Farmer!price/blue Collar!Simon Gives Me Only Two Thoughts, Being Crushed And Being Nipped. And We've

The Machine Herald!

So... on my other account (where I post all my writing stuff) I can't comment, get no views (I averaged 100) and it's like super weird? I'm relatively new to tumblr. Someone help, what's happening.

ok reverse the TROPE !!!!!! sugar-mommy!f!reader x retired!simon <333 (18+)

he got discharged on a medical injury. his knee flares up now, phantom pains that shoot up his leg and pinch his spine. he feels like a failure--a lieutenant in his prime, and now he has to acclimate to civilian life and grit his teeth instead of drown the voices in his head out with gunfire.

he's been deployed as much as he could be just to stay away from this kind of place. so he didn't have to get on a train, or take the tube. so he didn't have to think about looking over his shoulder in the shops or learn how to pay a wifi bill. he hates going to the doctor's office, and he hates learning how to properly open his bank account, just to learn that there's nearly nothing in it.

the numbers just dwindle before his very eyes. the rent is too high, even in his shitty studio. when did cable cost that much? why can't he go to the pub for just a few pounds anymore? where is the compensation for giving more than a decade of his life in service of his country just to have to wait in fucking lines to get his medication and argue over the phone about where all his fucking money went.

maybe he never had any. maybe it's all lost somewhere. he'd ask his former captain, but he's halfway across the world, and over his dead body would he hold a hand out and ask for charity when he's 36 years old.

"don't get that one."

simon turns his head, a snarl caught in his throat. there's a pretty thing standing beside him, also staring at the array of ramen packages in focus. you take the orange package out of his hand and put it back on the shelf before reaching for a different package. it's got japanese characters on it, so he can't read the label, but you smile up at him.

"this one is way better. good price for it, too."

"'s more expensive."

"yeah, but you get eight packets in this one. that one only gives you five."

at the till, you notice him subtly counting the notes in his wallet. you pretend not to notice, rocking back and forth on your heels, but just as he picks up his bag to leave, you speak up.

"you wanna get a drink? on me."

and fuck, he could use a bourbon. on the first one, he thought your presence was pleasantly tolerable. by the fourth, he's staring down your shirt, dark eyes mapping out what the curves of your breasts might look like in the palm of his big hand. by the sixth, you're pressed up against a sticky bathroom wall and holding on for dear life as he pounds into you from behind, knickers in his back pocket, manicured nails digging slits into his tattooed forearm.

you sink those claws in that night; and you do not let go.

the third night you ask him out, he sees your flat for the first time. in a nice building downtown, doorman holding the door open for you. the elevator ride is long enough for him to see the tops of buildings, and when you step inside your flat, he swallows hard when he realizes you are way out of his league.

gorgeous leather seats and couch. large tv with surround sound. a french kitchen with a gas stove. your flat is filled with knickknacks and candles, low yellow lights and wonderful collections of art and little glass vases and sculptures. your home is filled with warmth, and you don't belong with him.

just as he thinks about backing out of the place, you turn and grip the lapels of his jacket, tugging him closer. you touch your nose to his over his mask, smiling, and you push the door closed behind him and press him up against it.

"so, which room do you wanna christen first? i thought we could start in the kitchen."

you're a woman that knows what she wants, he'll give you that; and he doesn't have it in him to say no.

the sun wakes him up in the morning. he doesn't remember falling asleep--he doesn't like to make staying over a habit. when he sits up on his elbows, he takes a deep breath, realizing his back hurts a lot less. the mattress of your bed is wonderful, much more supportive than the flat mess he has on the floor in his own place, and he blinks himself awake when you come out of the bathroom.

you're freshly dressed, makeup on, and you're putting on your jewelry when you see him. you smile at him, coming towards the bed, and you bend down to kiss where his mouth would be under the mask.

"good morning, simon. sleep well?"

"mmm..."

you take that as a yes, cupping his jaw, and you kiss him over his mask again before going to get some shoes from your closet. he doesn't comment on the fact that when you open it, he realizes the closet there is only for shoes...

"you hungry, baby? want some breakfast?"

