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poisonf0rest · 5 months ago

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𝐎𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐜*𝐦𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫’𝐬 𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈, 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈𝐈, 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈𝐈𝐈

love and deepspace: zayne x fem!reader

tags: smut, teasing, guided masturbation, fingering, first time (kinda), pwp

word count: 9.3K what the fuck

synopsis: Between being in the midst of your medical residency and being an up-and-coming author, it’s safe to say your personal life has been placed on stand-still. That is, until your editor decided that your next novel needed explicit smut scenes. That is, until your mentor and boss ends up striking a deal for you to help with “inspiration” for said novel. That is, until you fuck Zayne four times and your life changes forever. - partially inspired by manga of the same name by Nae Awaji

original ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57209872/chapters/145519015

art credit: @/kaito_aii

You’re screwed. Fucked. Utterly damned.

Groaning into your desk, you slam your head down upon piles of patient records and old case files.

You’re only halfway done with your medical residency and somewhere along the way turned your lifelong passion for writing into a successful side gig. So successful in fact, that it was single-handedly providing you with enough money to get by and complete residency.

After anonymously posting online for a decade, you signed with a publisher three years ago, on the exact same day you matched with your first choice cardiothoracic residency program here at Akso Hospital.

Needless to say, you haven't felt that magnitude of happiness in years.

You doubt you ever will again.

In the midst of your wallowing, your phone lights up: Michaela. It’s a follow-up to her previous messages, all with the same damn request.

Michaela - Boss Man

checking in on my star, how’s that manuscript going?

talked to the director again to try and plead your case but she didn’t budge :(

she said w current book trends the fans will go crazy for a few explicit spicy scenes

pluuuus she believes in your writing enough to know you’ll make it big! come on, star, you know I’m here if you need any extra help

You - Little Star

Hey Micheala

You cringe for a moment at how formal you sound, but honestly, you’re too burnt out from writer’s block to match your editor’s energy and too tired from today’s shift to push back any further.

You - Little Star

No I get it, thanks for trying though

I’m almost done with the novel, it's just those scenes that are taking a little more time

And by a “little more time,” you mean you’ve tried writing and rewriting them over a dozen times just to cringe, delete, and scream into your keyboard. Over. And over again.

It’s not that you’re clueless, you’ve read your fair share of erotica for inspiration and pleasure equally. But actually writing them yourself? That was a whole different story. Pacing, banter, and even making the right word choices without sounding like a repetitive pervert or absolute lunatic were all so much harder to do than you previously gave authors credit for.

Not to mention, you haven’t actually experienced a lot first-hand.

Beyond a few situationships in high school and undergraduate flings between pre-med classes and internships absolutely kicking your ass, you’re probably half as sexually experienced as most adults your age. And you had absolutely no intention of re-entering the dating scene with residency, until now.

With Michaela breathing down your neck about how these explicit smut scenes were a marketing goldmine and the combined stress from your jobs, it seems like you’ve been fighting a losing battle. This time, however, your main income was on the line.

You groan as another ping lights up your phone, going to silence it when you realize it’s from the hospital Slack and not your editor.

residency-CS-alerts

Dr. Zayne: Second look needed for a CMR scan. Nonurgent.

Jumping to your feet, you sprint from the office wing to get to the MRI’s before another resident can take your spot. It’s not that your program lacked opportunities- far from it as you attend the top program– but rather that this particular opportunity was rare indeed.

Doctor Zayne. Akso Hospital's respected chief cardiac surgeon, who has made groundbreaking advances to the treatment of congenital heart abnormalities in neonates. At only twenty-seven he is the youngest recipient of the Starcatcher Award. His dedication to his craft is unparalleled, as he tirelessly devotes more time to surgeries than any other doctor you know, cementing his reputation as an unwavering force in the field.

He’s also impossibly tall, extremely well built for a man who seems to spend most of his time in the hospital, and has a face sculpted like a Roman deity in marble. And gods, his voice.

Safe to say, you admire him just a little.

You’ve bumped into him a handful of times during your first two years here, but the doctor was so engrossed in his work that the occurrence was rare enough. But a chance to perform with him? To consult alongside him on a cardiovascular case?

You began to fear for your own heart’s safety as you felt it skip in your throat.

Finally reaching the MRIs, you knock once before sliding the door to the control room open with a bow. And when you stand straight again, Dr. Zayne’s steel-set eyes only glance at you before he points to the readings displayed on the computer.

“Tell me what you see.”

Your mouth is still hanging open from what was going to be a very enthusiastic self-introduction, but you cut yourself off with a cough and stumble over to the monitor. Dr. Zayne’s eyes follow you with a precision that makes your hands tremble, and you bend over slightly to scan the patient’s readings.

You’re about ready to make a diagnosis when you realize you haven’t gotten much background on the patient.

“What’s the patient’s briefing?” You look down, flinching as you see Dr. Zayne already staring at you. “If I can hear it, sir?”

He nods once. “An adolescent female with complaints of shortness of breath and coughing. She had no specific medical history, but grew up in the countryside unable to visit a proper clinic for several years while this issue persisted.”

Countryside… that could mean this was an undiagnosed issue that festered.

Clearing your throat, you begin to point to the different scans. “Firstly, there’s clearly an enlarged cardiac silhouette.” Squinting, you point at two denser mounds in CMR scans. “Here and here. There are two large cysts along the lateral and inferior walls of the LV pushing and invading the myocardial walls.”

Gods, the cysts were huge. Even if surgery was performed on her now, would she survive?

Dr. Zayne’s low voice pulls you back into the control room. “Then what is your final diagnosis?”

“I–” you stutter, shaking your head. “I would recommend surgery immediately.”

“More detail than that, please.”

A sharp inhale and you scan the readings again. “Maybe a cannulation? The cysts might be causing an SVC compression, which would explain her shortness of breath.” You dare ask. “Will she survive?”

Dr. Zayne stands up this time. “You did well. She was my patient, and underwent surgery over a week ago.” He gently pats you on the shoulder, touch warm. “Our job as surgeons is to act decisively, to learn, and to try. Not to be heroes.”

You can’t manage to say anything back as Dr. Zayne leaves the room, the door sliding shut behind him.

_______

Surprisingly, you’ve been seeing more and more of Dr. Zayne since that day.

And if that wasn’t enough, the doctor has also been actively acknowledging you, exchanging greetings and simple conversation when you pass in the halls, cafeteria, or shared cardiovascular wing of the hospital.

Not that you haven’t been putting in the effort either.

Dr. Zayne’s current apprentice is graduating from residency this year, and you have every intention of becoming their successor. Between picking up extra shifts, answering every pager call, and of course paying special attention in case Dr. Zayne specifically requests a second pair of hands, you’ve been climbing up the ranks amongst your peers.

Luckily, it seems those efforts have not been in vain.

You’ve been doing so well apparently, that Dr. Zayne wants to meet with you in the hospital’s cafe today. Interviews before officially announcing mentor-mentee pairs was not unusual, but the thought of being one-on-one with Dr. Zayne after your last case together still has your mind reeling.

Will he pull out old case files? Will he bring you to a patient and test you in real time? You have half a mind that he might pull out a custom-made test and timer. It seems on-brand enough to be a possibility.

Yet when you arrive, the cafe is completely empty, save for the staff and a familiar man in a white lab coat.

Dr. Zayne stands as soon as he sees you and beckons for you to sit, pulling the chair across from him out in the same movement. He clears his throat, a barely-there smile gracing his lips as he watches you settle down. “How have you been, doctor?”

“Good! Good.” The words rush out from you and you flinch, forcing yourself to slow down. Was the cafe always this small? “Discharged a patient today, so all good news.” Holy striped cows, if you say the word good one more time you might lose your mind.

“Well,” Dr. Zayne nods, taking a sip of something that looks like a far-too-sweet cup of coffee practically drenched in whipped cream. “That’s certainly good to hear.”

You die a little inside.

“I’ll keep things rather brief since I’ve already made my mind up.”

Was this it? Did you ruin your chance at having Linkon’s top doctor as your mentor because of your damn mouth?

Dr. Zayne reaches inside his jacket, and you swear your heart is going to beat itself out of your throat. He pulls out a simple white envelope with your name scrawled across the front, the paper crisp as he slides it across the table.

His fingers linger on the edges before he speaks. "I wanted to formally offer you the position to shadow me as my apprentice."

"I accept!"

The words fly out before you can stop them and Dr. Zayne looks stunned for a moment before laughing, a smooth and deep sound you didn't expect from him. He looked good when he smiled. Softer, content.

The ghost of the smile stays, even when Zayne speaks again. "It's not a timed offer, you don't have to agree so quickly."

You flush down to your neck, looking down at the envelope. "Right. Only, it would be an honor to learn from you, sir. I really don’t know anyone in our field who wouldn’t accept it."

Zayne hums, but his brows furrow. “You don’t have to call me sir either. Doctor Zayne is fine while we are at the hospital. Zayne is more than acceptable elsewhere, we’re not that far apart in age and I don’t wish for this to be an overly formal relationship.”

You curse your heart for fluttering, reminding yourself that he only means this in a conductive, professional way.

After a beat of silence, Zayne looks at the clock and stands, taking his sugar-filled drink with him. You never pegged him to have such a massive sweet tooth.

"I have a consultation now, but I would like to talk to you more about your residency. We should set up weekly meetings outside of work, check your calendar, and organize it later.”

You nod and thank him as he walks away, leaving you alone to open the envelope. Inside is a simple handwritten note, signed and stamped with Dr. Zayne's official signature alongside Akso Hospital’s.

A reminder that this was, in fact, not a dream.

_______

It’s barely been a month since you’ve begun officially shadowing Zayne, yet you swear it feels as though a part of you has known him forever.

Aside from his virtually frozen demeanor and tendency to make snarky quips at your habit of running your mouth, he’s been nothing but a patient mentor. Brief, direct, unrelenting, but attentive to your work and growth.

If that were all, then everything would be perfect.

If that were all, then you would be sticking perfectly to your ten-year plan: graduating early, completing residency under the top doctor in the top program, and then overtaking him as the top cardiovascular surgeon with a breakthrough of your own.

But of course, the plot has to thicken.

Sure, the first few weeks have been strictly business, but since then, your conversations with Zayne—Dr. Zayne—have morphed into more casual, more playful meetings. Your weekly check-ins have moved from the hospital cafeteria to a cozy family-run cafe in town that Zayne introduced to you. And the way you’ve begun to think of him was the most damning part of it all.

But you don’t have the time nor capacity to deal with whatever this was becoming.

Not when your novel’s deadline was in three weeks, and you still had absolutely nothing to show for it. Without this new novel’s money, you wouldn’t be able to pay for rent or food or transport, and residency sure as hell wasn’t giving you enough to survive off of alone.

This past week, you’ve gone from stressed to a thundering cloud of misery. Snapping at interns, drinking dangerously over the FDA-recommended caffeine intake, and ignoring the maelstrom your face has become.

And of course, today happens to be your weekly check-in with Zayne.

Dragging yourself to your usual booth, you watch him order at the counter and bring his drink to the table alongside a signature pair of macaroons, a slice of chocolate cake, and an eclair. He sets it all down with a huff and sits, looking over at you with an iron-cold gaze. You can smell the incoming lecture.

"You're late."

You dip your head, but your patience is running on reserve, and your reply has more bite than you’d dare use otherwise. "I'm sorry, it looks like I’ve lost track of time."

"You're never late." Zayne doesn't sound any angrier at your attitude, but it still doesn't settle the guilt bubbling in your stomach.

"I've just been really stressed. You know," you wave your hand, "wrapping up residency."

"Is that so." Zayne's gaze is sharp as he fights to maintain eye contact. It's not a question. "I've noticed. You've been distracted and irritated recently, and I can't help but wonder why. Is it really the hospital? Am I demanding too much aside from your typical resident duties?”

You shake your head, and the guilt is back. "No, of course not."

"Then I have to assume it's something else, is it not?"

"It's..." How on earth are you supposed to explain that the reason why you're a mess is because your editor is pressuring you to write a smut scene that you have no interest in, let alone sufficient experience with? And to someone you admire, your mentor, Linkon’s top surgeon, and apparently now someone your heart is deciding to blackmail you with. "I'm sorry, Dr. Zayne. It's nothing work-related, it's not your problem to fix."

Zayne raises his eyebrow, leaning back in the booth and crossing his arms. “That’s the first time you addressed me as doctor outside of hospital property in over a month. ”

You really, really, can’t do this right now, or else you might start spewing some things you’ll regret. “Really? That’s fascinating, sir.” You watch him scowl at the title you know he hates. “Still does not entitle you to my personal issues.”

“As your mentor, it becomes entitled to me when your personal issues begin affecting your performance.” He says.

You bite the inside of your cheek, forcing your anger down. "It's really not something I can talk about here, nor to you. Can we just have a regular check-in?"

"We are."

“You know what?" You stand, chair falling back with a screech. “I think I need a rain check today, sir. You know. Stress.”

"You’re not leaving until you tell me what is bothering you."

You're about to grab your bag and walk away when you're suddenly reminded of how tall Zayne is when he stands. Practically towering over you, he leans across the table, grabbing you firm enough to prevent you from slipping away, yet never harsh enough to harm you. “Please, we’re making a scene.”

You sit. Zayne follows.

Seeing just how reactive you’re being, he softens, genuine concern in his tone as he reaches an arm out. “Is it a family issue? Are you alright?”

“No. Yes.” You inhale deeply through your nose, but your mind is still reeling at a mile a minute. “No, it’s not a family issue.”

“So if it’s not about the hospital and not family, then what could possibly be causing you this much stress.” Zayne’s eyes narrow and you see his jaw tick. “Don’t tell me this foolishness is over a boy.”

“No! God,” you want to push yourself off a building. Or him. “No, it’s this fucking–” You’re rambling. You’re rambling, losing control, and you’re going to blurt it out and regret it. “It’s this smut scene!”

You’ve really outdone yourself this time.

Zayne chokes on his drink and slams the cup down, coughing as liquid comes out his nose. You flounder in panic, trying to help but he holds a hand up and turns, still coughing into his arm. You can only manage to pull out a few napkins, handing them over in a pathetic bundle.

“A…” Zayne almost seems to buffer, clearing his throat before looking back at you. “An erotica scene?”

Your face is burning. You can practically feel the heat radiating off of it in waves, and you have to remind yourself that writing is your job. A respectable, decent-paying, well-appreciated job that you do for the sake of womankind everywhere.

“I write for extra income alongside residency, and recently my editor got it into her head that we’ll sell even more with some extra spice.” You scoff, “But it’s been months of looking at a blank doc. Now the deadline is approaching and I still have nothing to show for it.”

Zayne doesn't say anything for a moment, and you have to check if he's breathing, or if the shock has killed him. Finally, he shifts back in his seat, adjusting his tie.

"That sounds like a difficult position to be in, doctor."

You look up, and Zayne has his arms crossed. It's an expression you're familiar with, one that means he's actually thinking about what you've said, but the way he says "doctor" now feels strange, almost as if the term has no place here.

"It's fine, I'll figure it out." This is also why you didn't want to tell him, as if Zayne has any place worrying about this on your behalf. “Besides, I’m as much a writer as a doctor, this is my job after all. I have to figure it out.”

“Of course. I’d expect no less." Zayne nods a little to himself, slightly dazed, and you scramble to find a way to change the subject back into something even remotely work-appropriate.

"Anyway, I've been keeping up with my rounds, and I think I've been able to handle more cases on my own recently, too."

"You have."

Zayne is quiet for a beat too long and you frown, tapping the table.

"Are you alright? I know this is a lot, I shouldn't have burdened you with it."

When Zayne faces you again, you watch as his brows furrow. "But if this is such a pressing issue…” He clears his throat, looking at a spot directly above your head. “Then, what if I helped you?”

You swear your head is spinning, his words ringing over and over and over in your mind. The only thing remotely in focus was Zayne’s face, far too close for comfort now, even across the table. Oh gods, you’re having this conversation in public, too.

"What do you mean by help, exactly?"

"If you’re in need of experience," Zayne's voice is low, but he still manages to keep eye contact, the intensity of it making you smile nervously. "Then I could offer my assistance. Better coming from someone you know and trust, yes?"

There’s no way you heard that right. Your mind blanks, but apparently your smartass mouth hasn’t.

"Are you offering to be my fuck buddy? Sex consultant? My smut guide, if you will?"

A deadpan, “I would prefer the term sexual partner.”

Even the way Zayne says it makes it sound more like a business proposal than an actual proposition, and it throws you off guard. He leans back, trying to act nonchalant. "You did mention lack of inspiration was your main issue, correct?”

“Well, yes.” That, and your lack of any novel-worthy sexual experiences.

“And you have had—“ There it is again. Not quite embarrassment, and if you weren’t so tuned in to Zayne’s resting expression, you may not have noticed it, but there is a deeper furrow between his brows as his eyes evade yours, and the slightest tint of pink on the tips of his ears. “You have been with partners before, yes?”

The stoic, pragmatic, level-headed Doctor Zayne is embarrassed asking you whether or not you’ve had sex before.

You nearly laugh.

“Yes,” an amused giggle escapes you at the absurdity of this entire conversation. “I’ve been with partners,” you mimic, slightly mocking his word choice, “but it has been a while, and I haven’t really…”

Zayne moves to take another sip of coffee. “You haven’t?”

“I’ve never come. Orgasmed.”

And he chokes. Again.

“Oh, shit, I’m so sorry!” You jump from your seat to hand him yet another pile of napkins, but this time Zayne stops you halfway there, grabbing your wrist as his coughs subside.

Neither of you speaks as he drinks water and coughs once more, his grip still iron and far colder than you imagined it would feel against your bare skin.

“My apologies,” Zayne releases you immediately, going back to staring at his coffee as his hand flexes once. Twice. “Continue.”

You can only watch him in fascination, sitting back down in your chair. The entire time he avoided eye contact, and he was definitely blushing. You almost wanted to push further, to poke and tease and test his reactions, but you knew that would end with you losing your head. Or worse, you muse, heart fluttering against your chest.

“Ah, I mean, I’ve felt pleasure before. It’s not that my previous partners were unwilling to do stuff for me, I’ve just never gotten over that little plateau.” It’s not resentment that washes over you, and not quite embarrassment either. Just a little bit of dull apathy towards the subject. And yourself. “Biologically speaking of course I know it’s possible, but there are also plenty of women who simply don’t climax during sex. I’m probably just one of them.”

Zayne, who seems to have returned to his usual stoicism, frowns at that, mouth drawn taut as though he wanted to say something.

"And if we were to engage in sexual acts," He's so clinical, even as he says something that could send anyone else running. “Perhaps that is what you need to start writing again. It would make sense. To write a compelling,” he stumbles over the word, “erotica, you’d have to experience pleasure."

The gears in your mind turn, and slowly, it begins to make a twisted sort of sense. You'd have to feel it for yourself, to be able to describe the sensation, the passion, the tension with conviction. Perhaps it really would get you closer to finishing this damn book.

But then you remember who you're talking to. Doctor Zayne. Your coworker. Worse than that, your mentor and direct superior in your field, and someone you happen to admire very much. So then why would he…?

"What do you gain from this, Zayne?"

Zayne stiffens. “I’m a doctor, it’s my duty to help my patients.”

A sly smile cracks against your lips, and you prop your chin against your palm. “I didn’t realize I was your patient now, doctor?”

His eyes snap back to yours and he straightens, his demeanor slipping back to his typical formality. "You have a bright future in front of you. This is an investment in you, and I believe this will help us both. I will draw up a contract tomorrow for us to discuss, you can meet me in my office after your shift.”

“Rather formal,” you say, but Zayne doesn’t take the bait this time.

He simply takes another sip from his coffee, and you swear you catch him smiling behind the porcelain rim. “Then perhaps I could also get a signed copy of your next book?"

You scoff, waving him off as you slouch back in your chair. "Of course, I'll throw one in the mail the day it's out."

"It's a deal then.”

He’s about to push in his chair when you lunge from yours, grabbing his sleeve as his eyes widen slightly, looking down at where your hands meet. "Thank you,” a smile. ”Zayne."

His gaze softens and he smiles a bit, nodding. "Of course, doctor."

And with a wave, he's gone.

_______

You don’t know what you expected.

Zayne seemed like the type to take his girl out to dinner first, probably somewhere obscenely expensive. He’d show up with a single rose or another simple but romantic gift so seemingly contradictory to his outward appearance. Afterward, maybe he’d take her to a show or somewhere with fancy sweets, knowing his taste. Then, after all that, he’d invite her back to his apartment or allow her to whisk him away to her place.

You’d imagine it would go something like that. But then again, the terms of your relationship are quite different then the one he’d have with this imaginary woman. So when he texts you after your shift that Tuesday asking if you’re free tonight, you’re only moderately panicked.

To make matters worse, he’s at your house five minutes early.

Two knocks, and you scramble to open the door, Zayne nearly dwarfing the door frame as he lingers outside the hallway. His trenchcoat only adds to his natural tendency to command attention, and you feel more vulnerable than usual in your sleep clothes.

“Fancy seeing you here, stranger.”

Zayne adjusts his collar. “Do you mind if I come in?”

You tap your chin, pretending to mull it over in your mind, relishing in the slight nervousness your silence instills in Zayne. “It would be rather bothersome to fuck in the hallway, I suppose…”

Zayne shakes his head at the remark, but you can see amusement dancing in his eyes. With that, you step aside, and he ducks under the doorframe to slip inside. It’s as though something irreversible- something inevitable- shifts as you watch him cross the threshold, and it doesn't get better when you close the door and lock it behind him.

You'd say he makes himself at home, but his stance is still too stiff, too awkward, even as he’s hanging his coat and slipping out of his shoes. It almost feels domestic.

"Would you like something to drink?"

Zayne shakes his head, "Not this time."

He says it so casually, and yet the notion of a next time has you dizzy. Of course there’s a next time, you’ll need more than one night to get inspiration. It was only a natural assumption, you reason with yourself.

"You seem tense," he says, and then your back is against the wall.

Zayne leans down, hovering above you as his hand comes up to your waist. A tentative touch, and you give a small nod, feeling his arm relax, palm sliding further into the plush of your hips. He looks so good like this, in a work button-down with a thin sheen of sweat on his brow and his lips parted. Gods, and he’s not even trying- there’s genuine concern written in the way he scans your body with a deep crease between his brows. You hope he doesn’t notice how you squeeze your thighs tighter.

"It's the deadline, is all," you say, trying to brush off the question.

"Ah, of course. How inconsiderate of me. I’m supposed to be helping you and here I am making it worse.”

Zayne's voice is low and smooth. The cadence in his words, the slight drawl, is a sound that makes your heart skip a beat. It's a shame it's so easy to hide your arousal when you're this nervous.

“Well,” You smile, and his gaze flickers down to your mouth. “I suppose I can forgive you if you uphold your end of the deal.”

His stare is heavy, and it feels like the room is closing in. But you understand the man well enough to know that he wouldn’t dare move first, not until you asked for it, not when you have yet to set a precedent. So you loop your arms around his neck, forcing Zayne closer as his forearm slams against the wall to hold himself up against you.

You nip at the lobe of his ear, smiling to yourself as he shivers with each warm exhale. Zayne’s hand has yet to leave your side while he lets you grind against him, guiding your movements as you groan against his neck.

But Zayne feels you rush through the movements, a messy sort of impatience less from desire and more from routine. As though you wanted this done. As though you wanted him gone.

You feel a familiar flutter against your core as Zayne’s knee comes up against your core, but when you move to grind against his thigh, the hand at your waist stops you.

“I want to do this properly. You deserve—” he cuts himself off. Starts over. “Where would you like to do this?”

You’re about to tell him that right here is fine, not wanting Zayne to feel as though you needed any more special attention, when you realize just how serious he is. “Bedroom," you say.

Zayne hums, and the rumble reverberates throughout his chest. He offers a hand, and you take it.

And with that, you lead him to your room.

Somewhere between the span of your hallway and bed, Zayne seems to have decided how tonight will go. Despite your desperate touches, teasing up his body and luring him closer, Zayne slows his own pace, leaving burning trails traced with agonizing slowness over the curves of your body. Despite your fumbling to strip off your shirt, Zayne grabs your wrist, forcing it behind your back as his other hand teases the exposed skin of your ribs in a way that has you shivering. Despite your hushed complaints for him to just hurry up Zayne merely smiles in amusement, refusing to give you anything more as he scolds you with a click of his tongue.

Zayne refuses to rush this. He wants to savor every moment, to etch the sight of you into his mind and commit it to memory, to relive it in this life and the next.

He continues walking forward, each one forcing you to take a step back until your knees hit your bed, buckling as his form looms over you.

“The largest mistake in any relationship- sexual or not- is lack of communication.” He loosens his tie, “So if we are to do this, you have to talk to me. Tell me what you like, what you don’t.”

As he speaks, Zayne continues undressing, unbuttoning the top few buttons on his shirt before rolling up the cuffs so every glorious inch of his forearms is exposed. Your breath catches with each trailing vein, shadowed in the dim lighting up until they disappear under his sleeves.

Maybe you should write a Victorian-era piece next. Clearly, you had a thing for small swaths of exposed skin.

As if hearing your thoughts, Zayne undoes another button before his hands venture south. With a slow, deliberate motion, he unbuckles his expensive leather belt and allows it to slide through the loops of his pants. It drops to the floor, joining all the other articles of clothing as he takes a seat on the mattress, resting his hand on your bare thigh, inching closer and closer to where your sleep shorts have ridden up.

"Tell me what you like and don't like." Zayne repeats, eyes focused on yours, "And remember, you say no, and this stops."

