#Myc celium | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sin-sidejob · 1 year

Text

Inside Job — New Years

warnings: NSFW, minors DNI, 18+, mentions of sex, allusions to sex, heavy petting, makeout, mentions of alcohol and food, limited consumption of alcohol and or food, genderless reader, gender-neutral pronouns and pet names, mentions of family.

contents: pretty mild considering my other work but tagged adult for safety. cute kissing and making out with your faves, their new or old holiday traditions, mentions of food and drinks and holiday fun. Happy New Year drama free and fillied with fun. Hope y'all enjoy!

a/n: Happy New Years!! From me and the shadow board to you all!! 💖

Brett Hand

the two of you manage to tuck into the corner of the bar you were celebrating in, Brett wanting to join in on the tradition you had with your friends of celebrating out on the town for New Year's and having fun with the family you've found and enjoying the moments and the hijinks that nearly always tend to ensue.

Brett, for some reason, keeps thinking that your friends don't like him when they've threatened you with either stealing him away should you ever hurt him or break his heart or just outright trading you out for Brett. You can't say you're upset, you'd say the same thing. You love this man.

"Thank you for letting me come along!" He exclaims over the music and the noise, bringing you a refill from the bar of the drink you had, making sure to take your drinks and cover them whenever you stepped away or had to use the restroom, taking a sip to assure you they were safe even though you trusted him with your life and told him so, constantly, "I'm having a lot of fun, your friends are kinda' great."

"Funny, they're saying the same about you honey," you murmur in his ear, taking the opportunity to talk low and drape yourself across him like velvet in the cadence of the atmosphere, "telling me everything I already know about, like how wonderful you are, how charming and sweet you can be. How handsome and smart you are," you carry on, littering kisses on the underside of his jaw, uncaring for anyone who manages to see.

"My Brett."

"Your Brett?" he laughs, hesitant and a little nervous, surprised at how affected he is by that statement on your lips. He feels you nod against him as you drape the hand holding your drink over his shoulder while you press your forehead against his neck. "Mhm, they keep threatin' to replace me with you should I treat you wrong."

"Really?"

You nod in response against him, not noting the awe and surprise in his tone and how taken aback he is, always forgetting how your boy is so easily swayed by himself into thinking he's lesser when in reality, he's everything and more. The countdown begins, and quickly you're joined by your friends all gathering around to yell along with the ball drop and for the new year to begin, meanwhile you can't be bothered and have been unable to look away from Brett since the moment you laid eyes on him this morning in bed.

"Absolutely. Wanna' show off and be my kiss at midnight?" and Brett nods enthusiastically in response, taking the drink from your hand and downing it on one, very frat-like, go and bringing you back close to tell you how much he loves you between the both of you. He kisses you into the New Year and manages to do it for the rest of them, and they always feel just the same. Otherworldly.

JR Scheimpough

you celebrate New Year's at a party the two of you were invited to, dressing to the nine's and going out to dinner beforehand at some restaurant that was probably already booked out for weeks, if not months, and yet getting let in with ease from barely any effort from JR. Show off. After dinner, the two of you take a ride and head up to the party from the invitation, a top-floor party at some politician or CEO's place, a big band in full swing with an open bar. It's a black-tie event and you're glad you planned accordingly because you still both look more expensive than the rest do altogether. The two of you manage to sneak a few messy kisses in the elevator before you arrived on the floor, being able to fix his hair after nearly ruining it just before the doors open. If it's noticeable that he's flushed and his lips are puffy, no one comments on it.

after the usual schmoozing and small talk, the both of you sneak away to a balcony overlooking the D.C. spread, wind merciful and not being as cold as it could be in the night. JR comes back after refilling your drink to find you draped over the balcony and admiring the view before he joins you, commenting something coy in your ear and getting you to giggle before he hands you your drink and you both cheer, something murmured about great company and another year down, another to go as you clink your glasses together and drink in celebration.

After sipping away at the sparkling drink within the crystal flutes, he sets them both aside so he can take you in his arms and hold onto you while swaying to the music playing from indoors, Life Is but a Dream by The Harptones crooning low as you get swept up into JR's strong, steady arms and get spun out then brought back to his chest, your arms sidling around his neck as you play with the short hairs at the nape.

The song slows to something more melodious and lilting, Chopin if you had to guess, and listen to the countdown begin. He keeps you calm and grounded as the cheering picks up in volume, a large hand encompassing your hip locking you in the moment and not letting you get swept up away in the current of it all.