"i--oh..." simon lays back down when his back tweaks, and you reach for him when you see him fall back in the mirror. you smooth a hand down the side of his body, frowning.

"why don't you stay in bed? i'll have my assistant bring you something."

"no, tha's--"

"i'm not asking, simon, i'm telling you," you coo. you pick up one of his hands and trace one of his scars with your finger. you have long, almond-shaped nails. there's pretty chrome nail art over the wine red color you wear, and he focuses on it as you kiss his knuckles gently. "will you wait for me to come home?"

"where y'goin'?"

"gotta work, honey," you wink down at him. "and i want you to be here when i get back."

"tha' so?"

"mhm," you smile. "right here. in my bed--" you lift the covers a little and peek, giggling as you put it back down after getting a glimpse at his cock resting against his lower stomach. "just like this, simon."

he doesn't remember if he ever goes back to his flat. he thinks he went one more time, to grab a few bottles of his medication, but the tick in his knee hadn't been so bad with the great physical therapy you started paying for and the warm massages you gave him every night.

and his back--your bed always contours perfectly against the muscles of his back, and he finds himself sleeping a full seven hours every single night.

not to mention his new work outs. simon hadn't been to the gym much since coming home, but he knows he must be burning hundreds of calories with you. you test his limits. as soon as you're home, you jump on him, and the stress relief your pussy brings him is just what he needs to get the edge off. you're a fiend, especially after a rough day, and the way you bounce on his cock in every room of your flat keeps him up at night sometimes with the most glorious wet dreams.

you're up late that night. you're curled up on the couch in one of simon's shirts and a glass of red wine, and there's a mountain of papers around you that you're focusing on reading. you have a huge presentation tomorrow, and everything needs to be perfect. simon comes into the living room, shirtless, and you smile when you see him standing there. he's wearing the new sweats you got him, but you can't focus on that too much when you're staring at his pudgy, toned stomach and his nice pecs. you bite your lip, taking a long sip of your wine, and simon hikes up his mask to take a bite out of his bowl of ice cream.

"gonna be up late tonight?" he asks, and you nod. "want me to sit with ya?" you nod again, lifting up your legs, and when he takes a seat next to you, you drape them across his lap. you lean over to give his scarred cheek a kiss, and when you turn back to your paperwork, a thought comes across your mind.

"we should get married," you say softly, circling a note over something. simon keeps eating, as if what you said doesn't phase him.

"why's tha', love?"

"tax benefits."

"mmm..." simon drops one of his hands and thumbs against your ankle. the flat is warm. his stomach is full. his body hurts less, and his heart aches with something nice. "olright then."

you smile.

"good. cause i already bought the ring."

having some villainous gender with my autistic wife

NSFW, I'm finna say some things because I haven't written in a while and I need a creativity exercise. Didn't do Price or Gaz because... I lazy. Excuse formatting. Again, Lazy.

Simon would probably feel genuinely terrible about it. He'd fuck you nice and slow instead, but not for a while after the visit. First he'd have to eat you all sloppy and soft—let you ride his tongue for hours in apology. Big man with furrowed brows, tongue buried between your thighs as if he lapped at you gently enough, you'd get the picture. That you'd forgive him. And he didn't think he deserved it, either. How could he do that to his little bird? He knew he was a big guy but he didn't think he was genuinely doing any harm... an ugly, sticky part of him is proud, honestly. He doesn't quite know how to feel about that. Bruises in the shape of him where no one could see.... how wonderful.

Johnny's a bit smug. Yes, he'd fucked you rough and deep and quick. That's exactly how you liked—exactly what you'd asked him for. And hearing your gyno say that your cervix was bruised made him proud because.. well, that meant he'd done a good job following your directions. He was a mutt. A good mutt. Your good mutt. And he was happy that he could provide the back arching pleasure that would result in this. But, listen—! It's not like he didn't care. When you complained about the soreness he'd draw you a bath and settle you in, the water warm and smelling of lavender epson salt. He was sorry that the bruises hurt, of course, but as his fingers slip into your cunt while you bathe—just to delicately feel you from inside—you can't help but think he wasn't all that sorry for the bruises existing.

