Soft Touches

Please

Josh Kiszka X fem reader

18+ only, minors DNI

Warnings: Dirty talk, choking, mommy kink, light degradation, dacryphilia if you squint, oral if you squint, unprotected sex

You flashed your backstage pass to security as you walked past and to the bathroom. You wanted to take one last look at yourself before you made your way to side stage. You could hear the sound of them playing stardust chords as you found a bathroom and ducked inside. You had your hair down with your natural waves giving it the slightest bit of volume. Josh loved when you wore it like this so you tried to as much as possible. You turned, looking at the way your leather skirt hugged your curves, and the way your snug v-neck crop top highlighted them even more. You swiped on some chapstick, fixed a few stray hairs and sauntered out of the door. Josh had no idea you were going to be at tonights show. It had been weeks since you'd seem each other as well. You had just been on facetime with him earlier that morning, thinking your flight wouldn't get in in time. But here you were, making your way to side stage ready to surprise him.

You stood there all of five minutes before Josh's eyes skimmed past you, and then quickly snapped back as he did a double take. That big cheesy smile spread on his face as he gave a small wave. You smiled and waved back, blowing him a kiss. He just shook his head with a small laugh and looked back to the crowd as the next song started. They played the rest of the songs, ending with highway tune, and then Josh was making a beeline for you. Jake passed you first,

"Thank god you're here, he's been moping around all day" He said under his breath as he passed. You snorted a laugh, knowing he probably wasn't being dramatic, and that Josh had in fact been pouting all day. When you looked back you were being wrapped in Josh's arms.

"You made it," He said softly as he squeezed you tight, his mouth against your neck.

"I did" You replied as you held him just as tight. He pulled away but his hand slid down, taking yours. His eyes raked over you, lifting your hand and prompting you to give a little spin,

"And look at you," He paused, "How did I get so lucky?" You rolled your eyes as you pulled him back into you, kissing him deeply. He hummed in content as his fingers moved into your hair at the nape of your neck. The velvet of his jumpsuit was soft under your fingers as you held his hips against yours. This was one you'd been waiting to see him in in person, he looked absolutely delicious in it. It was white velvet with gold feathers embroidered on it. It was tailored perfectly to his figure, bringing out some of your favorite things about him, like his hip bones and the dip in the front revealing his chest. Fuck you missed him, and you never realized how much until you saw him again.

"Get a room!" You heard Sam yell through a laugh. You pulled away, smiling as Josh shot him a glare.

"Fuck off Sam." Josh snapped at him,

"I mean that might not be a bad idea?" You smirked as Josh turned back to you, watching as you toyed with the zipper on his white jumpsuit.

"Yeah?" with his head still tilted down he looked at you through his lashes, his eyes lingering on your lips. "I think you're right" He took your hand and led you down a series of halls, finally making it to a dressing room. If there was one thing you liked about being away from Josh, it was how desperate he was for you when you were with him again. Usually you'd give in immediately, not being able to stop yourself. But today you had some other antics in mind.

As soon as you had both stepped in and closed the door he had you pressed against it. His hands were on your thighs, giving them a squeeze before sliding his hands up under your skirt. With the fabric now gathered at your waist he reached around, grabbing your ass and pulling your hips into his. He groaned as he grinded against you, his cock now hard beneath the soft fabric. You felt the heat growing between your legs, the taste and smell of him, along with is wondering hands quickly dragging you under.

You let him think he was running the show for a moment longer but then you were backing him over to the couch you'd spotted across the room. Your mouths never leaving one another's, tongues pressing into each others mouths sloppily as you stumbled to your location. When the back of his legs hit the couch he pulled your shirt over your head and then went to take off his jumpsuit. You pushed him back, he fell onto the couch and looked up at you in question.

"That stays on" You said as you pressed against his chest, prompting him to lay across the couch on his back.

"Why?" He asked,

"Because I said so, thats why" You said as you settled on your knees between his legs. You could see the outline of his cock lying against his leg. You reached up, unzipping his suit to right below his belly button. You wanted more access to his perfectly toned chest, wanted to leave marks just out of sight to the rest of the world. He raised a brow at your bold response, but didn't argue as you hovered over him. You pushed the fabric that had been covering his chest out of the way, your lips finding his neck. You only placed light kisses here, and then you were moving down. Running your tongue over his nipple, taking it between your teeth as he bucked his hips up into yours. With one hand he was gripping the couch and with the other he was moving your hair, keeping his view of you clear.

"Please love," He said, pushing your head down slightly, "Your mouth feels so good" You sucked a purple mark onto his chest, biting at it, once again causing Josh to buck his hips up off the couch. He loved little bits of pain here and there, and you knew that.

"Yeah? You want my mouth on that pretty cock of yours?" you crooned as you looked up at him, your kisses traveling lower and lower. His cheeks turned rosy over the praise you'd bestowed upon him, and he nodded. You leaned down hands on his thighs, lips lightly brushing over the outline of his cock through the fabric. You felt his thighs tense and he huffed out a breath. Oh, this was going to be fun if he was already this desperate, fighting the urge to rut his hips up against you. You smirked up at him right before kissing his head. He was licking over his bottom lip as he watched you, kissing up his length, then mouthing him through the fabric. You could feel his cock twitching every time your mouth touched it, straining against the fabric. He abruptly reached down, searching for the zipper. You grabbed his hand, "Uh uh baby, what did I tell you," You said sweetly, kissing the palm of his hand. He groaned as you took two of his fingers into your mouth, sucking them.

"You're a sadist" He whined, you smiled around his fingers before removing them with a pop.

"And you like it don't you?" You asked, "You like it when I make you beg and cry to cum." He looked away, his cheeks flaring pink again. You grabbed his face, turning it back to you, "You love it when I make your cock ache for hours, edging you until you can't take it anymore, until you're an absolute wreck, falling apart when you cum for me." His doe eyes looked up at you, a whimper slipped past his lips as he nodded, "Say it" you commanded gently, hand still gripping his jaw. "Tell me what a needy little slut you are for me Joshua" Your other hand still held his, his fingers wet from being in your mouth. You sucked them into your mouth once again as you waited,

"I'm a needy little slut for you" He said. You removed his fingers from your mouth,

"Such a good baby," you paused, placing his hand palm up on the thigh opposite of the one his dick was resting against. "Can you keep this hand right here for me? Mommy wants to ride your fingers" His adam's apple bobbed in his throat as he nodded. You stood, quickly taking off your panties and then moved back to Josh, straddling his thigh and the hand you had placed on it. You lowered yourself onto two of his fingers, his eyes fixed on your dripping core as you began rocking back and forth slightly.

"god, you're so wet" He said, doing as you asked and keeping his hand in place as you rode it, his thumb nudging your clit if you moved in just the right way. You moaned, throwing your head back, savoring it for just a moment before going back to your task. You balanced yourself with one hand on his chest and the other moved to his cock, starting to slowly palm him through the velvet. He bucked his hips up and cursed, pressing his fingers even deeper into you in the process, you leaned forward a little grinding even harder against his hand. His chest was rising and falling fast, breathy grunts and moans leaving his mouth as it hung open.

"Please mommy, it hurts," His eyebrows were tipping up in the middle as he spoke, "I need to cum, please unzip my suit and touch me, please!" He pleaded, tears starting to brim in his eyes,

"The only way you're coming is in your pretty little suit" You said, hand moving up around his neck. His eyes rolled back, a tear sliding down his cheek at the contact as he rutted his hips against your hand, chasing that friction he needed. You began palming him harder and faster,

"Fuck, fuck, fuck" he choked out in a near sob, "Please, please make me cum" He was writhing beneath you now, his beautiful begging along with your movements against his fingers had you crashing into the wall of your orgasm, clenching around his fingers and soaking his hand, Josh's moans mixing with yours. "Can I taste it? Please, I want it" You raised off his hand, and he immediately brought it to his mouth, and you could feel him tensing under you as you continued to work at him,

"What are you baby? Tell me again,

"I'm your needy cum slut" He sobbed out around his fingers he was still licking clean,

"That's right, now cum for mommy," Your grip still on his throat, you kissed at his jaw, praising him and urging him to cum. His breathing became even more erratic as he cried out with his release. You released his throat, kissing the tears from his cheeks, "Such a good baby," his half-lidded eyes followed you as you moved. You took the zipper between your teeth, slowly pulling it down. He looked glorious like this, his sweaty curls sticking to his forehead, his face flushed, lips slightly parted. You peeled his suit down his hips, finally freeing him from its constraint. You took him into your hand, gently stroking him. He hissed for a moment at the overstimulation, but he didn't ask you to stop. You looked up to him as you licked the remnants of his release off his thigh, a small smile on his face. He was still hard, and you swept your tongue up the underside of his dick. He let out a much softer noise than the ones he had been making. You crawled up his body, cock still in hand as you straddled him. He had your face cupped in his hands, pulling you to his lips. He kissed you soft and slow, taking moments to breathe in between where his lips would just brush against yours. You lined him up with you, and slowly sunk down on his length.

"Made for me" He mumbled between kisses, "Love it so much, love you so much,"

"Love you too," You rocked your hips, moving up and down at a languid lazy pace, knowing it wouldn't take much to have him finish again. His hands abandoned your face to take up residence on your ass, but the kisses didn't stop. He pressed against your ass, grinding you down onto him harder as he moaned into your mouth. "Come on baby, cum again for me, then I'll walk out of here with you dripping down my thighs"

"Yeah?" He asked as you sucked his bottom lip between your teeth,

"Mhmm" You let go of his lip and went to whisper in his ear, "And then I'll let you fuck it back into me when we get home" He groaned, pulling you down onto him as he came again, burying his face against your shoulder. Once he was coming down from his high his head fell back and his arms went limp. You peppered his cheeks with kisses as he half smiled. Then you were standing up, sliding your skirt back down and tossing your panties to Josh.

"You were serious huh?" He asked as he slowly sat up,

"As a heart attack baby." you winked.

the fisherwoman

Dyin' for a Taste

Day 11:  Face Sitting (Johnny "Soap" MacTavish x F!Reader)

(For the 2023 Kinktober event that I created on my own because I am boring and basic and am trying to keep it simple this year...found here!) 

CW:  Idiots in love; pining; smut (oral, f!receiving); 18+ only.

Word Count:  4096

AN:  This was requested by an anonymous person!

AN2: When I say this is not edited, please know it is NOT EDITED. Full of typos and sloppy typing. Tropes is a fat-fingered old crone.

It starts with a joke.

The 141 is on a covert ops in the mountains.  It’s cold—the sort of cold that burns, that makes the bones ache.  You’re posted up in a perch, your sniper’s rifle at the ready if shit goes south.  The rest of the team is in the square below, waiting for the drop.

“My bollacks are gonna freeze off,” Soap complains over the comms, and you snort at the whining tone in his soft Scottish brogue. 

“Shoulda dressed for the weather,” you reply.  “Ghost probably has a spare balaclava.”

“And cover this handsome face?”

“Won’t be so handsome when your nose turns black from frostbite.”

You hear the tsch noise he makes over the comms, the very Soap, very Scottish noise of dismissal. 

“You’ll have to sit on my face then, hen, and warm me back up,” he says.

You’re rarely stunned into silence—you and the guys are always making off-color jokes—but when you open your mouth to reply, you only gape wordlessly.  The silence over the comms grows, expands, until Gaz—fucking Gaz—chimes in.

“I think she’s into the idea, bruv.”

And you can’t respond to that fast enough either, which leaves another long beat of silence over the comms, which likely seems like enough of an answer.

-----

The mission goes smoothly.  The team splits up as planned to avoid drawing attention.  You don’t see Soap again until a few days later when you regroup at HQ.

You think, perhaps, that he’s forgotten.  Maybe that’d be better.  You and Soap get along well, and sometimes he flirts with you, but he flirts with everyone.  It means nothing. 

And yet…

And yet, it’s Soap.  You might be able to lie to others, but you can’t lie to yourself:  you’ve spent many a lonely night with your thoughts drifting to him.  Turning him over and over in your mind. 

Soap MacTavish.  Handsome, almost unbearably so.  He could be a cocky asshole, be the sort of man who knows he’s hot and be insufferable about it, but he’s gregarious.  Friendly.  He’s a happy-go-lucky sort of man—or as much as someone in the One-Four-One can be.

-----

“Been avoiding me.”

It’s a statement, not a question.  Soap corners you in the mess hall, his blue eyes peering at you without guile.  He looks almost concerned.

“I haven’t,” you reply.  You try to shift past him, but he puts a hand out against the doorway, bars you with his arm.

“You have.”  He peers at you closer, his blue eyes somber.  “What’s wrong?”

“Why would anything be wrong?”

You thought, perhaps, that he’d forgotten…but those somber eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles, then smooth out as he schools his expression.

“Maybe you think my offer was wrong,” he says.

“I never said that.”  You duck under his arm, but he lays his hand on your shoulder and stills you again.

“You’ve never said anything about it.”  You don’t look at him, but you hear his gentle snort of laughter.  “Your silence is deafening.”

You feel your face start to heat up because he’s not wrong.  Too much time has passed now to address that moment in the mountains.  You should have said something then, spat out some rejoinder to signal that it meant nothing to you, that it was just another dumb joke between you and Soap.  But something about that dumb joke conjures up the mental image of you and Soap, and your face burns in embarrassment.

So you duck from his light grip on your shoulder and it makes him laugh again, then call out to your retreating form, “the offer still stands, hen.”

-----

A month passes, then another.  You get leave for a few weeks and go someplace warm, a beach with golden sand and soft breezes where you can relax and forget the horrors of what you see every day.

Then you’re back on base, then another mission.  Over and over, the same routine.