Zayne moves painfully slow, his hands fluttering down your shoulders, breasts, hips, until he plants them behind you, caging you between his broad chest and the mattress. His hand slips under your shirt’s fabric once more, and you feel yourself tense.

You aren’t wearing anything fancy. After all, you were simply writing in bed, nearly falling off when you suddenly got Zayne’s text. Only a pair of shorts and a cami, but gods, when Zayne’s hands begin trailing up your stomach, dragging the thin fabric up with him, you really wished you put something sexier on.

He doesn't stop until his fingertips brush against the underwire of your bra, thick fingers slipping under the band as he practically tugs you toward him. "Can you take this off for me?"

"Don't know how to do it yourself?" You tease.

Before you even finish taunting him, Zayne's hand has already snuck around your back, undoing the clasp and forcing you onto your back. You can feel the heat radiating off of him.

"Now, now, we'll be here all night if we start fighting." He chastises you, tone far too smug. Zayne tugs the undone bra up, his fingers tracing the red marks it left against your skin. You tremble under his touch. "Didn't realize how sensitive you are."

His tone is even, but you can see the slight curl at the corner of his lips.

"Your hands are cold," you say, voice wavering as Zayne begins taking your shirt off as well. You try not to fidget, knowing that the way your arms are held up only emphasizes the size difference, Zayne being able to completely lift your chest against him as the other binds your wrists. You're not tiny. But next to him? It barely mattered.

"I apologize." But it feels half hearted at best, especially with the way he’s staring at your bare chest, not even bothering to take your shirt all the way off. It almost feels more embarrassing like this, cotton bunched against your collarbones under his palms.

“I’m going to touch you now, okay?”

The way he says it causes a rush of blood to your face. “I’m not some virgin that might break.” You grumble under your breath, but Zayne is as stupidly attentive as always and frowns.

“Do not mistake my care for pity.”

Something ugly aches in your chest when he looks at you like that.

Zayne’s hand comes up, large enough to encircle the entirety of your cheek as you’re enveloped in the chill of his touch. His body is nearly atop yours, each word breathed into your mouth. “Then, if you have no more snarky remarks, allow me to begin."

Zayne’s gaze drops to where he thumbs at your lips, leaning in as you watch his pupils dilate, flickering with something before he flinches away, kissing the corner of your mouth instead.

His other hand cups the curve of your breast, leaving goosebumps in its wake. You gasp, the sensation heightened by the feeling of his teeth against your collarbone, nipping marks into your skin.

It takes a moment for all his featherlight touches to register, your eyes fluttering closed as his thumb rubs your chin. You try to ignore the way he avoids your lips, refusing to get too close.

All for the better, you remind yourself.

He kisses lower, down between the valley between your breasts, hot breath the only warning you get before his tongue meets your nipple while his fingers deliver a sharp flick to the other. The contrast of the heat from his mouth to the cold of his fingertips sends you reeling as you muffle your cries into your palm.

Zayne doesn’t like that. He forces your hand from your mouth, biting your nipple as if in vengeance as you moan, the sound broken and desperate as you claw at his forearm.

Satisfied, his tongue smooths over the bright pink bite mark and swollen bud, the unpredictable pressure fogging up your every thought before he retreats with a wet pop.

Finally, Zayne moves to fully remove your shirt, but pauses when you flinch.

“Would it make you more comfortable if I undressed as well?” Zayne begins to take off his own shirt, but you lunge for him, stopping his hands as your voice escapes in a whoosh.

“No.”

His collared shirt was utterly ruined, unbuttoned just enough so you could see his flushed chest when he bent over. And now when he sat up straight the bottom rose up just a bit, exposing a stretch of his lean torso, a peak of his abs, and a dark happy trail that dipped into his tailored pants. Every once in a while, you could see his muscles flex and it sent a shameful throbbing down your core.

“You can keep it like that, it’s hot.”

Zayne doesn’t respond, but when he averts his eyes you swear you watch his lips curl into a smirk. It’s gone by the time he looks at you. Not that you have any time to dwell on it, not when Zayne closes the remaining space between you, guiding you against the pillows.

You try not to focus on how out of place he seems in your apartment, mere presence dwarfing everything else as he makes his way between you, forcing your knees apart.

Zayne leans back, his fingers trailing up your leg, edging up the fabric of your shorts up with his touch, but never daring to slip past the self-imposed barrier of the cotton. He coaxes your hips up, and you kick the shorts off in a clumsy movement, Zayne's eyes now focused between your thighs before you snap them shut as best you can around his waist.

“Let me see.”

You gape at him. “I– Doctor–”

“Relax. I can’t guide you if you don’t let me, now open.”

It’s not an order. Not quite. Zayne’s voice is effortlessly assertive, but it falls just short of being a command. You could call this off, he’s told you that much directly, and knowing Zayne if you did so everything would go right back to how it was before. A mentor and student. Coworkers. Strangers.

You force the tremors in your thighs to relax, knees dropping from Zayne’s hips to the sheets below as you move your left leg just enough to feel the inner band of your underwear stretch.

It’s a bearable amount of embarrassment and vulnerability, until you look up at Zayne again, and akin to a deer in headlights, you freeze. He watches with enough intensity for it to be clinical, a vicious sort of attentiveness that sees every twitch, every strain your body responds with, as if committing it all to memory. As if he were to devour you alive.

You think you’d let him.

Zayne reaches over, and his thick finger trails a line up your inner thigh, immediately followed by goosebumps, knuckles ghosting the inner seam of your panties.

Your body reacts before you do. Before you can even breathe, the air catches in your throat, and your legs squeeze together in a pathetic attempt to hide yourself.

Zayne pins them down immediately, gaze snapping up to you. You expect a reprimand. Maybe a warning or a punishment, and the anticipation makes your stomach twist.

Instead, his brows draw in, as if lost in thought. “You said you never came from touching yourself either?”

You can barely manage a nod.

“Hm. Then you weren’t doing it right.” He says, so bluntly that you can only blink at him. “Show me how you do it.”

Zayne sits back between your thighs, one hand still absent-mindedly caressing your knee, waiting expectantly.

And you feel the flush burn all the way up your ears and down your chest.

Oh, that was not what you expected him to say. You were prepared for him to touch you, or to guide you, but instead he asks for the complete opposite.

And, well, you could only ever try your best for him— ever the people pleaser.

It's humiliating how easily your fingers slip under the elastic band. Even more so when the pads of your fingers run down your folds, and you feel yourself clench at the mere contact, already slick and wanting. You move to tug your underwear off, but Zayne stops you, grabbing at your wrist.

"Wait," He's panting, eyes blown as he continues to stare at you, at the wet patch accumulating in the center of those damned panties. "Keep them on."

His tone is so serious a part of you wants to laugh. You're about to make a quip when he pulls your hand up, bringing your fingers to his lips and wrapping his tongue around them. The way he teases from the pad of your finger to your knuckle, sucking as he goes, has you lightheaded. Your hips stutter upwards, a pitiful sound escaping from your throat as you try to keep yourself together.

He doesn't stop. Not until your fingers are clean and your thighs have grown unbearably sticky, neglected and throbbing.

When he finally lets go, you're a gasping mess, and Zayne looks downright smug. "Now, you can continue."

The bastard.

You don't know how you manage to move, let alone bring your fingers to your entrance.

Pushing aside the cotton, your first touch is tentative, and you flush at how much easier it is with Zayne’s spit covering them. Your breath catches both from the initial stretch and the way Zayne leans in closer to see, even though the thin elastic prevents him from watching the way your cunt flutters around the new intrusion.

You shift, but your need has grown nearly uncomfortable, hips beginning to buck up as one finger quickly becomes too little, and you whine as you attempt to push in another, to push in a little deeper.

"Slower. You're going too fast."

You can't help the scowl, your tone sharper than intended. “How would you know?"

Zayne’s face is a cool mask, the corners of his lips twitching with amusement. "You did ask me for advice, did you not?" Then his voice takes on a sharper edge, demanding again. "Slow down, then you may continue."

As if you needed his permission to continue. But you do as he says, rocking your fingers in and out, pace painfully slow, mere friction sending jolts of heat throughout you.

Usually, this was the best part, the delicious and tortuous build-up that would ultimately lead to nothing. Not nearly long enough, your fingers hit just below your sweet spot, and you could feel tears of frustration prick against your eyes. Writhing, you tried to plunge further, choking out a moan again and again at the barest brushing against your sweet spot, mindlessly grinding your hips up to meet each cruel thrust of your fingers.

You cry when you finally hit that spot inside you, head falling against the pillows as you tense, about to move again when something stops your hand, ripping it away from your desperate chase.

“You–“ Zayne shakes his head, breath ragged as some combination of a frustrated exhale and moan rumbles through his chest, the sound going straight to your cunt. “You’re too impatient. Too rough.”

You try to swallow, try to hide how the sound of his moan and the rough cadence of his voice makes the muscles of your belly and thighs spasm, but Zayne doesn't miss a thing. He doesn't release your hand, not fully, but rather guides both of your digits to trace around your clit instead.

"Again," he says, “This time slower. How does it feel?”

You close your eyes, taking a deep breath as you feel his hand continue to guide yours, entire body jolting when he catches against the hood of your oversensitive clit, tapping as he lets you circle it on your own.

“Good. It feels really good.”

Zayne hums, but he already knows that. He feels it through the drenched bottoms of your panties, rubbing your poor swollen clit through them, watching as you gush again, the slick coating his palm and dripping down his wrist in sticky strands.

It takes everything within him not to withdraw his hand and lick it all. Or even better, take his mouth to you directly. Not yet. Not yet, he reminds himself. Next time.

You have to bite your lip as you feel Zayne’s hand take over your own, almost greedily pushing and pinching your clothed cunt, the fabric both a delicious friction and a damn barrier you wish was gone so you could finally feel his bare fingers on you, in you. It’s torture, every nerve on fire as Zayne continues to focus on your clit while your fingers return against your folds, teasing your entrance with a light touch before pressing in.

But it's still not enough. It's not what you need.

You look to Zayne for direction, but his expression is unreadable in the darkness. "Deeper. Keep going."

The angle isn't quite right, but you do as he says, trying and failing to muffle your sounds as you fuck yourself on your fingers, desperately chasing the feeling building up once more.

“Again. Deeper.”

It hurts. Your wrist is beginning to ache, and you’re really not sure how much longer you can keep going, crying out again when Zayne forces his hand flat against your clothed core, shoving your own fingers deeper and causing the wet fabric to rub deliciously against your clit.

You don't even have time to react before he's pulling away, his own hand rubbing the wetness on his fingers together as he watches the strands break and drip down his hand.

His tone is so nonchalant despite the way he keeps his gaze trained between your legs. As if the sight of you, flushed and gasping, with your cunt pathetically leaking and yet still demanding more, wasn't the hottest thing he'd ever seen.

“Ask,” Zayne demands, his voice deep enough that you swear you can feel it rumbling through your bones. “Ask for it.”

“Need your help, please, Zayne” you manage, voice airy and heart still racing from unintentionally edging yourself over and over again. “I want your fingers.”

It’s probably impossible to miss the way your eyes have been drawn to his hands all evening, big and corded with veins and muscle and scar tissue. Hands gentle enough to care for patients, steady enough to perform surgeries, cruel enough to tease you this mercilessly, and yet you can’t help but imagine what they’re going to feel like when he starts touching you properly.

You’ve probably thought about his hands more times than you’d like to admit.

At the hospital, at the cafe, at night in your apartment. Every inch of his body seems to haunt you like a forgotten memory your body had already grown addicted to.

The moan that rumbles out of Zayne’s chest is low and addicting. He sits back for only a moment before your hips are dragged down the bed, a yelp leaving your lips from the sheer force.

Zayne practically knocks your leg over his shoulder, and when you arch off balance, you press against something that has you inhaling sharply through your nose. Fuck, Zayne’s hard.

He shudders violently at the contact, falling onto his forearms as you roll against him once more, watching his face twist from the painful pleasure you know all too well. You feel his control slipping, both in the way his fingers tighten at your hips and the throbbing heat you feel twitch against your thigh.

And just realizing how much you’ve affected him is enough to send your eyes rolling back into your skull with a violent tremor.

You attempt to grind up against him again when Zayne roughly pins you back down. You writhe helplessly, hips pinned to the mattress as Zayne curses, adjusting himself in his slacks with a rough squeeze. “No.” A command to both himself and you, “You asked for my fingers, so that’s what you will get.”

You’re about to open your mouth to make another demand, but Zayne is one step ahead of you yet again. “That’s all you’re getting.” As if to quell your anger, he begins to thumb at your clit again, moving to take off your last remaining piece of clothing. “Next time.”

A promise he has every intention to keep.

Ironically, Zayne is handling you far more gently than you usually touch yourself, and you find yourself flexing your hips in an attempt to get him to touch you with more pressure. He ignores your endeavors, keeping his pace implacably steady and slow. But you’ve been worked up far too long, and as soon as Zayne begins fucking you with two of his much thicker fingers, you already feel the familiar tension building.

“Do you want to tell me what you’re feeling?”

“Not really,” you manage through clenched teeth.

You feel Zayne pull away and thrust your hips up into nothingness, only making yourself more sensitive when he roughly thumbs at your clit. He slams your hips back down, a cruel pinch to the oversensitive nub forcing you to arch into him as your jaw falls slack.

“That was not a question.” Zayne is still hovering above you, watching as his fingers slip against your cunt, slick with your arousal. “Use your words.”

His voice takes a dark edge every time he commands you now, and you bite your lip to not whimper at the tremor his voice sends down your skin. It’s not fair, the effect something so simple has on you. But while his demand is still ringing in your ears, Zayne curls his fingers further upwards, rubbing directly against that sweet spot inside you with frustrating ease, and you sob.

"Please,” you can’t even remember to beg. Zayne nearly abuses the spot, curling into it over and over again until you’re certain you’re drooling all over the silk of your pillow, writhing. "Please, I'm– I need more, and, ah—“

Zayne hums. "More? You're going to have to be more specific if you actually want to orgasm."

You whine, shaking your head as his eyes narrow. He’s only halfway through scolding you when his finger smacks against your clit, the sharp twinge of pain enough to make you cry. "Don't be a child. Words. Tell me what's giving you pleasure so I can help you."

"It's," a huff of air leaves you and you can barely manage to form a coherent sentence, your mind fogging over completely as Zayne continues to talk. "Hah, your voice helps.”

“My voice?”

Your eyes nearly roll back at the sound of Zayne’s chuckle. A deep, cruel thing that you now think may be all you need to come as your eyes screwed shut. “Well, if that’s the case, then I suppose I should just keep talking. Keep your eyes open.”

You obey, and Zayne simultaneously pulls your jaw towards him, forcing you face-to-face with him. “Look at me.”

You do. You do and really wish you hadn’t because the smug smile pulling at the corner of his lips and the freckles of light green you now see in his softened gray eyes might really be all you need to send yourself over the edge.

And, as if listening, Zayne forces his fingers deeper inside, the tips of his digits hitting the same spot that has your mind fogging over, vision blurring with a disorienting mix of hazy and dizzy. You can barely hold on, fingers twitching against the sheets as suddenly it becomes too much, your hands shooting up as you press desperately against Zayne’s chest.

“Wait–” You’re dizzy. The pressure is consuming you, and you’re losing control. “Please, Zayne.”

He stops immediately, pliant under your touch as he lets you push him away. Even so, his free hand comes up to meet yours, coaxing your fingers against his as he holds it up to his chest, letting you ground yourself with his heartbeat.

The rhythm is comforting.

Zayne isn’t speaking anymore, just looking, waiting for you to give him a sign. He doesn’t dare move, letting his fingers sit still, buried inside of you. You don't know if it's the dizziness lingering in your head or the fact that his fingers are insistently rubbing against a spot inside of you that sends sparks up your spine, but either way, you might be going insane.

“Keep your breathing steady, even when you’re close. Deep breaths.” In, out. In, out. Your chest rises as Zayne’s does, bare skin brushing his. “Good.”

Even as your vision clears, Zayne refuses to let go of your hand, this time pinning it beside your head as he begins to move his other hand too, thumb circling your clit as the others curl against your walls.

When you begin to shake again, his lips ghost by your neck, dangerously soft and hesitant as he kisses down from your jaw, following each whimper and moan you give to him with loyal intent, sucking gently at a spot near your jugular and collarbone.

"Ah, Zayne. I think–" your breathing hitches as Zayne presses another soft kiss against your skin.

"Are you okay?" The softness of his tone nearly breaks you, and you force yourself to ignore it. Focus on the sensations; focus on what you can use for the novel. Nothing more.

You nod.

"What else, darling? Are you close?"

Your breath hitches. The sudden pet name has you reeling, and you feel Zayne keep his steady rhythm, even through your trembling and whining, his thumb mercilessly circling against your clit in ways you swear never feel the same when you’ve done it.

"Call me that again," you cry, nearly begging.

"Come. Come for me, darling."

And you do.

Your vision blurs as you come around Zayne’s fingers, a silent scream catching in your throat. All you can manage is a broken moan as you arch into him, gripping his forearm and holding it in place. Your thighs quiver around his arm, and Zayne holds you still, coaxing you through it as wave after wave of pleasure wash over you.

The sensation is overwhelming. You're not even sure how long it lasts, the only thing grounding you is the weight of Zayne's hand laced against your own.

Slowly, he begins to withdraw his fingers, kissing your knuckles softly.

"How are you feeling?"

The room is quiet, and it feels like all the sound has been sucked out of it. Your head is fuzzy and your whole body is tingling, and all you can focus on is Zayne's soft breathing.

Good, you want to tell him. More than that, your body is still shaking from pleasure and desire, and you can’t stop looking at Zayne’s lips or remembering how hot and needy he felt grinding against your thigh. You can’t stop thinking about him, so instead you say, “Fine.”

Zayne stiffens. “Good.”

He sits up, still scanning your face for something as you watch the fabric of his shirt pull taut across his chest and stomach, and once again you are overwhelmed by the desire to run your hands down his body, to feel his skin against yours. To see more of him.

“I’m going to get you water and a towel.” He says, not moving just yet. “Do you need anything else?”

You shake your head no. Zayne nods, leaning in as his hand goes to your jaw before he pauses halfway and steps out of bed, making his way to your bathroom.

You don’t really remember how much of the night goes by after that, a blur of Zayne attentively guiding you through proper aftercare and you throwing in a few quips here and there at his ceaseless worrying. Before long, he’s saying farewell, and you’re back at your computer screen, empty doc staring right back at you.

But the words never form. Not when your head is still spinning, replaying everything that happened tonight in vivid flashbacks as an overwhelming rush of mortification and desire runs down your spine.

You can’t help but feel that perhaps you just made an irreversible mistake.

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace fanfiction #love and deepspace x reader #lnd zayne #lads zayne #zayne x you #zayne x reader #zayne love and deepspace #lnds smut #l&ds smut #love and deepspace smut #lads x reader #love and deepspace zayne #poisonwrites

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ghostarii · 1 year ago

Text

GLASS TABLE GIRL ! ～ BLADE . ❛ i just wanna be one of your girls tonight.

˖ ⁺ ⫾  SHOW NOTES fem!reader ❱ guitarist!blade ❱ groping ❱ reader is a groupie ❱ PWP!!! ❱ (reader is intoxicated so technically) dubcon ❱ spanking ❱ degradation ❱ clit n nipple slapping ❱ ig ooc!blade but who cares ❱ choking/asphyxiation ❱ size kink ❱ dacryphilia ❱ outdoor/public sex ❱ exhibitionism ❱ spit ❱ face-fucking ❱ dirty talk ❱ reader has 0 self respect ❱ name calling ❱ overstimulation ❱ creampie & unprotected sex (stay safe) ❱ clit pinching ❱ hair pulling ❱ multiple orgasms ❱ cumplay(?) ❱ no aftercare ❱ minors & dc antis do not interact.

˖ ⁺ ⫾  CREDITS i have not written a fic in so effing long nd i was high writing this so excuse my rustiness :c but i have risen from my grave so let’s rejoice nonetheless ! !blade is on my mind 24/7 n i just want to be used n abused by him omfg turn me OWT! i listened to one of the girls by the weeknd literally the entire time i wrote this sooo feel free to listen while reading ^_^ i was js writing as i went so ts is very pwp sorryyy . . i’m gonna try to be more active on here i js need time to write so in the meantime pls show that my works would be appreciated here =( likes & reblogs are so GREATLY APPRECIATED ! ! ! if u don’t like, pls scroll cs comm guidelines r so mean to creators T_T

˖ ⁺ ⫾  RUN TIME 7.5k+ words . (of pure filth)

IF SOMEBODY ASKED you who your favorite artist was, you would say Ren—known by his moniker: BLADE. There was nothing you didn't like about this man; everything about him fundamentally and ultimately was the object of a girlish obsession. You knew all of his songs front to back, followed his social media on every single platform, and never missed a single piece of media uploaded about him. Your life was built around his style: dark and mysterious and enigmatic. He was your number one, unmatched and unchanged.

He was a hard man to come by. He frequently held small shows, with no more than twenty-thousand people on the high end. It was impossible to go, and every time you tried, your chance miserably passed you up. But this time, June twenty-third, twenty-twenty-three, you were right there, in the middle of the pit, only mere feet away from Blade. It was your first time seeing him in person by the grace of your best friend who surprisingly snagged tickets, and you’d never been more grateful in your life.

Blade was ethereal. The concert videos you’d seen over the years did not compare to the image in front of your face. It was dark, the main lights being spotlights shone on his pearly, perspiring, black, skin-tight silk-clothed skin, and dim red LED lights on the set behind him. His fingers ran effortlessly across his guitar, an inexplicably attractive riff and tone singing from the instrument. You felt like you were in Heaven, your eyes never leaving the show before your eyes. It was hot and uncomfortable in the pit but it was worth it. So worth it because he looked at you: taking you in with an unfaltering stare. His lip slipped between his teeth, and he shook his head, throwing stray locks to the back, and God, you felt as though you needed to be bolted to the ground with the way you wanted to jump on the stage. He walks up to the microphone, the most gut-wrenchingly hot vocals sliding off of his tongue. His eyes were closed, smudged eyeliner emphasizing his fluttering, long lashes, and his lips were spit-slicked, parting and pursing with each sultry lyric leaving. They were plump and rosy as if they were asking to be kissed—it was a sight to behold.

You sang your heart out, dragging your hand from waving in the air down a curvy path on your body, going from your shoulder to your chest to below where Blade’s sight would reach. You turned to your friend and recited the lyrics with a big smile and following giggle, all to turn your attention back to the stage and lock eyes with him. Your thighs clamped together just at the narrowed and burning gaze he delivered. You don’t think you’ve ever wanted a man more than you do right now.

Your friend found a way closer to the stage and you wedged your way between the crowd, finding yourself so close that the speakers were banging on your eardrums. You could feel the music in your bones, and all you could think of to describe it was hot and heavy. Maybe it was all of the pregaming you and your friend did before the concert, or the condensed heat and gyrating bodies, but you were so hot. You wipe your sweaty skin as you sway to the beginning of the next song, taking out your phone to begin recording.

Blade leans into the mic, muttering lowly, “I want you all to sing.” He pulls the microphone out of the stand, letting his guitar hang off of his shoulder from the strap. And that’s when he makes his way to where you stand, muttering small “yeah”’s and “good job”’s into the mic as the crowd collectively sings. He kneels right before you, “Sing.” he says into the mic.

You go wide-eyed—cute, he thinks—but you start singing. You grab an open portion of the microphone, leaning in as close as possible and reciting the lyrics of the song just as you were told. All eyes and cameras were on you, and that included Blade, who held an intense gaze on you the entire verse. When you finish the crowd erupts in cheers and screams, and he pulls away, finishing the song. You turned to your friend and screamed about your main character moment, dancing and singing even happier into her recording phone. This was the best night of your life.

For the rest of the concert, you had the time of your life. Blade ends the show with a final guitar solo, the entire audience silent as he wrecks the strings and pours his heart into his vocals. He briefly spoke to his fans, thanking everyone for coming out and heading backstage as everyone began to clear out. And all he could think about was that girl who his eyes couldn't help but wander toward, and to whom his thoughts dedicated his innuendos. He remembers the sign you held at the beginning of the show: “BLADE ♡WNS M(Y)E (HEART) ♡”. Your eyes honed filth that your natural disposition didn’t and he longed for it. He held bated breath as he informed his security about you, requesting you be located and brought to him and they replied with “We’ll try our best, sir.”

It was an after-concert tradition for Blade to hit up a local club, especially in situations like this where it was his last stop. He hoped he’d find you there, but he knew you would, especially if you were as big of a fan as you looked.

“Yukong, just thirty minutes! Please!!” you pleaded, trying to pull your friend into your opinion. She shook her head no, “I can’t! I have to go home! I’m so tired and you know…” you stop your friend there, not wanting to hear about her boyfriend.

“Fine. I’m still going though, text me when you get home.” you didn’t want Yukong to go home. But arguing was pointless, and only time was being put to the test, not her stubbornness. You knew from your years as a Blade fan that he always went to the club after a concert to meet fans, and some rumors even suggested ulterior motives, so you wanted to go. Yukong frowned at your flat expression but still hugged you, waving at you as she got in her car to go home. You’d be flying solo, but you had faith in yourself.

So you make your way over to the nearest club via taxi, praying that this is the one that Blade would visit. You weren’t all too familiar with the place, its name, Starskiff Haven, only being one you’ve heard in passing. Regardless, your thoughts were assured by the abundance of fighting and pushing bodies to get in the door—and when your phone lit up, a Twitter notification from a Blade Updates page noting his location, Starskiff Haven, you smiled widely, making your way to the line.