Hey I wanna know right

Since everyone always writes the boys fucking reader character so hard (mostly Johnny and Simon) what do you guys think would happen if they went to the doctor worried she had some sort of UTI and the doctor said they had ahem bruising in their, ahem, insides

What then

Mostly a question for @mina-org and @goatgoesmbe let's be honest

Yo, correct me if I am wrong please, but didn't Hitler rise to power because he promised to fix the German economy and people really liked that so they looked past everything else he was doing??? Like exactly what's happening in America right now???

So many people said they voted for Trump, put a truly evil person in power, because he said he'd fix the economy, and a little voice in my head is going, "Isn't that what happened with fucking Hitler??"

But I've seen no one point that out so maybe I'm miss remembering???????

Puff, Puff, Pash (Part 1)

Eddie Munson x f!Reader | SFW | 3.4K

In which the domino effect of a lost lighter leads the reader to realise she has feelings for Eddie.

Content: drug use (marijuana), two idiots dancing around the fact that they’re head over heels for each other, Eddie can’t keep his hands to himself

A/n: If this fic gets reaches 20 comments & 20 reblogs I’ll post the smutty part 2!

Jason Carver is many things: rude, condescending, hot-headed. But if there’s one thing he knows how to do well, it’s scout fun locations to get fucked up in.

Abandoned warehouses on the outskirts of town, convention halls after hours, and even once, the entertainers’ tent when the circus was performing in Hawkins. You still had no idea how he’d managed to convince them to facilitate a party for a bunch of rowdy teens.

You hadn’t attended many, despite the invitation often being extended (perks of being a cheerleader, you guessed), because the promise of an incredible night didn’t seem worth the worry of how you’d be getting home. That was, until you met Eddie.

“You still sure this is a good idea?” He asked for the third time as you rounded up the path, toward an old, broken radio tower. The music was already thumping, the soundwaves travelling across the field up through your ankles.

In response, you linked your arm through his, giving his bicep a playful pinch. “Nope. But it’s a fun one.”

Keep reading

I colored her. Badly. But. I colored her!

HELL IS A (FUCKING) ROOMMATE. JORDAN LI.

synopsis ; your roommate has the libido of a goddamn animal and it's driving you insane. not to mention the fact they have an annoying habit of jerking off in your dorm. to you.

they want you? fine—they can have you. only on your terms, though.

✗ warnings ; dom!reader, sub!jordan. fem!reader, perv!roomate!jordan, dubcon, voyeurism, excessive masturbation (soz). wc ; 4.2k

YOU can do this. you can do this.

you grunt as you fumble for the key. cursing as, with an extreme lack of coordination—you begin to forcibly ram the bloody thing into the lock with the grace and precision of a sledgehammer. what you lack in motor control you make up for with inner beauty—or something.

the do not disturb sign rattles mockingly off the handle, meaning your roommate is definitely inside and definitely not helping out. you grit your teeth, entire body off kilter as you're preoccupied with balancing the boxes cramful of belongings in your arms; big and bulky and absolutely not helping your aim. you curse, loudly as they almost almost tumble out of your grasp the moment the key miraculously jams into place, jerking wildly to catch them. (note: super strength does not come with super-hand-eye-coordination.)

“fucking– stupid- key– fucking better– woah!” 

without warning, the door swings open, inwards. a montage of your entire life flits before your eyes as you hurtle forward, boxes and all. you just about barely manage to catch yourself with an undignified stumble before drawing yourself up; coming face to face with—oh.

two figures. bodies very noticeably.. inside. each other. naked. on, what you realise after a bout of disbelief; your fucking bed.

"what the fuck?"

one of them growls, mop of black hair flopping as their head snaps up, even though you're pretty sure you should be the one slinging expletives around. with a frustrated scowl they pull out of the dude, sending a withering glare to the poor guy they were fucking into the bedspread—to which he.. disappears? glitches out? phases out of existence? because suddenly he’s not there anymore, and you’re stranded alone with a very attractive, very threatening looking college student. 

who is also—uh, very, very naked.