Through it all:  Soap MacTavish, the team’s Golden Retriever.  Always with an easy grin on his handsome face, a laugh, a joke.  He teases Ghost, he does a passable impression of Captain Price.  He gives Gaz a hard time about their rival rugby teams, but it’s always good-natured. 

He jokes with you, but that joke—the one about sitting on his face—becomes just a joke between the two of you.  You don’t know if the other men have forgotten it, but Soap only brings it up when you’re alone now.

At the barracks, in the rec room, he’s sprawled out on the couch and half-dozing, half-watching a rugby match.  When you walk past, he notices, sits up.  Beckons you over, tells you to have a seat…then thoughtfully strokes his face with that damned smirk and comically waggling eyebrows.

“You’re a jackass,” you call out as you leave the room, but by now, it makes you laugh…and it lightly stokes that ever-burning flame low in your belly.

-----

Another time, he sidles up to you at the range as you study your targets with their tight formation of bullet holes.  He points out one shot, high in the corner of the paper, off of the concentric circles of the bullseye.

“Missed one,” he says.

You scoff.  “One out of….many.”

He matches your scoff with one of his own.  “Might be losing your edge.”

“I’m not.”  You know he’s winding you up, but that missed shot galls you. 

“Maybe you’re stressed out.”

You set the target down on the wooden railing.  “Maybe you’re stressing me out, MacTavish.”

It’s the wrong thing to say.  His blue eyes light up in glee, and he only gets out the first part of his retort—You know what’s good for de-stressing—before you drop to one knee and start disassembling your sniper rifle, ducking your head and hiding your burning cheeks from him.

“…nothing wrong with it,” he finishes as you shut the rifle’s case, and you realize you’ve missed part of what he’s said.

“There isn’t,” you agree.  You stand up and lean a bit on the courage that sees you through each mission.  You look him square in the eye and add, “but you’re just flirting.”

He gazes back at you, a soft smile on his face, only a little teasing.  “Not just flirting.”

“Sure.”  You roll your eyes.

He makes his Soap-branded tsch sound, then he loops his arm around your shoulders to pull you in close.  He smells like…well, he smells like soap, clean with a hint of something herbal.  It’s nothing he hasn’t done a hundred times—in safe houses after a mission, walking out of a bar on a night out with the team—that companionable way he pulls you against him.

“It makes me sad when you don’t believe me, hen,” he chuckles, and it’s low, right by your ear, his warm breath fanning over you. 

You’re not sure what spurs your next move.  You’re a natural-born sniper; you take the measure of everything around you—the curve of the earth, the speed and direction of the wind—before you squeeze your trigger.  You’re the same with people, cautious and feeling out every angle of their intentions before you make a move.  But you know Soap, and the question around his joke is the only uncertainty.

Something makes you act without much thought.  Your rifle case in your hand, your other hand tucked in your pocket, and Soap’s arm slung around your shoulders…the moment is crystalized, will be an easy memory to recall in the years to come because this is when everything between the two of you changes.

“You know what?” you ask, and you don’t allow him to hazard a guess.  Instead, you gaze at him levelly, straight into those bright blue eyes of his and add, “alright, let’s do this.”

It’s comical, how the smile drops from his face, how his mouth makes a little “oh” of surprise.  His eyes scan your face, quick, like he’s trying to find the joke, trying to find proof you’re just having a laugh at his expense.

“Bonnie,” he starts to say, and his voice has a rough edge to it.  His voice is missing its usual teasing edge, and he pauses to study you.  You don’t know if he realizes it, but the tip of his tongue darts out, licks against his lower lip, like he’s really thinking of it now that it could be a reality.

“Bonnie, are you just…are ye fer real?”  His voice is lower and his accent gets thicker, and it sets a frisson of heat shimmering through your lower belly.

You refuse to blink.  Refuse to look away.  “I’m for real if you are.”

“I was never joking about that.”

“Then I’m not joking either.”  You swing your rifle case towards the barracks, playing at bravery but willing the fluttery feeling in your stomach to calm.  “So let’s go.”

Soap—gregarious, convivial Soap—says nothing else on the walk back.  He keeps his arm around your shoulders, though, and his hand settles against your bicep, rubs you briskly before gently holding you there, like he’s proving to himself that you’re real, that the moment is really happening.

-----

Your nerve wobbles a little when you get back to quarters.  Soap’s nerves must have a similar wobble, because he turns to you and his usual boyish grin is gone, replaced by a grave expression.

“You dinnae have to do this,” he says, “if you don’t want to.”

Part of you wants to back out, chuck him in the arm and say it was just a joke.  You could still back out.  Soap is flirty and gregarious, but hooking up would irrevocably change your easy relationship with him.  It could change the tenor of the team.  And yet…

…don’t you both face death every day?  Don’t you see the absolute worst of humanity?  Don’t your bodies bear the scars of your hard, unrelenting lives—countless scars, visible and invisible both?  Don’t you all operate in your own bubbles of loneliness, sleeping alone night after night but crowded out by the ghosts you all haul around?

Is it too much to ask for even a moment of connection, of not feeling alone?

You gaze back at him.  Sweet Johnny MacTavish.  Handsome but not vain, smart but not aloof, funny without being cruel about his teasing.  Is there anyone you’d rather be with?

“I want to do this,” you tell him, and there’s no hesitation in your tone.  “If you do.  If you really were just joking around, then no harm, Johnny.”

His somber gaze softens at your use of his real name.  “Wasn’t joking at all.”  Then he opens the door to his quarters and turns to you, invites you in with a sweep of his hand, and when you walk past him, he lays his palm on your lower back to guide you.

-----

In truth, you’ve never actually sat on anyone’s face.  It’s one of those funny sex acts that you joke around about but have never gotten around to, like sixty-nine (always seemed more complicated than necessary) or food-play (always seemed too messy). 

Soap, it turns out, has never actually had his face sat on.

And it’s adorable, how he sheepishly runs his hand through the longer stripe of his short-shorn hair and admits as much.

“Figured it cannae be that complicated though,” he says.  He huffs out a breath, and you realize how nervous he must be, and it gives you courage to take charge.

“Kiss me first.  Then we can figure it out from there.”

The tame command makes his face light up and he murmurs, “yes, ma’am” in his brogue, and then he does as you say.

If Soap MacTavish is generally the team’s Golden Retriever, bouncing around with a wagging tail, he kisses with far more finesse.  He cups your face gently, reverently and leans forward, brushes the lightest of kisses against your lips like he’s testing the waters.  Like he’s waiting for you to pull away, and when you don’t, he kisses you again.

It’s awkward at first, but only because you’re both so tentative.  It’s uncharted territory.  He must be aware that you’re crossing a line in doing this, you think, and he must not care either.  But the awkwardness melts away quickly because Soap is a damned good kisser, skilled in how he moves his mouth against yours, his tongue against yours.  One of his hands stays on your face, cupping you gently and steering you, but the other hand touches your waist, your hip, slides around to squeeze your ass gently before returning to the dip of your waist.

He tastes like something warm and spicy, like cinnamon or nutmeg.  Everything about him is warm, really:  the way he cups your face but runs his thumb over your cheekbone, the way his other hand holds you steady as he kisses you.  And the way he looks at you when he breaks the kiss, the almost-shy way he tugs at the hem of your shirt and asks if he can take it off.

He’s warm too—his body, his skin as you bare it with each article of clothing shed.  You strip each other in tandem, and the sight of him leaves you breathless.  He’s like something carved by a Renaissance sculptor, but when you smooth your palms over the dips and swells of his muscles, you find that he’s warm to the touch, wonderfully so, and a wave of lust almost takes you out at the knees by how much you want to feel his body against yours, under you or on top of you, every inch of you pressed against him.

Soap must feel the same way about you—he touches you just as gently as before, almost reverent, but his goddamned eyes practically shine when he looks at you, then groans out, “fuck, but you’re stunning, hen.”

He maneuvers you both towards the bed, and then he stretches out across it, and this is precisely why your sexual repertoire has always been lacking:  when a brutally handsome man is stretched out in front of you like a damned buffet, your mind singularly focuses on one thing, and you rarely remember that there’s other, more adventuresome things you could do.

You’re already turned on.  Ever since the two of you walked back from the range, you’ve been on a low simmer of lust, and the desire has ratcheted up with each kiss, with each little grumbling groan of Soap’s, with each sweep of his big warm hands along your body.

So you’re already turned on, so why sit on his face when his beautiful cock—perfectly sized for you, the ruddy tip already leaking precum—is also an option?

And Soap is no dummy.  He must guess at your internal battle because he says your name softly, pulls your gaze back to his face where he smiles that brilliant Soap-smile at you.

“Alright then?” he asks.  He pats his upper chest.  “You can sit right here, to start.”

It hits you all at once how intimate this is.  Fucking, hooking up—that’s one thing.  But sitting on your teammate’s face feels like you’re taking a further step into the unknown.  Oral sex, to you, is already more intimate than regular ol’ intercourse, but sitting on his face feels…even more intimate.  There’s a lot of trust on both ends:  he has to trust you not to hurt him, not to put too much weight or force on his face or neck.  And you have to trust him too, since you’re basically smothering him you with your pussy, and many men are precious little babies about eating pussy.

“I could just…”  You trail off and gesture vaguely at where his erection strains and bobs against his belly, and Soap snorts before he replies, “we could do both, hen.”

When you don’t say anything, when you don’t move, he adds, “c’mon, sweet girl.  I’m dyin’ for a taste of ye.”

The accent is unfair, you decide.  The accent is not fighting fair.  Soap’s Scottish brogue is charming in the best of times, but his bedroom version is thicker, at a slightly lower register, and it’s entirely unfair.  It easily dismantles the rest of your meager defenses, so you nod and then kneel on the bed.  But when you start to awkwardly clamor on top of him, he stills you for a beat and taps his mouth, says, “give me a kiss first.”

And the kiss is unfair too because it reminds you that it’s just Soap, one of your dearest teammates, a man who often holds your life in his hands and whose life you hold in your own.  His now-familiar taste of spicy warmth on your tongue, and his lips curving in a smile against yours when he whispers, “climb on up, hen  Don’t keep me waitin’ anymore.”

There’s no sexy way to climb on top of him.  Do you just kneel by his chest and throw a leg over him?  Do you straddle him lower and scoot up?  You split the difference, try to straddle him on his lower chest and scoot up, but then his one arm gets pinned.  Any other man?  It might be a deal-breaker being so clumsy, but Soap laughs underneath you—a genuine belly-laugh full of warmth that makes you giggle too.  He wrangles his arm free, then lays both hands on your hips and guides you the rest of the way.

This is unbearable intimate too, being so exposed to his bright blue-eyed gaze. You probably have tons of issues around previous men who didn’t eat pussy, who were grossed out by it, but Soap’s eyes practically glitter black with how blown his pupils are.  His face rarely hides its emotions very well (he’s a shitty poker player), and there’s no disgust in his expression at all.  There’s only desire, naked and apparent.

“Tell me,” he says, and his voice is a low growl that sends that frisson of heat straight to your core.  “Tell me what is working for you, yeah?  Don’t go quiet on me.”

You nod, and you wish you could think of something cool or funny to say, but Soap lifts his head a little and presses a plush, open-mouthed kiss to the inside of one thigh, then the other, where both are splayed in front of him, and before you can even beat yourself up for failing to think of something cool or funny, his mouth is on you in earnest.

Soap, a damned good kisser.  It translates to this, his skilled tongue and lips licking at you, suckling at you, swirling against you before he breaks up the pattern with an outright kiss, then resumes his routine.  He traces the tip of his tongue around the firm bud of your clit, the perfect amount of pressure before he snakes it lower, lapping at the arousal leaking from your entrance.  He’s unabashed about it, groans against your feverish skin, and you love him in this moment—love that he wasn’t joking after all, love that he had led you here, where you sit perched on him while he feasts on your cunt and seems to genuinely enjoy it as he does. 

Any other position, you’d lean down and kiss him, or pull him to you and kiss him.  Now, as he groans against you again, you reach down and run your fingers through the longer stripe in his hair.  He must like that, because he groans a third time, and his grip on your hips spasms tighter.

You remember what he asked of you, so when he purses his lips and suckles against your clit, you gasp out a startled “oh!” but then add, “fuck, Johnny.  Just like t-that.”

“Good?”  It comes out muffled against you, and he pauses his mouth long enough to gaze up at you with a smile.

“So good.”  You shift your hand, cup his stubbled chin slick with your arousal—a gentle movement that makes his smile soften too. 

“Like when you call me Johnny, hen.”  Now he sounds a little shy, like he’s edging close to something beyond a random hookup with face-sitting.

“Keep using your mouth like that and I’ll call you Johnny all the time,” you tease.

“Deal.”  And then he’s on you again, laving your sensitive folds with his tongue, his bit of stubble raising a warm burn against your inner thighs.  His hands on your hips pull you closer, and he encourages the slow, careful rhythm when you start to actually ride his face—a languid back-and-forth, mindful of his need for oxygen, while he eats your pussy with the fervor of a starving man.

Your orgasm approaches faster than you thought; you thought you might have to fake it, since you rarely come from oral alone.  But there’s something about this position.  You feel powerful in a benign way, in charge, but mindful of the man underneath you.  You run your fingers through his hair and Soap preens at the touch, just as he preens when you pant out praise for him, tell him how good you feel. How good he is making you feel.

He must sense it because his grip tightens on your hips, but his tongue moves faster and focuses solely on your clit—teasing with the tip of his tongue, then laving it with the flat of his tongue, then wrapping his lips around it and sucking.

