrow dangerously at you. It’s not loaded, he’s not fucking stupid. The safety’s on, and your finger’s not even on the trigger. But seeing you point that thing at him��

When you get close enough to the bed again, gun still pointed straight out in front of you, directly at him, he rises to the challenge. He leans forward, pressing his forehead directly to the end of the barrel. One wrong move and you could splatter his brains on the wall behind him.

His eyes burn as they look up at you, almost in a dare. He’s daring you to take his challenge, to squeeze that trigger and hear the mechanical click of a quick death. Your heart is beating faster now, your expression falling at the sudden intensity of the moment. There’s something so inherently intimate about the illusion of holding someone else’s life in your hands, and them letting you.

And then his hand is on the gun, snatching it away from your hand as he uses the other to wrap around your waist and pull you forward into him. His expression is still just as intense, his fiery gaze never leaving your face.

“You don’t play around with this shit, you hear me?” He asks, his eyebrows raising expectantly as he waves the gun out of your reach. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re doing, could blow someone’s goddamn head off,” he hisses and you give a little nod feeling like a scolded kid.

“You feel all tough with this thing pointed at me? Huh?” he questions, making your body shiver as he runs the cool metal up your thigh. “You feel like a big girl?” he suddenly presses the length of the barrel against the heat of your core making you gasp and shudder.

“Was jus’ messin’ around, Riff,” you mumble, your hand gripping his wrist tightly, but you're unsure whether you're wanting to push him away or keep him right where he is.

“Yeah. Exactly,” he huffs, breaking your grip to toss the gun aside. “Don’ want you messin’ around with your life,” he pulls you down to straddle his lap by his grip on your hips, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

Your life. You were the one holding the gun out at him and he was concerned about your life.

Riff Lorton already knew he was heading for an early grave, but he’d be damned if you were resigned to the same fate.

#ᯓᡣ𐭩.ᐟ lovely words ⊹#tw gunplay #CANNOTTTTT stop thinking abt this scene.#꒰ঌ riff ໒꒱#riff lorton x reader #riff lorton #mike faist #mike faist x reader #west side story 2021

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