“um, hi–”

“why do you have a key to my fucking dorm?”

oh, shit.

they are, frankly, gorgeous – like, one of the most beautiful people you've ever seen. their hair is black, mussed, and you can’t help the way your gaze follows its way down the threshold of an.. extremely muscled, slick torso before snapping upwards to find a mildly paralysing glare that reminds yourself that you are not in a very good position right now.

“i’m uh- your new.. roommate?'' you don't mean for it to come out like a question, but by the way they're staring down at you like you're a cockroach that just flew onto their windshield, you almost aren't so sure.

"i'm a fucking TA— i don't have roommates." their eyes narrow, which is like—alright, way to be real welcoming.

“i’m a.. last minute transfer..?” you offer, wincing as you meet their stare. their eyes are unflinching, yet still lidded in a post-sex haze. you can feel your body involuntarily holding its breath; though from the steel in their gaze or the way their biceps flex when they run a hand through their dishevelled locks, you can’t tell. 

fuck, you hate hot people.

“oh, yeah. fuck, i forgot about that.” their shoulders slacken, mouth settling into an unimpressed line; which is only slightly more welcoming than the look of murderous intent of two seconds ago. “jordan. jordan li." they say, last name and all—which is how you know they're a prick. "make yourself at home, i guess.” they don’t sound all too enthused as they skirt away from the door, seemingly satisfied with the fact that you're not a home invader—dorm invader? whatever. you just pray that the sigh of relief you breathe isn’t audible.

“great! nice to meet you, i’m–”

“s’on the sheet." jordan cuts in with supreme disinterest as they move across the room, leaning down to pick their boxers from the floor. you’re struck once again with the realisation that they are still fucking naked, and you pointedly tear your eyes away. 

“um, yeah.. hey, uh—what’s your-”

“third year, crime-fighting. don't touch my shit. no pets, obviously. if you have a dog, get rid of it. give it to the animal shelter, don’t care. don’t snoop, don't make a mess, and definitely don’t take off the goddamn do not disturb sign. got it?”

you've barely opened your mouth to reply; probably with something along the lines of what the fuck? or animal shelter? before jordan's already turned away, back muscles flexing as they sink back onto the end of their bed, scrunching their briefs up in one hand and—

“hey, uh,” jordan interjects, turning round with an unreadable expression as they glance down, and like a fucking idiot, you follow; giving you front row seat to the massive, throbbing boner that they’re still sporting—pulsing an angry, flushed red as the tip drools with precum.

“mind if i take care of this? couldn’t exactly finish, if you know what i—”

you slam the door after you, and you swear a snicker follows you down the corridor. 

-

over the next week, it quickly becomes apparent that jordan either a): forgets you live in the same room as them, or b): simply does not care. 

for starters, there’s their apparent aversion to doing laundry until their entire closet is out of commission, the coke stash underneath their mattress and also—oh. their need to get their dick wet at least four times a day. (irrespective of whether they have a dick or not).

“what?” jordan scoffs through a mouthful of cereal. “‘m not lettin’ some fuckin’ freshie cockblock me.”

“i’m a transfer, not a fucking freshman.” you scowl, and jordan’s lips curl to form a lazy little ‘o’. it twitches upwards into that infuriating little smirk, like they enjoy seeing you squirm. 

“whatever. my libido stops for nobody, not even you. besides,” they set their bowl on the bedside table, wagging their fingers suggestively into a ‘V’ shape and licking the air between. "a bigender supe has needs too."

they’re slouching against their headboard, free arm stretching lazily above their head. your cheeks flush traitorously as their biceps flex—muscles visibly popping against their frame “you can just say 'a girl has needs'. i'm not an idiot, i know what you mean." is what you grumble back, if only to ignore the inane, stupid heat pooling in the pit of your stomach. 