It was way too long and you weren’t interested in waiting all night—you had to meet Blade. A time like this is when Yukong comes into hand with her very stern persuasion, something that’s near impossible to deny. But she left, and you’d have to figure out a way in. And a thought immediately came to mind.

You walked to the front of the line, breathing in deeply and psyching yourself up for how incredibly you were about to embarrass yourself. When you exhale, you book it, beelining straight into the club, right past security. You immediately shift your demeanor, blending into the crowd seamlessly as security guards rush in, looking around for you. Hiding behind the most cluelessly drunk girl, you make your way to the bar, immediately ordering a sidecar. It packed a punch and the combination of how many shots you had earlier, it’d be just enough to get you through whatever you were about to do.

You turn around in the swivel stool, taking in the atmosphere and coasting the area for any sighting of Blade. The club was darker than the concert but heavily illuminated with hazy, colorful LEDS and much, much louder, filled to the brim with chatter and deafening bass-boosted music. Your drink was brought to you moments later, and with a big sip, you raked your eyes over the club once again. You could see bodies grinding on the main floor, the DJ bopping his head as his hands moved diligently across his DJ controller, couples making out and slipping into cornered areas, and friend groups recording and taking pictures. It was a lively environment, sure, and from the strength that beat on your tongue, established by incredibly skilled bartenders—but you weren’t looking for a new clubbing spot, you were looking for Blade.

And Blade was looking for you. Swimming through the unforgivingly hot crowd for you. He wasn’t itching to have you, he was itching to take you. Every time he closed his eyes he was brought back to his time on stage and how you danced in the audience. How your lips pushed out his lyrics and how your hands couldn’t stop waving in the air and running on your skin. How you swiped off sweat from your forehead and fanned yourself with your sign. And how you couldn’t keep your star-filled eyes off of him. Every light reflection off of your eyes showed desperation and neediness. You were begging to be picked without ever uttering a word, and he was not one to ignore indulgence. You needed him and he wanted you—so where are you?

Perched on that blue-velvet cushioned swivel stool. Sipping whatever remaining contents of your sidecar. And when he saw you, you saw him. You locked eyes and each plastered ill-intended smirks across your faces. And while you had his attention, you brought the glass to your lips, smacking them open and running your tongue along the sugar rim, collecting the sweetness on your tongue. You sucked on your tongue, rolling your eyes and he swears the “Ahh” leaving your lips is audible from his distance. He stayed still even as you slapped down your money on the counter, hopping down and disappearing into the crowd.

You make your way to him quickly, holding onto your rapidly rising chest and laughing at yourself. You were on a roll of unbelievable behavior, but it seemed to be a clean stroke because you were yet to meet a roadblock. And in a very blurry couple of minutes, the goal you’d been working toward was in the palm of your hand—literally.

You danced your way to Blade when you were finally close to him, sliding up against his body sweetly. He was tall and so sturdy against you, but he was smooth like butter as he synced to your movements and danced behind you. His hands were on your waist, pulling you impossibly closer as he pushed up against you. Your exchange was wordless but it spoke volumes. It felt like a dream, entirely too good to be true but you indulged anyway, grinding against him. A gasp escapes your mouth as his left hand unabashedly grapes your tit, squeezing roughly and experimentally. His other hand trails dangerously on the band of your shorts and you let your head fall back on his shoulder, “I'm your biggest fan…”

He laughs at your declaration, leaning to press his lips feather-lightly at the shell of your ear, “Are you now?” you nod immediately, pressing into him. “‘Blade owns me’.” he mocks your sign, and laughs when he feels you slightly tense under his touch.

“I picked you,” and again, he leans down to your ear, “Are you happy, slut?” The word is so mean but it sounds so good from him. You nearly moan, nodding eagerly, as if complying with his word came with a medal. You were a slut, so willing to give it up as soon as he laid eyes on you. And you weren’t afraid to go low to get his attention, doing just about anything to be his for the night.

Fangirls like you are nothing new to Blade and as a man who looks like he does, it comes with the territory. He can read you like a damn book, cover to cover with ease because despite how enigmatic and indifferent to the norm you may try to appear, you wear your whole being on your sleeve. You do everything in your power to be somebody you're not. Your life revolves around who you think you should be and not who you are. A lot of girls are born with “it”: an innate ability to be the one wanted and desired, but you? Your “it” is manufactured, the blueprint drawn out by girls who are it. You're stuck in a limbo created by your age: too old to not be settling down, but too young to not live your life, and you try to make a box for yourself, being the exception to a path laid out for you. You're lost in the life you lead, and with the way you're dancing so shamelessly and needily on him, Blade knows you. You’re the type of girl who sees getting used as a flex, and despite signing an NDA or promising to never say anything, you’ll tell this person and that person that you got to sleep with the Blade; that the Blade picked you. Women like you are a cancer in the industry. Pests that are incessant and damn near impossible to get rid of. He knows you won't be any different than those before you, but there’s a desire to take you that he cannot ignore.

It’s his natural instinct as a man—or he’s just a shitty person. Perhaps a combination of both, because all he can think about is putting you to use. You’re making it so easy, moaning into the air under the thick remixed song the DJ is spinning, grinding against him, and holding his hand on your tit—you want him, and you’re giving yourself to him on a silver platter. You have a clear lack of respect for yourself, but luckily for you, that’s Blade’s type in women.

The atmosphere seems to be getting heavier, and it feels like time is getting slow and choppy. Now your arms are around Blade’s neck and his large hands are holding onto your ass, and you’re so close, you can feel your chests brushing with each breath you take. The world around you is nothing but background. It doesn’t exist to you, it doesn't matter to you. Not when you have Blade, the literal man of your dreams, right in your palm, and all he's looking at is you.

You feel so special. So wanted and so desired. You feel all eyes on you like you're the main attraction and everybody can’t help but watch and weep, wishing to be you. Your ego is skyrocketed and every embarrassing thing you’ve done tonight doesn't matter to you anymore because it paid off. Your eyes locked and the space between you closed. Your heart synced with the booming beat of the current song playing. You lean in, pressing your hands at the back of his neck and pulling him in. And you kiss him. You kiss Blade.

Blade kisses you back. He tightens the grip on your ass and you moan into his mouth, letting him infiltrate your mouth. He sucks on your tongue, smiling against you when he feels you push up on your tippy toes and hears you whimper into his mouth. He kisses you back. He pulls your bottom lip between his teeth, pecking your lips once more before moving to your cheek, then to your jaw, then to your neck. His hands are groping at you, roughly grabbing your ass, then your waist, then your breasts. “Are you wet?”

He says it so only you can hear it. You nod. “How wet?” He moves back up to your jaw, placing another kiss. You flutter your lashes, meeting his gaze, “So wet. All for you.”

At your response, he groans, pulling off of you. He chuckles when you pout at him. You’re just what he needs for this night. He grabs your chin, holding your face and leaning down, your lips brushing against his own. “I'm going to go smoke.” and he tells you this for a reason.

You watch with the biggest smile on your face as he sifts through the crowd, heading out of a side door. It was now or never.

Quickly, you rush to the bathroom to freshen up. You fix your hair, digging into your pocket and fishing out your lipgloss, reapplying, and you fan yourself, cooling down to not look a flustered mess. And just as quick as you ran in, you ran out toward the side door, immediately looking both ways for Blade. You smell smoke distantly and turn right, and a few paces down he stood, leaning against the brick wall of the neighboring restaurant. He's next to stacks of old wood and crates and you smile, thinking about whatever was about to go down between you.

You step in front of him and he smiles, taking you in once again. He blows his smoke in your face, tapping the ash off the cigarette before smashing the butt into the wall behind him. “Hi,” you say. He says nothing back, just slides his hand to the back of your neck and pulls you in. The kiss you share this time is messy and he now asserts control, nipping your bottom lip when he feels you go weak and pulls back.

He rakes his eyes up and down your body as you stand for him. This is the first time all night he’s seen you properly, in moderately okay lighting. Your jean mini-skirt is tight to you, accentuating the curve and fullness of your ass, and teases what’s beneath with your plump thighs poking out and how it rides up slightly. Your skin-tight baby tank is seemingly one with your figure, bringing out the best in you and making him smile with the “I ♡ BLADE” print across your chest. Your thigh-high boots did nothing when you were near him—he was looming and caging. He was intimidating and arousing, and with the lustful gaze you shared, the climax of your day was steadily approaching.

“Take it off.” He looks down at your chest and you get the memo; immediately grabbing the hem of your tank top and pulling it over your head. “Slow. Take your time…” And you listen, letting your body swivel as you remove the shirt. You unhook the clasp of your bra, and before your boobs could spill out of the confines, he grabs you and wedged you between him and the wall he previously leaned on.

The front of your body is slapped on the cold brick, but you’re swallowed in warmth as he presses against you, grinding his hard-on against your ass. One hand grabs your wrists, and the other turns you around. You look at him innocently, shivering at the breeze that blows down the alley. You can smell him: woody, smokey, and expensive. Yet here he was, pressing you up against a brick wall in a random alley. “You’re such an easy slut, y’know.”

“Bet you been thinking about this; daydreaming about your favorite artist pinning you and trashing you like the fucking whore you are.” he presses against your front, nipping at your jaw. “Tell me what you want me to do to you.”

You whimper, “Fuck me. Take me. Make me yours.”

“Tell me.” He growls - your answer not sufficing. “Want you to break me,”

“Always fantasized…wanting you to shove your dick down my throat and use it mindlessly and mercilessly.” He begins to kiss down your throat again, licking the tender skin. He smirks when you stop talking, your breath hitching and your head craning backward to open the expanse of your neck. He starts biting on your newfound sweet spot when you begin again, “Spit in my mouth and force me to swallow it with your cum,”

He gets to your chest, immediately taking a nipple between his teeth. He listens to you wince and whine as he does, pushing your chest into his face. “And make me beg you to fuck me. Teasing me…fuck—pinching me, pulling my hair until I'm teary-eyed and begging…”

“...And then you fuck me like you hate me; choking me, slapping me, degrading me all while I thank you stupidly.”

“You’re just fucking disgusting,” he mumbles around your nipple. He lets your hands go, palming your free tit immediately. His eyes are narrow as you whine when he twinges the bud roughly. “Put so much thought into this…you’re a weirdo slut.”

You shake your head, breathing out heavily to refute his claim, “Nuh-uh—your biggest fan.” you correct.

He laughs at you. You’re much more fun than he thought, and a lot less shameless, too. You're throwing all of your big cards out; this is your go-big or go-home moment, and while you have him here, you’ll bare yourself wholly because if not now, then not ever. Blade has to commend your patience though. You're letting him toy around, graze around your unknown territory and feel you out. You’re needy but obedient. Tired of waiting but understanding. Absolutely fucking shameful and proud, but eager to be good—so maybe he was wrong about you. You do have an “it”: an innate ability to be the perfect fucktoy.

When he lets you go, he immediately instructs you to get on your knees. And you listen immediately. The cold gravel digs into your bare knees and it's incredibly uncomfortable, yet you don’t utter a word. Your nipples are hard and pebbled and are probably so sensitive, yet you say nothing. You only sit before him, fingers dancing on the exposed thigh as you look up at him, waiting to be put to use.

So he slaps you. As you told him to—he slaps you, and his hand is heavy coming against your skin. It sounds off for what felt like possibly hundreds of miles, and your face doesn’t sting, but it hurts. The skin is heating up from the impact and your head turns to the side, hair falling against your face, yet you don’t utter a word. He grabs the back of your head, forcing you to look at him and dangerously smiling when your teary eyes look up at him wide and thankfully. “Pull my cock out,” he instructs, letting you go and standing up straight.

You get to work on his belt, undoing it swiftly, and then you unbutton his pants. You tease yourself: slowly pulling the zipper down, and when pulling his pants down to his ankles, you palm him softly, gently patting his throbbing cock and staring at the growing wet spot in his underwear. You kiss the wet spot, and then you kiss it again, and again until you suck lightly on it while making eye contact with him. You moan at the very faint taste, fluttering your eyes shut, and finally sliding your hand under the band of his underwear, holding his dick.

Blade hisses at your touch, bucking slightly into your hold at the initial contact. Usually, he’d curse you out at this point for going so slow, but he’s letting it slide this time; allowing you to take control and show him how worth it and nasty you really are.

He’s big. He’s thick—your hand can just barely wrap around the entire shaft, and as you lift him to unsheath him from his boxers, you feel how heavy he is. And hard. So fucking hard.

You gawk at his cock like a kid in a candy store, staring at his leaking slit intensely—almost as if you're waiting. “Go ahead; show me how big of a fan you are.”

You kiss his tip, the bead of precum smearing on your lips. Smacking your lips apart suggestively, you wrap your right hand around the base, applying tightness and pressure as you find the right grip, and when you do, you finally lick a clean stripe across the head. Your tongue sweeps up the new milky droplet spilling out, and you contently hum at the taste, making him groan in response. You lick from the angry tip all the way to his trimmed base, then back up again until you’ve teased every side of him and located his sensitive vein.

If anybody would have told you that all you dreamed about would be coming to fruition—all by mere luck and chance—you wouldn’t believe it. And you still don't; even as you spit a thick bead of your saliva on his cock and then massage it in with your tongue, swirling all around the sensitive head. But it’s real because he moans out for you as you finally take him in, the throb getting heavier as he sits on your tongue and your lips hug him tight.

You begin your ministrations: toying with his balls lightly as you bob up and down, going as far as you could. You tried your best to take him all in. You stretched your mouth wide around him until it felt like your mouth was going to rip at the corners and until it felt like all you could do was sputter and leak drool around him. Tears brimmed in your eyes and each time you blinked them back, keeping a pretty smile on your face every time you came up for air. Your lipgloss was mixed in with spit, and clear tear streaks had already begun to run their course with your base makeup, but you didn't stop. You were moaning incessantly, suffocating his dick in your intense vibrations that had him moaning and grunting.

When you come up from your nth deepthroat attempt, it's not for air, but to breathlessly huff out “Fuck my face…please,” And since you asked so nicely…

“Blink twice if it gets to be too much.” You open your mouth as wide as you could, sticking your tongue out. He pulls your hair back for you, yanking your head back and spitting on your tongue. His eyes tell you not to move, so you don’t, keeping eye contact with him as he wraps his other hand around your own, guiding your smaller hands up and down his shaft. He shudders, “F-fuck…’m so fuckin’ hard…”

And then he slides onto your tongue, not wasting any time before bottoming out in your mouth. Your eyes widen in surprise, and your unprepared gags speak volumes to your shock. But that doesn't deter you from wrapping your lips around him. And from there, he pulls out, pulling your head back and then pushing you back down as he thrusts his hips forward. He curses under his breath before picking up his pace, thrusting so hard that his grip tightens on your hair to hold you properly in place, fucking roughly into your face. You can only choke and sputter, having already taken your hands from around his dick and digging crescent nail shapes into his thighs. The sounds eliciting from the two of you are so nasty and filthy. His balls slap at your chin, your voice rings out from around his girth, and his moans echo around the world. You can’t take it but you’re doing a great job of trying. He slaps your face again, pulling out and hitting his tip on your tongue. “Keep your fucking eyes on me,”

“If you can do that, I'll cum all down your throat and all over your pretty fucking face, okay?” You nod eagerly, and as an incredibly degrading action of praise and acceptance, he slaps his spit-slicked dick against your cheek a few times. “Good girl.” Butterflies swarm in your stomach at his praise.

When Blade slides in, he smacks against your face. He goes to the very hilt, pushing his way to the depths of your throat roughly. Your nose is pressed up against his pelvis, and your cheeks are catching stray tears. But this is consistent as he begins thrusting, using you per your request. He grunts out each time his tip hits the back of your throat, thrusting so roughly and meanly into you. Again, you feel like all you can do is choke and gag, spilling slobber and precum mix back down his length. It’s fucking filthy and the loud squelching and impact noises hit your ears nastily, yet you can’t help but squirm and attempt to grind for friction to subdue the need throbbing in your clit.

Above you, the man is falling apart. His hips stutter every now and then and his voice is fucking endless. His long hair sticks to his sweaty forehead and sides of his neck, and it looks damn near intentionally placed from how beautiful he looks. The outdoor lights are like distant illuminators; glowing behind him softly—almost angelically. His eyebrows are knitted together and he struggles to keep his eyes every time he reaches the back of your throat and you start gagging. It’s beyond pleasurable. Blade isn't sure if it’s because of all the tension the two of you have built up, or if it's because he hasn't had any action in the last 3 weeks because of his neverending schedule, or if it’s because your mouth is fucking amazing, but he can't keep himself together. His chest starts heaving faster as he comes close to his high, his knees beginning to buckle, and his stomach caving.

You flick your tongue on the underside of his cock as much as you can and glue your eyes to his, seeing his release breaking him down inch by inch. “Fuck! I'm gonna fucking cum!” He announces, throwing his head back.

He stills in your mouth and you take the opportunity to suck harshly on his tip, swirling your tongue around it like it’s the sweetest lolly you’ve ever tasted. He pulls out of your mouth, and you vigorously stroke his cock, so focused and determined to milk him dry. He leans forward, slapping his palm against the wall behind you for stability as he cums. He moans so prettily as he paints your face, the warm ropes making you hum contently. You give him no break, sucking his tip one last time to make sure you get the most out of what he’s given you.

Blade catches his breath, standing up straight soon after and condescendingly cooing at the mess made on your face. He picks up a glob as he sweeps his thumb over your cheek, sliding the digit in your mouth. He presses on your tongue, finding pleasure in how you swallow your sounds under a layer of gagging, but how you never tear your eyes off of him. He does this until you’ve cleaned off your face—but he's not done with you.

You're finally allowed off of your aching knees. You're sure the gravel will leave an indent from how long you were down there. He pinches your pebbled nipples, smirking as you yelp. “What was it that was next? Making you beg..making you earn my cock in you?” you nod rapidly, backing into the wall for stability as he toys with your very sensitive tits. “Show me how you beg then.”

You put your hands on his shoulders to help you stand up, feeling so weak all of a sudden. Your voice cracks as you try to speak, meek little whimpers flowing out as he works your body expertly—like he knows what gets you going. “Please…fuck–Please fuck me, I need you so bad…!”

A shrill yelp is chased out of your throat when his palm cracks against one of your boobs, “Is that all you got? Try again.”

So you do. “Need you to fuck me, Blade. I wanna be used by you, broken–please, I'll do anything!”

“Not good enough. Again.”

“Please fuck me like the slut I am! I need to be full of you, need to have you fuck me ragged and dumb so all I think of is you!” you pitch up your voice, breathing it all out in one breath.

Pitiful. Another smack. “Again.”

“I'm so needy for you, please! It hurts–I need you so much, it hurts! Please…”

And he's heard enough. His right hand slides up to your neck, forcing you against the wall. His grip is tight, fingers pressing into the sides and you have to fight for your eyes to not roll to the back of your head. “You must not want me as bad as you acted like you did…”

“I do! I do!” You interject, but your voice is weak and small—nothing in comparison to his deep and lust-saturated tone. “Then act like you do. Beg.”

He runs his other hand up your thigh, cupping your cunt. Your panties are soaked, and he can feel the heat radiating off of you. He pushes the fabric to the side, running two fingers through your folds and you swear you almost fell out then and there. You'd gone teased and untouched all night—you were beyond ready.

“Pussy is fucking soaked…” he mumbles, letting his index and middle finger twirl through your folds, getting closer and closer to your clit. “You want me here? To fuck your sloppy pussy until you're cumming your brains out?”

Your eyes start to roll and he can feel the pulse intensify in your cunt. That's exactly what you wanted. “Say it. Say ‘I want my sloppy pussy fucked until I'm cumming my brains out, Blade’. Say it,”

You part your lips, and he slightly loosens the grip on your throat, “Wan–want…I want my sloppy pussy…” You get shy with your words, and he delivers a slap to your clit. The stimulation has you buckling over. You feel like his hands on you are going to be the death of you. “Say it.”

With the courage finally built up, “I want my sloppy pussy fucked until I'm cumming my brains out, Blade! Please, I need it s’bad…feel like I'm gonna fucking die!” leaves your lips easily like spreading butter on toast. His lips that you never got enough of tasting quirk up into his signature smirk. He lets you go, pushing you against the wooden crates and flipping up your jean skirt.

“There you go; atta-fucking-girl.” he practically rips your panties off of you, slapping your pussy just for the hell of it. He cringes at the sound it makes and laughs cruelly at your whimpering. He presses up against you, his semi-hard dick pressed against your ass, and he wraps his arm around you and shows you the coat of your arousal that paints his fingers. “Spit.”

With your spit and abundance of slick collected on his fingers, Blade strokes his cock, going until he’s near painfully hard. The sounds he elicits make your pussy clench around nothing, needing to be satiated so desperately. “Are you ready? There’s no going back.”

This is somehow the sweetest moment for you. Your heart swells and you can only sheepishly nod, wiggling your hips eagerly. “Never been more sure about anything in my life. Ruin me.”

Ask once more, and you shall receive once more. His cock is swiped through your folds and collects a considerable amount of your arousal. He lines up at your entrance, watching you brace yourself with a smile ingrained into his face. He pushes in with a sharp inhale, biting his tongue at the feel of your tightness. Your pussy sucks him right in and—fuck. Warm and soft and tight, he could cum right now.

Your face crinkles up and you grip tightly onto the wooden crates in front of you. You’ve dreamt of this for so long—touched yourself at night to the thought and it's finally happening. He's inside of you, stretching you out, sinking in and in and in, inch by inch until he buries himself deep in your guts, until his tight and heavy balls are touching your folds. You're so sensitive you feel like you're ready to cream already, and you need it, need him, and need more. You grind your hips back on him, exhaling thickly as you rest your head against your forearm. “So fucking ready for me…”

His hand cracks down on your ass. It hurts so well and you wince, arching your back further. He sighs, kneading your skin softly. Then he pulls out, inching out until only the tip sits idly in you. You turn around to look at him, and doing that ignites his fire.

Your face is pathetic and fucked out already. Eyebrows knitted together and your eyes heavy, hardly staying open. Your lips are parted yet folded into a small frown, and perspiration rests at your hairline. You egg him on to slam into you, and he watches your frown drop into a wide ‘o’ shape, your eyes fluttering. So he does it again. And your lip now slips between your teeth. And again. And you drop your head back onto your arms.

And so Blade keeps up this pace, gradually going faster as the pit in his stomach urges him to do so. Your sounds are now uncontrollable—they fly out of you like a skipping record, incoherent babbles, and sinful moans. Each collision of your bodies elicits a visceral, wet slap that echoes off the walls of the alleyway. People around the world could probably hear what you're doing, and you're not sure if that bothers you…if the thought of a curious passerby walking down this alley naïvely would be an issue. If anything, it makes you get louder, your throat not getting to rest.

He hits you again, groaning when your pussy clenches around him. “You’re so fucking loud– you want somebody to find us?” Yes, that is what you want to say. But you moan out louder, shaking your head no. He hits you again. “Don’t lie to me,”

“You’re a fucking painslut,” he spits at you. He wraps his arm to reach your clit, immediately finding the bud and pinching it. Your knees go weak and he stabilizes you against him by pushing you further into the crates in front of you. You sniffle and whimper, presumably spilling tears down your filthy fucking face but doing nothing but asking for more. You've gotten so wet, dripping everywhere messily and Blade only cringes his face up with each wet collision. You're so nasty, so filthy, letting a stranger who you parasocial bonded yourself to defile you in public. He's feeding into your crazed delusions, but he’d honestly rather be doing nothing else. When he pinches your clit again your body shakes. Your knees buckle again and from the waist up you're basically limp. He feels you tighten around him and he sucks his teeth, parting your ass to peer at the milky ring forming around the base of his cock. “Did you just fucking cum?” Yes, you did. And you felt like Heaven doing it.

“You came ‘cause I pinched your clit…” he does it again and you jolt up, whining for him to stop. “So if I slap it…” he slaps it, eyeing you for your reaction. “Or rub on it like I love you…” his fingers run circles on your bud, feeling you get impossibly tighter around him. “So fucking easy.”

He resumes his thrusts like he never stopped—slamming into you unapologetically and now additionally, rubbing on your cute, abused clit. He's not going to last long at this rate. Your pussy gushes around him like a running river and the noises have gotten even nastier. Squelching and the occasional puffs of air escaping…you’re a mess.

“Love this fucking cunt,” he praises while pinching your clit. His free hand that rested on the small of your back is now holding onto your neck, forcing you to stand upright against him. Blade is lean but muscular. His arms flex and you feel his abs every time your bodies get close enough. His strong thighs touch yours and it's like you feel his entire body weight every time he pushes into you. “So good, ‘s so fucking good, Blade!”

The man laughs at your outburst. He angles his hips differently, trying so hard to find your sweet spot to get you creaming again. “Yeah?” he asks, tightening his grip on your throat. “Mhm-!” you concur.

“Where?” He’s sure he's found it, and he drives his hips up, groaning happily once he feels your gummy walls contract around him. “Here?”

Your head nods rapidly. “Yes, yes, yes–fuck! Right there, oh my fucking God!”

Neither of you are going to last. Blade’s balls are so tight and the way your pussy hugs him is even tighter. You suck him in like you never want him to leave, but your over-stimulated squeals and shaking thighs suggest otherwise. He’s found your sweet spot and is recklessly abusing it, going all or nothing. The way he toyed with your clit like a kitten pawing at a toy was too much—it started to hurt, to throb endlessly as your stomach knotted and your hole drooled. His grip on your neck was the icing on the cake. You felt like you could no longer breathe — like his thrusts were knocking the wind out of you and him choking you was keeping it out. Every little thing he did pushed you closer and closer to the edge.