You get to soak up the moment with him, feel strong arms wrap around your waist as he makes you forget everyone else around you both, the countdown from the next room, and the fireworks nearly a city away firing off in the distance. All you can feel is him and his touch, the brush of his nose against your pulse as he hums the notes of songs that play softly against your skin, inhaling your perfumed scent as you sway chest to chest, wholly enveloped with each other rather than anyone else. You start the new year off right, with each other, and it's better than any other year you've had already.

Your gloved hand grasps his chin and lifts his head up to hover near yours, watching his eyes blink open and lid half-shut, peering down at you with a concoction of adoration and lust pooling in dark eyes. Counting down, you murmur the digits in the space between you both, telling him happy new year just before you kiss him and the new year begins, the old one still close by as you let him make you forget about it all.

He’s your New Year's kiss and every resolution you could make.

Alpha Beta Robotus

It's his first New Year beyond being locked up in the basement or left in tube-based solitary confinement. With that in mind and you making sure you take him home with you, not letting anyone have the mere idea of stopping you and your plan for the midnight countdown, you've set yourself on a mission to start the new year with him. And you intend on making it a good one.

"You've got mistletoe?" Alpha Beta stares quizzically up at the plant you've managed to hang high on your ceiling above the doorway to your kitchen between the hallway where you both now stand, "Isn't that a little excessive?"

"Only if you suddenly have lost interest and are letting me know that I've now got to find someone else to supply my kisses up to the New Year." You shoot back, looking up at him with a shit-eating grin he is tempted to kiss off, now that you've mentioned it, standing in your fuzzy socks upon the hardwood waiting for the sitcom-loving robotic bastard to just kiss you already.

While you're contemplating on whether to tug him in by the lapels or by his hair, Alpha Beta leans down and cups your cheek before kissing you tenderly, softly, with all the grace and poise of a noir heartthrob in one of those films you see off the classic movie channel. "No, I don't think I've lost any interest."

"That's sweet and all, but I'm afraid you'll just have to remind me, thoroughly." you murmur, eyes darting between his and then back down to his mouth, returning to glance up into glacier eyes just before he tugs you closer with a strong arm around your waist as he presses his lips to yours once more. He's picked up humming as he kisses you, another trait he's mirrored and adopted over time, and it feels better knowing that Alpha Beta's kissed you so many times he can't help but mirror it back to you.

By the time the countdown nears, he's got you spread and sidled on his lap, thighs encasing his as his fingers slide beneath the waistband of your pants and over your underwear, teasing you in strokes that match the tempo of the countdown and leave you keening against him impatiently. He tuts and chides at the show you're putting on and just as the countdown ends and the new year begins, you tug him into a kiss by his hair and he groans low, jaw clicking mechanically as his eyes glow a fraction before shutting.

Alpha Beta's hand finally begins to play with you properly and by the time you breach for air, you're dazed and beaming, already looking fucked out as you keep him close by his half-undone tie and grin.

"Happy New Year, AB, now fuck me until I forget it."

Gigi Thompson

She doesn't get a lot of solid downtime to spend with friends or family, so when she gets to enjoy herself and hang out with her loved ones, she goes all out. Gigi spent the holidays at home with you but convinced you to join along with her trip down to Georgia to see her family for New Year's, claiming that you're family to her the same as they are.

After a flight that took no time at all, spending it eating snacks and watching comedy specials, you manage to get to her parent's house in no time. The visit isn't as daunting as it could be, you having made the basic introductions and impressions at her family reunion last summer, already knowing her parents well enough to help out with cooking or setting up rather than just being left to stand around as a guest. You get the family treatment and damn if it doesn't make you a little teary-eyed.

"And you didn't think that they liked you," Gigi comments after prep is all set up and done, the two of you out on the back porch drinking tea and enjoying weather that's at least slightly warmer than D.C. "I can't help it, I'm always going to try and make a good impression, no matter how long I'll know them for."

Gigi laughs and gives you a pitying pat on the knee which you playfully swat away before she sips at her iced tea. "Can't be that bad, and besides, it's New Year's Day that's the eventful time. Eve just means drinking and talkin' shit before the rest pile on in tomorrow. That's when the real shit starts."

"Noted," you murmur into your glass before seeing the soft light of the house behind you both reflect on her face and how the night air makes her just glow. Her parents mention the countdown starting from inside but leave you both to your own devices. You take her hand in yours and squeeze gently, her matching it and then counting down between grasps of each other's palms as the countdown gets closer and closer to midnight.