“F-fuck,” you choke out.  “Johnny…fuck…I’m gonna…” but you don’t finish the sentence, you keen out a garble of nonsense as you come.

The heat in your belly pools over, spills over in a brilliant wash that courses through your veins, into your trembling legs and up through your body, makes your vision shimmer and crackle with sparks.  Your heartbeat, your panting breath are loud in your own ears, and you hear Soap groan but he sounds faraway.  He teases your orgasm, prolongs it by licking against you until you grip his hair tighter and hold his head still while you clumsily dismount, then flop gracelessly onto the bed beside him.

You feel boneless.  You feel heavy, sleepy, like you could sink into the mattress and sleep for days.  You close your eyes and feel the bed shift, and Soap disappears for a moment.  You hear running water—he must be cleaning his face, you think—but then the mattress dips again and he’s curling his warm body around yours, wrapping his arms around you as he pulls you to him, then settles the blanket over both of you.

“Good, yeah?”

You laugh.  “Yeah, that was good.  Especially for someone who’s never done it before.”  A beat.  “Give me a moment to catch my breath and then I can help you out.”

Soap chuckles above you, and you feel him press his lips to your forehead before settling again.  “No need.”

“But I—”

“Already came.”

The gears in your head turn slow when you’re sated from sex.  Coming makes you stupid.  “Huh?  When?”

Another chuckle, another kiss to your head.  “When I was eating you, hen.”

You turn your head and try to peer up at him.  He looks comfortable and sleepy too, content and sated.  “Seriously?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Wait, seriously?”

“Told ye I was dyin’ for a taste.”  He shifts a little, pulls you closer to him.  He tugs the blanket more securely around your shoulders.  “If ye want a second round, I’ll need a few minutes.”

You appraise the situation:  the warm scent of Soap, the feel of his naked body pressed to yours, the warm little cocoon he’s created here in his bed.  Of course you want a second round, but you’re sleepy too, and the thought of sleeping with Soap doesn’t seem nearly as terrifying as it might have seemed before he had his mouth on your pussy.

“Or we could sleep,” you offer.

“Sleep,” he agrees.  “Round two tomorrow.”

The doubts from earlier start to surface in your mind, but they seem tiny and inconsequential when you’re wrapped up in Soap’s arms.  You feel sleep tugging at you—he’s already asleep, you think, breathing deep and even against you—so you chance to brush your lips against the bit of him you can reach and whisper good night to him.

But he’s not quite completely asleep yet because he kisses you back, another press of his lips against your head, and he whispers back, “g’night, hen.”

In the Dark - Jake Kiszka

Looking for a little relief.

Warnings: NSFW MINORS DNI, mild somno (?), masturbating with someone present, mild grinding, fingering, nipples: out, nipples: in mouths.

Pairing: Jake x reader

Word count: 2.5k

Keep reading

I lost every friendship I ever had and it still hurts.

1. Finneas O’Connell / 2. Ocean Vuong / 3. adampvrrish / 4. Otessa Moshfegh / 5. Fairycosmos / 6. Richard Siken / 7. frenchtoastlesbian

Ladies I have another question for you....

What’s one thing you wish guy did while he was going down ?

keith ward's reynard the fox illustrations (via splog)

art student!reader x life drawing model!Eddie Munson

E 18+, so nsfw Words: 7048 read on ao3

find the sequel here

Paint It Black Summery: You’re frustrated with your latest work and look for distraction by attending the open life drawing class on what looks like a very ordinary Thursday. Eddie, the new model, is everything but ordinary but definitely a distraction.

CW/tags: characters somewhere in their twenties, meet-wild, smut, fluff, some sort of voyeurism/public erection, gets a little rough, unprotected sex, piv penetration, oral for everybody, v fingering, biting, love marks, talky sex, aftercare, art school bullshit, messy sex, artsy sex (I guess), love at first sight (I guess)

A/N: @edsforehead made me do it. (thank you so much)

comments and reblogs are so appreciated

The air is cold, stinging your cheeks as you ride your bike through a clear and crisp winter morning. It does wonders for waking you up and clearing your mind; you had spent way too long in your studio last night, hovering over this painting that just wouldn’t go the way you wanted. Inside your mind, you hoisted it off the wall to place it right in the middle of the room, a bucket of thick black paint in one hand, the other one dipping in until the medium reached your wrist. You drop down to your knees and get to work, blacking the wretched thing out one large swoop of your arm after another, sending hours of work into oblivion.

Oh my, it was so tempting. Your fingertips tickle with the urge to turn your frustration into something wild and rough and… simple.

But your Professor had sworn to make your life very hard if he ever got wind of you destroying one of your works again, so you followed the advice he had given you: You had decided to take a break. Do something different, something simple, something rewarding and easy to clear your mind to recharge your drained batteries.

So it is Thursday and you crawled out of bed after four measly hours of sleep to go to the life drawing class. You are early as always to get one of the good spots. The small auditorium is still empty except for your teacher who is busy untangling the cords of the various space heaters that will keep the model warm for the next hours.

“Ah,” he says as he sees you, “haven’t seen you here in a while.”

“Yeah, been busy wasting paint.” You smile and walk down the steps of the middle aisle and drop your bag on the best chair: first platform, second chair on the right from the aisle. It had the perfect distance and angle and the top of the backrest of first row to put your feet on so you could rest your paper on your thighs and wouldn’t have to struggle through two hours and a half hours of numb feet.

“Good decision to waste some graphite instead today,” your teacher says and grins. “I’m excited to see your progress.”

You hum, unpacking your supplies. “Who’s the model today? Someone familiar?”

“No, actually, I finally could recruit someone new. He should already be here though. Maybe he has difficulties finding us.” The building was old and could be confusing if you never set foot in it before.

“He,” you say, sharpening your pencil. “Guess it’s my lucky day.”

Male models were rare - maybe two out of ten sessions - and you start to get excited about coming in today.

Your teacher climbs up the stairs past you, “I’ll go and see if he’s wandering around somewhere.”

 —

The room fills with students; you say your How are you?’s and What are you working on?’s and when the clock shows 9:37, you brace yourself for the session getting cancelled. Just then, the door opens and your teacher hurries down the stairs.

“Good morning everybody. Sorry for the delay, our model got lost in our hallways. Let’s hear: anybody working on something particular and has some requests for poses?”

You crane your neck up to the back of the room towards the overflowing coat rack while your teacher keeps going through the usual procedure.

The model’s back is turned and you see a long black coat being shrugged off of lean shoulders and underneath: more black. Black lines of ink meandering out of the sleeves of a black shirt; a harsh contrast against pale skin. Ringed hands come up to the back of his head to put the long dark wavy hair into a bun.

No! you plead internally, surprised by that strong reaction.

He chooses the far left aisle down, almost disappearing behind the rows of students but your eyes follow him with a burning curiosity as if you wouldn’t get the chance to look at him for hours in a moment. You shake your head and open your sketchbook to do just anything but stare. There was a difference between observing and staring and the latter wasn’t fucking appropriate inside this room.

“Everybody,” your teacher announces, “this is Eddie. Eddie has never done this before so be patient and just let him know if he’s moving too much.”

You look up and grind your teeth. This Eddie is fucking gorgeous.

“Uhm, hi!” he smiles into the room then looks back at your teacher. “So, uh, I just get naked or what?”

Everybody laughs, but you don’t. You’re taking a long slow breath.

“That’s the general idea,” your teacher grins. “You can put your things on that table in the corner and then just come back to this spot.”

But Eddie does not move to the mentioned corner, he simply pulls off his shirt and throws it the distance to the table. More tattoos come to light; all black, no color. He then kicks off his shoes and you watch his fingers as they open his belt and his fly, how they lodge into the hem of his black, frayed jeans and pull them down in one swoop. There are giggles as he throws the bundle, aiming at the table like he’s at the bowling alley, completely naked.

And then you realize, Eddie didn’t wear any underwear.

“The rings too, please.”

“Oh, sure.” He picks them off his fingers; one two three from one hand and one more from the other. Eddie looks at them on his palm for a moment and grins. “Nah, not gonna throw those.”

The class giggles again as Eddie takes two three long strides to the table to put his rings down carefully and prances back, taking his spot in the middle of the small platform surrounded by space heaters.

There is a soft crack coming from your lap and you look down to see that you had pushed your pencil to the paper so hard that you’d broken the tip.

—

It’s as always: a series of short poses to warm up. One minute, then three and up from there.

Except it is not like always. You're flustered, you’re hot and you spend way too long staring, not finishing any of the one-minute poses.

This has never happened to you before and you had been presented with a lot of good-looking people over the years but this guy was something else.

Three-minute poses and Eddie is slouched back in a chair, long legs spread, left arm resting on top of his head, the right one on his thigh. This was sinful. You just corrected the angle of his left thigh for the third time when you look up and find him looking right back at you. No lost glance into the distance over your shoulder, no: your eyes meet. And those eyes are big and dark and curious and he holds the gaze for several seconds before the timer beeps and announces the change of poses.

He’s not only beautiful and scorching hot but also incredibly adorable. He’s giddy between poses, shaking his arms and legs - and with that his cute little ass - bouncing on his toes and you start to think that holding still normally isn’t his forte. When he lies on his belly, soft gaze on the floor, he tries to stifle a yawn once, twice and only lets it out when he’s allowed to move again. You like his dedication.

Five-minute poses and you finally get into the flow; things start to make sense on the paper until you find him looking at you again. And not only that: he mouthes a small 'Hi'. You bite your lip and look down, feeling the looks of some of the students on you.

He’s cross-legged, leaning back, hands braced on the ground behind him. The angle is weird and it doesn’t help that the way his lean, inked chest moves every time he takes a breath makes you want to bite down on those sharp collarbones. You hold your sketchpad in your outstretched arms doing those quick back-and-forth glances to find out where to correct the mess when his eyes move back to you. Every time you meet his gaze makes your spine tingle more and more and you have to bite down on your lip again to not let a fucking noise slip from your mouth.

Ten-minute poses and your teacher has made it to you to give you some feedback. Nothing you hadn’t expected: you go about it too complicated, want to do too much in too little time, too much detail. Eddie is stretched out on his back and smirks towards the ceiling.

On the next round of feedback, he tells you to really look at Eddie’s hips. You get the angle wrong, it throws off the stance, and you know why all your stupid drawings look a little wonky: you try to avoid looking at his cock for too long. You never thought about a penis as a cock before in this class and it drives you up the walls seeing it twitch slightly while your teacher keeps explaining things you already know and you’re forced to stare at Eddie's crotch, knowing he's side-eying you and your flustered expression the whole. Damn. Time.

Eddie gets a brief pause to stretch and have some water and you want revenge. While his back is turned to you - shoulder blades rippling deliciously under his skin - you open the top two buttons of your blouse, sliding the collar off your shoulder.

One final five-minute pose before the session ends with a twenty-fiver and Eddie is crouched down with his knees pulled under his chin. He shuffles a little before he really settles, tilting his head slightly in a way that forces him to look in your direction unless he wants to lower his eyes to the floor for five minutes.

When he finally looks up, you’re waiting for him, head titled yourself exposing the side of your neck down to your shoulder where your bra strap is barely holding onto your skin.

Eddie’s eyes widen and you smile, tongue poking out just a little to lick your bottom lip before you focus on the paper in your lap to roughly map out the pose. You don’t linger on him while you draw, quick glances only, but you can feel his gaze heavy on you.

This sketch is turning out to be the best so far. You lean back a little, biting down on the back of your pencil and start rolling your shoulders. One gets stiff sitting like that for so long, so people stretch all the time and nobody will notice that you’re giving Eddie a little show. You tilt your head to the right and run a hand over the muscles in your neck, massaging the achy spot right beyond your skull for a moment. When you give in to look down at him, you do it from under your lashes, taking the pencil stuck in your mouth between two fingers and let your tongue play with it ever so slightly.

Eddie takes a deep breath; you can see it in the way his shoulders rise and his knees are pressed forward. You grin and he pulls up his brows and you can’t tell if he begs you to stop or go on.

Twenty-five-minute pose and the crowd demands him to stand.

“Twenty-five minutes of standing is ok?” your teacher asks Eddie, who hasn’t jumped up like a spring toy after the timer rang.

“Uhm, yeah,” he says, legs still drawn to his torso. “Sure thing, uh-hn.”

It takes him another beat to push himself up and come to a stand. Your eyes wander from the top of his cheeks, tinted in a pretty pink, down to those hips to find him not exactly half hard, but on a good way to it. You feel your eyes roll up.

Shit.

Your teacher instructs him how to stand, feet wider apart - a little more, perfect - arms crossed over his chest which too is now slightly pink. His biceps’ flex a few times as he waits for more instructions.

“Can you turn a little, to the left?” a guy in the top row asks and Eddie does.

“Like this?”

Like this you get him in a three-quarter-view and your heart is racing; will he look at you again or did you push it too far?

“Anything else?” your teacher asks and you want to bite down on your tongue but instead it’s moving and forming words.

“Can we have the hair down for this last one?”

Eddie’s head snaps up, catching you in the middle of your request. He pinches his eyes shut at the approval of your fellow students. Below the waist, he’s twitching again.

Loosening his hair tie, Eddie musses around in his dark waves with practised fingers until he seems satisfied with what he sees in the mirror across the room. You suppress a moan, breaking the tip of your pencil again. He’s not looking at you, this time choosing to turn down his eyes while his face points in your general direction again. You curse at yourself internally; you should have just gone to him after the session and slipped him your number or asked him if he was busy after this while the both of you were still flooded with whatever this was and—

Shit!