"but i have needs when i'm a dude, too." jordan grins, propping themselves up by their elbow, eyes gleaming impishly as they curl their hand into a fist and making a fucking wanking motion over their (currently) non-existent dick. which is—yeah. that pretty much sums up your roommate for you.

the thing is about jordan, is despite all their excessive lockerroom talk and relatively abrasive personality; they’re still rank two in all of godolkin. ergo, they’re a surprisingly busy person; being preoccupied with either studying, sparring or partying ninety of the time. 

thus, like all horny, single college students, when you don’t have time to squeeze a good fuck in, you’re left with second-best option—yourself. this would otherwise be fine, except jordan’s compound v must have seeped through their bloodstream and into their libido because jesus fucking christ are they horny.

it’s not like they make an effort of hiding it, either. they seem to have zero qualms about rolling out of bed, morning wood popping out from their briefs like a fucking beacon. 

“oh, shit,” jordan yawns when slide the covers off, giving way to the immense boner throbbing against their boxer-briefs. they don’t even have the decency to look sheepish when they walk past you, adjusting themselves lazily. you don’t miss the grunt of relief that escapes them as their hand palms their crotch before they disappear into the bathroom, either. or the little groans of relief that sound behind the door before they saunter out, towelling their hands with the stupidest grin on their face.

it shouldn’t piss you off as much as it does, except for the fact that even when jordan rouses without morning wood (or wood in general); they end up making their usual bathroom trip anyways. noises slipping from a half-ajar door and toilet lid left slippery, as always. 

they have to be doing it on purpose. they have to be. like, they left their strap-on on your desk once. which, first of all, gross. second of all, why was it so fucking big?

“jordan!” you holler, aghast as you nudge the thing on your desk, conveniently placed right next to your laptop.

“oh! that’s where i left it. sick.” jordan grins as they saunter over, veined hands reaching over to wrap around the shiny, plastic length and fuck, since when were their palms so massive—

“thanks, roomie.” they ruffle your hair with an impish glint in their eyes, smile only growing when you jerk away with a scowl. 

and that’s not even the worst of it.

“oh, shit—was that yours?” to their credit, jordan looks somewhat sheepish as they pinch a rock-hard pair of socks off the floor. your fucking socks, which have clearly been well-loved and cared for in places other than your shoes. 

“those were my favourite!” they weren’t your favourites. they’re socks. however, it makes jordan wince, which almost makes it worth it. 

hey, a little remorse is better than nothing. 

“..i’ll buy you a new pair?” jordan offers, scratching the nape of their neck. you’re almost content to let the awkwardness linger just give them just a piece of the torture you’ve been subjected to for the past several weeks — except the sliver of satisfaction is completely negated by the way jordan’s lip twitches upwards, like they’re fighting back a smirk.

“you little fuck—“

anyways, the point is jordan wanks. a lot. 

you can’t stop thinking about it. because it’s annoying. and disrespectful. and god, do they think you want to hear every pretty little moan that falls from their mouth? every grunt and groan that slips from their throat in that raspy, godforsaken timber— 

long story short; if you have to find a wadded up sock or sticky residue at the bottom of the computer desk one more time, you’re going to lose it. 

you think jordan knows it, too.

-

it’s midnight when you wake up to the sound of a bed creaking.

you’re an early sleeper, jordan isn’t. it works. you’re typically long knocked out before they even make it back in the dorm, out there doing god knows what. today, though, you’d far overestimated your ability to finish your latest assignment; so when jordan finally staggered through the door, slumping into bed with a little grunt, you thought nothing of it.

minutes pass, and the bed shifts. jordan groans. under the moonlight you can see the shadowed visage of their figure, splayed out on their bed with one hand underneath the covers; moving, repeatedly.

jordan grunts again, and you squint; bleary eyes adjusting to the darkness. the muffled, wet sound of slapping resounds, subdued by the weight of the blanket. if you didn’t know better, you’d think they were—

“mm, fuck—” jordan moans, blanket slipping down their hips and—oh my fucking god.

like pulling back a curtain, jordan’s cock springs enthusiastically to the surface; standing tall and proud as their fist pumps up and down the thick, veined girth of their length. it’s practically pulsating with need, bordering on desperate—they must be desperate, because jordan’s shameless, sure, but.. jacking off in the same room as you? 

you didn’t think they were that much of a fucking perv.

but maybe you’re a perv too, because the moment jordan’s hips rock upwards and their tip glimmers in a thick sheen of pre-cum; you can feel the telltale surge of heat in your stomach, the fabric of your panties dampening and oh, this can’t seriously be happening right now.