He was even more merciless than before. Blade fucked into you harder, rougher, and faster than before, and you chalked that up to his orgasm catching up to him. You listen to his songs on repeat all the time but never have you heard him sing more beautifully than now as he digs your pussy out. You were really blessed with this night, and now it is coming to a very eventful end.

“‘M gonna fucking cum–!” You announce, and Blade nods his head in agreement. He slaps your cunt one last time, his fingers covered in your juices now tweaking at one of your nipples. “Me…me too, fuck.”

He leans into your ear, “Make me cum in this fucking pussy,” a throaty moan breaks his sentence, and you moan back, feeling it coming. “So close, so close…!”

It's this contraction that has Blade falling apart. He thrusts into you one last time, his eyes shooting wide open as he cums deep in you. He moans gutturally and shakily, feeling you clench tighter as you orgasm as well. His hips stutter in you and your hips ride back onto him as you both come down from your highs. The alley is now deafeningly silent and you flush in embarrassment from how loud you must have been. He lets your neck and tit go, using one hand to now spread your ass and pull out his cock. Your pussy is puffy and shiny, and when he’s out, he watches with a burning gaze as your mixture of cum starts to slightly spill out.

He groans, slapping your ass one last time. You two finally separate, and you turn around to look at him. You're sure he doesn't look as fucked up as you do, but even so disheveled and fucked out and sweaty as he is, you can’t help but feel your heart flutter. He pulls up his boxers and pants, fixing his shirt before he looks over at your mostly naked frame. He comes over to you, pulling down your skirt, and his doing this makes you feel less like a one-night stand, and more like one of his girls.

Being so close to you, he breathes you in. You smell like sex, but beneath that is a layer of whatever fruity perfume you sprayed on you, and it's delectable; so he kisses you. It's something he doesn't usually do, and he wouldn't have done it for you, but you entrance him. Perhaps it's because you're what he likes— he's met his match.

But you kiss each other passionately like you were trying to reignite the flame you just spent God knows how long fucking out. Your tongues are well acquainted with one another, swirling and bumping and riding past one another knowingly. He pulls away from you, looking in your eyes as he lets spit fall onto your tongue once again. You smile happily as you swallow it—God, you could do this forever. “Come back with me,”

You didn't expect him to say that. You blink your eyes a few times in disbelief. This night can't be any more unreal. He notices your confusion and smiles, “Is that a no–”

“–No! I'll come with you!” you don't know where he’s taking you, or what it means to go with him. You do know that you’ll have a lot to tell Yukong, NDA or not, and that you’ll never forget this day.

Smiling again, this time devilishly, Blade pulls away from you, pinching your cheek. “Good girl.”

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yourfatherlucifer · 11 months ago

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Oh Bite Me (CS)

Vampire!San x afab!Reader

Summary: A blood thirsty demon of the night, but he’s your best friend and your roommate. You have to deal with his antics and his flirtatious acts.

Warnings: MDNI, male masturbation, slight voyeur, getting caught, unprotected sex, biting/blood, marking, pervert!san, short pwp, switch!san, cursing, sarcastic!reader

Trope: Friends To Lovers

Genre: Smut

AU: Supernatural

WC: 1.1k

Rated: R

“San, quit leaving your underwear in the damn washer! You’d think being alive for so long you’d know how to do your laundry.” You had growled in frustration, slamming the washer lid shut.

San snickered from the other room, “Oh well, you know you love it!”

You threw a disgusted look towards his voice, “I do not like seeing your underwear.”

San brought himself out of his room, shirt missing from his torso, “Then what about this~”

You groaned and turned away from him, “Please put a shirt on, dude.”

You waved him off, having enough of his crap, "Whatever, I've gotta go to work, so see you later. Don't," you point your finger in his face, "do anything weird."

San smirked, "No promises, baby girl."

You grimaced, "Don't fucking call me that."

You grabbed your things and left for work, leaving San to his own devices. Which meant...he went through your underwear drawer, pervert.

San smiled as he held the fabric in his hands, twisting the material in his fingers, it was fresh underwear, but that didn't mean it didn't have your smell anymore, right? San tried to locate your smell anyway. He buried his nose in the fabric as if trying to pull your pheromones from it.

His dick hardened just from the smell engulfing his nostrils, he knows you'd drive a stake through his heart if you caught him. It gave him a thrill, going out like that.

He ran to his room with the panties in hand, his dick straining against his basketball shorts. He didn't even bother shutting his door as he knew you'd be home late. With his back to the mattress, he trailed his hand up his chest, giving his small nipples a squeeze. His back arched off the bed, giving a breathy moan.

"f..fuck, oh my god." San whines out while tweaking his now pointed nipples, giving them equal attention. His cock twitched in his pants, eager for the attention he was giving to his chest.

He whined in frustration and shimmied off his shorts, he didn't wear underwear, it was like he was expecting this to happen.

When his cock slammed against his abdomen, he grabbed it hastily, wrapping the panties around his base. The precum from his cock was near dripping, almost as if he came untouched, but he hadn't yet.

The fabric created such a friction on his wet and red cock that he was near tears from the feeling. His hand pumped up and dumb, twisting left and right in a vigor motion, eager to cum on your panties.

He was already pussy drunk, but without the pussy, god he wanted to be inside you so bad, but your underwear would have to do for now.

His fangs bit into his lips, nearly drawing blood from the pressure. Little did San realize you had turned your car back around to return home, you forgot some paperwork you needed for work.

You had walked into the apartment, San's moans filling your ears, but you didn't see any other shoes by the door. Was he by himself?

You slowly walked into the hallway, stopping in front of San's room, eyes wide, the door was wide open for you to see his lewd act of getting off on your underwear. Which were now stained with his cum.

"San?"

He quickly shot up, grabbing a pillow to cover his still rock hard cock, "Y/N! Fucking hell, you're home! Hi!" He smiled nervously, his fangs retracting into his mouth.

"The hell are you doing, dirty boy? Is that my underwear?" You approached him and in return he backed up into his headboard, staring at the dirtied pair of underwear in his fist.

"Uh..Maybe?"

You shook your head and pushed San down onto the mattress, 'You're such a pervert."

San's eyes grew in size as he became nervous, "no.."

Something snapped in San as he flipped you around, to lay you on the mattress, "Why, does it bother you? That I fuck myself to you? To your underwear?" He licked a stripe up your neck, "Can I bite you?"

You nod and pull him closer, "Do it."

San sunk his teeth into your neck, careful to miss an artery. As the blood filled his mouth, he moaned in pleasure, “You taste so good, Y/N.”

You held his head to your neck, eyes closed in pure bliss, "More, feels so good."

San smirked against your neck, "If I do, I could drain you dry, and I don't want that. I want to fuck you everyday if I can have the chance. I want to feel your wet cunt around me. I want to feel your heat as I push my cock into you."

The vampire pulled himself away and moved down to your clothed cunt, pulling down your work pants, gawking at your soaked underwear, "Awe, this for me?"

You glared at him before rolling your eyes, "Who else, dumbass?"

San's cat-like eyes narrowed at you and decided to punish you by sinking his teeth into your plush thighs, gulping down the blood. Your hands flew to his hair, pulling each way. What a fucking tease.

"Watch it, don't be a bad girl."

San slipped a finger inside of you and stared into your eyes, smiling mischievously. His finger pumped in and out, curling around the sponge-like surface.

Your moans filled his ears, it was bringing him pleasure just by hearing your delicious sounds and listening to your heart racing. He kissed along your stomach and abdomen as he brought you pleasure with his fingers.

"San~ faster, please!"

He bit along your stomach, leaving marks behind but not drawing blood, he didn't wanna drain you too much.

Once he felt you begin to tighten around his fingers, he pulled his fingers out. Now replacing it with the tip of his large cock.

"Ready?"

You nodded, eager.

San pushed his cock in slowly, throwing his head out, his tongue flying out of his mouth, "Fuck! This is so much better than I imagined! I fucking love your cunt wrapped around me. I never want anything else again."

His grip on your waist tightened as his cock pounded into you, his moans were overpowering yours. Whines poured out of his mouth as he thrusted his own hips into yours. Curses flew out of his mouth as he kept going.

San was near tears once again, "what, pretty boy, can't keep up with the pleasure?" you teased.

San growled, "Shut up! You know you feel just as good as I."

His orgasm was rapidly approaching, "Gonna cum in you."

He bit into your neck once more as his cum spurt inside, some even spilling out as you came with him.

San fell to your chest, "Fuck..that felt so good."

He then sat back up, "wanna go again?"

#cromernet #cultofdionysusnet #pirateeznet #kflixnet #k-labels #wonderlandnet #ateez x reader #ateez #ateez smut #choi san #san x reader #x reader #choi san x reader #afab!reader #vampire ateez #vampire choi san #san smut #choi san smut #codn Santa23

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ao3-oner · 24 days ago

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you are such an amazing reader i've slammed through all your works in the past few days. i simply cannot get enough! what are some of your favourite fics from lol rpf (not gwen because i've consumed all of her content too lol) ?

Lmao thank you for the compliment! I'm going to assume that you meant "amazing writer," but we'll see if my fic recs are good enough to prove me a passable reader as well!

ALSO YOU DID NOT NEED TO CLOCK ME AS A GWEN FANBOY OKAY lol, it's a completely accurate assessment of what my list would have looked like without your specification but damn. I guess I'll shut up about her. Her fics are so good, though...

I'll do it like this: if you've read all my works, then you're familiar with my core four ships (GK, OZ, CS, and RL), so I'll recommend two fics for each of those ships, plus two Gen fics because imo all Gen fics need more love. I'll limit myself to doing one fic per author because there are too many talented fic writers in this fandom to count, and I'll also try to make one fic for each ship more lh while the other can be angstier (since Idk which you'd prefer). Also disclaimer that I will only be including English fics in this list - I have dabbled in Google translate and thoroughly enjoyed some of the non-English fics I've read, but I do not feel comfortable recommending them as someone who cannot understand the original language. Hopefully, you'll find some stuff on here that you like!

Let's start with the GuKe (the inability to recommend Gwen's fics is absolutely killing me here):

no rules in breakable heaven by Maria Swift, Rated T, 12,000 words (you will need to be logged in to AO3 to read this one)

This was one of the first fics in the fandom I ever read and I absolutely loved it. It's meetcute college AU GuKe with a side of "and they were roommates" that's just very fun and entertaining to read. Definitely a great feel-good fic and one that I've returned to a handful of times when I need a pick-me-up. Super well-written, as well.

Phantom, Be Still In My Heart by seralove, Unrated (there is some sensitive content but nothing too graphic), 10,500 words

I was lucky enough to read this fic when it first came out and ohhhh my God did it make me feel things. This is canon (well, not quite) Worlds GuKe with a healthy portion of angst, and the descriptions are all very emotional. This fic kind of ruined me, in a good way, so just be prepared for that and definitely give it a read.

For the One2eus fics, I have the pleasure of recommending two of my favorite fic writers in the entire fandom:

lightning storm by sightstone (symmetrophobic), Rated T, 8,500 words

Reading this fic was part of what inspired me to start writing for this fandom in the first place. It's cute, it's sweet, it's absolutely hilarious - I laughed out loud multiple times while reading it. Definitely check out the other works by sightstone, too, especially her ongoing GuKe fae fic that currently has me brainrotting like crazy.

just look at me now (i'm lovesick) by screamtail, Rated E for smut, 3,500 words

Honestly, all of screamtail's works are iconic and recommendable, but for some reason, this one stuck with me a bit more than the others. I think it's probably the angst undertone and the brilliant descriptions that really made it stick in my mind. It explores the OZ dynamic from Zeus's perspective while offering some high-quality pwp content, so what's not to love?

Now if you're a CanMaker fan like me, you've probably already read all of the English fics in the tag (as you should, as have I), but I'll shoutout some of my personal favorites here:

we're magnetized (I admit it) by dustedpeach, Rated T, 15,000 words

I did not know how desperately I needed cat cafe AU Gen.G in my life until I read this fic. There could be a 100 volume series solely about this AU cafe and all of its shenanigans and I would eat up every chapter of it. In addition to the world building being truly visionary, the CanShow content is (naturally) super adorable and I will always love Canyon being a simp.

If only time were kinder by Chastelove, Rated T, 3,000 words

Speaking of fics that messed me up, Christ, my heart after reading this! Idk how I'm going to be okay. I might not. It's just... Apocalypse AU CanMaker. That's it. Read it. Please. I can't suffer alone anymore-

Since both of these recs are from AUs, if you're looking for more canon CanMaker (CanonMaker??), or if you're looking for something a bit spicier, I'd definitely recommend snow by chovying as well. It's another amazing and adorable fic, and the only reason that I didn't recommend it above is that it felt like a copout answer to push a fic that was gifted to me - like of course I love that fic! You should definitely read it and give it all the kudos in the world, though.

Finally (for the ship fics, at least), we have my beloved RuLehends. Much like CanMaker, true fans of this ship will have already read all of the English fics on AO3 for it, but I'll still take the opportunity to squeal about some of them:

told you so by Aurelion8(Monochrome01), Rated E for smut, 2,000 words

On its own, this is a short, sweet and smutty pwp fic, but I am once again encouraging you to read all of the fics by this writer because there are only three of them but they all go insanely hard - especially we're still here, but really 3/3 are bangers. The reason I specifically recommended told you so was that it's like... the closest RuLehends ever gets to not being angsty? Lmao, these two really just have angst and smut encoded into their dynamic. But seriously, you should read all three of Aurelion8's fics. They are hot and lovely and I am eagerly awaiting whenever they post next.

i feel it burning me (i feel it burning you) by speaktothemoon, Rated M for implied sexual content (imho it could prob be T), 12,500 words

Ughhh this fic is just so good. It does such an excellent job of capturing the complex and heartbreaking relationship that Siwoo and Jaehyuk share while diving into what happened behind closed doors in 2022. I may have cried while reading it. Tears of joy but also sorrow because wtf... these two really will be the death of me.

Last but certainly not least, we have a pair of Gen fics aka shipless fics that I cannot recommend enough! Honestly, this category was the hardest to pick two from by far, but here's what I have for you:

In which T1 accidentally summons the Unkillable Demon King by ginger_owl, Unrated (for violence purposes), 35,500 words and ongoing

Ginger is 100% another writer who you should just click the account name for and read everything on there - her Star Guardian AU, Welcome to Summoner's Rift, it's all brilliant beyond words. The reason I chose this fic specifically is it's the first one I read (also one of the first LoL RPF fics I ever read) and that makes me nostalgic for it. It's basically what it says on the tin - high school AU where ZOGK are students and they summon the demon Faker. The worldbuilding and characterizations in her fics are always a highlight, and I'd strongly recommend reading through her entire corpus!

they light candles in rome by keres (DeerGoBonk), Rated G, 9,000 words + an 18,000 word in-depth analysis in chapter 2 because legend???

Okay as someone who's a bit of a mythology nerd... this fic made me think for a very long time. It is gorgeous and tragic and definitely worth reading through multiple times. It will make you think, then if you read keres's own analysis in the following chapter it will make you think even more. It's indescribable, really, so just def go read it for yourself!

I've just realized that both of those recs are T1-centric (but honestly, aren't most fics in the fandom?) but so are all of the other Gen fics I wanted to recommend, so.... if you're looking for non-T1, non-romance-based fics, might I recommend Metro Lines and Their Prismatic Tears? :3

God, this is making me think that I should write more platonic fics... Like Master Yourself (Master Your Enemy) was supposed to be Gen, but then the CanShow leaked into it a bit too much... honestly though? I should change that back to being marked as Gen. Platonic Lucid & Canyon is still very much the central relationship there. I'm also proud of myself for writing How It Feels to Chew 5 Gum... 2024 KT Rolster, I will miss you dearly... You should also read the mouth of the wolf, the eyes of the lamb by this excellent author named gw- *Jhin 4th shot comes through the window*

One more thing: it didn't fit into any of my arbitrary above categories, but my favorite ongoing fic/the fic that I'm currently most excited to keep reading is definitely:

off with your head by oathsworn (onelastchence), KiinCuzz with background Bddker, Rated E for death and violence, 12,000 words and ongoing

The Netflix adaptation of Alice in Borderlands is one of my favorite live action shows of all time, so needless to say I am eagerly seated for an LoLRPF AU/retelling of the story. The writing and narrative has been incredible so far, and I would love to recruit more readers to join me on the journey that is reading this fic!

Thanks for the ask! I sincerely hope you enjoy all of these fics as much as I have, and please don't hesitate to let me know your thoughts on all of them. Also, remember to leave kudos and comments on all of the fics you do enjoy, because it really means a lot to the writers and they all deserve more love than I alone could possibly offer them <3

Have a nice night, and happy Halloween!!

#oner-answers #rpf #this halloween im going to dress as something terrifying #like t1 canyon #I'll commission a custom T1 jersey with canyon's name on it #and scare all my mutuals >:)

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just-a-silly-boy · 2 years ago

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I know I'm new in LotF fandom (or at least I'm new on interacting here) but I've been watching it for enough time already to notice some patterns that have bothered me. And I'm not gonna lie, I made this blog mostly to question some of these patterns like a good old beast should do.

First thing I'd like to ask is.... why do you guys like to prone others creativity every time it didnt reach to your own ideals?

I've lost the count of how many posts I've seem here that intents only to call out someone who likes a certain ship trope, or want to share their hcs, or just use a word to describe a character that you dont agree with. I've seem posts where a list of names and blogs were pointed and called out publicly when nobody even tried to reach those person and talk to them in private first to understand their point of view (yeah lets say i know some of those names). I've seem posts with screenshots of others blogs being accused of things with no proof or just because "they blocked me for no reason". Guys if I dont like what you post I'm going to block you at the first glance and I hope you do the same to me if you don't like what I have here instead of exposing my blog and making some public hate post just because you cant deal with a different opinion or interests than yours!

Said that and do not wanting to make this too long... I want to say I understand that many of you are just trying to make this fandom a safe place for everyone and all. But there is a big difference on those two things happening here. Discussing and exploring characters sexuality in hcs OR writing smut pwp of same characters OR condone with bad things irl ARE NOT THE SAME. If you cant handle the first two in your fictions you can pretty well block the blog and follow with your life. If you identify an IRL abuser you can call the police. Other than that you're just being an asshole and proning others creativity and pretty much causing more harm than avoiding it.

But how I'm causing harm if I'm protecting everyone from those bad things? You may ask and I'll take myself as an exemple here. I grew up on an environment that proned my sexuality a lot making me thing that any interest in this topic was ugly and wrong. I grew up believing I was a bad person and that there was something wrong with me, but as a good rebel I was it only worked to have me only doing it in secret. Today I look back at my teen years and see how things could have went very bad to me and I WAS LUCKY AS FUCK IT DIDNT! Just because I was said to not do it or that but nobody get to actually talk to me and try to understand me. But now I see how this can be dangerous to someone development and self acceptance.

So the only thing I ask is, if someone say something you dont agree with, why instead of making a hate post cant you just message that blog and talk to them? Try to understand their point of view and reasons, try to show why you think it isnt good. And if it still dont work for you, so just block them and get back to your life. Nobody need to be called out or prone in a place where they come to have fun with people that like the same book they do. Fandom should be about acceptance and not to judge one another.

Oh look it went way longer than i expected so I'm cutting it here. But please take a look on this post (CS MENTION) too it is very important.

#lord of the flies #lotf fandom #important #my inbox and asks are always open for those who want to talk about anything #now what happened to this fandom in 2010 you guys are so scared of?#lol #long post #G ranting

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caught-in-the-filter · 3 years ago

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My Bad, Bad Devil, You Put the Angel in You

—an angel!Killian/demon!Emma AU PWP for CSSNS21

A/N: A huge shoutout and thank you to ultraluckycatnd for beta-ing this for me, and to the mods of @cssns for giving us another year of this event!

Heads up that this has some sacrilegious uses of Biblical references, and I totally understand and respect if that's a big nope for anyone for any reason. Most of my life, it would've been a nope for me too. I mean no attack or mockery or other ill intent toward Christianity/religion or anyone who practices any form of it.

I grew up in church but I've been questioning a lot for a long time now, and this sort of became my own little personal rebellion. (I guess writing smut in general has been, but this one is on another level.) I kind of have a love/hate relationship with this fic; it was fun when I started it, but then I got frustrated and stuck, and now I'm not sure how I feel about it anymore. And maybe I'll regret it in the future if I ever see the light again or something, but for now, I've resigned to the fact that if I'm gonna go to hell (if I even believe there is one anymore), then I might as well have a little fun with it while I can.

So if this is your thing, I hope you enjoy. If not, dl,dr, and no hard feelings.

Also, I know the title is a little long, but I couldn't resist the Doctor Who reference.

Rated: E; Words: 2904; AO3

——

“Well, well, what do we have here?” Emma purred, closing the distance between herself and the angel standing before her. With a flick of her wrist, she cast him back against the window and commanded the curtains to cross in front of him, spinning him so that he faced the glass before wrapping themselves around his wings and arms to restrain him.

“A daughter of the damned, getting in over her head?” Killian quipped, testing the hold of the thick cloth keeping him in place without fighting it.

“Mmm,” Emma hummed. Taking advantage of the fact that he hadn’t worn a shirt in favor of opening his wings, she reached around his waist and bent her arms upward so she could slowly rake her nails down his exposed chest. “You’re the one tied up, but I’m in over my head?” She twirled a few of his hairs around her finger and tugged, making him flinch.

“You make the mistake of thinking I’m not exactly where I want to be, love.” Killian glanced back at her with a devious smirk. “That is why you’re in over your head.”

“Oh, I know,” Emma smiled. Resting her chin on his shoulder, she lowered her hands and began to unlace his trousers. “I know you want to fall, don’t you?” She freed his hardening cock from its leather confines and slowly ran her hand back and forth along the length of him. “You want to rise and fall and lose yourself in the worst way.”

“With you?” Killian panted, already breathless under her sinfully skilled touch. “Hell yes.”

“Then you’re going to let them watch you fall from grace.” Emma gestured at the window in front of them, guiding Killian’s eyes to gaze out at the possibility of unwitting passersby spotting their activities, before taking him in hand once more. “You’re going to let them see you give all of yourself to a demon.” The guttural groan he made only spurred her on as she continued to pump him. “Unless you can’t handle it.”

Killian’s head fell back when Emma interrupted her stroking to grip his balls with a taunting squeeze, and he muttered under his breath, “God, forgive me,” as his eyes fluttered closed. Bucking his hips, he tried to coax her to go faster, “Yes, Emma, please yes,” but she smiled as she removed her hand and relished the whine that left his lips.

“An angel eager to sin.” She slipped her hands beneath the back of his trousers, kneading his ass for a moment before stripping off the leather, trailing kisses down his spine as she sank to the floor with the material. “Step.” With a tap to the backs of his knees, she removed the trousers completely and tossed them aside.

Emma ducked between Killian’s legs and twisted her body in one fluid motion so that she sat with her back to the window, greeted by his cock pointing right at her face.

“I want to taste you,” she said and lifted his cock so she could lick a slow stripe from base to head, swiping her tongue over the sensitive tip. Looking up at him from beneath her lashes, she cupped his ass and pulled him toward her as she took him into her mouth until he hit the back of her throat. The staccato sounds that left his lips convinced her to hold him there as long as she could, flexing her tongue along the length of him, until she had to lean back to take a breath.

“Delicious,” Emma sighed and took him in again, and again, this time guiding him back and forth, in and out, her tongue darting out to tease his balls with each plunge.

Killian panted her name amidst a slew of encouragements, lost in the way she licked and sucked and consumed him. Her grip on his ass tightened, and he bit back a moan when her finger made its way to the center and circled its find before dipping just barely inside.

“Ooh, sounds like you like that,” she parted from him long enough to tease, continuing her carefully intrigued prodding as she asked, “shall we sodomize an Angel of God?”

“It wouldn’t—” he gritted his teeth as she gave his cock a particularly strong suck, straining against the curtains holding him at her mercy, or lack thereof, “—wouldn’t be the first time, love.”

“Oh?” Emma raised an eyebrow at him, pausing for a moment before bringing him into her mouth once more, staring up into his eyes as he watched her intently.

“Aye. Though I much prefer to give than to receive.”

Of course you would, Emma thought, the pun of angelic nature not lost on her. She hummed her assent around him and sent a ripple of pleasure coursing through his body.

It was too much and not enough. As Emma relentlessly devoured him, Killian fought against the material holding him back. With one forceful downward motion, he tore the curtains in half and freed himself as he sought his glorious ascension.

His fingers laced into her hair, and for once, he allowed himself to take. His frantic thrusts were met with surprised and hungry moans, the vibrations of which sent him soaring over the edge.

“Ohh fuck. Fuck,” he cried as he spilled himself down her throat. He felt it when she swallowed as he held her still and his cock continued to pulse.

“Such a dirty mouth for such a pure being,” Emma remarked as she caught her breath when he at last let her go. She got to her feet and stood facing him, using her tongue to trace the lines of the cross tattoo on his chest as she rose, and she yelped when he pulled her flush against him, his arms tight around her.