Whatever Eddie is thinking while not looking at you did not help with what was going on in his loins. That pretty cock was getting bigger: half-hard-hello! And judging by his current state, he was big. You involuntarily grind your hips on your chair and drop your pencil in the process. A groan escapes you, sounding much too pleasant for a case of dropped art supplies and you bend down to get it back. When you come up, brown eyes are waiting for you. There is a smile playing around them while his pretty pink lips are slightly pressed together. Thank god he doesn’t look mad or annoyed, only the blush giving away that something was going on.

You can’t help it, you’re biting your lip, eyes wandering between his face and his cock and his brows draw slightly together before he averts his eyes again, breathing a few times: deep and slow.

Deep and slow.

Holy shit you are throbbing and wet and all you can do is fake another stretch and while shuffling around, press your thighs together for a little bit of friction. You tilt your hips down slightly and the sensation is so good and welcome that your eyes pinch close and your back arches. The movement is jerkily and you stretch your arms over your head to conceal it, slowly opening your eyes again.

Eddie is watching. Eddie is hard.

You grab your pencil and start drawing the spectacle in front of you; concentration isn’t the right word for the sharp focus that settles over you. It’s fucking lust.

It’s not the first hard-on you’ve seen in this class, not by any means. It happens now and then and usually a slight blush from the model was the only reaction. But this wasn’t any hard dick: you did this. You did this to this gorgeous man and you wanted to capture this with your own hands. In case he just bolted right after the session, you would have something to remember this.

You’re leaning in, literally, sketch pad balancing on your knees and bent over your thighs you almost forget the additional loosened buttons on your blouse until you catch those eyes directed at your chest. Seems like Eddie figured the damage was done anyway so why hold back now?

And fucking hell was that precum glistening at the tip?

 This is when the timer starts announcing the end of class.

Eddie shoots you one final look, a sharp grin, a slight shake of the head, tips of his hair tickling his shoulders and hops off his little platform to get dressed.

“Holy shit,” says the guy next to you, leaning over. “Have you seen that dick?”

You huff a laugh that throbs in your pussy. “Hard to overlook.”

“Exactly,” he groans and picks up his things.

—

You look at drawings of Eddie of all kinds. They are all beautiful, even the bad ones. You rub your forehead catching that corny thought and look across the room where Eddie is talking to two people, gesturing to the drawings on the floor, laughing. The two of you are slowly moving towards each other. The journey consists of looking, talking: This is a good one! and That one is crap, right? and glancing to your right. You reach the row with your own stuff, groaning internally at how very off everything looks, everything but two.

Suddenly, a chest presses to your back and an arm sneaks past you to point at a drawing.

“That’s amazing.”

The explosion in your insides barely travels to your voice and you’re impressed with yourself. He even smells amazing. “Thank you.”

“Oh, that’s one of yours then?”

You turn to face him. The smile on his face is obscene.

“Hi.”

“Hi, Eddie.”

The smile shrinks a little and his nostrils flare with the air he pulls in. His voice is low and deep when he speaks. “You… uh, made that a very hard job to do.”

“I’m almost sorry,” you croon. His face is way too close; one uptilt of your head and you could bite his plush bottom lip.

“Don’t be,” he licks the spot you just imagined nibbling on. “I didn’t start it for nothing.”

You both jump when someone hijacks your moment. “Those detailed studies are really nice.”

“Yeah, right?” Eddie says with genuine enthusiasm. “Almost the only ones who got some of my tattoos…”

“Uhg, tattoos are hard in that short time, man and you know, not really anatomy.”

The exchange goes back and forth a little longer until Eddie loops his arm under yours and not so causally pulls you in the direction you’d come from under the disguise of looking at sketches.

“So, uh, what are you doing, like, right after this?”

“You, I hope.”

“Shit…” he shakes his head, hair falling into his face. “You’re killing me already… where do you want to go?”

You think about this for a moment, greedy and soaking through your panties you’re in no mood to wait much longer to have him naked again.

“I have a studio two corridors down…”

His brows shoot up. “You ahm…” he blurts out, then lowers his voice, “want to do me here at school?”

“Yes, Eddie… like the pretty little muse you are.”

—

His hand is warm in yours as you pull him along behind you through the hallway past your fellow students who throw curious glances over their shoulders.

Eddie catches up to your side and leans close to your ear, “Are you already wet for me? The way you moved on that chair…”

“Drenched,” you breathe against his neck and almost stumble over your own feet. Eddie sneaks his arm around you, keeping you steady.

“Easy, sweetheart. Let me be the one to bruise you, ok? I’ll do it in aaall the nice places.”

You stare at him, mouth hanging open.

“Promise,” he adds, tapping the tip of your nose, a devilish smile spreading on his face.

You drag him on and he laughs behind you until he catches up again. There is a brief moment where you leave him in the middle of the empty foyer to get your key from the doorman, interrupting his lunch break, praying to whoever deity will listen to your horny call that none of your studio mates is in there already. You almost moan when the guy hands the key to you and you bump into Eddie’s chest face first when you turn around in a hurry.

“Fuck you’re so pretty,” he rasps, takes your face in his large hands and bends down to press a hot kiss to your mouth. Your fists close around the lapel of his coat as he licks along your teeth until your tongue finds him. The world around you feels vague and unimportant until the doorman behind you knocks against the glass of his booth.

“I don’t need to see this, folks.”

This time Eddie takes your hand and walks on. “Show me the way, babe, or I’ll have to hoist you up one of those windowsills… you people are doing performance art here, right?”

Eddie is mumbling filthy things at you the whole way down the empty corridor where your shared studio is the last room on the left. You try to fumble the key into the lock and drop it because Eddie is already busy bruising your neck. Pressed flat to your back he brushed your hair to the side and started sucking at the spot just below your ear, his hands sneaking around you, cupping your tits through your blouse. As you bend down to pick up the key, Eddie grabs your hips and rolls his own against you, almost pushing you into the door. You both laugh and he pulls you up by your waist.

“Sorry,” he chuckles as you finally unlock the door. “I couldn’t help myself.”

You let him inside and lock the door behind you.

“What’s your workspace?” he asks, already poking his nose into things. “No! Don’t tell me… it’s… this one.”

“How did you know?” you ask surprised, taking off your coat and fully unbuttoning your blouse while he looks at your work lined up on the wall, hand on his chin like a proper little art critic.

“Well, I saw your drawings and this stuff here… it has the same… Duktus?”

“Christ,” you moan and he looks at you. “That was so sexy.”

“Hey, you’re starting without me?”

Eddie rushes to you, hands instantly sliding inside your open blouse against your bare skin. His hands are rough, calloused in some places and the slight scratch is making you shiver in his arms. He pulls the fabric off of you and drops it to the ground. His coat falls next, then his shirt. Eddie hisses as you sink your teeth into his collarbone as soon as you have access to them.

“Too much?”

His eyes are lidded and so very dark as he shakes his head. “Just start pulling my hair too and you’ll never get rid of me again…”

“That a threat or another promise?” you purr as you open his belt and fly over the impressive bulge in his pants.

“Which one turns you on more?” You hook your fingers into his waistband and drop to your knees, pulling his pants down with you, making his breath hitch. “Oh, s-shit…”

This is the close-up you've been yearning for all morning. Fully hard and flushed a deep pink already; you wonder if it will feel as heavy on your tongue as it looks. You run a finger along the underside and it twitches again, bobbing up and down in front of your face. You lean in, stick out your tongue and give the swollen tip a lick that makes Eddie whimper above you.

Again you meet his eyes and the expression in them is so unexpectedly soft that you almost whimper too. Your cunt is clenching around horrible nothingness as you lick him again, flat tongue sliding along the underside, feeling a vein, tasting salt, watching those big brown eyes roll up and close as a moan escapes him.

“You’re gorgeous, holy shit.” You firmly grip his cock around the base and stroke him a few times, your mouth watering, before you close your lips around the tip, your tongue swirling in lazy circles around it. Eddie’s breath is uneven and laced with soft moans from his glistening parted lips while you softly play around with his cock. Every twitch of his face is a delight, the way his abdomen tenses when you press small kisses to the length of his shaft makes you swoon with adoration. You reach up one hand to trace up the lines of a tattoo on his ribcage and he catches it, pressing it flat against his chest. Eddie’s heartbeat pounds against your palm and you moan around his cock.

“Holy… fuck… I wanna watch you so bad but I don’t know if I can take it.”

“You can take it, big boy,” you say in a low voice. “Look at me.”

It takes him a few more seconds until he opens his eyes and looks down at you; the moment you lock eyes you take him down as far as you can. A string of loud but mostly intangible curses echoes through the large room as you suck him down again and again in long leisurely motions. Your lips stretched around his girth curl up into a smile when his hands look for something to hold onto in your hair and you place your index finger at the corner of your mouth without stopping your onslaught to signal him to keep the volume down.

“Sorry, ah fuck fuck FUCK… I’ll try… shit I’m balls deep in your mouth and still don’t know your name—”

You don’t want to stop, not even for the moment to tell him your name. There’s a big portfolio folder leaning against the wall and you point in the general direction before running your fingers through the dark curls around his base and up the trail to his stomach while he’s trying to figure out what you’re showing him, failing at his attempt to stay quiet.

Then he says it: your name, no, he moans it. And he doesn’t fucking stop.

Suddenly your abdomen is on fire and you have to pull back to catch your breath. But you can’t, not really, because Eddie has kicked off his pants the rest of the way, dropped to the floor and pushed you to your back to peel you out of your clothes.

The floor is cold under your ass and back and you thump your head a little as he wraps his arms around your thighs and pulls you closer to him.

“Shit, you okay?”

“Yeah,” you giggle, “keep manhandling me.”

Eddie grins like the devil himself and goes to work. He’s everywhere: kissing, lapping biting at your mouth, your jaw your neck your tits, his fingers pushed into your thighs and you know it will bruise. He’s keeping his promise, leaving wet tingling marks all over you, a purple trail of small galaxies. His fingers find your cunt, finally, and Eddie eats the moan out of your mouth.

“Shh,” he says with a cocky laugh, his forehead pressed to yours, two fingers circling your clit in dragging motions. “You’re loud, beautiful. You don’t want us to get caught before I had a chance to fuck you.”

“N-no… ahhh.” Two thick fingers slide into you and your muscles grip down hard at the sudden intrusion.

“Hi,” he grins down at you as if he wasn’t just pounding your g-spot out of nowhere and making you see stars.

You hold on to his face, grappling for purchase and finally wind your fingers into this wild tickling hair and pull.

“Jesus, finally!”

“I— I’m so close.”

“Keep holding on,” he groans and moves down your body, fingers stilling for a moment.

You keep your hands in his hair, pulling in frustration from the ebbing pleasure.

“Of course, you have the prettiest fucking pussy, you—“ he doesn’t finish his thought, diving in with his tongue to lap at your clit like he’d been starving for you his whole life.

You bite the back of your hand to keep from yelling out at the sight alone. His eyes meet yours, of course they do and he sucks one of your lips into his mouth.

“You’re a fucking tease, Eddie… what’s your last name?”

“Munson,” he mumbles against your core and keeps on feasting.

“You’re a fucking tease, Eddie Munson… ahhh don’t stop please.”

And he doesn’t. He gives you his fingers and his mouth, his eyes fixed on you— well, most of the time, he keeps looking to a spot behind you but you have no time to inquire as your legs start to tremble and everything inside you starts to tense and pulse and you’re coming apart under his mouth before you’ve really seen it coming.

Yeah, that guy was something else.

When you’ve come down he gently pulls his fingers from you and litters your thighs and belly with kisses. His fingers are sticky against your skin but a slight roughness remains.

Your head lolls against the floor while you’re still blissed out and Eddie still puts those feathery kisses to your skin.

“You… you’re a musician…” you drawl out.

He looks up. “Yeah! How do you know?”

You take his hand from your chest and lick your wetness from his fingers before you turn his palm to him, sliding a fingertip over the calloused skin.

“You like that?” he grins.

You let go of his hand and nod. “Something with strings?”

“Guitar. And vocals.”

“Fuck you, you’re way too hot as it is…” you squeeze him with your thighs and his eyes go to that spot behind you again before he kisses your chest.

“What do you keep looking at?” you wiggle and crane your neck. It’s that painting. The one that has been haunting you for weeks.

“Sorry,” he scrunches up his nose. “I don’t know, draws me in somehow… it’s… weird… sorry.”

“No, no, don’t be…” you say and pull him up to you, kissing him. “You’re right.”

“Yeah?” he glances over again. “Well, fuck… yeah… m’ not gonna lie to you it’s kinda terrifying.” You both laugh. The warmth in your chest only expands more.

“Want to slather me in paint and fuck me against it?”

Eddie’s eyes widen as he glances between your face and the canvas. “Yes? Fuck yes!”

He pulls you up and into a hungry kiss, his thick cock hard against your belly.

 “Is that stuff safe to use?” he points his chin to some paint tubes on the trolley in the corner.

“No, oh god, no. But…” you leave him to look for a large bottle of black paint letting out a triumphant ha when you find it. You turn around beaming. “This here is… and will wash out of hair with no problem.”

“Come here…” he curls his finger to beckon you to him. “And hand that over.”

“Is that turning you on?” you ask as you join him.

“You have no idea.” Eddie takes the paint from you and wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling your back to his chest. “You’re so pretty already with all my marks on you.” He walks you over to the canvas that way, his lips pressed close to your ear.

You turn in his arm and reach for his cock, stroking him softly. “How do you want me?”

“Fuck if I know… gimme a second and don’t stop that.” He looks at the canvas, really thinking about this. You suddenly want to pull his hair again. “Hands above your head, babe,” he says, opening the bottle of paint and squirts a generous amount into his hand. “Keep them clean. You have to put me inside you.”