“fuck—motherfucker..” jordan hisses, drawing your bleary-eyed gaze from the flushed, throbbing bob of their cock to their pink cheeks and fucked-out face, mouth lolling in pleasure. they twist their head, nosing into something tossed onto their pillow that makes you stop in their tracks.

that’s.. you thought you lost that!

“need ‘m—so—fucking bad..” jordan slurs stiltedly, nuzzling into your shirt like their life depends on it. “fuckin’—stupid fucking—”

your stomach tightens, and you can’t help it when your fingers dip down under your shorts, slipping into your cunt. you should be mad, should be disgusted, should be shoving open the door and ripping them out of their covers and.. wrapping your mouth around their adorably flushed tip? seizing their hips and yanking their cock into your tight, wet little—

"oh, fuck," jordan interrupts your thought process by growling through their teeth, precum spilling from the slit of their dick and glazing their palms. there’s so much of it, so wet that even in the dark you can see the stain pooling in their sweatpants, their bedsheets. 

you’re so entranced you barely even register when it when their grip releases; length arcing and splattering thick ropes of cum against their abdomen. the sight is so mesmerising that you almost don’t pick up on the sound of your fucking name that tears out of their throat—husky and half gargled as jordan’s chest heaves. you don’t even realise you’ve been holding your breath until jordan’s figure simply lays there, pants echoing in the silent room. 

they wrap your shirt around their dick and wipe it clean. it’s only when they murmur something unintelligible—burying their nose back into your jumper that you finally, finally turn away, fingers curling deep inside your cunt.

fucking hell.

-

the second time it happens, you are wide, wide awake. which unfortunately means you have no excuse for the minutes seared into your memory and sticky residue on your thighs.

granted, at first you didn’t know. as always, the bathroom door hangs carelessly agape. steam curls from the room, wafting up and dispersing in the stuffy dorm air. what lingers, however, is the fresh note of jordan’s shampoo, body wash, and something.. saltier, headier.

whatever. with nothing more than an arched brow, you pick over the discarded basketball shorts and tank tops that litter the floor, intending to kick the bathroom door shut and be on your way. it’s when your hand reaches out, closing around the cool metal that you see it.

jordan’s slumped against the slick shower wall, fingers buried knuckle-deep into their pussy.

oh, shit shit shit—

“shit..” jordan hisses, muscles working like well-oiled sprigs as they pump into their cunt, droplets of water trickling down their skin and pooling into the divots of their body. 

your hand tightens around the doorknob. god, their moans.. if they think the sound of the showerhead can disguise the filthy nothings spilling out of their mouth, they are very, very wrong. 

somewhere between the fuck’s and annoying’s and pretty fuckin’ prude’s their full-weight crumples against the shower wall, plush ass pressing up against steaming glass like some (high-quality) porn ad as they ram their fingers in one last time, free hand shooting out wildly to grasp at nothing before the shower wall splatters with something you only catch a glimpse of before you’re slamming the bathroom door, cheeks burning and fingers trembling. with a start, you realise you’ve almost wrenched the goddamn metal off.

the doorknob is always a little bit loose, after that. 

-

you’re getting ready for a party.

well, you’re supposed to be getting ready for a  party, hence the sultry eyeshadow, glossy press of your lips and sheer amount of skin laid bare. your crop-top is just a little bit too high, mini-skirt more than a little too short.

in reality? you’re enacting your fucking vegeance.

jordan likes you. it’s a fact that stares you right in the face. and if not a crush, it’s a massive, raging hard-on. for you—only you—citing a certain roommate’s post-nut ramblings you’ve heard one too many times. 

as it turns out, jordan becomes considerably less insufferable when you know you’re the only thing that gets their dick wet.

“how do i look?” you call, doing a little twirl. it’s impossible to keep the smirk off your face, skirt flipping very purposely upwards as you spin, revealing a tad more than they ever (usually) get to see. 

jordan glances up, and their breath fucking hitches.

bingo.