“Oh, it can be much, much dirtier,” he growled, making her gasp as he gave a harsh tug to her hair and attacked the exposed skin of her neck with sloppy kisses and less than gentle nips and searing hot breath. She arched up into him, and it was his turn to pin her against the glass. His hand and hook frantically tore at her blouse while his mouth continued its expert assault as it made its way to hers and along her jaw until he caught her earlobe between his teeth. “Would you like that, demon?” he asked, slipping his hand beneath her waistband and trailing his lips down to the swell of her breasts. “Would you like my mouth on you where you’re warm and wet and wanting for me? Teasing you as you’ve done me, making you long for my cock as much as I long for the feel of you around me?”

Emma suddenly couldn’t find the words, too caught up in the thrill of hearing him, an angel, her angel, talk like that. Hoping to get the point across, she threaded her fingers through the haphazard locks on his head and shoved him to his knees.

“Shall I take that as a yes?” he grinned, holding her gaze as he lifted her incredibly short skirt and ran his thumb along the already soaked strip of lace she considered panties before pulling it down to her knees.

Emma leaned forward to allow the remnants of her blouse to fall to the floor before reaching for the support of the window once more as he canted her hips toward himself with the curve of his hook pressed to the small of her back.

Killian’s wing curled forward to assist with holding up the material of her skirt, the feathers tickling the top of her thigh, so he could focus his efforts on her aching core. Too eager to taste her, he wasted no time, choosing instead to start right with his mouth at her clit. She jumped at the unexpected jolt of pleasure, and he steadied her with his hand splayed against her inner thigh, inching his fingers toward her center.

“How can you be from Hell when you taste so divine, Emma?” he praised. “I could spend eternity quenching my deepest thirst between your legs.”

“Then shut up and quench it,” Emma barked. She didn’t really mean it, not completely. She loved his silver tongue, especially when he used it to talk dirty, but right now she craved him putting it to a different use.

“Ask and ye shall receive.” As he gave one more suck on her clit, Killian plunged two fingers inside her, soon increasing it to three as he stretched her and coaxed out more of her arousal onto his expertly explorative tongue.

“God, you’re so fucking good at that,” Emma sighed, tugging his hair as she rode his tongue and fingers, relishing the warm vibrations his pained groans and hungry moans ghosted over her sensitive skin.

“Oh no, love,” Killian said without relenting, looking up at her as he continued working her between words. “Don’t blaspheme. I’m not Him. I worship at your altar, Emma, and there’s no better place to be on my knees.”

“I like your Word better, anyway.” Emma’s head tipped back as her hips began to buck, but her moment of near bliss quickly turned into one of frustration. “No,” she gasped, shocked and almost offended as he pulled away with a smirk and stood to his feet, leaving her clenching on nothing and far from sated. “Come on, Killian, please! I thought you were all about giving! And how is this worship?”

“I meant what I said, love. I adore you, I do. But I am an angel, after all.” Killian chuckled. “We tend to enjoy when someone is brought to the edge before they’re granted their salvation. I need you begging for it.”

“Fucking tease,” Emma huffed, turning away from him with her arms crossed in front of her.

“Mmm,” Killian mused, “perhaps you are ready to receive more.” He nudged her legs apart with his own, a soft blow with the side of his foot kicking one out to the side, and Emma scrambled to reach her arms out in front of her for balance, her hands slipping on the window as her legs spread. Snaking his arms around her, he set his chin on her shoulder as he held her in his embrace and mused, “What do you think, love? Shall we bare you to them as I take you and show them what they can’t have, or should we keep this sinful skirt on and show them how eager you are to be ravished by an angel?”

“On, off, I don’t care which you’re into, just fuck me!”

“A bit of both then.” Killian pressed the side of his hook to her stomach and pulled her to him, holding her so that her back pressed against his chest. Lifting the front of her skirt, he handed her the bottom hem. “Hold this up for me, love.”

With a smirk, she took it between her teeth, stretching the waistband higher and pulling the material taut between her breasts as she leaned her head back onto his shoulder and winked at him.

“There’s a good girl.” He smiled and raised the bit between them with the tip of his hook, taking himself in hand. “You pretend you like to rebel, but you behave so well for me. Now, tell me what you want.”

“I said, I want you to fuck me,” Emma answered, slightly muffled by her skirt, frustratedly trying to swivel her hips in the hopes of getting him inside her.

He draped her skirt over his hand and wrapped his hooked arm around her once more to still her. Her annoyance encouraged him to tease her all the more, and he brushed the tip of his cock between her folds agonizingly slowly as he said, “I need you to be more specific, love. What do you want?”

“Fuck, Killian, I want your cock inside me.” Emma almost dropped her skirt when he filled her in one smooth slide, her jaw instinctively ready to fall open, but she caught herself and clenched it instead, biting down hard on the material with a groan at the sudden stretch.

“Very good.” The tip of his hook dimpled her flesh, dangerously close to piercing her, as he held her against himself and slammed into her from behind. His fingers laced themselves between hers and he caressed up the side of her body as he brought her hand to rest on the back of his neck. Emma raised her other hand in kind, and Killian moved his to her breast, kneading and squeezing it as he lost himself in the feel of her.

“Fuck, you feel fucking amazing around me, Emma. Not even heaven compares to the feel of you.” Killian licked a stripe along Emma’s collarbone and clamped his mouth over the spot, digging his teeth into her flesh. She moaned at the thought of the mark she’d wear tomorrow.

Bringing his arm back, Killian pressed it across Emma’s shoulder blades, pinning her chest to the glass in front of them with an arch in her back that jutted her ass out at him, and this time Emma did drop her skirt as her mouth opened on a loud moan at the forceful change of angles. Killian grunted and tucked his hook beneath the waistband, ripping it apart with the sharp tip and watching it fall as he pounded into her.

“I told you to hold that,” he growled against the shell of her ear. “Perhaps you are a naughty little minx after all.” Killian swatted Emma’s ass with an open palm before grabbing the reddening flesh and massaging it, in theory to soothe the sting but so roughly that she thought he might leave a bruise if he continued, one she’d be more than willing to bear as a reminder of their time for several days to come.

“Forgive me?” she teased in a mocking tone as she met his thrusts with each backward roll of her hips, almost inclined to make prayer hands at him if moving them wouldn’t risk her falling.

“Not exactly a sincere repentance, is it, love?” Killian struck her ass once more before grabbing a fistful of her hair and tugging her head backward. “But it is rather tempting to grant you reprieve nonetheless.”

“Ah, so why don’t you give into that temptation, angel?” Emma gritted.

“Don’t try to persuade. Ask me for it.”

“Please, Killian, I’m so close.” Emma couldn’t take it anymore. “Make me come, angel. Please!” Emma sighed through a string of curses as Killian moved the curve of his hook to her clit, pressing the brace against her flesh just above it as he rubbed quick circles over the swollen nub.

“What say you, demon?” he asked, breathless himself as he brought them both to the brink. “Shall we chance our own breed of Nephilim?”

“Yes please,” she panted desperately. “I’ve already tasted you. I want to feel you. I want to feel you come inside me.”

“I’ll give you what you want, demon, but I want to hear you scream my name when I do, not God’s.” Killian’s mouth travelled from Emma’s neck to her shoulder and back as he pistoned his hips with abandon. His teeth scraped her flesh before he moaned against her cheek as he found his release, “Emma, fuck yes, Emma,” filling her with it and pushing it deeper as it dripped down the length of his cock.

With his brutal thrusts and relentless teasing, Emma granted his request soon after, crying out, “Killian!” at the top of her lungs as her knees buckled beneath her.

He practically lifted her off the ground when he caught her with his arm wrapped around her middle, holding her tightly as he drew every last drop of ecstasy from within her before he slipped from her core and spun her into a lightheaded kiss, caging her against the window with his arms once more.

“Well, that was fucking hot.” Emma smiled against his lips as she pulled one into her mouth to bite it playfully, her chest heaving as she struggled to catch her breath. “Who knew you had it in you, angel?” One hand anchored in his hair as the other clutched at his ass, and she pulled him closer to her so she could rut against his leg, letting their releases spill down her thigh onto his and making him groan.

“It was the other way around, love,” he joked with a certainly devilish smirk, “but I concur, it was fucking hot.” Tucking his arms beneath her legs, Killian hoisted Emma into them and carried her to the bed, tossing her not so gently onto the mattress.

Emma giggled as she taunted him with one curled finger, beckoning him to her as she spread her legs wide, an invitation he happily accepted as he knelt between them and crawled above her body with a guttural growl.

“You might just convince me of the divine benefits of your side,” Emma purred, running her hands down his sides to grip his waist, “but I think I need to witness a bit more firsthand to make sure I believe, if you’ve got another miracle in you.”

“Angels are eternal, darling,” he said. “I’ll never leave you if that’s what it takes to really fill you with the spirit.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

——

A/N: "Glorious ascension" to describe an orgasm? Yeah, I'm going to hell.

——

Tag list ❤️: @batana54 @darkcolinodonorgasm @deckerstarblanche @donteattheappleshook @elizabeethan @holdingoutforapiratehero @hollyethecurious @ilovemesomekillianjones @itsfabianadocarmo @jonesfandomfanatic @jrob64 @klynn-stormz @kmomof4 @qualitycoffeethings @stahlop @teamhook @the-darkdragonfly @thejollyroger-writer @tiganasummertree @wefoundloveunderthelight @xsajx @zaharadessert

#cssns21 #captain swan supernatural summer #cs smut #captain swan #angel!killian #demon!emma #cs ff #cssns 2021 #cs pwp #pwp #angel/demon AU #kayla writes #my writing

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lifeinahole27 · 4 years ago

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CS ff: “Contact”

Summary: Killian makes an accidental discovery about something Emma really enjoys...

Rating: E

Warnings: Spanking, ahoy!

A/N: Oh, what’s that? PWP no one asked for? Written ages ago now for @phiralovesloki in hopes to make grading a less daunting task for her. There’s more to follow. Smut ahoy, so keep that in mind.

Read it on Ao3!

-x-

It happens on accident the first time, as good things sometimes do, during a quiet movie night while Henry is at Regina’s and her parents occupied with their son. Emma was on her way to the kitchen and quipped something on her way out. Killian, being Killian, swatted towards her behind; rather than making a quick contact or missing, as he figured he would, his hand solidly connected with her left ass cheek and she moaned.

Unbidden. Unrestrained.

Killian Jones has had many an erection in his life. None have ever sprung faster than the moment that sound came out of his wife’s mouth. They’d looked at each other for a second, eyes locked as they decided how to proceed. But whatever was in the kitchen was forgotten as Emma rounded the couch and draped herself over the arm of the chair, her rear in the air and waiting.

“Do it again,” she said.

With no hesitation, Killian brought his hand back up, swinging it back against her clothed ass. Again, the moan that came out of her mouth had all of the blood rushing to Killian’s cock. He leaned over, pushing her hair away from her ear with his hook.

“Let’s see, love, how that feels when I’m buried inside you.”

Clothes had been shed, and when his hand hit her bare flesh that time, opposite cheek?

To say it was good would be an understatement.

It becomes a treat on special occasions. They set up the whole evening around the idea that this is how it will go. It’s the same kind of concept: Quiet night, wine, a movie that is quickly forgotten when Emma lays across Killian’s lap.

He rubs gently to start. Once across the right globe, once across the left. She wiggles in anticipation, and Killian grins. It’s the anticipation that she enjoys the most – he can tell.

“Push these down, love,” he says quietly, his fingers tugging at the band on her leggings.

She obliges, only moving the fabric down enough to expose what he wants.

“No underwear?” He hums, making the question rhetorical.

And then he waits until just before the moment she’s about to ask for it. He cups his hand, bringing it swiftly against her bare skin. She jolts against his lap, her moan muffled by the pillow she’s holding against her chest. The move is instinctual, a hip thrust against his lap, and it’s just the beginning. He repeats the motion against the other cheek, pausing to rub each one to sooth again.

Round 2. With a little more pressure this time, Emma rides out the sweet pain as she writhes in his lap. Round 3. He repeats the process again with steady and careful motions. Round 4. He makes sure to soothe the skin again as she shifts to get her hand between them, pleasuring herself. After Round 5, Emma moves her face from the pillow.

“Yellow,” she tells them. Their code. She’s reaching a pain threshold but she wants to keep going. So it’s time to change the game.

“Let’s shift,” he tells her, urging her up and repositioning her over the arm of the couch like she’d been the first time. He helps her remove the leggings the rest of the way, urging her legs a little wider. She’s glistening with her own arousal and there’s so many things he wants to do at that moment, but he sticks to their game. Pushing down his own jeans and underwear and shucking them off, he gives her a moment to rest.

Before he slides into her, he starts the next round. It’s not as intense from this angle, since he can’t achieve the same cupping technique and tension, but it just means that when he spanks her as he enters that she pushes back instead of jerking forward, and he gets to slide deep inside of her as she clenches around him.

“Heaven,” he murmurs, trying to keep focused. He slides out, thrusting a few times before he delivers the next hit. His whole palm is open, coming down on her left cheek and grabbing it, relishing the way she moans and shudders. With how red each globe is, he eases off, instead focusing on delivering her more pleasure than pain.

It doesn’t take long. She reaches for her own clit, leveraging up against the arm to change the angle and help them both along. It’s a matter of thrusts later that she clenches tight around his cock and he stills, the pleasure finally overtaking his whole body.

They both pause, catching their breath and coming back down. As Killian pulls out, he carefully bends and places a kiss against each perfect cheek of his beloved’s rear end.

From there, they continue their night. They clean up and return to their normal spots on the couch, with Killian’s hand ever-gently rubbing against her arse through the end of the movie.

“Same time next week?”

Her response isn’t verbal, it’s a swift slap to his ass as she exits the bathroom, grinning as Killian groans. “I thought maybe we’d try something new.”

#captain swan #cs ff #pwp #sarah writes ff #smut

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stahlop · 5 years ago

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Honeymoon in Paris (CSRR) 1/1

Ao3

Look at this amazing artwork @kmomof4 did for this! That picture in the top right corner was the real inspiration for this piece. I knew it had to be really steamy and sexy. So this is basically a CS honeymoon and it’s pretty much a PWP. There’s a little plot, but not a ton. Just lots of smutty fun. So I really hope you like this Krystal!!

This piece is based off canon and in the same universe as my other CSRR piece, Not All Treasure is Silver and Gold (sometimes it's chocolate). While that one was pure fluff, this one is just sex.

Thank you to my betas, @profdanglaisstuff and @thisonesatellite. Honestly, Saira, I don’t know if this piece would’ve been written if it wasn’t for all your help.

Rated E

Summary: Emma and Killian are on their honeymoon and Emma wants to take things really slow and just enjoy each other.

He’s on her before she can even get the keycard in the slot, nuzzling against her ear, hitting that spot right behind her earlobe that he knows drives her crazy.

“We are in the hallway of the hotel,” she admonishes him in protest, but he knows she loves it all the same.

“Then get that door open so I can ravish you, darling,” he says, smiling into her hair.

She’s trying to get the keycard to work, she really is, but she can’t concentrate when he’s busy kissing his way down her neck.

“Killian!” she hisses as he starts moving the neckline of her top aside to kiss her collarbone.

Finally, after what seems like forever, Emma finally gets the damn keycard to click and opens the door.

Killian shoves her inside, kicking the door shut behind them, swinging Emma around, and pushing her up against the inside of the door; not even taking the time to see the view of the Eiffel Tower that is supposed to be visible from their hotel suite window. Her breath is coming out in short puffs with the way he’s all over her. He captures her lips with his own in a searing hot kiss, only pulling away to start giving hot, frantic kisses down her neck. The salty taste of her skin on his tongue. He uses his hook to skim down the buttons on her blouse.

“Do you like this shirt, love?” Killian asks as he bites the junction between her neck and shoulder, quickly soothing it with his tongue. Emma braces her hands on his chest and pushes him back.

“Whoa, Killian, slow down.” He pouts at this, not happy that she interrupted his ministrations. “I didn’t say stop,” Emma gives him her best seductive smile, “just slow down.” She runs her finger down his still buttoned up shirt, “We’re on our honeymoon.” She unbuttons one button on his waistcoat. “We’ve spent so much time rushing things because of larger-than-life villains.” There goes another button. “We can actually enjoy the quiet moments.” She says echoing what he used to tell her when they first started dating. He looks down and now all his waistcoat buttons are undone.

Killian shucks it off, letting the black waistcoat Emma loves drop to the plush carpeted floor. He resumes kissing her and slowly backs her up toward the huge, four-poster, king-sized bed, adorned with rose petals, that is waiting for them. Emma’s knees hit the mattress and she sits.

Killian expects her to either start unbuttoning his shirt and play with his chest hair, which she loves to do so much, or unhook her bra so he can play with her, but she does neither. Instead, she starts unbuttoning his pants.

“Emma…” Killian whines. He normally likes to pleasure her first, but she shushes him. She gets the button through the hole and slowly pulls his zipper down.

He’s commando, as usual, so his cock springs out when she lets his pants drop. She cups his asscheeks (like peach fuzz she tells him) as she pulls him forward closer to her face, her breath making his dick twitch in anticipation. Killian can see Emma is practically salivating at his velvety, smooth penis that stands at attention before her. She grasps his erection with both hands making him gasp and gives him a few good pumps before she engulfs him in her hot, wet mouth.

Killian’s hand goes immediately to her hair, twisting in her golden locks as she slowly bobs up and down his shaft. Emma is alternating using her whole mouth to suck him down and licking him from root to tip. She stops to swirl her tongue just around the tip, sucking it like a lollipop, before taking him in all the way again, deeper than before.

“Emma…” he groans, the sensations of her wet mouth making that feeling coil in his balls. Emma lets him go with a pop. Killian looks down at her, wondering why in heaven she stopped.

Emma’s green eyes stare right into his when she says, “Fuck my mouth, Killian.” He didn’t think he could love her any more. And also, when did his wife start to play so dirty in the bedroom? Not that their sex life is boring by any means, but she’s never straight up asked him to do this before. And Emma Swan (Jones) is never shy about what she wants in the bedroom.

She’s still looking at him expectantly. He puts the tip of his cock right to her lips, smearing the mix of pre-cum and saliva over her lips. “Open up, love.”

Emma opens up for him. Killian’s hand is still in her hair and pushes her head forward as she follows his directions. He can feel her throat opening up as pushes back as far as he can, her throat contracting around him. Usually her blow jobs are quick, a means to get him hard fast (not that he needs that much help), because who knows when they’ll get interrupted by a dwarf or her parents (or, god, that one time Henry almost caught them in her bug). But here, they can just enjoy each other, and maybe that’s why Emma is relinquishing some of her control to him right now.

The first time she did this for him he was embarrassed. He only ever had women he’d bought suck him off. Even Milah never went down there. It wasn’t considered ladylike. He tried to pull Emma up, claiming she didn’t have to do this, but she wouldn’t have it. Turns out fellatio wasn’t a dirty thing in this realm, and Emma enjoyed it. She enjoyed it a lot. And who was he to deny the woman he loved?

Killian keeps pushing her head back and forth, relishing the feel of his cock in the tightness of her throat. She takes one of her hands from his ass and brings it down between his legs as she starts slowly massaging his balls and his breath stutters.

“Emma...I…” he grunts. He really doesn’t want to spend himself in her mouth, but he can see that is exactly what his minx of a wife wants. Emma starts sucking faster and faster until he cries her name, and his cum explodes down her throat. He continues to fuck her mouth until he is spent, his grip on her hair loosening as he finishes his orgasm. Emma makes sure to lick all the cum off his cock thoroughly before she releases him, giving one final kiss on the tip.

Emma looks up at him earnestly, waiting for his reaction. Killian takes his hook and puts it under her chin, tipping her face up even more to him before he comes down in a heat-searing kiss.

“You are a naughty wife.” Killian says into her ear, and she shivers. “Making me come in your mouth before I’ve barely gotten to touch you.” He takes his hook and starts plucking the buttons off her blouse. “You didn’t answer my question before.” He says kissing his way down her neck, making sure to pay special attention to the hollow of her neck, one of her most sensitive spots.

“What...I...question?” she sputters rubbing her thighs together.

“Do...” pluck

“you…” pluck

“like…” pluck

“this…” pluck

“shirt…” pluck

“love?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer though. His hook comes down and rips off the last two buttons.

“Up on the bed, love” he says as he toes off his socks and shoes, and kicks off his pants which had pooled around his ankles. She throws the ruined shirt off somewhere into the room, now clad in only a lace bra, black leggings, and black flats. She quickly kicks off her shoes before she lays herself back on the outrageous amount of pillows gracing the bed.

“Now, what to do with you.” Killian smirks as he starts unbuttoning his own shirt and walking towards the side of the bed. “You say you want to take things slow.” He sits down on the edge of the bed, sees Emma’s stomach dip in anticipation, and gets right next to her ear and practically growls, “Well, love, I always did love a challenge.”

Killian takes his thumb and brings it to her face, tracing the outline of her perfect, pink lips. Emma takes it into her mouth and starts sucking on it and he closes his eyes at the feelings it stirs up in his belly, but he pulls it away, much to Emma’s dismay. “Ah, ah, ah, darling.” He warns and taps her nose, “You already had your fun, it’s my turn now.” He slowly caresses down her cheek, then moves to her neck, feeling her pulse rush as he presses down slightly. Emma gasps at the slight squeeze, her thighs pressing together due to the lack of friction. Killian understands that want, that need, but she insisted on slow, so slow he will go.

Killian’s hand wanders down Emma’s neck into the valley between her breasts which are encased in a black, lace bra. He lowers his head down and starts licking the tops of her breasts visible above the bra. He sees Emma’s nipples straining against the fabric. Well, something needs to be done about that. He continues to lick and suck, leaving the occasional mark while his hand grazes the bare skin right underneath, making its way towards her back. Killian loves this realm’s corsetry. It doesn’t require so much work to get it off, just a simple flick of the fingers, something even he can do easily.

He pulls down the cups now that the bra has been undone and starts to suck on a rosy, pert nipple. Emma takes in another breath, her hands now scratching his shoulders. He’s sure there will be little half-moon marks from her fingernails, a cross he’s willing to bear.

His hook now joins in, skimming around the other breast and encircling the nipple. Emma breaks out in goosebumps, most likely from her overheated skin and the coolness of his hook. Killian releases her nipple and kisses his way over to the other one. His hook lightly scrapes down her stomach.

“Killian!” she moans. He knows how much she loves the feel of his hook. He was surprised that his lovely Swan loved the hook play so much. Having used it as a weapon for so many centuries, the idea of using it on Emma, regardless of how much she got off on it, took awhile for him to be comfortable with. But after seeing Emma fall apart on his hook the first time, he couldn’t imagine never using it like that again.

“Yes, love?” He asks with an air of innocence. His hook now dipping into the waist of her leggings.

“I...oh god!” Emma pants as his hook barely brushes her panty-covered clit.

“Killian will do.” He teases into her breast as he brushes her clit again.

He gives her a few more rubs through the fabric before he gets impatient and uses his hook to (slowly) slide her her undergarments down her long, pale legs.

They are now both completely naked (took long enough, he thinks, usually they’re naked immediately; Emma has even poufed their clothes off before in her rush to get to the good stuff). Killian looks up into his beautiful wife’s face. Her head thrown back, exposing her long, graceful neck. Her bottom lip between her teeth mostly likely stifling a moan. Her eyes squeezed tight in anticipation of what she knows is coming next.

Killian scoots down toward the edge of the bed, gliding his fingers down her body as he moves. Emma is taking in shallow breaths and he hasn’t even got to the good part yet. He stops slightly to tangle his fingers through the small thatch of hair between her legs. She had been bare the first time they came together, after she returned his heart. A frenzied, rushed encounter that had them both coming in no time at all; not how he’d imagined their first time in any of his musings. He hardly noticed until after they were done and he was pulling out. Emma explained the custom of women shaving down there, but that it was easy enough to grow some back if that’s what he preferred. It was. The bareness down there made him think of the first girl he coupled with, the one he lost his virginity to at the tender age of 16. It had been with a new girl to the house of ill-repute that the sailors on the ship bought for him, telling him that even though he was a slave he needed to ‘become a man’. He knew that she was young, probably too young, and he was pleasantly surprised when the first woman he took to bed once he and Liam joined the King’s Royal Navy had hair down there. It made her seem more experienced and mature; more of a woman than a girl. And Emma is definitely a woman.

Killian trails his fingers down to her inner thighs and coats his fingers in the slickness between her folds that is soaking the bed. Emma sighs in contentment. He takes his fingers away for just a moment to kneel on the bed, much to Emma’s consternation. Killian grabs her legs and throws them over his shoulders, and then starts kissing his way down them. He is unhurried as he makes his way down. He wants to make her squirm, make her beg, make her cry his name out like a prayer on her lips.

She is right. They never get the time to just enjoy each other. Even over the past six months since their defeat of the Black Fairy and winning the Final Battle, she’s been so on edge waiting for that next villain to pop up that it’s still been that rapid race to the finish line without all the other fun stuff. Killian is disheartened that he has rarely gotten to bring Emma over the edge more than once during their couplings.

He finally reaches the treasure between Emma’s legs, but he does not use his mouth on her right away. He can hear her frustration from above as she grabs his hair and practically forces his face near the place she wants him most. He laughs as he turns his head and gives a wet kiss right at the intersection between her thighs and her most private of parts.

“Killian…” Emma moans, tugging his hair in annoyance.

“Patience, my love.” He says moving his face upward to see hers. “You’re the one that wanted us to... go slow,” he teases, throwing her words back at her. “Now, be a good girl and let me hear what I do to you. Don’t be afraid to really get into it.” He chuckles. He swears he hears Emma whisper “Smug bastard” from above, but then he tongues up her slit, tasting the tangy flavor that is all his wife, and all he gets from her is an illicit moan that goes straight to his groin.