Setting your drinks aside, you brush her hair back behind her ear and cup her cheek, careful not to muss her makeup if you can help it. "Love you, Gigi," you murmur, enjoying how her eyes don't hide the emotion in them, seeing her reciprocate in look before words. "Love you too, baby," she shoots back, lips in a blushy grin. You hear the final numbers said aloud and hear her parents celebrate from inside, maybe even a bottle popping, but you only focus on the woman before you as you pull her close and kiss her over and over again, starting a New Year tradition you'd like to continue to the rest of y'all's days. You do.

Reagan Ridley

With everything going on in her life, the last thing she needed was some unnecessary party that she'd have to get all dressed up for, fake some smiles, and give some unwilling hugs, all the while wanting to be curled up at home with you. And that's what she proposes and does. You have a lazy day, not even bothering to change out of pajamas until necessary, and even then you both change into clean sweats and old sweatshirts or tees. It's much needed, a lazy holiday, especially just being able to talk about everything and nothing while being sprawled across the couch or your bed and enjoying one another.

She's got movies selected and queued for the whole day, a mix of your collected favorites and some new ones the two of you had been meaning to watch but hadn't had the time to until today. Snack breaks come regularly, absolutely enjoying yourself while gorging down chips and popcorn and your favorite snacks while you've got Reagan's legs in your lap and toss bits of candy or popcorn into her mouth.

Her New Year's were always filled with family drama or facades, but this year, for the first time in a long time, she gets to enjoy it fully and not fake her smiles into something unreal. No, you earn and deserve every single crooked one thrown your way from her and you cherish each one received more than the last. There are naps and intermissions and moments where neither of you say a word for the entirety of the movie, only knowing each other are awake from slight movements or each other's hands grazing across each other's body. Other times the two of you are laughing so hard you're crying, over literally nothing at all and struggling for breath. The type of wheezing, hysteric, can-barely-hold-it-together laughter. It's a good sight on her.

The two of you are nearing the end of another movie when Reagan glances at the clock and sees that midnight is approaching fast. She scrambles up and into her kitchen, yelling from the other room that there's no need to pause the movie - which you do anyways - and hear her shuffle about and pull something from the fridge and pop a cork. She pours glasses and brings in two flutes of something bubbly and bright, either champagne or sparkling cider, and whatever graces your tongue has you grinning at her in your tattered sweater and fuzzy pants with the snoopy print.

Taking in the moment, you pull up onto the screen the ball drop and curl up against one another, infectious grins on both of your faces as you watch the countdown and share the experience. It's memorable and you'll never let go of the feeling you have when you're right beside her, hand in hers. It's electric.

Reagan kisses at your knuckle from your conjoined hands as her eyes are glued to the screen, counting along with the hosts for the ball drop meanwhile you're too enamored with her to look anywhere else, knowing you are exactly where you want to be now and want to be next New Years, and hopefully many more after that. She turns and spots your soft smile and blushes before the two of you knock your foreheads together, counting down the final 3, 2, 1, and kiss, languid and lazy and soft before breaching. You clink your glasses together, cozy back up against one another on the couch, and return to your movie. Pressing your lips to her temple, you wish her a happy new year, and as Reagan returns the favor against your collarbone, she wishes you the same.

Andre Lee

"I've never had a New Year's like this before!" You exclaim over the music, moving along with him beside you and letting him twirl you around and bring you back only to crash into him, stabilizing and getting lost in the high of the moment, and other things, as you stare at him beneath bright, glowing lights than drench Andre in rainbow hues.

"Well here's your first of many!" he shoots back, grin infectious as he giggles and squeezes at your side, stepping to the side to bring you closer to the music and standing behind you so you get the better view and he can look over your shoulder and head. "Enjoying yourself?" he says over the EDM that's blasting on the giant speakers up front, nearly as large as bikes if not cars. You nod enthusiastically, bopping along to the beat.

You take Andre's hands in yours, beaded bracelets and kandi clattering on each other's arms and wrists as you move along to the beat and feel yourself warm up even in the cold of December-turning-January, the heat of bodies warming the air up just enough to be perfect for the moment.

"That's good! Need another hit?" you shake your head no, thanking him anyway and he taps at your waist, signaling that he's going to unzip the bag at your hip, pulling out his THC pen that you decorated the other day with paint and little sticker-diamonds, making it look like Lisa Frank threw up on it.