“what?” you cock your head, lashes batting innocuously as they stare. playing the oblivious role is just too sweet, especially when your eyes flicker down, just for a moment, and you can see the bulge in their sweatpants growing.

poor little jordan, hard because their roommate flashed a millisecond of ass.

“you look—good.” they grunt, tone carefully measured. their gaze lingers, only for another moment before they abruptly snap their vision back to their screen. an admirable effort, really. if only their cheeks were a little less red, cock a little less needy.

“well don’t flatter me too much,” you twist away, lips twitching upwards. feigning normalcy is easy, seeing as how you’ve been doing so ever since that first night. you're practically buzzing with anticipation when you make a big show of leaving the room, snarky comment and all.

and really, jordan could've waited for longer than two minutes before moaning that raspy, broken moan (you're so intimately familiar with) from behind the door.

your lips split into a grin, and when you slide the door back open, the look on jordan's face is so priceless you hope it'll be seared into your memory forever.

“shit!"

it’s undeniable, this time. you’re no longer a fly on the wall, and they’re no longer blanketed by the illusion of secrecy; caught red-handed with their cock in their fist and head on your pillow.

“wait—fuck—i can expl—!”

like clockwork, jordan's cock twitches as if in reaction, and a drop of fresh semen spurts from their tip before trickling down to join the messy puddle on their stomach. 

“i thought—fuck! you said you were going!” 

“that doesn’t sound like an apology to me.” 

you delight in the way jordan flushes, their breath hitching. they take a ragged breath before they make a valiant attempt to cover up their falter with aggression. "doesn't mean anything," they retort through gritted teeth, mustering up as much conviction as they can. 

it’s adorable, how much they pretend they don’t want you as if they don’t jack off to the smell of your sweatshirt every night. 

“shut the fuck up.” you roll your eyes, novelty of the movement finally wearing thin. you have needs too—and with a fluid movement, you slide onto the bed and yank their hips against yours, pulling them into a straddle over your torso.

jordan can't help but hiss at the sudden contact, hips jerking instinctively. "fuck, you're cold," they mutter under their breath, though there's no denying the thrill running through them; hips bucking forward into the touch of your cool fingers as they wrap around their hard member. it feels euphoric—the contrast between your heat and coldness heightening every single nerve ending in their body. the tip of their cockhead brushing against your belly button, dripping a thin line of hot, sticky fluid after it.

“go on.” you coo, eyebrows raised. 

jorda’s hands fly almost immediately to the hem of your skirt. so eager, like an impatient puppy. 

 before you curl your hand around their wrist, grip firm and punishing. 

they freeze, head cocking like a confused puppy. “huh?” they say, biting back a noise of complaint. they want you so bad its goddamn gruelling; their fingers twitching around nothing, screaming in impatience, let me fuck you, let me ruin you already. don’t you know how long i’ve been waiting? how long you’ve kept me fucking waiting?

of course you know. they don’t know that, though. 

“you’re not gonna do anything?” despite all their irritating, fratboy-esque bravado; jordan’s unable to prevent the whininess from seeping into their tone, hands tugging insistently at the hem of your skirt. their cock pulses, painful and needy.

“you have hands, don’t you?” your lips quirk at the way jordan’s expression drops and their mouth opens again, probably to protest until you yank their thighs open and press them forward, dick pressing flush against your torso. 

"unnhnnngh.." jordan grunts, gasping for air while trying to maintain eye contact with you—an impossible task considering how goddamn desperate they are. their free hand grabs hold of your waist, grinding sloppily as precum spurts all over your chest. “f-fuck off," they hiss, lips crashing against yours, teeth knocking at their eagerness.

“goddamn tease—” they groan, rutting against your torso, to no avail. they bury their face into your collar, utterly miserable, fingers twisting into the hem of your shirt. “just get the fuck on with it—ahnnn.. f-fuck—”

“so mouthy,” you tease, delighted at the mewl that slips past jordan’s lips when your hand wraps around their tip. their chain necklace swings wildly, bucking their hips desperately into your fist.