He continues to lick her, his tongue savoring her essence. Emma is making the most wonderful noises from above him. Killian is torturing her by lazily caressing his hand and hook down her stomach, just barely touching her on the way down. He grazes her sides at the same time he takes the flat of his tongue and presses it against her clit, making her arch off the bed.

“Killian!” Emma practically screams. He knows this is the moment. Without any of his usual savvy, Killian takes two fingers and enters her sweet cunt while bringing his hook back to her clit for a few swipes. The cool metal against Emma’s heated and swollen flesh is almost too much for her to bear, Killian knows. He also knows that it’s the easiest way to get her off before the main event.

He continues to alternate between his mouth and his hook on her clit, driving Emma wild. She is making incoherent noises now, and Killian thanks his lucky stars that he’s the only one who can make her feel like this. Killian absolutely loves the way Emma looks when she’s coming undone. And she’s almost there.

He takes one final turn with his mouth, drawing her clit into his mouth and grazing it with his teeth, while also adding one more finger into her cunt and curving them to massage her sweet spot inside. Emma falls apart with a long moan, legs shaking, hands nearly pulling out his hair, walls clenching around his fingers.

“Fuck, Killian!” She screams. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

He brings her down, slowly massaging her inner walls until her breath starts to even out. His erection is back in full force and he feels like he’s never been this hard in his life. He wants to gather Emma in his arms and just fuck with no grace whatsoever. But as much as she may be protesting it now with how keyed up she is, he knows that’s not what he needs to do.

He trails kisses up her stomach, making sure to dip his tongue into her belly button, a sensitive spot for her, then goes back up to her breasts, making sure to lave attention on the straining nipples,before moving in between her legs, his cock barely brushing against her still sensitive clit.

Emma lies beneath him, looking every bit the princess that she is. A very naked and flushed princess, but still a princess. Her blonde hair is fanned out on the pillows, giving her an ethereal quality as well. Her eyes are still closed and her head is still slightly thrown back.

“Killian…” she moans, “Killian, please!” Ahhh, the begging portion has finally begun.

“Please what, darling?” he asks, kissing his way up her neck.

“Please!” Emma moans again as she rocks her hips up trying to catch his cock on her clit again. Killian moves slightly up, even though it’s killing him. Emma has been lightly raking her fingernails down his back while he nipped and licked up her body, but now she tries to pull him closer by digging her nails into his back.

“Patience.” Killian repeats.

Emma snaps open her eyes and pulls his head up to hers by his hair so that they are now eye level. “Fuck patience!” she says, her emerald eyes practically black. “I swear to God or any of your gods, Killian, if you don’t stop teasing me and get your fucking dick inside my cunt, I will finish up myself and I will not allow you the luxury of getting to watch me do it or letting you relieve yourself!”

Normally, Killian would laugh at such a declaration, because he knows his wife. He knows she won’t get off quite as hard by her own hand. And he knows it turns her on too much when he watches her pleasure herself. But she is in such a state right now, he really doesn’t want to test her.

“As you wish.” And that’s all the warning he gives her before quickly taking himself in hand and quickly guiding himself into her warm, tight cunt.

He’d had plans when she insisted on going slow. He was going to tease her, just put in the tip, shallow thrusts until she couldn’t stand it. Instead, he takes her in one stroke, going all the way to the hilt. He pulls out and thrusts all the way in again. Emma’s breath changes erratically from normal breathing to shallow breaths almost immediately.

“Is this what you wanted, love?” he growls into her ear. “Fast,” he pulls out again, “and hard?” and slams back into her. Emma does nothing but nod her head and moan again into his ear.

He could just keep fucking her with no finesse, but it’s their honeymoon. It’s their first time together in any sense without possibility of danger or distraction. He wants to savor this. He wants Emma to savor this. It was her idea to go slow after all.

“Open your eyes, love,” he demands; Emma does. She looks at him with questioning eyes before he hits the right spot inside of her and she keens up toward him and closes them again. “Keep them open!” Killian all but commands, “And give me your hands.” He adds as almost an afterthought.

Emma unclenches her hands from his shoulders and slides them over to his on either side of her head. Killian pulls them out straight on either side of her. Emma quickly adjusts, pulling her legs up higher on his waist and drawing him in closer. The new angle is fantastic for both of them. His balls and cock are so tight he feels as if he’ll explode any moment. Emma is rocking her hips into him, now doing most of the work as Killian can’t thrust as much in this position. But being so close her clit rubs against him easily, and as they are practically eye to eye, Killian can see she is getting close.

“Let go, Emma,” he breathes, and that’s all she needs. Her hands tighten around his and her body arches up as Killian feels her heat tighten around him.

“Killian,” she sobs and it sounds like a prayer on her lips. It’s enough to trigger his own orgasm, his cock pulsing and bathing her inner walls with his come.

“Emma, Emma, Emma,” he repeats over and over again thrusting in and out of her until he is completely spent.

Emma’s legs are no longer around him when he comes back to himself, they lie on either side of him. Her eyes are gazing up at him adoringly and he lets go of her hands, now bracing himself on his elbows and gives her a sweet chaste kiss on the lips before pulling out and rolling onto his back.

They are both breathing heavily, trying to get their heartbeats to slow down. Emma scooches over from where she is on the bed to snuggle up on his chest, her hand automatically going to his chest hair. She loves to play with his chest hair. The first time she saw him with his bare chest, not just tufts peeking out from his shirts, she pinned him to the bed and rode him like a stallion just so she could keep her hands on his chest the entire time.

“Darling,” Killian says, playing with the strands of golden hair that are falling down her back. “As much as I would love to fall asleep with you right here, we should get ourselves cleaned up.” Emma gives a slight grunt in protest, but eventually sits up slightly to look at him. Killian notices that the look on her face is not one of disapproval though, but one of mischievousness. Killian raises an eyebrow in question to her look. She gives a slight laugh, using the hand she had just been rubbing his chest with to graze her thumb against his lips. Then she moves her hand down tracing the scruff on his chin.

“One of the reasons I booked this room, besides the spectacular view of Paris from our window,” she begins as her hand now moves up to card through his hair, “is because of the large whirlpool tub.” Killian isn’t quite sure what a ‘whirlpool tub is, and Emma must notice the look of non-comprehension on his face. She smiles. God he loves that smile. He still remembers the first genuine smile he ever got from her after he was hit by Greg Mendell’s infernal car. Even though he’d just done the most atrocious thing that Emma had ever personally witnessed (or at least seen the aftermath of) up to that point, the smile she gave him in the hospital gave him hope for something more than flirtation with her. Even if it took him a while to act on it.

“It’s like a hot spring in a bathtub,” she explains.

Emma sits up all the way and extends her hand for him to take. They walk naked over to the bathroom where Killian does indeed see a large tub with little holes all around the inside of it, he assumes for the bubbles to come out to mimic a hot spring. Emma leaves him briefly to turn on the water, testing it to get the right temperature before flicking the lever to plug the bath. He notices the plenty of bubble solutions, fragrance oils, candles, a bottle of champagne (in a half melted ice bucket) with glasses, and even a bowl of rose petals sitting on the edge of the tub.

“They go all out, don’t they?” Killian asks impressed.

“It’s Paris, the City of Love.” Emma shrugs. She turns toward him and presses kisses under his chin. It goes straight to his cock, which starts stirring again.

“You can’t possibly be ready to go again already, Swan?” He groans as she starts nibbling on his earlobe. Killian feels her laugh against his neck sending chills down his spine.

“Let’s just relax in the tub and see where it takes us,” she says climbing into the tub, which is now half filled.

Killian follows her, relishing the feel of the steaming water on his muscles. Emma grabs the champagne, pops the cork, and fills the two glasses. Once the tub is filled, she turns off the water, throws some of the petals into it, lights the candles, and hands Killian a glass of the champagne. She holds her own out in front of her and he follows.

“To our honeymoon,” she says, looking straight into his eyes.

“Aye love, to our honeymoon.” They clink glasses and then both practically chug the sweet carbonated liquid before quickly placing them back on the edge and attacking each others lips.

Seems like their next coupling won’t be nearly as slow as the first.

Please leave comments and reblog! Also, let me know if you want to be tagged in future stories

@profdanglaisstuff @thisonesatellite @mariakov81 @hollyethecurious @winterbaby89 @jennjenn615 @kmomof4 @superchocovian @lfh1226-linda @ilovemesomekillianjones @csrolereversal

#Captain Swan #captain swan ff #cs smut #pwp #cs role reversal #kmomof4 #ouat canon divergence #cs honeymoon

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kmomof4 · 5 years ago

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It’s my day to post for the CS Role Reversal!!!! I’m so excited!!!

Ohhhh I am sooooo excited to share this with the fandom!!! This is my first time participating as a contributor to a fandom event, THANK YOU @csrolereversal, and it was sooo much fun!!! @stahlop took my art and ran with it giving us the most sweet and precious Honeymoon in Paris!!! So everyone read it and be sure to give her all the love!!!

Ao3 link

#captain swan #killian jones #emma swan #cs ff #cs rolereversal #art by krystal #fic by stahlop #honeymoon in paris #pwp

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punkimonki · 6 years ago

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Mardi Gras in the French Quarter

Second submission for Cocktoberfest!

Also found on ao3 and ff.net.

The streets of New Orleans were light up like a kaleidoscope, beaded necklaces flashing and refracting a million different colors, blinding her. Her whole world is spinning just a little, the buzz of the alcohol thrumming through her veins, lending a pleasant tint to everything happening. Hot bodies press against her as she tugs her friend over to another bar, music seeping out from under the door, a woman with tattoos and tartan skirts and clanging jewelry ushering them inside.

The walls are a deep red, almost black in the dim light. The pulse of the music crawls up from the soles of her feet and into her heart, bouncing in her bones and making them ache needly. Emma pushes her way to the bar, orders a whiskey sour and downs it in a few seconds, catching the eye of the man next to her still trying to get the barkeeps attention. She looks at him and finds herself caught in eyes as blue as the hottest part of a flame framed by thick, dark lashes. She smiles a little sloppily and he smiles back, dimples popping in his stubbled cheeks.

"I'm Killian," he shouts over the thrum of the music, leaning ever so slightly closer to her on the bar. Emma slides her hand up his forearm, fingers curling around his bicep, squeezing softly then grazing her nails back down. Her hair falls in golden waves around them as she brings her lips up to his ear - the spark of a burgundy earring - and whispers her name back to him. He shivers and she grins wolfishly.

There's a little voice still in the back of her mind telling her she shouldn't do this, Ruby is waiting somewhere in the crowd to find her again, move on to another spot, another scene. A larger voice is chanting how long it's been since she's found release and she relents. They dance, bodies sliding against one another fervently, hands gripping and sliding, pulling at clothes and squeezing at hips and asses. Her head falls back into the crook of his neck and she feels the pulling, the electric hiss of his teeth grazing against her, lips sucking and biting to mark. She turns around and slides a hand through his dark messy hair, sweat trailing between them as she stretches up and captures his lips with hers. Killian responds enthusiastically, fingers anchored on her ass, pulling her as close as possible, lifting her up and into the erection straining against his weathered jeans.

They make their way out of the club and down the street, laughing the entire way as they stumbled into alleyways to steal more kisses, feel more of the other's skin against their skin. They find a secluded area of the Quarter behind a shop selling witchcraft, the humid night air clinging to their flesh. Her top falls off, his buttons pop away and she feels like she's falling. She grinds against him, her legs wrapped around his waist as he hisses in her ear, "so good, luv." Lips pull at lips, scalp burning from the tug, teeth clanging against one another in silly drunken movements that have her laughing into his mouth. She hasn't felt this light in a long time, hasn't had someone make her laugh as he tries to fuck her in forever. He makes jokes, nips playfully at her nose, hands trailing to her waist to tickle her quickly. He pulls away far too quickly and she feels the cold seep in, her body following his on instinct. She whines.

"Not just yet, darling. I want to take my time with you." He trails kisses along her jaw to the juncture just beneath her ear. She tugs at his arms and he smiles down at her charmingly. "Would you like to come back to my room with me?"

Her smile is genuine, luminous. "Yes," falls from her cherry kisses lips like a promise and they stumble out of the alley and into the night.

Through the crowds of revelers they find his hotel, bursting into the room and falling on the bed. Their clothes discarded, Killian settles himself between her legs and devours her. His fingers grip her thighs so tightly she's sure they'll leave purple little grapes of bruises. She feels like a meal, like he's a starving man and she's the lifeline he's found. He's talented with his tongue, dipping and sucking and twirling around her clit. He pumps two fingers into her as she oozes around him, quivers and lifts and fights like a bull as the pleasure rushes through her. As she comes down she realizes she'd put his head in a death lock between her legs. She looses them, let's them fall to either side as he looks up at her in satisfaction, chin and lips glistening. Her heart flips at the sight. He is completely debauched, hair in disarray, tongue flicking away the excess juices, eyes blazing at her, cheeks flushed just a little. The flash of his burgundy earring again as it dances back and forth. He crawls up her, kisses a line from her left hip to her right breast, massaging and kneading as he goes.

When he reaches her eye level, he leans in, lips brushing lips teasingly. "Say my name."

She huffs at him, tries to flip them to no avail. He has her trapped beneath him between his strong arms. She searches her memory for a moment, the hazy details lifting up to the surface softly. "Killian, please."

His mouth crashes onto hers and she tastes herself, the musky flavor mixed with just a little spice, sweet and needy and swift. She moans into him, pushes up and over. His back to the mattress, she wiggles her hips over his pleading cock. It twitches and he groans almost painfully as she slides back and forth, not letting him enter, lips sucking on his dark nipples. His dark chest hair scratches against her sensitive tits as she moves, swinging over and over again like twin pendulums. He stops her movements and thrusts up desperately, sliding into her in one elegant twist.

The moan is ripped from her throat unexpectedly, the fullness of her cunt pulsing around his hot member. He makes small, rigid pumps up into her, still just a tease, the veins straining on the sides of his neck with the effort. She leans forward and kisses him softly, tells him to let her take over, just let her move for them and he settles back, relaxes just enough that she trusts he won't move.

Emma turns around and lowers herself back onto him, nails digging into his upper thighs as she bops up and down. His grip is so deliciously painful, just the right pressure to urge her to go faster, harder. She hears his grunts and moans, deep and masculine behind her, sending shocks straight to her throbbing clit. The pleasure coils tighter inside her.

He sits up and she falls forwards onto her elbows. He doesn't pull out, only leans over her as her ass sticks up in the air, pumping in and out frantically. One hand slides toward and grips a breast, fingers twisting her nipple almost painfully, the coil tightening and tightening and tightening. He's so deep she feels like he might just come out the other side, her every nerve snapping with his rough onslaught. It builds and builds and she screams his name, tears slipping from her eyes from the intensity of it, but he's not done. She lies there, muscles limp as he continues to chase his own high in earnest. She feels thoroughly used and wanted and she loves every moment, loves the hot breath on her spine, on the bruises forming on her skin, on the long, deep groan he lets out as he stills deep inside her, pulsing with his own release. She feels him go soft and slip out of her. He pulls her with him, his hand traveling to her clit for one final victory. His touch is feather light, rubbing in wide circles that zero in on her center. She squirms and he holds her tighter, holds her still as he keeps going, pulls a final throbbing climax out of her triumphantly.

Her throat feels raw, her muscles hot and worn, as her eyes close and she falls asleep in the arms of this man. She'll be gone in the morning. It's her way.

#captain swan #cs ff #cs cocktoberfest #mine: writing #smutty smut smut #pwp basically #ouat #emma swan #killian jones #sorry it's late in the day

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laschatzi · 7 years ago

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When you have 3 WIPs and one in your head, and you alternate working on all 3 of them within a few hours, because snippets of dialogue are popping up in your head...

#personal #I have no idea what I'm doing #my head is alternating #between neverland #season 6 angst #a KR/CS crossover #and pwp #send help

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the-captains-ayebrows · 7 years ago

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Five Verbs (3/6) - To Refuse

A/N: Heyyyy... it's been awhile. So, here's a quick recap: In our last chapter, Emma was settling in to life at the Jewel of the Range ranch. She and Killian have developed a rapport and routine, but the simmering attraction to her new boss was getting a little too much to handle. He took her into town for a night out, and as much as she tried to find someone else to help her 'scratch the itch' we all knew whose bed, er, couch she'd end up on at the end of the night. But that was just a one-time thing, right?

Spoiler alert: SMUTTY SMUT ahead. I'm not sure when an M rating turns into an E, but this might be pushing it. Saddle up.

~13K words

Catch up (or refresh your memory) on Tumblr [Ch1] [Ch 2] or AO3

To Refuse - In order to feel like you can consent, you also need to feel like you are allowed to refuse. It isn’t a matter of only saying “No”, but also “Not now,” “Not yet,” and “Not like this.” Give yourself permission to tell a friend, “I’m not ready to talk about that yet,” or, “I’ve got too much on my plate right now.” To tell your lover, “I’m not comfortable with that,” or, “Let’s try something else.” Saying no and establishing boundaries is an essential dimension in a relationship.

“Twenty minutes ‘til housekeeping. C’mon!”

Giggling girlishly, she darted inside the shabby motel room after him. Showed him the dream-catcher the previous occupants had left behind. Delighted herself in the amusement she saw in his warm brown eyes.

“Anywhere you want to go, babe. Pick a point on the map or else we’ll just keep driving until we find a home.”

She looked down at the map he dropped on the bed in front of her and felt his arms wrap around her waist, the warmth of his body soaking into her back.

“Are you sure that’s what you want?”

Her breath hitched at the way his hand dipped dangerously low on her abdomen. “I want you, Emma. Just you.”

She wanted to look into his eyes to see the truth of his words shining back at her, but his hands began to roam her body, his tongue tantalizing the delicate skin behind her ear. She knew she should stop him, but every sensation was so new, so exciting. It felt so good to be wanted, but…

Emma furrowed her brow in confusion. His hands- they didn’t feel like she remembered. His voice was softer now. A different timbre. Her heart began to race. She couldn’t see him. She needed to see him. This was different, this wasn’t how it went.

She tried to turn in his arms, but found herself lying on her back on a couch, her head cradled on someone’s arm, hot breath on her neck. She turned her head as he raised his and saw not brown eyes, but startling crystal blue…

Emma’s eyes sprang open and she sat bolt upright in bed with a gasp, struggling to control her breathing. A dream. It was just a dream. The covers pooled around her waist, leaving her shivering as the sheen of sweat covering her body began to cool in the night air.

What the hell?

Her brain loved to torment her with her last good memory of Neal, that part was familiar enough. Her first time. The first time she ever felt free and happy and wanted. The only time she ever said ‘I love you’ to a man. The last time she let a man lie to her.

The dream always started with the good stuff and ended with her getting loaded into the back of a squad car. Funny how it sort of blurred over the little details. Like Neal stepping out to see if he can swipe a pack of cigs from the gas station on the corner and never coming back. Like the knock at the door that wasn’t him, but the police. Like the watches stashed in her bag. Emma slid her hands up over her face and into her hair, scratching at her scalp as if she could scrape the images from her head.

She huffed a sigh. As it usually did, the dream left her beating herself up with the same old questions. Were the signs there and she ignored them? Was he just that good of a liar? Maybe.

Emma flopped back down against her pillow and pulled the covers up to her chin. She’d told him about her superpower. How she could always tell when someone was lying to her if she was looking them in the eye. He’d rolled his eyes about it at the time, used to tease her about believing in magic shit like that. Funny, though, how he got less and less inclined to look her in the eye.

But what the fuck was up with tonight? Why would her sleeping mind change the ending? She rolled onto her side burrowing further under the blanket. Oh, she could think of a reason.

She sighed heavily remembering the way Killian had held her, kissed her. The way he’d looked at her afterwards. Neal had looked at her that way once. Graham, too. As much as she hated that dream, she’s glad in a way. It was a good reminder to her. Not to trust anyone. Not to get too close to anyone. They let you down or let you go. A home is for other people, not her. Emma didn’t regret last night. She just needed to remember not to let Killian get under her skin, as much for his sake as for hers. How hard could that be?

Emma glanced at the clock on her nightstand, cringing at the glowing green numbers. Too early to get up, but too late to go back to sleep. She flopped onto her side, facing away from the clock again in a childish attempt to ignore it and get at least a little bit more shut-eye, but restlessness pulled at her. Despite the softness of her bed, she couldn’t get comfortable, mentally or physically. She struggled against herself. Her mind yelled at her to shore up her defenses. Stop thinking about Killian, or at the very least remember that she’d be leaving soon. That whatever she did with him had an expiration date.

Her body, however, had other ideas. Her skin flushed at the memory of Killian’s calloused hands caressing her. Her nipples tightened at the thought of his lips and tongue pulling and teasing them. Emma allowed her fingers to trail down her stomach and slip inside her underwear, heat pooling between her legs as she indulged the fantasy. She was embarrassingly wet just from the memory of how he’d made her body feel, legs shaking even though her own hand was a poor substitute for his touch. She bit down on her lip to keep from crying out his name as she came all too quickly.

By sunup, Emma was… well, freaking out might’ve been an overstatement, but not by much. She called Snow, hoping to catch her before she left for work.

As soon as Snow greeted her with a far too cheerful hello for 7:00 am, Emma launched right in. “I hooked up with Killian.”

There was a muffled coughing sound and Emma briefly wondered if she’d actually made her friend choke on her tea. “Oh! Um… why?”

“I don’t know. It’s been awhile? I was feeling good? Or actually, not good. I was kind of mad at him? But then he was all smirky and ‘you couldn’t handle it’ and I don’t know…”

“Did it mean anything?”

“No! I mean, he’s my boss and we’re friends. I guess. Sort of. It was just a hookup. Like third base, tops.”

“Okay… well, have you talked to him about it since it happened?”

“It just happened last night. And I was hoping to avoid the whole talking about it thing.”

“Uh huh. But you were hoping it would happen again.”

“Maybe. It was pretty damn great.” Emma groaned in frustration. “I don’t know.”

“Emma, you need to talk to him otherwise things are going to get weirder and weirder between you. Not to mention he’s your boss. That makes it more complicated. He could get the wrong idea about what services he’s paying you to do.”

God, that had never even occurred to Emma, but no. Killian wasn’t that guy. She wasn’t sure why she was so certain about it, but she knew it in her bones.

“No. No, it’s definitely not like that. He’s not like that.”

“You still need to talk about it like adults to make sure everyone is on the same page.”

Emma relented with a sigh. “Yeah, I guess so. Thanks for being my mom-friend.”

“My pleasure. And Emma? It’s okay if it did mean something. You know that right?”

“Aaaannnddd then you go and ruin the moment. Talk to you later.”

--/--

Emma took a little more time than usual getting dressed after that, still turning over everything Snow had said in her mind. Her friend was just so annoyingly rational sometimes. Always trying to insist that Emma be an actual grown up. Ugh. Adulting sucked.

When she’d brushed her teeth so thoroughly her gums nearly bled and had braided and unbraided her hair four times, she couldn’t stall any longer. Emma wandered down the stairs to the kitchen hoping that maybe Killian would already be out in the barn getting ready for morning chores, but no such luck. He sat at the breakfast table, a picture of domestic tranquility complete with a half-drunk cup of coffee at his elbow and his phone in his hand, thumbing at the screen. He looked up when he heard her approach, and her step faltered.

He was wearing that t-shirt she hated. The one that had probably been navy at some point, but now was the soft grey-blue of a storm cloud. She hated the way it pulled taut across his well-toned shoulders. Hated the way it set off his eyes, the golden ring around his pupils nearly glowing against his blue irises like the sun bursting through after the rain. Hated most of all the way she wanted to rip the shirt off of him and slam his arrogant ass against a wall and find out exactly what that cluster of freckles on his neck tasted like and…

Okay, yeah. Maybe Snow has a point.

Emma didn’t even bother fixing herself a cup of coffee. She sat right down across from him at the table. Better to get this over with quickly.

She took a deep breath. “SnowsaysIhavetotalktoyou.”

Killian cocked his head to the side and set his phone down on the table. “Come again?”

Aaaand isn't that just the issue. Fuck my life. “Snow says we have to talk about the thing. That we did. That thing.”

It would have all been so much easier if his eyes didn’t twinkle at her like that.

“Ah, so you told your friend about me?” A grin tilted the corner of his mouth deepening the dimple just beside it.

“Shut up. But yes, I told my friend and she made me promise that I’d talk to you, so… yeah.”

Killian leaned back in his chair almost too casually. “There’s nothing really to talk about, love. We’re both consenting adults. We obviously have a certain chemistry. You're a red-blooded woman with needs, and I was more than happy to lend a hand as it were. Despite the well-intentioned moralizing of our best mates, I don't see anything wrong with us having a bit of fun from time to time. Do you?”

He stood, taking his mug with him, and raised a teasing eyebrow at Emma as he passed her on the way to the sink. She rolled her eyes in return, then stood and followed him. She noticed he’d used the plural ‘mates’ and the implication it carried that David had said something, too, but she couldn't even begin to deal with that thought right now. Better to stay on message.

“So you don't think it's weird at all to, you know, have sex with your boss?”