You lean against the canvas; it’s large, so large that your outstretched arms above your head just graze the wooden frame inside.

Eddie’s hands are dripping black paint as he grabs your hips, bends down and sucks your nipple into his mouth before he kisses up to the crook of your shoulder to suck on you once more. “One last one before I make a mess out of you.” The contrast between the warmth of his lips and the cool paint as he slides his hands up your sides to your ribs makes you squirm and whimper. Eddie steps back to look at his work.

“Fuck, I’m an artist.”

He grabs the bottle from the floor and gets more paint, letting it drip right to your tits before smudging with splayed fingers. You watch him, mesmerized. When he is satisfied, he spins you around and pats your thigh as a sign to widen your stance. You feel him shuffle behind you as he presses himself against you and your chest against the canvas.

“Ready?”

You reach down, fumbling in the air for a moment before you find him. “You ready?”

 “Ye—ahhhh, you little minx,” he groans as you line him up and push back on him half the way. He holds you steady and slides in the rest of the way breathing out a long low fuuuuck. Then he stills. “Are you holding your breath? You ok?”

You are more than ok and you let the air out, your forehead dropping against the canvas. “It was that or letting everybody in the building know I’m getting stretched real fucking good right now…”

He angles your hips back and pushes closer. “Yeah, you are… shit, you’re unreal.”

“And you’re big. Gimme a moment.”

“All the time you want, I’m cosy here.”

While you get used to the stretch, Eddie caresses your back, rubbing small circles up the sides of your spine.

“I have a show next Tuesday,” he says kissing your shoulder. “Would love to see you in the first row.”

“Wouldn’t miss it… I assume it’s something hard?” you wiggle your ass, making you both sigh.

“You like it hard?” he laughs. “Music, I mean.”

“I do.”

“’Course you do. Can I fuck you now? Please?”

“Yeah,” you sigh. “Before the paint dries.”

He starts slow, pulling out almost all the way and sliding back in till he bottoms out. Your front slides against the canvas blackening out parts of it in big splotches.

“How’s this?” He’s so careful it makes your throat feel tight.

“You feel in-incredible.” You push back, meeting his thrusts as he picks up the pace.

“You’re incredible, sweetheart.”

Then you’re just getting lost in each other. His movements get rougher, more confident as he thrusts into you. You feel him deep inside you lighting little fires everywhere. A hand presses to the canvas next to your head, an arm loops around your waist and you yelp as he sharply slams into you. You beg him to do it again but he’s already on it, relentlessly fucking you into the canvas. Most of the paint is dry now, it’s prickling on your skin. Eddie moans your name into your ear, squeezing your tits and you squeeze your muscles around his cock.

“Shhh, babe…” you chuckle after he cries out.

“Fuck you,” he laughs hoarsely into your hair.

You’re so close again and you slip your hand between your legs but Eddie stops and pulls your arm to your back. “No nono, shit, not-not like that…”

“Eddie…”

“Stay like that,” he says and pulls out of you, leaving you empty and confused. There is some shuffling and then he is back behind you. “Going to be cold.”

“What— uhn!”

Paint trickles onto your arched back, sliding down your spine and making you shiver. Eddie gives your ass a little smack and turns you around, crowding you against the canvas, and hoists you up by your thighs.

“Oh my god,” you huff, wrapping your arms around his neck while he balances you out.

“Can’t do that all day but you’re close ‘n I wanna see that face when you come.” He leans you back to create some space between you. “Help me out, put me back inside you…”

You do as you’re told and you clench your thighs hard around his hips as he starts up almost at the same pace he stopped. He kisses you, so sloppy so wet you feel a string of spit between your mouths when he pulls back again to hook his arms under your knees and spreads you open so wide that you’re crying out his name.

“I got you,” he assures you, pounding into you at a new angle, so deep it makes you dizzy. “I got you, you can juuust fall apart…”

The noises you two are making where you’re joined are obscene.

“Holy shit,” you moan, “li-listen… those sounds.”

Eddie drops his head to your shoulder, sweat dripping from his forehead onto you. “Like fucking music…”

You laugh. “Fucking music indeed.”

“God, you’re perfect,” he presses out through a laugh and really leans into you. You grab a thick strand of hair and pull as your insides begin to tense.

“Oh… oh shit, don’t stop.”

The world tilts as he leans you back again. “Wouldn’t dare… touch yourself for me, I need to feel you come around me.”

“Come inside me, yeah?” you rasp as you circle your swollen throbbing clit.

His eyes bore into yours, the strain and pleasure all over his face. He’s a mess as much as you are. “Come on, darling… come for me… I want you to run through my fingers.”

And you swear you do: your head thumps against the wood frame as your muscles try to create a black hole or whatever happens under so much pressure, but who cares when this stupidly perfect man fucks you through the hardest orgasm anyone ever had while looking at you like he was fulfilling his fucking destiny. You can’t hear him over the blood rushing through your ears, but he looks so pretty with his nose scrunched up, a streak of black paint running over the bridge and his eyes shut tight. A few more thrusts and he collapses against your chest with stuttering hips, pinning you so hard against the wall that it drives the air out of you.

There is only breathing, hot air from his lungs against your tickling skin. You cup the back of his head and stroke his hair; he nuzzles deeper into your skin and makes a noise that sounds like fucking home.

“I need to put you down now… sorry.”

He puts you down but doesn’t let go. Kisses cover your face until you cup his cheeks and claim his mouth while he’s dripping down the inside of your thighs.

Then you giggle together, Eddie squeezing your ass with both hands, smiling at you so silly and soft. You’re thirsty, you let him have the bottle first and he gulps the water down, spilling down his chest, creating little rivers of paint that let the ink show through. You want to study those lines up close without twenty people around you, without the blinding fire of lust, but calm, taking your time asking questions.

“What’s going on up there?” he asks, tapping a finger against your forehead.

“I wanna study you some more,” you say, taking the bottle and down what’s left.

He doesn’t ask you what you mean, only tilts his head and smiles. Then he sits down in that worn-out armchair your mate had dragged in a few months ago, still naked, it isn’t time to cover up yet and you find a clean enough rag, climb into his lap and clean the paint off his face as gently as you can.

“Stop,” he grabs your hips, “do you have a camera or something?”

You do and the timer takes too long for you two not to start fooling around before the soft click of the shutter sounds. One more and one more and the film has only two more left and he pulls you in to kiss you just before the camera rewinds.

“You want to join me when I make the prints?”

“You, red light and chemicals?” he grins. “It’s a date.”

The painting is dry already; Guache dries rather fast, you explain to him. It’s itchy, he adds and scratches his chest, small flakes of black falling down to the floor. You sit in front of both your work, your head against his shoulder and your fingers fumbling with a strand of his hair that is stiff with paint.

“You know,” he says, “it would have made a damn good record cover before…”

“You can have a picture… I document every night before I go home.”

“Really? I mean, the picture?”

You brush sweaty hair off his forehead, “I’m sure it’s in good hands with you.”

He almost shoves you over when he kisses you, the giddy streak you saw earlier during class showing when he chuckles and licks your cheek like a puppy.

“It looks really good now though, don’t you think?”

“You’re just horny,” you laugh.

“What? You don’t like our work?” he pouts and this shouldn’t pull at your heart that much.

“I do,” you kiss the pout, “I was just teasing.”

“I mean it,” he looks at the canvas, “It’s a bit crooked and dented now, but that just adds to the charm.”

 “It has nothing on you though when it comes to charm.” You lean in with a sultry smile and his palm cups your breast and then—

A knock on the door. “Come on, you still fucking in there? I need to work.”

You look at each other with large eyes and break out laughing, scrambling for your clothes. Eddie hisses sharply when you slap his ass just before he pulls up his jeans and you forgo the bra because one strap did not survive Eddie’s enthusiasm. There is paint sticking out of his collar that you couldn’t clean before your photo shoot and you remember to put the film in your pocket while he kisses your temple because he seems to can’t help himself but stay close to you.

“Ready?” you ask and he grabs your hand and nods, following you out.

“Finally,” your mate says, but smiles when she sees you. “Aren’t you that new model?”

“Muse,” he grins without further explanation.

You hand her the key, mouth a small sorry and admit it when she calls you out on your lie.

His hand is warm in yours, his thumb playing with your knuckles as you walk back through the hallway.

“So,” he says, “we gonna shower at your or my place?”

Anything For You - chapter 17 part 2

Word count: 10k (bro??)

Warnings: smut. Smut. Smut. Smut. Graphic detail. Oral (f&m), piv, unprotected sex (like that shocks anyone), other stuff but yeah. Language.

AN: thank you for your patience as I’ve taken so long with this. I hope you enjoy ◡̈ I decided last minute to cut this chapter short. thought I’d give you something nice and wait on the not nice.

Masterlist

The hotel room could have been heaven itself and you wouldn’t have noticed, nervous energy flooding your veins as you sit on the edge of the massive bed. Well, not nervous energy per se. Actually, it was hard to identify. Some kind of energy that made it an impossible task to unlace your boots or take off your dress or do anything to make yourself more comfortable once you got to the hotel after the show. Some kind of energy that filled you with warmth so radiant and golden your vision actually spun. Maybe that part wasn’t great but still.

Jake was whisked away to B stage and you didn’t get a moment with him after that. You could say “not for lack of trying” but that would be a lie; you made no effort to stop the rockstar who loved you as he did his magic. Really, you just watched him in a stupid daze and tried to pull rational thoughts out of the spun sugar your brain had turned into once he said those words.

I love you, Y/N.

Alone in the hotel room, the thought makes you blow a heavy breath through pursed lips and shake whatever that energy is from your hands - like that was possible.

You stand and wander the room, trying to ground yourself in some way. Balcony. Brick fireplace. Huge, floor-length mirror. Vanity that could honestly be worth the value of your car. Bed that must be a California king. Or not. You’ve never owned anything bigger than a full. It was just huge.

Oh fuck. Sex with Jake.

Jake. Jake. Jake.

You let yourself sink to the floor, groaning and doubling over with your face in your hands.

Jake. Jake. Jake.

You can recall for a second how, just a few months ago, the thought of him would bring tears to your eyes. Angry, justified tears. Now you feel like a ball of frantic light that will implode if you can’t touch him soon.

You lean up to grab your phone from the bed to check it. No notifications from Jake. You do have Josh giving you a rundown of his view of the show and you’re able to focus enough to read it all and send him a few texts in reply, including your own thoughts and encouragement. You try to exclude your thoughts of Jake. You wonder if that’s the right choice.

When you finish sending those, you look at your thread with Jake again. Nothing from tonight.

Did he mean it? Did he regret it? Why didn’t he try to find you again?

Was he drunk and stupid again and you just didn’t notice? Were you so desensitized to it now?

You didn’t actually have a time that Jake would be back despite his promise to be “so fast.” You wished, in your anxiety-addled brain, that you had asked. Even if it was wrong or he got caught up, at least you’d have a reference.

Another groan is cut off by the sound of the lock whirring open and your gaze shoots to the door just as it opens and Jake is standing there, eyeliner smudged and an uncertain smile flickering on his lips.

You get to your feet as fast as you possibly can and just stand there like he is in the doorway. Silent.

Oh Jake.

He’s so beautiful. So beautiful. So nervous. His leather duffel is slung over his shoulder, post-show sweatshirt riding up on his hip and hair an absolute disgrace of a birds nest from all his on-stage thrashing and sweating.

He clears his throat, but his voice is still wavering when he speaks. “I didn’t know I was going to say that.”

You nod after a moment, the eye contact you keep at once anxious and safe.

When you don’t have a verbal reply, Jake steps fully into the dimly-lit room and lets the door click shut behind him. He drops his bag and toes off his shoes, padding across the floor to you until he’s a foot away, dropping to his knees before you. Like instinct, you hold his cheeks in your hands as his find the backs of your thighs.

Safe. His touch is safe. So is yours.

His eyes shut, brows unpinching as a sigh leaves his parted lips.

“I love you too, Jake.” You whisper, the pad of your thumb brushing over the seam of his lips as they purse.

When his eyes open into yours, there’s an almost panicked sheen to them. “Really?”

You nod, unable to control the smile that overtakes your face. “Really.”

Jake’s face floats through a series of expressions - elation, worry, confusion, relief - before his forehead tips to rest on your belly and he sighs heavily. “Thank you.”

You sink to your knees, his hands inadvertently brushing your silver satin dress up before they stop at your ass. You wrap your arms around his head to hold him close and you both just breathe it in. Safe. Thank you.

Pulling back, you hold his face in your hands again and kiss his cheeks, his forehead, his nose, his ears, his closed eyes, whispering “I love you, I love you, I love you” between every slow kiss. His hands come up to hold your wrists, chin bowed reverently until your nose brushes his, inviting him to kiss you. It’s gentle, a hymnal, a moment of vulnerability you swore you’d never give each other.

You don’t remember much of the night you accidentally made a baby, but you remember that you didn’t get to experience Jake. It was never something you would say out loud - the desire to be this close. The sadness you felt when you were with your ex and knew his touch would never be home was often overwhelming but here, now, with Jake wrapping one arm around to the small of your back and the other on the edge of your upper thigh, thumbs stroking soothing patterns, you cannot picture how you ever could have lived without him. Without this. Magic exists. It’s in Jake’s touch. In his kiss. His soft lips as they move against yours.

Your heart beats in double time when his tongue coaxes yours forward, deepening the kiss that has already laid you to rest in some other dimension. Dead to it all. Just him and you and your baby.

When he pulls back, he quickly wipes a tear from his cheek and you laugh softly, pulling his hand away from his face. You press a kiss to where the tear had fallen, Jake’s breath of relief fanning down your throat.