Andre takes a hit, offers it once more to be sure you don't want any, they zips it back into your side bag before pecking the corner of your mouth affectionately, blowing the smoke away from you after holding it in for a moment. "Told you the bag was a good idea, can never hold anything in these tiny pockets." you murmur against his mouth, tasting faint flavor from the vape alongside the unwavering smell of weed, giggling against his lips.

Before he can respond, the DJ queues the countdown, and Andre jumps up and down excitedly beside you, eyes bright and glossy. "Oh I never asked," and before you can question, he kneels before you on the floor, taking your hand, and you know he's joking around but the sight still sends your heart into a frenzy, "sugar, do me the honor of being my midnight kiss?"

You laugh, pointedly mentioning that the countdown is going on as you both speak and he shakes his head, refusing to get up until you give him a formal answer. "Yes, Andre, I'll be your midnight kiss. Always." With a happy shout, he hops up to his feet and falters a moment before cupping both sides of your face between his palms and kissing you with enthusiasm, tracing the seam of your lips with his tongue as confetti rains down and the music plays, starting your New Year off just right.

Glenn Dolphman

He usually would spend New Year's eve with his daughter but she's with her mother this year. You decide to cheer him up and spend the holiday with him, appearing on his doorstep thirty minutes after ending a phone call with him after getting his update, bringing groceries from your home to his to make him food and make some new traditions you hope to share with him beyond just this year.

Glenn keeps telling you that you don't have to go to all the trouble for just him, and you continue to shrug it off in efforts to cook and care for him, shutting him up with doting, affectionate kisses in the meantime. You eventually give up and have him just sit at the kitchen counter watching as you move about, letting him help occasionally and tie the bow on the end of the apron, ignoring the warmth in your cheeks as you flush at his comment of how you look so cute in it.

"Goddamnit, just," you sigh, palms braced on the counter before you look up from the granite to him as he grins, pleased with himself, "just sit back and stop being sweet, you're killing me here." Trying to turn around, you go back to a mixing bowl of cookies and aim to reach some measuring spoons for the baking powder before you get swept up and placed atop the counter and closed in, Glenn's blunt nose knocking against yours.

"And just what do you think you're doing?" you chide, a hand on your thigh laying stagnant while the other immediately reaches for him, sprawled across his broad, solid shoulder as you feel his arms cage you in, safe and warm and secure with him surrounding you. "Testing my luck in the hopes of practicing my kiss for midnight."

You hum, brow raised as you peer up at him, looking from beneath lashes that blink doe-like. "Oh? Just like that?" Glenn nods and your hand smooths back to the hairs at the nape of his neck, tugging teasingly and pushing your own luck in the same way he is, knowing that mixing bowl's gonna' be abandoned until way later in the day, if not until late this evening.

"Alright, sarge, go on ahead, make me feel real lucky," you murmur, cupping his jaw and snaking your fingers in his hair to tug him close just so he can pull you against him and kiss you breathless, nipping at your lip tenderly in the way you taught him as not to break it, letting your legs attempt to lock around his waist. They can't even touch let alone cross at the ankle. It's safe to say those cookies don't get made until way past the countdown, and Glenn's counting off times you gush around him rather than seconds until the New Year. He likes celebrating this way far better.

Myc Celium

he doesn’t really give a shit about the New Year, mainly uses it as an excuse to get fucked up and party, but lets you have your fun, staying around at home and allowing you to press kisses across his orb and under cap gills until he’s flushed and the hues start flickering as you make him forget about the New Year while getting fresh with you.

You dress up a little and manage to get a party hat onto Myc, not without some expletives thrown your way tethered together with demeaning pet names, flagella still around your waist as you lean up on tip-toes to secure it around his cap and make sure it's not tight. He helps you stand and lifts you in order to get you higher, all the while he's calling you and your entire bloodline waste of space bastards

The two of you go about the day pretty normally, cooped up at home since there's no work party this year nor any enticing ones thrown by friends or family. The two of you just lounge about or get small tasks done around the house, display parallel play, and just do other things apart from one another while being nearby. Conversations flow occasionally and other times you can hear him on call with Andre while playing a game as you reorganize something or finally settle down to stitch those patches onto your jacket.