Killian placed his mug in the sink and turned to face her hitching a thumb on his belt. “Swan, if you think that was sex then the American educational system really is as questionable as they say.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Aye, that I do, and I don't mean to play word games with you, so let me be clear.” He stepped toward her looking her squarely in the eyes. “I enjoyed our dalliance very much and I’m rather certain you did, too. As I said, I think the two of us can have a lot of fun together. The other night was just a taste, and when I finally take you-”

“When?” Emma scoffed. The nerve of this guy. The gall. The-

“Yes, when. When I do, I want to take my time with you. I want to touch every inch of that creamy skin until I’ve mapped out each place that makes you moan, and oh, shall you moan, darlin’. I want to hear it.” With another swaggering step, he edged into her personal space. “I want every sigh and curse and keening until you shout my name as you come around my fingers again. Want to feel the way you squeeze me, all hot and tight and wet. But I won’t be done with you. Not by a mile.”

Emma’s breathing sped up as she swayed involuntary toward to him, the velvet purr of his voice going straight between her legs. She should stop him. Tell him to fuck off or call him an arrogant bastard or shit, do something besides lick her lips and-

“What next?” she asked, a hitch in her voice. He raised a dark eyebrow at the sound, but she pretended to ignore it.

“Next as you lay quivering, I would kiss my way down your stomach, perhaps a bite here and there. Leave my mark under one of those perfect breasts, or maybe...” One last step and they stood face to face, her feet between his. He rested his hands low on her waist, thumbs sneaking beneath the waistband of her jeans to caress the sensitive skin near the jut of her hips. “Right here. Somewhere no one else can see.”

Emma swallowed hard, fighting the urge to cant her pelvis into his touch, but he just kept talking.

“I wouldn’t taste you, not right away. I’d place a hand on each of your lovely thighs-” at this he trailed a hand down, delicately stroking her jean clad leg with the back of his fingers. “And gently work the tension out of them while spreading you wide, so I can take in the beauty of your womanhood. I bet you’ve got a gorgeous cunt, Swan, though I hardly got a proper look last night. Once I’ve looked my fill and you’re nice and relaxed, then I shall taste you. I’ll suck that sweet rosebud of a clit between my lips, and lick and nip and delve into the center of you until you’re a glorious writhing mess again and I won’t stop until you’re pulling my hair and begging me to fuck you. To fill you up over and over until I know you'll be feeling it hours later and thinking about it even longer. Those clever little fingers of yours just twitching to touch yourself at the very memory of me inside you.”

It was almost as if he knew exactly what she’d been up to in the wee hours of that very morning. Emma could feel the crimson flush extending from her hairline down her throat to her decolletage. His eyes followed it, lingering momentarily on the curve of her breasts visible at her neckline before returning his smirking gaze to her face. He paused, seeming to take a certain amount of male pride in the obvious effect his words had wrought on her. He could be as smug as he wanted, but if he bothered to check his reflection in that moment, he might have noticed that his own pupils were blown wide, eyes nearly black with desire.

Emma tried not to move under his heated stare, only carefully shifting her stance enough to give herself a teensy bit of the friction she deeply needed. This was ridiculous. At this rate they'd be literally rolling in the hay by lunchtime. But would that be so bad?

Emma stepped back far enough to get out of his reach, trying to shake herself out of the daze, but still… the man did kinda have a point. They were both grown-ass adults, perfectly capable of enjoying each other’s company without things going sideways. Well… maybe literally sideways, but that’d be something else altogether.

She crossed her arms under her breasts, taking no small amount of pleasure from the way his eyes dropped straight to her cleavage again for a moment. Guys can be so easy. She eyed him appraisingly. “Just a little fun, huh?”

He shrugged and offered her a cavalier smile. “Just a little fun.”

“There would have to be ground rules.”

Killian huffed a laugh and leaned back against the counter. “Sounding less fun now, but alright.”

“No strings. No expectations. No spending the night together afterwards.”

Killian nodded his agreement. “Fair enough. And I’ll add one more, because as you astutely pointed out, I am your boss and I don’t want there to be any question on this point. No one does anything they don’t 100% want to do.”

That was just what she needed to hear. This was definitely going to work. They were definitely on the same page. No problem. Emma smiled at him wickedly.

“So, hypothetically, what if what I want to do isn’t all that stuff you said a minute ago? What if all I want is a good hard fuck against the barn door?”

The smile that slowly spread across his face was all white teeth and dark intent - a pirate’s smile - and it sent a little thrill of anticipation through her. “Then, hypothetically, I’m at your service.”

--/--

If Emma thought there had been tension between the two of them before, it was nothing compared to the energy sizzling in the air as they went through the motions of their regular chores over the next few days. The question had changed. No more will they, won't they. The only thing left to answer was when, where and how. It felt to Emma almost like a stand-off. Neither one of them seemed to want to be the one to initiate, as if there was an implied admission in being the eager one, the one who wanted it more. Talking about wanting sex in the abstract, even sex with each other, was one thing. Actually being the first to grab onto the other and say, “I want you,” came with a certain amount of vulnerability.

What if he changes his mind? What if he doesn’t want me? What if he wants more than I can offer him? What will happen when I leave? What if-

“Swan! Shut that gate, will you?”

Emma snapped out of it and realized she’d been standing there like an idiot holding the pasture gate open long after the horses had trotted past her. She swung it closed, slamming the rusty bolt home with more force than necessary, then looked over to see Killian (and when did he become ‘Killian’ and not ‘Jones’?) swaggering up to her with that damn smirk on his face.

“Something on your mind, darlin’?”

It was easier to tease him back than admit the real cause of her distraction, so she cocked an eyebrow and put some huskiness in her voice. “Oh, you know. Just kinda tired. Someone kept me up late last night.” And there. There was the swipe of his tongue across his teeth that she was going for.

Killian ducked his head in semblance of a bow. “You’re welcome.” He turned and walked away from her, leaving Emma to roll her eyes at his back, and yeah, okay, maybe sneak a quick peek at his ass. “Now, come along, Swan. We’ve got salt licks to put out.”

With some measure of reluctance, Emma clambered into the cab of the faded blue-green Dodge. If working side-by-side this morning had her skin tingling and her mind spinning, she didn’t want to think about what sitting two feet away from him on the big broad bench seat in his pickup would do to her. Snark seemed like her best option.

“Are you sure this thing can make it off-road to where we need to go? It’s gotta be like 300.”

Cranking the ignition, Killian kept facing forward, but cut his eyes in her direction. “She’s a fair sight younger than your geriatric yellow Beetle.”

“Your truck is a ‘she’?”

“All automobiles are ‘she’s’, Swan.”

Emma crossed her arms and stared out the window. “My Beetle is non-binary, thank you very much.”

He was quiet for a minute as the truck heaved forward and began bumping along the ranch road, but soon Emma could feel his eyes on her.

“What?”

“It’s got a name, doesn’t it? Your non-binary Beetle.”

Shit. Emma kept her gaze fixed out the window and mumbled something under her breath. It wasn’t that she was embarrassed that she cared about her car. Hell, that thing had been the only home she’d had for years. It was just that this all felt a little too-

“What was that, love?”

Emma finally turned to glare at Killian, daring him to laugh. “Buttercup. It’s name is Buttercup.” Emma uncrossed her arms and gestured matter-of-factly with her left hand. “It’s yellow and I like flowers, so…”

He reached out and caught her wrist with his right hand, turning it to run his thumb over the little flower tattooed in black ink there. “So I see. Does it mean anything? Your tattoo?”

Emma gave a small laugh. Well, at least this had a safe answer even if the way he was still caressing the pulse point of her wrist felt anything but.

“Yeah, it means I was a dumb fourteen-year-old who liked flowers.”

Killian grinned as he released her wrist, and she relaxed, grinning back.

“Such rebellion in one so young.”

Emma shrugged with a wry smile. “Well, at the time it seemed like a good way to give my foster mom the finger, so…”

Emma’s smile faded as she realized what she just revealed. How the hell had that come out of her mouth? Her heart pounded and she started to retreat into herself, but Killian seemed completely unfazed by her admission.

“S’alright, Swan. I may have engaged in a bit of rebellious behavior in my youth as well.” And then he winked at her, or at least tried to wink. More sort of a semi-blink with sass, but close enough. The simple acceptance inherent in the gesture had the tension melting out of Emma’s body again.

She looked down at his hand where it curled around the the gear shift, his thumb tapping against the knob in time with some twangy country song on the radio, and for the first time she really took note of the swirls of black and red ink extending up the inside of his forearm. She’d seen the mark or part of it before, but never paid it much attention. Now she could see it was a heart with a dagger piercing it, the name “Milah” scrolled across the middle.

“Rebellious behavior, huh?” Emma tapped two fingers against Killian’s tattoo, and cracked a half smile. “Is that how you got this?”

She wasn’t sure what exactly she expected, but the sudden flash of pain and darkness that crossed his features wasn’t it.

“Aye. Something like that.” There was no rudeness to his brusque answer, but everything about his tone and body language communicated that this subject was off limits.

Emma nodded and didn’t press. If anyone could understand about having a past you didn’t want to discuss, it was her. Still, it somehow knocked a brick or two loose in her defenses that they’d now both (intentionally or otherwise) let the other peek through the keyhole in their walls. What a strange and foreign idea, that there might be someone else out there who got it.

They drove in silence for a while after that, stopping here and there to drop off a salt lick or for Emma to hop out and open a gate. It could have been uncomfortable, but it wasn’t. An unspoken understanding had formed that they each needed a little space, and Emma could sense Killian was as grateful for it as she was.

One more gate led them into the field where they’d released the horses that morning, but as Killian drove over the cattle guard and Emma closed the fence behind him, the truck made a sickly spluttering sound and wisps of smoke snaked out from beneath the hood. He cut the engine and jumped out of the cab.

“SHIT!” Even from several yards away, Emma could hear his tirade clear as a bell. “No. No no no no no. Don’t you do this to me, godammit.”

By the time Emma made it to his side, Killian had the hood open and was angrily swiping at his forehead with the heel of his hand. “What happened?”

“A hose blew out and sprayed coolant all over the place. Bloody hell, this is a clusterfuck.” He slammed the hood closed with a snarl.

Well, shit. Emma knew enough about engines to know that this couldn’t be fixed in the middle of a freaking pasture. She needed to get Killian focused on problem solving instead of just being pissed. “So, what do we do? I’m guessing a tow truck isn’t coming all the way out here.”

Killian roughly tugged his fingers through his hair and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly to calm himself. “No, I’ll call Dave. Perhaps he can get out here with his dually and pull us into town. There’s a repair shop just down the street from Granny’s.”

“Okay. You call him, I’ll start walking. Someone’s gonna have to let him in the gate when he gets here.”

She turned to go, but quickly felt a hand on her arm spinning her back around. “Now hold on a minute, Swan. I’ll call him, sure, but I think I’ve got a better idea than walking.”

“Oh really? What, you’ve got a magic carpet in your pickup bed?”

“Darlin’, I could show you some magic in that truck bed, but that wasn’t what I had in mind. How do you feel about riding bareback?”

“Is that some kind of euphemism?”

“Do you want it to be?”

Emma rolled her eyes at him, then looked around seeing nothing but open field up to the tree line. “Wouldn’t we need a horse for that?”

In response, Killian placed the thumb and middle finger of his right hand into his mouth and blew an ear-splitting whistle.

Emma flinched at the piercing noise. “Jesus, Jones. Could you warn a person before-”

But then she heard it, a distant thrumming growing rapidly louder. The unmistakeable sound of hoofbeats approaching. She whirled around in time to see Roger break past the tree line, barreling toward them.

Killian smirked. “You were saying?”

Emma favored him with a half smile, tilting her head in acknowledgement. “Yeah, yeah. That was actually kinda cool.”

Roger slowed his pace as he got closer, finally coming to a stop next to the tailgate. Killian opened up the diamond plate steel toolbox taking up the first quarter of the bed, and retrieved a small bucket of horse treats. Roger seemed to perk up at the sight of it, but Killian held out a hand to tell him to stay put.

“Want to feed him one, Swan?”

It sunk in that Emma was about to have to crawl up on top of the large animal and hope to God he didn’t toss her off into a cow patty in just a minute. So, as much as those big blunt teeth and heavy hooves concerned her-

“Yeah. Anything to get on his good side.”

Killian held out the bucket and she gingerly picked up one of the odd-smelling nuggets.

“Just place it right in the middle of your palm and keep your hand flat.”

Emma did as instructed, slowly approaching Roger who gave her a couple of sniffs, then lowered his muzzle to her hand. He snuffled and nibbled far more gently than she would have ever guessed, and it was a strange and but not unpleasant feeling.

As Roger finished his treat, she glanced back at Killian to find him leaning against the side of the bed watching her intently. “Can I give him another?”

Killian smiled warmly at her and extended the bucket again. She took another treat and offered it to Roger. This time she expected his warm breath and tickly lips, but not-

“He’s licking me!”

Killian laughed and waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Can’t say as I blame him. So, now that you two are bosom friends, what say we take a ride?”

Killian put the treat bucket back in the toolbox and grabbed an extra set of reins, clipping them onto Roger’s halter. He then pulled out his phone and made a quick call to David.

While he was busy with that, Emma wandered over to Roger’s side, petting his neck and withers. She marveled at the softness of his coat and the warmth and strength of the muscles just beneath, but soon she felt another warm body behind her. Before she could protest, Killian’s hands were at her waist, boosting her up onto Roger’s back.

She took the offered reins from his hand with a scowl. “I could’ve just used the truck’s bumper as a step.”

Probably to irritate her further, Killian did exactly that, stepping up on the bumper while holding on to the edge of the bed, then throwing a leg over Roger to seat himself right behind her.

“Aye. You could’ve, but where would be the fun in that?”

He settled in close to her, his body wrapping around hers, and Emma… had not thought this through. Killian scooted forward incrementally and gave Roger a nudge with his heels to get moving. She threaded her fingers loosely through the coarse strands of Roger’s mane to give herself something to grip. Now her ass was pressed to Killian’s groin, his chest inches from her back. Right hand on her hip, left arm circled around her to hold the reins, and just… Emma had really, really not thought this through.

If the growing tension in his body was anything to go by, Killian hadn’t either. All the energy from earlier that had dissipated in the wake of personal revelations and broken-down trucks, came rushing back. Something about the slow rolling gait of the horse beneath them and how it practically had her grinding between Killian’s legs. Something about the heat of him against her back, or the way his hand was gradually inching from her hip to splay across her abdomen. It made Emma’s pulse accelerate and her breathing shallow, a flicker of heat igniting inside her.

For a moment, Killian shifted back away from her, his hand suddenly absent from her side. It took a second to click in her mind what he was doing. She had a quick flash of insecurity before, oh… okay. Well, that was interesting. Pressed intimately together once more, she now very obviously felt the proof of her effect on him. With a little self-satisfied smile, she leaned back rocking her hips into his lap to feel his hardening length against her ass.

“Careful there, love. A man could suffocate in all that blond hair of yours.”

Trying to keep the mood light, Emma gathered her hair to one shoulder. She pulled aside her shirt collar and cast a teasing glance back at him. “Better?”

A moment of hesitation passed, another flash of oh-my-god-what-am-I-doing, but before she could laugh her implied offer off as a joke, Killian nuzzled into her neck, his warm breath making her shiver. His lips soon followed, kissing a slow, lazy path up behind her ear, each touch of his mouth tingling and stoking a growing desire within her.

Emma tightened her grip on Roger’s mane, keeping her voice as level as possible. “Eyes on the road, cowboy.” This was getting quickly out of hand, but damn if he kept kissing her like that, she might not mind if it did.

She felt Killian shrug behind her. “Roger knows where he’s going.” He traced just the tip of his tongue along the ridge of her ear making her skin prickle with goosebumps, then he leaned around to catch her eye. Her neck was immediately unhappy at the absence of his lips. “Unless you want me to stop?”

Nope. No, don’t stop. Stopping is bad. Wait, Emma. Be cool. She attempted a wry smirk. “I didn’t say that. But just…”

He resumed nibbling and sucking at her neck, not hard enough to leave a mark, but enough to make her forget why she was trying to argue with him. God, he felt good. There was nothing wrong with feeling good for a little while, was there?

Roger twitched underneath them, probably shaking off a fly, but the movement helped ground Emma to the here and now. As much as they’d agreed to the occasional ‘fun’, she had to keep her wits about her. “Is this safe?”

She felt the scratch of Killian’s stubble as he smiled against her skin. “There is nothing about you that is safe, Emma Swan.”

His words sent a shiver down her spine, and Emma forced a laugh, one last pretense that she had any kind of upper hand. Whatever. He had the hard-on first. I’m counting it as him caving.

“I meant, are we gonna fall off the horse, smartass.”

Killian tightened his arm around her in response, pulling her impossibly closer. Upper hand? Lower hand? The only hand she cared about in that moment was his on her body. She felt every lean muscle of his torso pressed to her back, the swell of his bicep against her ribs. He raised his head to whisper in her ear, his thumb grazing torturously back and forth against the underside of her breast. “You don’t think these arms can hold you? Don’t worry, darlin’, I won’t let you fall.”

Emma was glad she couldn’t see Killian’s face in that moment. It allowed her to willfully take his words at face value. No good would come of reading anything into them. Into this. Don’t think. Just let go. All she let herself think about was how much she wanted him to move his damn hand a little bit further. North or south, she didn’t care which.

As if reading her mind, he slid his hand up to fully cup her breast and at the same moment bit down sharply at the junction between her neck and shoulder. Emma moaned aloud, a spike of pleasure jolting her system, but Killian calmly shushed her. He gestured with the hand holding the reins toward Roger’s ears which were flicking back and forth.

“Now see that?” he purred in her ear, “That’s where we might get in trouble. He doesn’t care for loud noises, so I’ll need you to be nice and quiet for us.” His hand remained at her breast, alternately massaging and teasing her hardening nipple with his thumb. “Do you think you can do that, love?”

Emma pressed her lips together, stifling the dirty sounds threatening to spill from her lips, and nodded quickly. Heat swirled and bloomed at her core, and she arched her back pushing her chest into his hand, wordlessly begging for more.

Killian hummed low in the back of his throat, moving his hand to undo a couple of buttons on her shirt. “That’s a good girl.”

He slipped his rough, calloused fingers inside the placket of her shirt and under the thin cotton cup of her bra. Mmm.. yeah. Keep going, she thought over and over, softly humming in pleasure. She bit her lip hard, letting her head drop back against Killian’s shoulder as he continued to caress and knead her. He rolled the stiff peak of her nipple between his fingers, every touch going straight to her clit.

The seam of her jeans pressed too hard against her oversensitive core, the rocking movement of the horse beneath her only worsening the throbbing ache between her spread legs. This wasn’t the friction she wanted. No, needed.

“I- I need…” she breathed, tugging at his wrist to stop his ministrations. It took every ounce of her concentration to remember how to work the zipper on her jeans, distracted as she was by the way his hand now rubbed up and down her thigh. Taking him by the wrist again, she moved his hand low on her stomach, hoping he’d take the hint from there.

A deep rumble of laughter shook his chest, then slowly, one fingertip at at time, he slipped his hand into her underwear. Her hips rolled forward toward his touch, and she snaked one arm up to cup the back of his neck, needing something, anything to ground herself.

He groaned against her shoulder at the first brush of his fingers against her sex. “You’re a bloody marvel.” He murmured gently as he began to stroke her, and Emma closed her eyes, surrendering to her body’s wants. “So wet and responsive. I like you like this, Swan. All wanton and needy. Do you want to come like this, darlin’?”

Between shallow breaths, Emma nodded. “Yes.”

His fingers moved more quickly, one sliding easily inside of her. “Come on now, love, I want to hear you say it. Tell me what you want.”

Talking was the last thing on Emma’s mind and she’d probably have been furious with him if he didn’t feel so fucking good. “I want you to make me come. Right now. I need you to-”

He curled his finger inside her, hitting just the right spot and Emma was practically whining now. “I need you to keep touching me.”

“Good. So very, very good. God, you feel like heaven.” He added a second finger, stroking hard and fast and it was all Emma could do not to buck her hips and fuck herself on his fingers. “Come for me, love. I’ve got you.”

And that was all it took to send her over the edge. Emma’s world shattered and rebuilt itself as Killian slowly wound her down, her body going limp in his arms. He kissed her softly on the cheek as she came back to herself, the gesture sweet and almost chaste. Completely at odds with his dirty talk only moments ago. In fact, neither of them seemed keen on speaking, simply resting against each other. He pulled his hand back from her soaked underwear, but left it draped lightly across her lap.

Emma felt him raise his head and his back straighten. She hadn’t actually looked around since, well, since he started kissing her neck, and she was surprised to see they were almost back to the barn. As amazing and boneless as she felt (and a little awkward because holy shit I just got felt up on horseback), there was still a pleasant buzz of arousal stirring in her veins. Twice now, Killian had taken care of her needs, and today just like before, he seemed to not ask for anything in return. She appreciated that more than she cared to express. But… maybe she wanted to do something for him.

Just before he swung himself down off Roger’s back, he leaned down to speak in her ear. “Enjoy the ride, darlin’?”

Arrogant, twinkly-eyed bastard.

Emma rolled her eyes and zipped her jeans. Okay, maybe it wasn’t only for him. Maybe twice now, she’d felt his hard length pressed against her and she wanted to see for herself what he was working with. If the cock matched the cockiness. Maybe she wanted to see if she could render that filthy mouth speechless. Something like that.

She allowed him to help her dismount, hoping the wicked ideas in her head didn’t show on her face. She looked over at the barn, particularly the sturdy metal door, and remembered the saucy comment she’d made to him that morning. Oh, she knew exactly what she wanted to do. But was there time?

“How long ago did you call David?” she asked casually.

Killian pulled his phone from his pocket and glanced at the screen. “About twenty minutes ago. No worries, Swan. He ought to be here in another fifteen.”

“That’ll work.”

Before he could so much as raise an eyebrow in question, she grabbed his hand and drug him into the barn.

“Swan, what are-”

She shoved his back against the door, enjoying the resonant clang of his body hitting the corrugated metal, and swallowed his surprised “oof” as she kissed him hard. It didn’t take him long to respond by wrapping his arms around her until her body was plastered against his. Graceless and a little rough, they scrambled to get closer, for more contact. Her fingers found their way into his hair and pulled a little harder than necessary, angling his head to deepen the kiss. She could feel his growl of approval reverberating through her own chest.

Emma broke the kiss and grinned mischievously, licking her lips to catch a last little taste of him. He already looked properly fucked, hair standing on end, lips reddened, eyes dark and a little glazed, but she wasn’t done with him yet.

His handsome features shifted into his usual smirk. “Still hungry are we?”

He began to lean back in for more, but Emma pulled away, running her hands down his chest to hold him in place. She tilted her head as her hands reached his belt. “Interesting choice of words.”

Emma worked the buckle open and dropped to her knees on the dusty floor, the bulge of his arousal now right at her eye level. It thrilled her, knowing she had done that to him. Seeing how much he wanted her. She made quick work of the button and zipper on his jeans, but then felt his hand cup her face, raising her chin to look up at him.

All amusement had gone from his eyes. “Swan, you don’t have to-”

“Do anything I don’t want to do? I know. This isn’t tit for tat, Jones.” She raised an eyebrow in imitation of his smirk. “Maybe I want to show off a little.”

That did it. The twinkle was back in his eyes. Grinning wickedly, he raised his hands in surrender. “If the lady insists.”

“The lady does,” she said with a sly smile, sliding her hands inside his open zipper and over his lean hips. “Now be a good boy and hold still a sec.”

He inclined his head in imitation of a bow. “Yes, ma’am.”

Still trying to get in the last word, huh? We’ll see about that...She hooked her fingers over the elastic waistband of his boxer briefs and lowered them along with his jeans down to mid-thigh. His cock bobbed free and Emma took a few moments to appreciate the sight. Long and thick, but not so big it’d make a girl gag. Straight and pink and hard and straining just for her. Not that she considered herself a connoisseur exactly, but damn, it was a nice dick.

She smoothed her hands up the coarse hair on his thighs, and gave his ass a playful squeeze, knowing full well the warmth of her breath was teasing his tip. He gripped the wooden crossbeam behind him to brace himself.

Emma looked up at him through her eyelashes and pursed her lips in consideration. He was nearly panting with anticipation, conspicuously silent as he stared down at her with lust blackened eyes. She pulled the hair elastic off her wrist and sat back on her heels, quickly tying her long hair back. “I figure you’re the kind of guy that likes to watch.”

She raised up again and took him in hand, licking a hot stripe up the pulsing vein all the way to the tip. The sound he made in response was absolutely obscene, if not articulate, and she watched a small tremor shake his body. Now that’s much better. Oh yeah, she could get used to this.

Gently stroking his shaft, Emma made eye contact with him again. Though she was the one about to get a mouthful, he was licking his lips, struggling to keep his eyes open as she pleasured him. She toyed with her hair using her free hand and smiled at him sweetly. “Don’t be afraid to, you know…” She tugged twice on the end of her ponytail. “Really get into it.”

And that was the last bit of warning he got before Emma took him into her mouth.

She worked him over root to tip slowly at first, licking and sucking, a little graze of her teeth every so often. When she wasn’t using one or the other to pump his shaft, her hands roamed freely. Groping his ass, the hard muscle of his thighs, even delving up under his shirt to feel the way his abs flexed and quivered.

He rocked his pelvis toward her mouth, the small rutting movement and his white knuckled grip on the crossbeam evidence of his struggle to maintain his restraint. God, the sounds he made, though. She’d actually done it. Reduced him to nothing more than animalistic grunts and groans interspersed with steady stream of incoherent gibberish that was probably supposed to be words. The occasional ‘bloody hell’. It made her feel powerful. Alive. Not to mention more than a little aroused.