He wraps his arms around you and stands, lifting you onto the edge of the bed before kneeling in front of you again. One hand on the back of your ankle, the other on your calf, he looks up at you through wet eyelashes.

“You are everything I want, Y/N.” He breathes, kissing your knee, the same one he kissed all those months ago.

You smile, fighting tears of your own. “Oh yeah?”

He chuckles, reaching up to tap under your eye. “If I have to cry, so do you.”

“Wrong.” You reply, holding up a finger. “I made the rules. I’m in charge.”

His smile becomes sly for a second. “Correct, honey girl.”

Your heart trills at the nickname and you can’t help the tear that slips out. You quickly wipe it away, laughing. “Ignore that.”

Jake begins unlacing your boot and easing it off. “I liked being able to see you the whole show. Thank you for staying there.”

Your hands find your bump, watching him gingerly lift your other foot to unlace that boot. “I loved watching you.”

He pretends a faint pink blush doesn’t color his cheeks as he eases your other shoe off, rolling down your socks before kissing the inside of your knees and standing up. “We should stay here forever.” He states, guiding you to sit further up on the bed so he can crawl up and lay with his head beside your hip.

You lean back on one hand, the other still on your bump as Jake rests a hand beside yours. “The hotel? We haven’t made many memories here yet.”

“Wrong.” Jake corrects, laying on his side and kissing your belly. “It’s where you told me you love me. I never want to leave.”

You smile, the thought of how you felt about yourself only creeping up for a split second before your heart melted at the sight before you.

“And also I plan to give you some unforgettable moments here.” Jake mutters before looking up at you.

You laugh as you lay down, Jake coming up to rest his head on your chest. The tenderness puts this feeling in your stomach that feels almost like you’re about to throw up, but a warmth overwhelms it that eases your muscles into the embrace.

“I’m okay with staying here.” You whisper.

Jake hums in acknowledgment, then hums again when he feels more little kicks under his hand. He freezes like any movement would scare the little feet away, making you smile and kiss the top of his head.

“She likes you.” You note, resting your hand on top of his.

Jake’s sigh holds so much weight. “You think so?”

“If she’s anything like me, I can guarantee it.”

“I hope she’s everything like you.” Jake breathes after a moment of quiet.

You both lay in silence for some time, reveling in the careful peace, the room lit by one lamp that casts a warm, dim glow over the room. You’re still in your silver dress and jewelry, he’s still in jeans and a sweatshirt, and you’re certain you’d both never move if you had the option.

“I love you.” He says. It’s factual. “Thank you.”

“I love you.” You reply, running your thumb over his hand on your belly.

“I need to shower.”

“No.” You state, holding him closer. “Don’t leave.”

He chuckles, kissing the exposed skin of your chest. “Come with me, then.”

You sigh, heat blooming in your chest. “Mmmm let me think about it …”

Jake slips a finger under one of the straps of your dress and slides it over your shoulder, exposing the top of your full breast. “Think faster.”

“Someone’s needy.” You remark as he kisses the swell, not making any movement to advance anything.

“Someone feels disgusting from performing and wants to only think about you and not how sweaty I am.” He corrects you. “But also, yes. Needy.”

Before you can reply, he rolls over and gets up, holding a hand out to you.

You sigh dramatically. “Fine, but you have to kiss me some more first.”

Jake’s smile is dreamy. “I would love to.”

You take his hand and follow him to the bathroom where he sets you on the marble counter. The LED lights from the mirror make his eyes glow and you feel your heart skip a beat.

“You won’t be able to do that much longer.” You remark as Jake pulls his sweatshirt off along with the t-shirt underneath.

He stands between your legs and nudges your nose with his, pecking your lips. “Lift you?”

You nod.

“Wrong. I’m resolved to make sure I’m strong enough to lift you and however many babies we have for the rest of my life.”

Your heart skips a beat, your hands coming to rest on his chest. “Excuse me?”

He kisses you again, slower. His mustache is filling out and tickles your lip, making you smile. He’s real. He’s concrete.

“You heard me.” Jake mumbles against your mouth, tongue running against yours.

You run your hands down his soft belly and grab his waist, pulling him forward. “Maybe you should run your big plans by me first, yeah?”

He smiles, nipping your lower lip. When he speaks, he’s only barely not kissing you, neither of you wanting to pull apart. “Yes ma’am. Fine. But I will always be able to lift you, pretty baby belly or not.”

You tip your head back, momentarily overcome with that electric buzz Jake gives you. You loop your index fingers through his belt loops and go back to kissing him. “Fine. I accept.”

Jake reaches a hand down to undo his belt and you can’t help how fucking hot you find it, sighing against his mouth. He smirks. “I got you into the bathroom, can I bring you into the shower with me?”

“You gonna fuck me in there?”

He sighs, rolling his eyes. “Don’t be so crass.”

You laugh, all the while reaching down to unbutton his pants. A silent acceptance of his invitation. “How much do you remember of that night?”

“Which one? The night I learned you had a breeding kink or the night I learned the consequences of said breeding kink?”

A stupid one-two punch that leaves you laughing again, head tipped back so you don’t hurt his ears with the volume. He must notice, because he grabs your chin and tilts it back down again, kissing you softly.

“The first one.” You reply.

He slides your strap down again and kisses your shoulder. “Almost all of it.”

“Almost?”

“Well I remember everything up until the end. Which is torturous because I’ve been replaying the first time I touched you since it happened.” He kisses either side of your clavicle, grazing his teeth over the ridge.

“The end?” You ask, breath beginning to pick up.

“Making you cum with my cock deep inside you.” He answers like it’s nothing, but you press your fingernails into the back of his biceps, pressing your cheek to his dipped head. “I guess I remember parts of it. I remember the noises you made … but that’s probably because I’ve heard them many times since then.”

“Not nearly enough.” You correct him as he slips your other strap over your shoulder.

“Have you missed me, baby?” His voice is low and rough, one hand gripping your hip just firmly enough.

You nod. “Badly, honey.”

“Tell me what you remember.” He whispers, wrapping an arm around your waist so he can lift you up enough to pull your dress up to your hips. He’s taking his sweet time with you and you try not to complain about it.

You sigh, carding a hand through his tangled hair when his lips find the center of your chest, pressing little kisses, barely-there touches skimming your waist.

“I remember being so drunk that letting you fuck me seemed like a good idea.”

He chuckles. “How did that turn out?”

“Well, I’m in a beautiful hotel room being kissed by an even more beautiful man who gave me a baby.” You reply, and he hums against your skin, his smile evident in the sound. “So I think it turned out fine.”

His hands creep around your back and he pulls you into a hug, his kisses pausing as his forehead rests on your shoulder. You hug him back, wrapping your legs around his hips.

“My point being,” You continue. “I don’t think I have to worry about being crass with you, Jacob.”

This makes him chuckle, leaning out of the hug and unzipping his pants.

This is taking forever.

“No, I guess not.” He agrees. “But you’re mistaken if you think I’m treating you how I did that night.”

You hum questioningly, two fingers under his chin to guide him back to kissing you. So reverent.

He hums affirmatively against your lips. “My sweet girl, it’s all about you. I want you to take whatever you want. I’m all yours. Everything you want is yours. And I intend to savor you in every second of it, branding the feel of you all around me into my brain so I’m never without the mercy of the memory of your touch.”

The sigh that leaves your chest is one that would’ve been there even were you not pregnant. Heavy, heady, in love. In love. In love.

“I want what you want.” You reply in almost a whine, unable to bring yourself to accept his offer. Something lives in you that can’t accept that anyone would actively want you, even when they say it. You’ve been wrong before. You’ve accepted pretty words before. And you’ve been burned.

Jake shakes his head. “No ma’am. I said it first. I win.”

Your lips purse and you watch as he pulls away from you, stepping back and tilting his chin up in question.

“Fine.” You mutter.

A smirk appears on his face as he holds his hand out in invitation. “You first. I made a promise.”

You had forgotten his promise. Another wave of warmth fills your chest. “You intend to keep it? Really?”

He nods resolutely as you take his hand and he helps you off the counter. “I do. Now turn around.”

You turn and face the mirror, Jake’s eyes meeting yours as he slowly unzips your dress. He smiles softly and you can’t help but do the same. When the zipper is undone, he steps forward and holds the dress up with a palm under your breasts. You were correct about not wearing a bra being a thing of the past, but apparently that didn’t stop you, because you went braless with this dress too and the silver highlighted your peaked nipples as Jake gingerly slid the dress down your arms, over your tits, slowly over your belly, until it hit the floor - his eyes never leaving your reflection.

You wrap your hands around his arm that rests between your breasts and belly, silently giving him permission when his thumb loops through the band of your panties. They fall to the floor too and you don’t remember feeling so naked before as you do in front of the mesmerizing, mesmerized eyes of Jake Kiszka. You feel your heart rate pick up in a bad way, your eyebrows pinching together with nerves before Jake kisses behind your ear.

“Thank you.” He whispers. “You look so perfect carrying our baby.”

At that, you melt into his bare chest, all tension leaving your body. You remember how you feel with Jake - held. Safe. Safe. Like never before.

He kisses your shoulder and turns you around, kissing you again. “I don’t think I will ever get tired of how you taste.”

You smile softly, thumb brushing over his jaw. “The feeling is mutual.”

“I’m sorry I took so long.” Jake says against your lips as you hook your thumb in his waistband.

You look at him quizzically, head tilting sideways.

“To see you.” He says, hands on your waist pulling you closer to him. “I wish I opened my fucking eyes to you sooner.”

Fucking pregnancy tears. You laugh as you furiously wipe their tracks away, but Jake gingerly pulls your hands away.

“Are these happy tears? Or fuck that dude tears?” He’s trying to joke but you can see the worry in his face.

You laugh again, pulling him in for another kiss. His lips are so soft and warm. “Happy tears.”

“Good.” He smiles, trying to fight the worry. “Stay here.”

He steps away and opens the glass door of the massive shower, leaning in to turn the knob and testing the water until it’s where he wants. When he comes back, he runs his hands through his hair, making a sort of ponytail as he tugs and smiles nervously.

“You never said yes to joining me.”

You scoff, kissing his cheek. “Take your pants off, dumbass.”

It’s almost funny how you both waver in and out of nerves despite how you know how badly you want to be right where you are. He obviously does too. The worry comes from not knowing about the other person. But you’re trying. He is too.

You step into the warm shower and he follows suit, immediately wrapping his strong arms around you and kissing you, your hands on his cheeks. This is how you felt safe. If there were ever a statue made of the two of you, you’re certain history would depict his hands on the small of your back and yours on his cheeks while you kissed. You’re certain if you would be frozen in that second, kissing Jake, you’d be just fine with that.

“Fuck.” Jake mutters, pulling back and quickly yanking his big rings off, throwing them one-by-one over the shower door and onto the floor, making you laugh. When he finishes, he pulls you close again, just looking at you. You loop your arms around his neck.

“Remember when you ran me a bath when I got sick?” You ask, Jake’s hand sneaking down to grab your ass. It’s not seeking, it’s just to have you close. And you’re certain he likes your soft edges and curves as much as you like his.

“I do.” He nods once. “That would be the day after the other night I remember.”

You nod back. “Can I repay the favor?”

His eyebrows pinch together. “It wasn’t a favor, honey girl. That was- … that was because I loved you. There’s nothing to repay.”

Your breath catches in your throat. “You loved me then?”

“I think I- … yeah.” He nods firmly, eyes still uncertain.

You both stay with that for a moment, the dual shower heads drenching his hair and causing his smudged eyeliner to leak down his cheeks. You smile, brushing it away.

“Fine. Can I love you too?” You ask, and he smiles.

“Sure.” He shrugs with a faked casual air, but he gently grips your waist in affirmation.

You kiss his cheek and he sits on the bench that takes up a lot of the shower. With shampoo in hand, you stand before him and run it through his tangled hair, carefully undoing each knot with pinched fingers over the strands. His eyes flutter shut and his face is one of nearly zoned-out peace.

As you lather the soap through his hair, his hands come up from the bench and loop around your lower back, both calloused palms splaying against your wet skin.

Jake’s eyes remain shut as he speaks. “Tell me you love me again.”

You smile softly, sweeping suds from his forehead with your thumb. “I love you, Jake.”

A slow smile creeps up his face, a pink blush blooming over his cheeks and chest. “Say it again.”

You lean forward slightly to kiss his cheek, whispering in his ear. “I love you, needy.”

His eyes open at this just before you’re washing the soap from his hair. He blinks quickly and pinches your hip. “I’ve only heard it a few times. I’m filling my bank. Leave me alone.”

You raise an eyebrow, running conditioner through his hair now. “Is that what you want, soldier? For me to leave you alone?”

He shakes his head, eyes intent on yours. “No. At least not tonight.”

Now you pinch his bicep as he laughs at your gasp. “Ass.”

You twirl his hair, lathered in conditioner, into a bun at the nape of his neck. He closes his eyes again, hands traveling to grip your ass as his forehead dips to the top of your belly.

“Kidding.” He mumbles between kisses to your bump. “I’m pondering canceling the tour again, actually.”

“Sure, mister rockstar.” You reply sarcastically, rinsing the conditioner from his hair. “Whatever you say.”

He shrugs, his hum noncommittal between more kisses. “Unless you wanna come with me? Us? You can tattle on me to Josh if I’m an **ass.” He mocks you, chuckling when you spray the water on his face.

“You’re Uhauling, Jake.” You tsk, brushing his wet hair from his face and making him look up at you. Even with his gaze on you, he kisses your bump over and over. The smile that overtakes your face is reflected in his own.