By the time it nears eleven, the two of you settle down for a movie, curl up with one another, greasy takeout or fast food, and watch a movie, something kitschy but classic like When Harry Met Sally. Myc constantly chimes in about how the dynamic is pretty similar to you, but he thinks he's Harry with the charm and wit when he's high maintenance enough to be Sally. You humor him and litter sticky, glitter-gloss kisses to his orb or the underside of his cap across downy-soft gills.

You had set a reminder for when it would near five minutes away from midnight just so you could give Myc a classic new year's kiss with the countdown. Timing the movie out perfectly, in a scene of fated clandestine brilliance, the final scene comes on the moment you start counting down until midnight in your head, voicing along the lines that are too sweet to ignore from Billy Crystal.

"- when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible."

"Aren't you a sap?" Myc comments just as you grasp at the edge of his cap and cup the underside of his orb tenderly, leaning him down to meet you halfway as you countdown and finally reach one, murmuring happy new year against him as your lips brush his surface.

"Happy New Year, Myc." you breathe, leaning back flushed a minute later after he got handsy, feeling him nudge against you and crowd you against the corner of the couch cushions. "Happy New Year, sweets."

500 notes · View notes

sin-sidejob · 1 year

Text

Inside Job + Valentine’s Day

Happy Valentines Day!! I tried to at least write a little something for the holiday since I’ve got a bit of a tradition going

Warnings: NSFW + MINORS DNI mentions of sex, vague and genderless, safe for all genders. Mentions of food and eating. Monsterfucking? Misuse of candy + absolutely gratuitous cum play and cum eating. I mean it. I wanna say machine fucking for Robotus due to that one line, “you’re about to fuck a machine!”, I love that line lmao — anyways, enjoy!

JR Scheimpough:

- he’s absolutely taking you out to an overly expensive restaurant, there may or may not be chocolate involved that you’re allergic to. He tries to go above the expectations of above and beyond, black card on fire from the amount of times he’s swiped it.

- I can see that kind of conversation where he needs to be told he doesn’t need to do so much, y’know? Something of a sweeter, softer ending with you telling him that he doesn’t need to go all out, all you want is him (plus: “so you don’t want the jewelry?” “I never said that.”)

- then just Valentine’s Day fucking where you may or may not be decked out to the nines in heart jewelry or something lacy beneath whatever red or pink outfit you’ve got on, littered with hearts in your attempts to steal his. JR’s too oblivious to realize that it’s been yours all this time.

- you’ve got him beneath you in his obscenely large bed in those custom 3k thread count Egyptian cotton sheets, and he’s drained and blabbering and essentially orating his last will and testimony as you urge another after another orgasm out of him, poor little thing, empty after giving you everything to feel full. what a gift he is.

- the night ends sticky and sweaty, coated in that salty, glimmering sheen of a fresh fuck. His glasses are askew if not abandoned completely and he’s out of breath, staring at the ceiling and grinning like a fool as you curl around him, pulling up the blankets and sheets around you both and nestling up against him. JR needed the reminder of how it’s the little things that matter, not the grander gestures. He gets it when he feels your breathy little goodnight kiss against his shoulder right before you fall asleep. He gets it.

Alpha Beta Robotus:

- i can see AB’s attempts to do the cliche things he’s seen from sitcoms and realizes through personal error that it just doesn’t work — both for him being the one orchestrating things and then just shitty hijinks of things not working out

- like baking and he only realizes afterward that his hands aren’t calibrated enough for the delicate art of piping. Or when he tries to order you flowers and they don’t arrive or they’re the wrong ones, unfortunately the kind you’re allergic to. He spends too long picking out the stamens to make sure there’s no pollen that could make you ill.

- you think it’s sweet and you didn’t want or need much from him, and you’re just happy that he tried. He made an effort, and you reward him for it, showing him with your mouth wrapped around him how gestures truly speak louder than gifts, especially as you swallow him down between your thighs.

- I can see this being early in the relationship too but fuck he’s just overwhelmed and out of sorts, taking his hand and placing it where your jaw meets neck and guiding you to take him further, spouting sentences of praise in the holiday spirit littered in debauched terms to describe how he feels, how you make him feel, and how he plans to return the favor.

- he shuts up though, right about a minute or two in, after you roll his balls between your palm and gently tug and the robot man is flooding your mouth until it coats your tongue and trickles past your lips to drip down your chin and land atop your chest. He needs to learn how you’re supposed to take those valentines cliches tongue in cheek, but you supposed something between your will do for now.