“hands feel so fuckin’ good,” jordan sputters, drooling almost as much as their dick is. their fumbling grasp finds purchase in your shoulders as they pump themselves into your hand; you barely even have to move, with them doing most of the work.

“need to be— inside—“ jordan grunts; glassy eyes blinking down at you like it’ll change your mind just like that. it’s cute, how they look when they’re not scowling or fucking smirking at you. it’s even cuter, the way they inhale sharply when you shake your head and deliver a cool “no, baby,” their back arching when you cup one of their balls and squeeze, forced into dismal acceptance with a keening whine. 

jordan’s movements are getting unsteady, now. eyes glazing over by the second. “y’gonna make me cum,” they slur, grip on your hips tightening. it only takes a moment before their movements stutter and they’re muttering “fuck fuck fuck oh, fuck!“ and a long, gargled moan rips from their throat and all of a sudden hands wrapped around cock are sinking in wet, sloppy heat; your fingers sliding knuckle-deep into their pussy with almost breath-taking ease.

“jesus christ!” jordan croons in sheer, unexpected pleasure as they feel you shove yourself inside them, cum spurting and squeezing out helplessly from between their walls and your fingers. they squirt so fucking messily, their leaking cock replaced by a cunt spilling out out all over your palm. 

“i didn’t—didn’t mean to—” they slur, panic two steps behind their mouth. struggling to sling anything coherent together with you kneading your fingers into their pussy like its goddamn putty. “oh?” you arch a brow, and jordan visibly flushes, moaning openly when your digits curl.

“can’t–don’t really—”

“what? fuck yourself?” is your reply, because you both know they fucking do; it’s not like you don’t how their pussy sounds when it’s sliding slick against their pillow, how your name sounds cried out, thick through the muzzle of your jumper.

it’s a dual guilty pleasure—you watch, they do. at this point, you can’t tell who’s the more perverted out of the two of you.

jordan. definitely jordan. 

“too busy humping my clothes, is that it?” you purr, and jordan honest to god whimpers, squirming away from your fingers both out of overstimulation and plaintive shame. “ah, ah,” you tut, nails digging into their hips as you hold them in place, finger thumbing harshly against their clit as they cry out a gargled moan. 

“f-fuck off—” jordan hisses, practically an admission of guilt itself. they seem to know it, too, with the way they abandon all pretence and pound violently against your knuckles—their gaze burning into yours like they’re daring you to say another word. “don’t act like you didn’t—shit—fucking like it.” jordan gasps out between sputters, teetering on the edge of another orgasm.

“hm?” you pause, eyes meeting jordan’s heated, quivering stare. “jerk off to watching me?” they choke, eyes glossing over when you thrust “did you fuck yourself to my—mmhnn—!” 

an easy, all-too-familiar eye roll graces your face before you shut them up with your fingers. their pussy clenches; hot, slippery walls gripping your digits as if afraid to let go. oh, this is too easy.

“don’t get cute with me, roomie.” the nickname tastes sweet on your tongue, and jordan’s face grows hotter. a well-timed thumb to their clit flickers their bravado out like a light. “fucking hell!” they gasp, mouth gaping into a moan and eyes rolling back into their skull.

“you wanted me to watch, didn’t you?” you coo, and jordan squirms; mouth open in protest—or at least attempts at them, what with the way they keep gasping out in pleasure as you roll your fingers against their clit. 

“shut the fuck—i didn’t—”

“a pervert and a liar now, are we?”

jordan makes a noise somewhere between a hiss and a whine, crying out when you slide two more fingers into the slick canal of their core. their eyes screw shut, hands seizing so wildly into the mattress you almost think they’re about to tear a hole through the bedsheets.

“god! fuck—i can’t—”

they cry out your name when they cum, and even if its a sound you’ve heard countless times by now you don’t think it’ll ever get old. “that’s it, baby.” you coo, lips curling upwards at the way they bury their face into your collar.

they lie there, panting, for what feels like forever before a muffled, half-delusional groan leaves their lips.

“oh, fuuuckk..”

“what?”

“..i thought i would top.”

coraline and wybie?