“I don’t want to miss another moment. Sue me.”

You roll your eyes, grabbing the face wash to get the rest of his makeup off. You turning makes him have to sit back for a second, huffing like a child. You turn back and he closes his eyes again, lifting his chin so you have more access to his face. You’re gentle, trying to remove eyeliner without getting soap in his eyes, but he doesn’t seem to notice as his hands find the backs of your thighs, traveling up to grab your ass and squeeze, yanking you toward him. You laugh, steadying yourself with your knees bumping against the bench.

Instead of spraying him, you cup water in your hands and let it wash over his face, removing the last traces of his stage makeup and leaving him finally clean save for his body.

Just as you’re about to turn to grab the body wash, he makes a little noise in the back of his throat to make you stop and he pulls you close, all but lifting you onto his lap as he leans against the shower wall. You happily climb into his lap and kiss him instantly, accepting the millionth of a billion kisses you'll be demanding during the remainder of the night. The shower water running over your faces makes your lips slide together effortlessly as his tongue runs along your lower lip before meeting yours in a slow, steady rhythm.

You can’t help the breathy sound of anticipation that escapes you, one that Jake enjoys if you’re going off the smile you feel against your lips. His hands find your ass again and he pulls you closer. You can feel him growing hard between your legs and you sigh, sinking your hands into his hair.

“I’ve missed you.” You breathe, rising on your knees as Jake pushes you up, his lips trailing down your neck in open-mouthed kisses.

He just hums a reply against your skin, one hand leaving your ass to run up your belly until it finds one of your breasts. His reply, really, is the way he glides the center of his palm over your nipple and makes your breath stutter before his soft hand envelopes your tit and he groans appreciatively. You smile, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. This breaks his trail of movements, making him look up at you with such tender eyes.

You brush some fallen hair from his cheek and kiss his forehead. “What?”

He opens his mouth to speak but it just stays there before he shakes his head. “Nothing. I just … I’m not used to … It’s nothing.” He chuckles, flustered, trying to distract you with his thumb running over your nipple.

You hold his wrist, though absolutely appreciating how he makes you feel. “No, tell me.”

“W- …” He sighs in frustration, getting himself together while placing a long kiss to your sternum. “We’re about to have sex, right?”

You smile, your eyebrows knit together in confusion. “Yes, baby.”

A smile flickers on Jake’s face for a second as his chest falls heavily. “I’ve told you about all the women I’ve been with before … right?”

You wince, but recover quickly in his hold. He moves his other hand so they’re both holding your pregnancy-swollen tits and you hold that wrist too, keeping him still. “A bit. But I’ve been around. I’ve seen them.”

He nods, keeping his eyes steady on yours. “It’s just … I don’t know. When you kissed my head I- …”

You lean down a breath to kiss him, feeling his muscles soften at the touch. When you pull back, he’s smiling softly again.

“I’ve never really had anyone be soft with me. It just startled me, is all.” His voice is small, his eyes flickering between yours.

Your sweet boy.

“I’m sorry, Jake.” You whisper, pulling him into a hug that does squish his face into your boobs. But that’s okay. “You deserved better.”

He shrugs. “Debatable. I’m just enjoying this now.”

You giggle as he squeezes your tits, and tilts his chin up for another kiss. You oblige, holding his cheeks in your hands and kissing him softly. Sweet boy.

When his thumbs run over your nipples, you remember where you are and nip his lower lip, earning a chuckle.

You begin to debate if you actually need to wash your hair or if you can just let him fuck you right there.

He must sense this train of thought, because he pulls away from your kiss and makes a dismissing noise. “I told you I’m not treating you like last time. You need to shower too. You’re gonna get glitter on me and I can’t let my brothers see that.”

You gasp, gripping his wrists again. “Rude!”

He laughs, kissing between your breasts again. “I’ll make you a deal, okay?”

You nod, biting your lip as the pads of his thumbs trace under your nipples.

“You wash your hair, I take care of you.” He states, handing you the bottle of shampoo. “Yeah?”

You sigh half-heartedly, taking the bottle and about to complain until his lips make a determined path to your nipple, making your breath hitch. He kisses the bud gently before running his tongue over it, making the muscles in your lower belly tense.

“Have I told you that being pregnant has made me so horny?” You ask, trying not to get lost in the way his mouth makes your heart rate rise dramatically.

He chuckles, kissing your nipple again and squeezing your breasts in either hand. “I could tell.”

You groan, squirting shampoo in your hand and slowly raking it through your hair, eyes closed, taking in how he pinches one nipple and licks the other. Fucking hell.

You massage the soap through your hair, your hands stuttering in their movements when his teeth graze your sensitive skin, a gasp drawn from your throat.

Jake chuckles, not giving in and returning to soft kisses on the other breast. “You’re fun to play with.”

The sentiment makes heat bloom between your legs and you groan as you tip your head back to rinse the shampoo out. He takes the opportunity to wrap his mouth fully around your nipple and bite, his hands splayed on your back holding you up as you arch and whine tremulously; your hand, half covered in shampoo, immediately gripping the hair at the nape of his neck into a fist.

“Jake!” You gasp, remaining arched back as his tongue laves over his bite and you shudder. When his name tumbles from your mouth, you feel his erection twitch between your legs - cannon fodder to your already burning desire.

Jake’s hand moves between your shoulder blades, gently urging you up while his other hand wraps fully around your waist, securing you against him. You look down at his face, his eyes closed as he sucks your nipple between his lips.

He looks like an angel, so caught up in his own world. You yourself begin to think of what he said. How he’d never been treated softly. But you look at his pretty, content face and feel his strong arms hold you in what is essentially a hug and … you’re lucky the shower is a good excuse for any possible tears.

You can’t remember the last time you were treated with such tenderness. Not before him.

You lean forward to whisper in his ear, making him release your nipple and groan. You giggle, holding his wet face in your hands. “You could take me to bed now.”

He shakes his head immediately, his eyes lusty and heavy as his hands both travel down your ass and to your thighs straddled over him. “Lemme take my time, honey girl.” He kisses you slowly and you rise up on your knees, your tits brushing against his chest and making him gasp against your lips. “I wanna worship you.”

“Fuck me …” you groan, trying to quell the burning desire that has overtaken your whole body.

Jake winks. “That’s what I’m trying to do, busybody.”

You tenderly yank on a strand of his hair and he smiles, turning to kiss the inside of your wrist. It melts you, and you can’t help but pull him into an embrace against your chest which does, again, squish his face into your boobs. He, however, doesn’t mind - nipping at the soft skin and humming contentedly.

“Fine,” You sigh, tilting his chin up but still holding him close. “As long as you’re happy.”

“Y/N, I would die happily with my face between your legs. There is nowhere else I’d rather be.”

Jake’s hands massage your thighs as you roll your eyes, earning you a teasing slap to your ass.

“Speaking of,” He starts and stands up, holding you with his hands on your ass as you wrap your legs around him. “Trade places with me.”

You lean your forehead against his, looking in his eyes intently. “There’s just no way you’re always so okay with giving, Jake. Come on.”

He looks genuinely confused. “Who said?”

You roll your eyes again, noting that he’s turned around and moved his hip to uncross your ankles at his back. “My entire experience with men. That’s who.”

He chuckles, easing you onto the bench and sinking to his knees. You run your hands over his hot, wet shoulders as he looks up at you through clumped lashes. “Not to ruin the mood, but you’ve been with at least one other man who you said is apparently just like me.”

“Don’t bring your brother into this.” You chide as he kisses the inside of the leg he’s putting over his shoulder. You lean back on your hands and watch his eyes flutter shut again, lips dragging on your inner thigh. And you’re reminded that you’re wrong about him. Again.

When his eyes find yours, you can tell they’re trying so hard not to flicker to where he’s exposed you. It makes his point. “Y/N, some day, I will prove my point hard enough for you to not doubt me again. But not while you’re pregnant. That’s a hazard.” He winks, his hands wrapping around the outside of your thighs and bracing them open wider. His eyes momentarily flutter between your legs and he groans, his lip between his teeth and eyes pinched shut.

Heat. Hot. He’s so fucking hot. You’re so fucking hot. Two different ways. Fucking hell.

Your palm finds his cheek and he leans against it, opening his eyes into yours.

“You have no idea how often I think about how you taste, baby. I think about how you squeeze my fingers and drip down my chin; how you whine and pant and make such pretty noises for me. I think about how soft and velvety your pussy feels on my tongue and-“ His chin dips and he takes a deep breath. “Alright, enough about me before I lose my mind.”

You giggle softly behind your hand, trying not to comment on the way his stomach tenses as he breathes deeply.

“Okay, pretty boy.” You croon, relishing in his tender kisses to your palm as his fingers press into the flesh of your thighs. “As long as you let me repay the-“

His eyebrow quirks.

“The not-favor.” You correct yourself. “The thing I want to do because I love you.”

A smile breaks out on one side of his lips. “Deal. Me first though. Please.”

Another playful roll of your eyes. “If you insist.”

Jake keeps his eyes on yours while half-heartedly biting the inside of your thigh hitched over his shoulder. “Good girl.”

You sigh, leaning back against the shower wall as his face dips between your thighs, tender kisses trailing the junction of your legs and your core. It would be so easy to get stuck like this, in some made-up heaven where Jake makes you feel like a worthy human and not like a masturbation tool. Where he’s not receiving or even, really, giving. He’s just worshiping. Coddling. Appreciating. Slow, deliberate, one hand running up and down your thigh soothingly. It’s not hot and heavy, it’s there for the long haul.

Please.

When his lips begin a trail of kisses on the seam of your heat, you bite your lip and whine. The teasing is fun, yes, but fuck if you haven’t missed his mouth.

“Please, Jake.” You whisper and he looks up at you with a face that assures you he will not be listening to your pleas any time soon.

In fact, he pulls back to leave open-mouthed kisses on your inner thigh before biting down like he did on your nipple. Your legs tense on either side of his head, a new heat flooding your pussy. You resolve then to maybe try and possibly just let him do what he wants, trust him with the pleasure he so obviously loves giving you for some reason.

Jake kisses your folds again, nipping gently before breathing you in, his eyes softly shut. “I’ve missed you.” He breathes.

“Me or my-” You begin to tease but he cuts you off.

“It’s better not to ask, you’ll only hurt your own feelings.” He says with fake pity just before licking a long stripe from your aching entrance to your throbbing clit.

You suck in air between gritted teeth, your head knocking against the tile wall.

He feels so good. He’s always so good. Alternating kitten licks and long, slow laves of his tongue, over your clit in languid circles or teasing your clenching center with a stupid, mocking smile on his face.

You reach forward just to hold one of his hands and he accepts gratefully, never changing pace as you bite your lip and moan breathily.

“Good girl.” His voice rumbles against your skin and sends shockwaves through your body. “Let me hear how good you feel.”

“Fuck,” You breathe out, chin dipping and giving you a better view of his cocky wink as his tongue flutters against your clit and you have to fight to keep your thighs from crushing his head.

“You taste like heaven.” Jake whispers, kissing your clit and pulling back less than a hair's breadth away, the fingers of the hand not holding yours slowly tracing under your thigh until they ghost over your pussy and make you whine. “And you sound like it too.”

You try to pull yourself back for a second so you don’t look too desperate and come right there. You’re not sure why, which makes sense given the only thought you can manage that isn’t related to Jake Jake Jake is how crazy it is that a shower can maintain hot water for as long as you’ve both been in there. But Jake slides his middle finger inside of you and a gasp rattles through your chest, shattering that one thought into a million pieces and bringing you back to him, his hand squeezing yours.

He keeps his heavy brown eyes on yours as he gratefully suckles your clit, his one finger dragging in and out of your pussy, and you’re certain that not only has no one ever wanted your pleasure as much as Jake … but no pretty face has ever been so erotic as his. Blushed cheeks, eyes fighting to stay open, lips wrapped around your clit and lapping so perfectly you momentarily think you’ll shatter right there.

You squeeze a fist in his wet hair and push your hips further against his mouth. He accepts gratefully, burying his face between your legs and making lewd, slurping noises as your legs begin to shake.

“Jakey, baby …” you breathe, your heart rate skittering in your chest. He looks up at you for a split second, just letting you know he’s listening while his finger curls upward. Your mouth drops open and you feel it. The Jake-induced orgasm you’ve grown to love just beginning to crest. Your head knocks back against the shower wall and your back arches as you squeeze his hand hard.

“Jake!” You half whine, half moan. “Jake plea- Jake don’t stop please.”

He groans, surely suffocating from how wholly he’s devouring you, pulling you even closer and drawing a gasp from you as the wave finally crests. Staccato moans bounce off the tiled walls as you come on Jake’s face, his hummed approval only prolonging the explosive pleasure that floods your brain.

“Good girl.” He croons, muffled by his proximity to your pussy, his swollen lips grazing gently over your clit and making you wince and whine. He smiles. “Good girl.”

Your chest heaving, you move your hand from his hair and finding his cheek again, your thumb on his pink lips. His own breathing is labored, his now-free hand squeezing the inside of your thigh, slowly and carefully bringing you down.

“You’re so pretty.” You breathe, cheeks absolutely blazing.

“Mm. Mhm.” He kisses your thumb and slowly guides your thigh from his shoulder. His hand still in yours, he guides both of his hands to your belly and kisses just under your naval. “Says you.”

You pinch his cheek and smile. “Now let me love you, baby. Please.”

Jake groans into a chuckle, tipping his forehead against your belly. “Don’t wanna move.”

You laugh, moving his head so he can look up at you. “I’m remembering that time at that guys party now.”