Brett Hand:

- goes all out with a homemade meal then dancing but in the comfort of home, spinning you around barefoot in the grass of your backyard as the radio plays something sweet and soft

- you’re soft and warm in the moment, well fed and well loved, and you let him twirl you back into his arms underneath those fairy lights you both hung up last autumn. It’s tender and sweet and you taste it on his lips like the promise of next autumn, and the seasons to follow, threading your hand in his hair to bring him close.

- you take lead from him, no longer following, urging him back through kisses that turn wet and messy, getting him to sit atop the outside dining table as you stand between his legs and make a mess out of him. You smirk against plush, swollen lips as he whines once you palm him through those precious Simply Southern khakis with the heart embroidery, sweet man, so precious for you.

- he even moans sweet, Brett’s mouth gaping as you pump him in your fist, layering thick all those compliments you always seem to have stocked away. He cums soon, quickly, but you pay it no mind, licking your hand clean from where he’s painted it white and sticky. He carries you into the house and barely makes it to the kitchen before bending you over, knocking over the festive heart garland over the doorway as he goes, and he laughs loud at your shitty joke about how he’ll always be a heartbreaker.

Reagan Ridley:

- she’s fallen trap to your bargaining and lovely eyes once more, but this Valentine’s Day she’s in a theater watching a shitty but kinda’ good movie, popcorn rich with artificial butter, giant sodas, and sidled beside you in one of those luxe movie theaters with the larger seats.

- you press kisses to her shoulder and cheek between scenes of the movie, occupying yourself with thanking her for the outing and having fun, even though it wasn’t her idea. It’s better than being home, and hey, she still gets to wear sweats.

- her interest gets piqued though when you start rubbing at her thigh when a scene gets busy, your eyes trained on the screen as your hands busy themselves with toying with her, pulling that drawstring bow undone and sneaking your warm, smooth palm beneath to linger over the warm cotton, gently pushing to the side her panties to slide through the slick pooling at her cunt.

- Reagan’s legs widen and part in efforts to get more of your touch, her hands white-knuckling both armrests. You shush her whines and little halfhearted comments with pretty kisses, the shadows making you both seem like a cute couple, your jacket covering her lap and allowing you all the privacy in the world to go knuckle-deep and curl into her cunt, swallowing her moan with a sweet smirk. She can taste the candy on your tongue too, tart and sour and sweet in the way you make everything sweeter.

- it doesn’t take long and the action scenes from the movie and the laughing audience scattered about cover her moans and how she gushes around your hand, soaking her panties and the inner lining of her sweats. You kiss her through it and work her down until you can slide your fingers out and suck them clean, getting back to the movie and finally grabbing some popcorn, hands still sticky-sweet and glinting with that spit shine in the light reflection. Yeah, Reagan can’t say she’s having a bad Valentine’s Day at all.

Andre Lee:

- it initially starts with making those silly tissue box - valentines boxes and shitty cards and filling each other's up at work with silly little dollar store cards with cheap candy attached. Soon, as the day progresses, and every time you stop by his office or send anyone his way, he finds better cards that get bigger and bigger, some with gift cards for date activities or little homemade coupons.

-he was mid-conversation with Myc as he flitted through the coupon book and spotted the more sexual ones, seeing how they got more filthy the further the flipbook went on, prompting him to ditch the dollar store heart sunglasses and stare openly and swat away Myc as he tried to peek.

-due to the fact he already finished his work — which was a lie — he hurried over to your office and shut the door, locking it promptly as he neared and sidled between the desk and your chair, standing between your legs. "I'd like to redeem this little coupon here, hm?" he smiles, giggling light as you take it and look it over, smirking at the words and which one he chose.

-"Alright then, strip for me, and let's get to it," you murmur, already unbuttoning your shirt and watching as he undid his own after eagerly tossing off his labcoat and shucking off his crocs. Andre stands in just his cartoony heart print boxers between your thighs and watches as you strip slow but reveal inch by inch of what you wear beneath, and you get to watch as well as he grows hard against the seam of his boxers.

-"C'mon then," you murmur, "I won't bite," you trail a hand through the sparse hair over his lower belly where it peeks out just above where his dick is, smirking devilishly as you watch him tremble, rocking back on his heels, rewarded as your fingers lower the waistband and take him in hand, pumping slow, "but I think its in the holiday spirit to be adoring, and I know how well you love the bite."