He looks half-drunk with his heavy eyes and pink cheeks. He looks wholly enamored. “Me too.”

“Oh yeah?” You ask, teasing.

Jake nods, his cheeks squished in your hands. “Remembering how I thought I would explode, yes.” He chuckles, then sighs wistfully. “I didn’t know how to explain the burning in my chest until now.”

“And what was it? Indigestion?”

He wrinkles his nose at you, smiling. “Obsession, actually. Gliding my tongue between your swollen pussy for the second time, knowing how you tasted but feeling again just how …” he looks at you in complete rapture. You want to suck his dick so bad. “Just how it felt to tongue fuck you and feel you come on my face. Fucking hell, Y/N … I don’t know.” He trails off, chuckling. He wraps his arms around your hips, still kneeling on the **definitely uncomfortable tile floor.

“Well I’m glad you had the balls to ask to me return the favor.” You whisper, your ass on the edge of the bench as you twirl his hair around your finger.

He rolls his eyes, reaching over and shutting the shower off. You’re immediately chilly and he stands, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around your shoulders. You pout. He mimes it back.

“What?” He asks when your lips part, drying himself off.

You finally get to see him. Holy fuck.

You squeeze your thighs together, eyes unable to leave it. Him.

“That was inside me?” You breathe, biting your lip.

You had never felt much attraction to dicks but fucking hell … seeing the man you love stand there, fully bare, hard for you … you had to control your breathing so you didn’t get lightheaded.

He chuckles, guiding you to stand so he can kiss you again, hands cupping your jaw and fingers tracing back into your hair. He breathes out through his nose and you trace your hand down his stomach until your fingers touch the patch of hair above his hard cock.

“Yes.” Jake smirks, one so full of love and humor. “Why?”

You shake your head, running your fingers down every so slightly. “No wonder I missed it so bad.”

“Excuse me.” Jake tuts, tapping under your chin with a crooked finger. “Eyes up here.”

You whine, kissing him in a short series of pecks where he nips at you at the end. “Please don’t make me beg again.”

Jake really is trying to seem tough but the blush on his cheeks shows you just how affected he is. He bends down to wrap his arms around your thighs. You hop into his arms and wrap your legs around his waist, going right back to kissing him. The thrum in your chest may be permanent if he doesn’t let you taste him in the next few minutes.

“You don’t gotta beg, baby.” Jake mutters against your lips. “I just don’t wanna hurt you.”

You groan, nudging your nose against his as you whisper. “Please, Jake. Please let me suck your cock. Then you can do whatever you want. I’ll be so good, I promise.”

The breaths Jake begins to take are shaking and flustered. “That was not the direction I thought that was going.”

You kiss him again and laugh against his parted lips. “Whatever you want, baby. Just give me this one thing.”

Jake accepts your lazy kisses while he thinks, apparently. You take the opportunity to wiggle your hips until you just brush his cock and he swears, hissing. In an instant, he carries you back to the bed and sits down. You’re back to kneeling above him and his hand finds your bump again.

“Tell me what you wanna do.” Jake’s breathy voice stutters against your skin as his lips brush over your jaw. Your hair drips down your back and you know you’ll make a wet mess in more ways than one but you can’t bring yourself to care.

You smile, tilting your hips so your parted pussy lips drags over him and he gasps, eyes pinching shut.

“That’s not fair, baby.” He grips your ass and lifts you to your knees. “I won’t last long enough for all you want from me.”

You laugh now, softly pressing a kiss to his ear. “I want to get on my knees and sit between your pretty thighs.”

He hums in acknowledgment, lips running over the curve of your jaw as his hands run circles over your asscheeks. “Just gonna sit there all pretty?”

You hum back. “No. I was thinking I’d see how far I could take you in your mouth, actually.”

Jake groans, pulling you closer to him so he can run you over his length this time. Your breath hitches and he grins. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to see what those pink lips of yours look like on my cock.”

He was infinitely better at dirty talk than you were. That was obvious.

“Let me show you, then.” You whisper, peeling yourself off of him and sinking to your knees.

“I don’t wanna- …” He licks his lips even while his legs part, eyebrows scrunching at the sight of you on the floor before him. “I don’t wanna hurt you.”

“You won’t hurt me, Jake.” You protest, kissing the inside of his knee and watching his lips part. “If you’re so concerned, keep your hands to yourself.”

He rolls his eyes but sits back on his hands. “Fine. Agreed.”

“Good boy.” You wink, taking him in your hand and pumping once, slowly. You remember that he hasn’t gotten off by your hands, mouth or pussy since that first night. Now, after both of you waiting for so long, a low breath escapes his chest as he looks down at you and he’s immediately dazed.

Slow pumps, kisses to the tip, Jake’s grunt is emphasized by the way he grips the sheets that are slowly getting wet from the drops of water running off his hair.

You open your mouth a touch to leave an open-mouthed kiss to his weeping cock. He’s waited so long. He’s so pretty. He smacks the mattress beside him in some attempt at control when you begin to leave sloppy, wet kisses up and down his length. He’s so heavy and soft in your hand, you want to grip him much harder than you were.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been this sensitive.” Jake breathes, eyes fighting to stay open as he watches you.

You smile, one long lick finishing with your lips wrapped around him. The noises from Jake goes straight to your core as you bob your head, flat tongue against the vein that pulses underneath.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he chants, again gripping the sheets and biting his lip.

He tastes so good. Clean and musky and warm. So soft on your tongue, so responsive when your lower teeth graze him. This was everything you had wanted.

You can see his thighs clench and shake as he tries to keep them open, your free hand smoothing down his calf and squeezing, prompting him to relax.

“I’m trying.” He whines under his breath, head tipping back as he fights the urge to move his hips. “I really am trying.”

You pull back just a centimeter from his wet cock, kissing it lovingly while he pants. “What are you trying to do?”

His smile is accompanied by a sigh. “Not cum yet.”

“Why?” You tilt your head to the side, hand still working his length. You love watching him fight to keep his eyes open.

Through gritted teeth, he replies “I wanna cum inside you, dove. Want you to ride me.”

Heat blossoms in your chest and between your legs. Fucking hell.

“What if I want you to cum in my mouth?”

The intensity of his gaze now was so much that you shift and squirm like you can ride it. Fuck.

“Later.” Jake replies gruffly, reaching down to ineffectively lift you up. You both giggle in such close proximity as he lays back and you crawl over him. His warm smile kisses yours, you straddling his waist and him burying a hand in your slowly drying hair, the movement shakes a drop of water onto his shoulder and his muscles tense at the cold. “Forgot we were wet.” He mutters, quickly going back to kissing you.

“You’ve been occupied.” You say between a kiss. “You’re excused.”

He hums mockingly against your mouth. “Mhm. Stop talking and ride me, baby.”

You know his bravado is only teasing but you can’t help the sharp breath that leaves you at his command. You push your hips back into his hands and he eases you back and forth over him, the short breaths that leave him panted against your cheeks.

You feel Jake freeze, his hands tight on your ass to hold you still.

“What’s wrong?” You ask in his ear, kissing his cheekbone.

He shakes his head, lazily kissing your cheek. “Nothin’. Need to calm down is all.”

You can’t help but feel smug. Really. Maybe you were bad at taking hints, sure, but seeing his pink cheeks and swollen lips, feeling his hips arch up into you against his will … even if only physically, you own him.

You lean forward enough to kiss under his ear. He sighs, his shoulders untensing in your grip.

“You’re acting like this is the only time we’ll ever get to do this.” You whisper, kissing a line down his jaw.

Jake smiles lazily, eyes barely open. “I’ve waited so long for you, baby. I told you, if I don’t control myself now, we’re both in trouble.”

You can’t help but smirk. “What do you mean by that, cowboy? Sounds like you have quite an ego on you.”

Jake squeezes your ass again, a gentle push to let you move again. You oblige, and you can see the instant regret in his eyes before it quickly melts into pleasure.

“I mean I’m not gonna last long enough for you to cum.” He pants, eyebrows pinched together. His thumbs find the crease between your belly and your thighs, using his secure grip to tilt your hips just so. “But we’re both gonna have to deal with that, aren’t we?” He mumbles, mostly to himself, capturing your gasp in his kiss when the thick head of his cock nudges your entrance.

You can’t manage a response, your lip between your teeth as you take his pained look as an invitation to keep going. Keep going. Fuck.

“I’m in your hands, Y/N. Use me.” Jake whispers hoarsely, eyes pinching shut like he’s trying to control himself, regain composure. “Just let me feel you.”

You’re so close like this, your foreheads pressed together as open mouths pant into each others. You sink down, pausing every inch or so just to feel him. You want to engrave this into your mind. Maybe this was your snowglobe moment. A disgusting, horny snowglobe moment, yes. But you’d give anything to capture every flash of light in the corners of your vision as Jake’s cock slides so effortlessly into you after you’ve waited to feel him again for months.

“Fuck,” you mumble against his open mouth. “Fuck, Jake … you feel so good.”

Jake just grunts, squeezing your hips. “Stay there for a second, okay? Just … don’t move.”

Your nipples graze his chest as you both breathe heavily, small whines and gasps shared between you as you both wait, letting the moment sink in. Fuck. Fuck.

Another subtle squeeze is invitation enough and you sink all the way down, your back arching your swollen tits nearly into Jake’s face. Apparently, he doesn’t mind. He presses a kiss to your sternum and hums when you move slowly, the aching slide where you meet sending boots of electricity through your skin.

You lean up enough to press your hands into his chest, gaining more leverage to lift and press your hips against him.

Jake takes the opportunity to grab your tits in each hand and present your nipples directly to his mouth, lovingly licking and kissing as you ride him. He is an image beneath you and you wonder how the **fuck you found yourself in bed with Jake Kiszka.

Pushing back ever so slightly, Jake’s perfect dick hits a spot inside of you that pulls the breath right from your lungs. His response to your sudden fluttering is a bite to your sensitive nipple and you both arch and groan.

His head smacks back into the pillows, his hands squeezing your tits as he breathes heavily. “That feel good, honey girl?”

You nod furiously, lip between your teeth. So good. So good.

“You’re lasting a lot longer than I expected.” You note, a lazy smile on your face as you slowly grind against him so he hits that spot over and over.

Jake tries to respond but gets cut off by his own pleasure, his jaw and arms shivering in protest to the rush of dopamine that squeezes his eyes shut. His mouth moves like he’s talking but he’s just whining. He’s so beautiful like this, sweat beading on his forehead and upper lip as he shakes with restraint.

You lean further back so you’re seated fully on top of him and it pulls a groan from deep in his belly.

He shakes his head but manages to keep his hazy gaze on you now. “I’m really trying here.” A breathy laugh escapes him but it’s short lived. “You feel so good, baby. Unbelievable.”

You smile proudly, content to watch the man you love become pussy drunk on you for however long he can manage.

But Jake stops you for a second with another squeeze to your hips that conveys, in the language you’ve somehow created since you crawled onto this bed, that he has something to say. But he doesn’t say anything for a moment, just looks up at you with sleepy eyes.

“What?” You ask, adjusting yourself on your knees and making him hiss.

“Tell me again.” He asks in a whisper, his face arrogant but sweet. “Tell me you love me while you get off on my cock.”

“Fucking hell,” you breathe, your head tipping back as you take in a full breath.

He squeezes again and you look back down. He knows what he’s doing and he knows what he wants.

You can’t help but smile back at him. Jake. Jake Jake Jake.

“I love you,” you whisper, grinding against him slowly but methodically.

You see his jaw clench, but he smiles. “Say it again.”

You rise up on your knees and sink fully down, Jake’s eyebrows shooting up as a ripple of pleasure shocks you both.

“I do-“ you gasp when he drags a hand from your hips to just above where you two connect, middle finger rubbing small circles over your clit. Fireworks bloom inside your chest and you moan out the rest. “I do love you, Jake.”

Jake hums affectionately, his finger picking up pace and making you whine. “You sound so pretty, dove. I love you too.”

Maybe he was more vocal about wanting to hear the sentiment but you wanted it just as bad, evident in the way your fingertips dug into his soft pecs and pressed crescent indents into his skin.

“Jake,” you gasp, his hips thrusting up just enough to meet your pace. “Jake.” You moan, jaw dropping when he perfectly hits your cervix just enough to make lava flow beneath your skin.

“Say it again.” He whispers, looping his free hand around the back of your neck to pull you down and meet him in a kiss. His lips stutter and your mouth falls open when the new angle and touch of his fingers lights the match in your belly. He must feel you fluttering around him because he whimpers “m’gonna cum, baby.”

You nod, trying desperately to kiss him as your pace becomes sloppy. The pleasure that floods your body makes you feel stupid as you lean back again and grip the wrist of his hand playing with your clit. “I love you, Jake.”

He nods frantically, lip between his teeth and biting hard. Before he can respond, his back arches off the bed, the most beautiful moans spilling from his open mouth. You feel his warm cum fill you and the sensation is what does you in, sparks exploding from your skin in every direction as you cum on top of him, your body shaking as you try to ride it out, both of your bodies suddenly becoming stupid with pleasure.

Just like before, Jake is so quick to wrap his arms around you and pull you close to him, his softening length still inside of you as you’re pulled underneath him against the pillows.

As he rests on his forearms above you, he maintains eye contact as he slips out of you, kissing you the second you begin to whine at the loss of contact.

“I love you, too.” He mutters into the kiss.

“I love you.” You respond.

“I love you.” He smiles against your lips, struggling to keep kissing you as you both smile stupidly.

“I love you.” You whisper, wrapping your shaking legs around his hips and yanking him closer.

“I love you.” He whispers back, kissing your forehead and wrapping his arms around your body in a hug. “Both of you.”

_____

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