Gigi Thompson:

- the day goes by fast, having spent it out the entire day from brunch to dinner, shopping throughout and by the time you get home you are both exhausted yet just absolutely aching to strip and go at it, having teased one another throughout the events of the day. Shopping bags from boutiques and department stores linger in the hallway, abandoned along with the trail of clothes that leads upstairs and t your shared bedroom.

-you have her wait as you get ready, kissing her in lingering, longing pecks that are laced in reluctance as you pull away before heading to the bathroom for a moment, and she takes the opportunity to strip and splay herself across the pillows in strappy, tight magenta lingerie, semi-sheer in some places, cut out in others, exposing a lot yet bound and wrapped like a present just for you, a heart pendant centered between her breasts with your initial carved into the back, close to her heart.

-you return, in your underwear as well, and take a moment to marvel at her risque ensemble before revealing the toy hidden behind your back, that little rose number you saw she had been eyeing, and you let her know that you were intent on comparing how the toy does to your mouth. Before that even commences, you inch forward upon the bed and press your thigh between the apex of hers, knocking against her cunt and you watch her keenly as her pussy throbs against soaked cotton.

-you watch with eager yet lazy eyes as she grinds against your thigh, breezing through a soft sigh as you shift it, hands smoothing across her nylon-covered thighs to toy with the hem of her underwear, thumbing her clit through the fabric as you urge her closer. "There we go, look so pretty Gigi, pretty angel," you mutter as you watch her pant, grinding desperately against your thigh and wriggling as you flexed and twitched it. "Keep going, gotta' earn your surprise baby, make it a Happy Valentine's Day."

Myc Celium:

- there’s an annual tradition you and Myc have where you try to make it through a rom-com or shitty valentines movie without getting bored and fucking.

- this time it goes awry because the rules were never about getting horny because of the movie and holding off on fucking one another. You started squirming in your seat first at a line the love interest said, or more accurately, ground out. It sounded rough and deep, harsh and mean in just the way you like it. Myc could practically smell it on you before he noticed it — well, in his way.

- you both try and occupy yourselves in the sake of competition with snacking or talking shit about the movie, but every once in a while that love interest would say something similar to how Myc would phrase words, form them into those digging, deep comments that get you clenching and sweaty. In an effort to distract yourself, you consume an entire bowl of chewy fruity candy.

-you both eventually give up, and you're quickly sprawled across his lap with him pumping loads down your throat, hands jacking him off as you ride another flagella, staining pretty pink underwear thoroughly but you pay it no mind, focusing on how even his orb is in the festive mood, pinks littered throughout, and it turns nearly fuchsia as he cums with a shout of your name, nearly whimpering as you hollow your cheeks as you suck him clean, still riding and chasing a slow-build high.

- last coherent thing the bastard says after recovering and pulling his spent appendages from your wanton mouth is something along the lines of “happy Valentine’s Day to me, you little tart” as he places candy hearts atop your cum-coated tongue, chuckling to himself as he watches you swallow down the little pure candies down with something so dirty.

Glenn Dolphman:

-he managed to get everything done in time, prepping after work for something intimate at home, doing the grocery runs and the preliminary work ahead of time to make sure it was great.

-Glenn's not great at the whole public scene and he more than makes up for it in how he tries to do right by you, making an effort where it counts. He's got your favorite foods and snacks available and the weekend is cleared, his kids are away with their mother for the weekend so there isn't any worry or concern about being quiet and private.

-you arrive a bit early, not by much, and you know how he loves punctuality. You didn't expect to walk into his home after unlocking the gratuitous amount of locks on the door to come across him, sleeves rolled and dolled up in an apron, to be cooking over the stone and looking so good doing it.

-He notes your approach and before he can comment, you do, murmuring something along the lines of skipping dinner and going straight into dessert as you snare your arms around his abdomen, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek. Glenn blushes something along the lines of how he worked so hard and you nearly drop to your knees right there and then to pay homage to his efforts.

-instead, you save it for later, helping him cook and moving about the kitchen, getting shooed out when he catches you doing anything, being sweet, and you don't complain, the seat at the countertop allowing you to watch him move around. At some point, after everything had been cooked and set to a low or gentle, warm temperature, he finally gives into those little tempting comments you muttered out as he moves about, the last one about his forearms making him literally drop the spoon he was holding into the sink with a clatter before he rounds around and starts undoing the ties of the apron. "Get over 'here and bend over darlin'. I'll give you your dessert."

328 notes · View notes