Emma pulled back slightly, keeping her fingers wrapped around his shaft and only delicately licking the head of his cock, so she could get a good look at him and evaluate her progress. “Wrecked” was a cliche, but honestly the only word for it. His face and neck were flushed and blotchy, his eyes rolled back in his head, lips parted on a pained moan. He looked vulnerable and gorgeous, completely at her mercy. His hips now bucked away from the door, pleading for her to take him in again.

When he opened his eyes to look down at her, they were crinkled at the corners with the strain of chasing an orgasm just out of reach. “Swan, you are an absolute goddess.”

She could tease him, keep him on edge a little longer, but no. She wanted to see him fall apart for her. The goddess would be merciful. One corner of her lips curled up in a wry smile.

“You’re damn right. Now show me what you like.”

She reached for his hand with her free one and placed it on the back of her head. He took her lead and grabbed hold of her ponytail, using it to angle her head as she took him once more into her mouth. She hummed around his cock, savoring the silky hardness and they both moaned. He started out tugging at her hair gently at first, but when she hollowed her cheeks and sucked hard, his control finally snapped. He set a faster pace, and she moaned around him again, his desperation for her the ultimate turn on. She kept one hand at his base to keep him from fucking her mouth too deeply, and used it to twist and squeeze his shaft whenever she had a chance.

Her eyes were closed by now, but she felt him widen his stance and she knew he was close. She hollowed her cheeks again, laving at him with each dip of her head until his whole body shuddered, and he came with a groan. Her mouth filled with his salty release, and she carefully licked him clean.

As his breathing finally slowed, he slumped back against the door, but held his hand down to help her stand. Emma took it and let him pull her up, her own legs almost as shaky as his. He was smiling at her, broad and unrestrained. Dopey, happy, sleepy, a little bashful. That was what? Four out of seven dwarves in one stupid smile? Emma had used quite a few words to describe Killian Jones over the last few months, but here in his post orgasmic haze, she had one she’d never used before. Adorable. What an odd thought.

“We should…” He gestured vaguely between them with one hand. “Dave’ll be here soon.” He hitched his pants back up and fastened his belt as Emma straightened her own clothes. Once they were both set to rights again, he reached out to her. “Come here.”

She placed her hand in his and let him draw her into him. One last kiss. Tender and gentle this time and if he tasted himself on her tongue, he sure didn’t seem to mind. In fact he looked kind of… she couldn’t think of the word. Her own insides felt a little funny, too, if she were being honest with herself, but that was probably just leftover adrenaline and arousal.

Killian opened his mouth to speak, but as if on cue, the sound of a diesel engine clattered up the driveway. They sprang apart like guilty teenagers, and Emma yanked the elastic from her ponytail, fruitlessly trying to make her hair look less ravaged. Killian’s hand found it’s usual itchy spot on the back of his neck. When he finally faced Emma again, his eyes widened.

“You’ve, erm…” He gingerly cupped her cheek, thumbing at the dimple in her chin before dropping his hand. “I seem to have scruffed you up a bit.”

Emma put a hand on her face where she could feel the traces of beard burn still tingling slightly. Shit.

“Right. Um, I’ll just…” She pointed her finger but couldn’t remember which direction the house even was at the moment. “I’ll just go freshen up. I’ll open the gate on the way to the house. You and David can pick me up before you head into town.”

At that, Emma practically ran out of the barn. She wasn’t sure if she was running from Killian or to keep their dalliance a secret from their friend, which was stupid either way because this was exactly what she and Killian had agreed to and it didn’t mean anything and David probably already knew that they had... dallied or whatever. But, it seemed really, really important that she get out of there right that second.

Back in the safety of her own private bathroom, she stared at herself in the reflection of her mirror, her fingers tracing the red patches on her chin and neck. Fuckstruck. The word she’d been searching for earlier, the word that described the look in Killian’s eyes after that last kiss. It was fuckstruck. And dammit if she didn’t look the same.

--/--

Two weeks. It had been more than two fucking weeks. No, make that two decidedly NOT fucking weeks. What the hell?

Emma half expected after their performance in the barn (and on the horse, geez she couldn’t look Roger in the eye for days), that life at the Jewel would turn into some sort of pornographic montage of her and Killian banging on every available surface. And it did… sort of. They did stuff. Really, really good stuff. They just didn’t do it.

Starting the morning Killian’s truck broke down, at least once a day one of them snapped and couldn’t keep his or her hands off the other a second longer. One minute, they’d be mucking out stalls and the next, Emma’s ass was on a square bale with Killian between her legs, grinding her into ecstasy while he whispered sweet, filthy nothings in her ear. Or he’d be innocently standing at the kitchen island pouring a bowl of cereal, and before he could reach for a spoon, Emma’s hand was down the front of his pajama pants, stroking his hardening cock until he completely forgot about breakfast. Or something as simple as him grabbing her hand and pulling her into a corner to kiss her within an inch of her life. As soon as they broke for breath, he’d walk away with smirking lips and teasing eyes, leaving her wet and wanting for hours (the rat bastard), but he always finished what he started sooner or later.

Oh, yeah. Each and every instance ended happily for one or both of them. It just didn’t end in sex. They sort of came and went, so to speak. Right back to business as usual. They didn’t talk about it, but they didn’t not talk about it either. They teased, they argued. He made ridiculous innuendo, and Emma rolled her eyes. Life was exactly the same as before their agreement, just with sporadic orgasms. Perfect. Simple. Never weird. Just what she wanted.

Emma was about to lose her fucking mind.

Their dalliances or trysts or whatever the hell fancy name Killian had for it happened frequently enough to take the edge off of the sexual tension between them (he was right, they did have a certain chemistry), but seriously - why hadn’t they had sex yet?

She hadn’t tried to push the issue one way or another. Neither had he. But he wanted it, right? Eventually? She wanted it. She was almost definitely sure she wanted it. In theory.

The one time she actually thought they were going to do it, fate had had other plans. That morning Emma sat at the kitchen table, watching Killian cook. God knows what he was making. Pancakes? Bacon? She didn’t care, because he looked so damn edible. Extra scruffy, extra disheveled. Wearing those sweatpants that hung off his hips and showed every flex of his ass when he shifted his weight, to say nothing of the front view. Yep, she’d get quite an eyeful if he turned around, but it wasn’t her eyes that she wanted him to fill.

Abandoning her coffee mug on the table, Emma snuck up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist, fingers creeping under the hem of his t-shirt. She pressed herself to his back, and he hummed appreciatively. Taking that as a go-ahead, she let her hands wander up the trail of hair on his stomach, coarse strands slipping through her fingers until she felt him twitch.

“Careful there, Swan, I’m a bit ticklish. You’ll make me ruin the pancakes.” If he meant his tone to be chiding, he’d failed. It sounded more like a challenge to her.

Emma extracted one hand from his shirt and reached past him to turn off the stove. “To hell with the pancakes.” He must’ve agreed because in seconds, he’d backed her against the kitchen table, plundering her mouth hungrily as if she were on the breakfast menu.

With her clinging fiercely to his shoulders, he reached beneath her thighs and lifted her onto the tabletop, never breaking their kiss and oh, God. This was it. This was finally it. Just a few thin pieces of clothing between them, none of which were doing anything to hide his arousal or hers. Her underwear were soaked. If he rutted into her any harder, they’d be testing the efficacy of cotton as a condom. It wouldn’t take much and he’d be inside her. Untie his drawstring pants, shove her ruined panties to the side and then-

“Hey, Jones! I talked to Billy at the garage this morning. Your truck will be-”

Emma froze. She hadn’t heard the door open. This was - it was - oh, shit. David looked as freaked out as she felt.

“I’m interrupting something.” Stating the obvious seemed to be all he was capable of at that moment.

Killian not so discreetly adjusted himself and glared at his friend over his shoulder. “Very perceptive, mate.”

David coughed, looking everywhere around the kitchen but at the two guilty parties at the table. “I’ll just, uh… come back later.”

Blushing redder than she’d ever felt herself blush in her life, Emma scrambled down from the table. “No, no. Don’t worry about it. I’ll, um…” she shoved her hair behind her ears. “I’ll just go take a shower.” And at that she’d scurried away with David’s embarrassed tone and Killian’s irritated one as the soundtrack of her retreat.

That was about a week ago.

Their after-dark activities had changed, too. They never fooled around at night. It kept the whole ‘sleeping over’ issue from ever arising, so that was good, she guessed. After dinner, instead of making out hot and heavy on the couch, they binge watched whatever new series had recently come out on Netflix. Who knew they had broadband streaming way the hell out in the desert?

Sometimes when they hung out in the living room after dinner, he’d sling an arm across the back of the couch and she’d kind of lean on him while they watched TV. She only did that because he was warm. Like human radiator warm. Emma had always been kind of cold natured, that was all. No big deal.

And sometimes at night, instead of taking a drink up to the widow’s walk like she used to, she’d pour two glasses of rum and sit with him in the porch swing. Why shouldn’t she? He already more or less told her he knew she was drinking his liquor, so no sense in hiding. True, the nights were getting colder as October turned to November, but it was peaceful outside and it gave her an excuse to bring her favorite old red leather jacket out of summer hiatus. The gentle rocking of the swing, Killian’s soft voice humming those old country songs, the absolute stillness that came from being so far removed from ‘civilization’… She could close her eyes and imagine that she was gliding along on ocean waves, the creaking wooden swing beneath her a ship in the middle of a vast sea. No worries, no troubles. It relaxed her. Kept the ghosts away. It’s not like she and Killian were sitting there pouring out their darkest secrets to each other. They barely spoke, really. She just slept better those nights. That’s all.

It surprised Emma, how okay she was with the friend-y type stuff. It was nice. Companionable. It seemed like a million years since she’d just hung out with a guy. Not since… anyway, it was nice. Emma loved Snow to death, but she could get a little smothery and bossy, and Killian never did that. He was simply there with a dirty joke or a casual touch. Or a less than casual touch. Not that she and Killian were friends exactly. Were they? Would it be terrible if they were?

Then morning would come and he’d look at her with the devil in his eyes and a promise in the way his tongue traced the corner of his mouth and yes. Yes, it would be terrible. They had an arrangement. The last thing either of them needed was to get… confused.

Fuck, maybe she’s already confused. Or just really, really needed for them to close the deal. Uninterrupted.

“Girl, where even are you?”

Emma blinked at the sound of Ruby’s voice and shook her head, realizing she’d been staring at a box of oatmeal for way too long to be normal. It was Saturday morning. Emma and Killian had come to town for their weekly supply run and Emma had bumped into Ruby at the grocery store. As nice as it was to have someone who wasn’t Killian to talk to, Emma couldn’t seem to keep her mind from wandering.

“What? Sorry, I kind of clocked out for a second. Guess I need another cup of coffee.”

Ruby gave her a skeptical look, but didn’t press. “Well, what I was saying before you got lost in your own head was that I think you need a break, and clearly I’m right. So, how about you meet Dorothy and me tonight at the Rabbit Hole? A little girls’ night out might do you some good.”

“Wouldn’t I be a third wheel?”

“Not at all! It’ll be fun. I promise.” Ruby paused, eyeing her appraisingly. “That is, unless you and Killian have plans?”

Emma’s eyes widened and she clamped her mouth closed to keep from gaping. “Did David tell you-”

“That he walked in on you two having breakfast? Don’t worry, he’s not gossiping all over town. He came into the diner looking shellshocked and I wheedled it out of him.”

Emma breathed a sigh of relief as Ruby continued. “That said, I do have eyes, you know. I’ve noticed how close you and Killian seem to be getting.”

“No. No, nothing like that. We’re just…” Emma tried her best to muster a casual shrug. “Having a little fun together.”

“Then he can spare you for one night. You in?”

Emma chewed on her lip as she considered the offer. Maybe Ruby was right. Maybe she did need a break from the Jewel and Killian Jones. “I’m in.”

“Perfect. We’ll meet you at 9. Wear something you can dance in!”

--/--

Emma flopped into her seat and lifted her sweaty hair, fanning at the back of her neck with her other hand. Ruby sure as shit hadn’t been kidding about the dancing. She’d tried to heed Ruby’s advice, opting for lower-heeled boots, comfortable but form-fitting jeans and a paper thin white top. Even so, her feet were screaming and she probably looked like a hot mess. But, God it felt good to let loose for a while. ‘Girl time’ was not something her life on the road typically allowed, and tonight reminded her how much she missed it. Maybe she should call Snow tomorrow?

Dorothy sat down to Emma’s right, raising her face to accept a smacking kiss from Ruby who then took a seat across from Emma. Their waitress stopped by to take drink orders, and Emma asked for an ice water this time. She felt the perfect level of buzzed at the moment and just needed something to cool her off a little.

“So was I right, or was I right?” Ruby began without preamble.

Emma smiled. “You were right. I needed this. I can’t remember the last time I had a Girls’ Night Out.”

“Well that’s a shame. Are you from one of those little Bible belt towns where dancing is illegal or something?” Dorothy said it as a joke, but something in Emma’s expression must’ve given her pause. She furrowed her brow. “Wait, you’re not, are you?”

Ruby leaned forward, loosely crossing her arms on the table. “Yeah, where are you from, Emma? I feel like I don’t know much about you besides your dancing skills and the fact that you’ve managed to wrap Killian Jones around your little finger.”

Emma felt her face immediately go red. “I do not have Kil-”

Ruby waved a hand to interrupt Emma’s stammering answer. “Nevermind. Forget about him for now. Tell us about you. What’s your story?”

Emma huffed an awkward laugh. This subject wasn’t any better, but from years of practice she had plenty of non-answers at the ready. “Well, I’m not a character from Footloose, that’s for sure.” That got a laugh from Dorothy and Ruby, and Emma relaxed slightly. “I just travel around a lot. I like the freedom of life on the road. Seeing the world and all that.”

Dorothy raised an eyebrow. “Most people who want to see the world end up in Rome or Paris, not Storybrooke.”

Emma smiled ruefully. “Yeah, well, that would require two things I don’t have: money and a passport.”

Ruby nodded. “I hear ya. I actually did some road-tripping myself for a while. I’d never been anywhere outside Storybrooke and Granny is kind of overprotective and one day I just snapped. I had to get out. I only made it as far as Kansas before I ran out of money.”

Dorothy smiled warmly and reached out to lace her fingers through Ruby’s. “And am I ever glad you did. I found this leggy brunette stranded on the side of the road, lipstick as red as her broken down Mustang and I haven’t had a quiet moment since.”

Ruby swatted at her girlfriend’s arm. “Shut up. You love me.”

“Never said I didn’t.”

“So that’s how you guys met. How’d you end up back here?” Emma asked, genuinely curious. “You’re obviously not in Kansas anymore.”

Ruby and Dorothy shared a look, then both turned back to Emma. “Well, it took her awhile, but Dorothy finally convinced me there’s no place like home.”

“I’d lost my Auntie Em to a tornado a year or so before Ruby showed up, and I’d never really felt like I fit into that town. But Ruby, she had her Granny and a family business and friends - well, everything I wished I had. She’d had a pretty big fight with Granny before she left. All I did was talk her into calling Granny. Ruby’s heart knew where it’s home was.” Dorothy turned to look Ruby in the eyes. “So did mine.” She ended the story with a soft kiss to Ruby’s lips.

Ruby pulled back, thumbing discreetly under her eyes. “Now stop. You know you’re not allowed to mess up my makeup until we get home later.”

“Okay, now I’m feeling like the third wheel, you guys,” Emma teased, her smile lingering. They were so sweet together. She was happy for them, of course, but somehow watching the couple filled her with a longing she couldn’t explain. She took a deep breath and wiggled her toes under the table. “I think my feet have recovered for now. How about some more dancing?”

About half a dozen songs later, Emma excused herself to go to the ladies’ room, and Ruby tagged along after her. As Emma stood in front of the mirror trying to scrape her hair into some kind of updo to keep it off her neck, she noticed Ruby giving her a side-eye.

“What?”

“So you and Killian...”

“We’re just having some fun.”

“So you’ve said. A couple of times now.”

Emma scrunched up her face. This was not a conversation she wanted to have ever, much less in a public bathroom. “Ruby...”

“I mean, I get it. There’s not much to do in this town for fun besides drink and fuck.”

The thought popped into Emma’s mind - not for the first time - and the words came out of her mouth before she could stop them. “Have you guys ever- I mean, have you and Killian-”

“Done the do? No.” Ruby shook her head. “Can’t say I’ve never thought about it, but no. Killian was with someone when I met him, then after that…” Ruby paused, searching for the right word. “ended, he wasn’t interested in much of anything for a long time. Somewhere in there I met Dorothy, and she’s the love of my life. But Emma? Be careful with Killian. I like you. I really do, but he’s probably my best friend in the world besides Dorothy and if you hurt him, I’ll have to rip your throat out.”

Emma raised her eyebrows in confusion. Why on earth was Ruby giving her the protective best friend speech? “You say that like he’s delicate or something.”

Ruby laughed, her posture relaxing a little. “Delicate is not the word I would use. He’s just had it rough. But…” She pursed her lips, eyeing Emma appraisingly. “Something tells me you have, too. Hell, maybe you’ll be good for each other. Shake each other up a little bit. Get him to stop hiding out on that damn ranch.”

That caught Emma’s attention. “Hiding?” She remembered the tattoo on Killian’s arm. How it seemed to be a memento of a painful past. “Ruby, what happened to him?”

Ruby sighed. “That’s not my story to tell. It’s just- it’s good to see him opening up to someone again. Now come on. Enough serious talk. One more dance before last call.”

--/--

By the time Emma climbed into her Bug to drive home, the buzz of a few whiskey sours had long since faded. Her ears still rang a little bit from the combined decibel level of a raucous crowd and blaring music, but it wasn’t enough to keep the silence of the drive home from pressing in on her. It was easier at the bar not to think, to stay distracted. Here alone in the dark, her mind kept replaying the things Ruby told her.

Hiding out on that damn ranch… He’s had it rough… He was with someone when we met, but after that ended…

His tattoo. Milah. It had to be what Ruby was talking about. Emma knew Killian had ghosts of his own. She still didn’t know his story, but she was beginning to understand. Ever since she met him, she’d felt some kind of connection to him. She spent a lot of time and energy trying to convince herself it was only a physical attraction, but there was exactly enough whiskey left in her system for her to call out her own bullshit. To be honest enough to admit to herself that the connection ran deeper than that.

...the fact that you’ve managed to wrap Killian Jones around your little finger…

Nope. That was too much. Too far. Even if Emma believed that, she wasn’t ready to think about it. But maybe she could admit that she and Killian had a something. That they understood each other. That was enough honesty for tonight.

Emma parked her car behind the house. Killian had kept the porch lights on for her, and she smiled to herself at the little act of thoughtfulness. She opened the door as quietly as possible assuming he must be in bed already, and she had every intention of sneaking straight up to her own room, but somehow that wasn’t where her feet took her. This is terrible idea. Worst idea I’ve ever had. Completely insane.

She knocked on his bedroom door.

Killian called out for her to come in, his voice sounding ragged and weary even muffled by the wooden door, but she knew she hadn’t woken him. He’d answered too quickly. She hadn’t knocked that loudly.

She turned the knob and the door gave way without a sound. He lay on his side facing her, one arm tucked beneath his head and the covers draped at his waist. He seemed to be keeping his body intentionally still and his expression blank. She couldn’t tell what color his t-shirt was, couldn’t make out the pattern of his quilt. But the shadows and plains of his face, the way the moonlight cast him in shades of blue and grey, the spark of something in his eyes - carefully restrained but still there. He was beautiful, heart-stoppingly beautiful and Emma couldn’t fight the pull toward him any more than she could fight gravity.

As she approached, he raised himself up and leaned back against the headboard. Watching her. No questions. No what-the-hell-are-you-doing-here. Just waiting for her.

Emma sat on the edge of the bed next to him, their bodies close, but not touching. Tentatively she carded her fingers through his hair, pushing the messy fringe off his forehead. He reached out and placed his right hand on her thigh, but she stopped him, gently taking his wrist and turning his arm over. Even in the darkened room, she could see him flinch as she traced her fingers over the dagger and heart on his forearm, but he didn’t pull away. She placed her hand in his and he held it tightly.

“Who’s Milah?”

Killian kept his eyes down, focused on their joined hands resting against her leg. She had about decided he wasn’t going to answer, but then-

“Someone from long ago.”

“Someone you lost.”

“Aye.” His voice was rough, his eyes dark when he finally met her gaze.

“Someone you loved.”

His expression softened into a sad smile. “Aye. Have you ever been in love?” It wasn’t a question, anymore than hers had been. They knew the answers. They each knew why the other was asking these things, but they both seemed to need the confirmation that everything they’d sensed about the other was true.

Emma swallowed and glanced down at their joined hands. The way his thumb ran back and forth over her knuckles. “Maybe I was once.”

Killian was silent for a long moment. Emma felt his eyes searching her, reading her. When she finally met his eyes she found his expression more open than she’d ever seen it, and it scared her.

“Emma, I-”

She shook her head. “Don’t.” He let go of her hand and began to turn away. Emma could see him closing himself off, retreating into himself and no. That’s not what she meant, not what she wanted, so she cupped his jaw turning him to face her again. To make him see.

“Whatever the story is, whatever you were about to say, don’t tell me tonight. Just- can you just be kissing me right now?”

Emma wasn’t sure if it was a trick of the moonlight, but she’d swear she saw a flicker of light in his eyes just for a split second as they crinkled at the corners and he leaned toward her. His whispered, “As you wish,” the last thing she heard before he pulled her into his arms and into his bed.

They kissed for ages, chest to chest, legs tangled together. Slowly, painstakingly as though trying to learn to speak with the other’s tongue. Completely wrapped up in each other and their little cocoon of sheets. When such silly things as clothing or blankets became an impediment or nuisance, these were cast aside with little fuss or ceremony.

Emma felt as though she were underwater, completely submerged in this moment with this man. Her usual fears and baggage and anxieties, everything that made her run, those were far away. As long as she stayed under, stayed in the moment, she could drift through the waves and ripples of pleasure washing over her entire body. She could feel warm and perfect and alive and wanted.

And Killian was right there with her, surrounding her. His breath on her face, his fingers slipping through her hair, trailing down her back, digging into her hip, guiding her leg up and around his waist until she felt his hardened cock sliding gracelessly against her sex. Felt him shudder at the sensation of her lush and ready and willing.

But his lips grew restless against hers and began to wander. First down the column of her throat, then taking a detour for his tongue to map the contours of her clavicle before proceeding lower to the valley between her breasts. He pressed his body against her, rolling her onto her back and she complied, her head falling back against his pillow and eyes drifting shut. She focused on nothing but the way he made her feel. Like a queen. Like a goddess.

He continued his worship of her body, cupping her breasts, kneading and suckling. The contrast of his rough hands and soft lips coaxing needy whimpers from her. Her back arched, her hips rutted against his stomach where he lay between her spread legs, and he raised up only enough to look at her. When their eyes met, she expected him to look smug, but there was no teasing in his gaze, only raw emotion and desire and for once, she didn’t look away. He seemed to be waiting for her, asking for permission and there was only one answer she could give. She nodded. He smiled.

Killian resumed kissing a path down her stomach with renewed vigor, dipping his tongue playfully in her belly button just to get her to twitch. He shifted himself further down the bed, his lips never leaving her skin, and just when the anticipation had gotten to be almost too much for Emma to bear, he stopped. Just above the blonde curls covering her womanhood.

Tense as a bowstring, she was about to scream with frustration when she met his eyes again. Open, clear and blue as a summer sky, they pleaded with her to trust him. And in this moment, she let herself. Watched as his dark head dipped down again. His mouth found a spot just inside her hipbone and sucked hard, while his strong hands held her hips in place. Marking her. Claiming her. The sharp sting of feeling him so close to where she wanted him was infuriating, maddening, amazing.

He sat back on his heels, inspecting his handiwork and placed a hand on each of her thighs. He took a few long moments to squeeze and massage the tense muscles there, all the while, his eyes raked over her, spread as she was before him. No one in her life had ever looked at her like that. The softness in his gaze something utterly new and foreign.

“So beautiful,” he whispered and she wasn’t sure if he knew he’d even said it out loud. Because this wasn’t the man who used his words as a shield. Humor and innuendo and dirty promises to cover a heart that life had treated cruelly. This was just the two of them, alone together in the dark, souls as bare for each other as their bodies, if only for this moment.

Killian lazily stroked his straining cock, using his thumb to swipe a bead of arousal from the tip and Emma licked her lips at the sight, but before she could reach for him, he resumed his place at the foot of the bed. Emma nearly cried in relief when his lips found her clit and he began to suck and lave her in earnest. That mouth of his. She suspected he had certain talents and he’d demonstrated as much on other parts of her body, but this? Could a person actually die from pleasure?

“God, Swan,” he mumbled against her between licks and kisses, the scrape of his stubbled beard against her folds heightening the sensation. “Ambrosia.” He dipped his tongue inside her and she cried his name aloud. “Could have you for every meal.”

He must’ve meant it for all Emma could tell through her lust-filled haze. He tasted her like a man half-starved, desperate, yet still wanting to savor. The bed shook and Emma wasn’t sure if it was her bucking hips or his rutting against the mattress seeking friction of his own. Words were far beyond her capacity, so she praised him with keening and moans and whispers that sounded like his name. Her release was just within reach, she knew it, could feel it tingling under her skin, but she also knew she didn’t want to fall alone.

She sank her fingers into his hair and tugged until he looked up at her. His eyes were dazed and nearly black, his mouth and chin covered in her arousal, and she knew the image would haunt her dreams in days ahead. But right now-

“Come here.” She reached over and pulled on his hand. “Come with me. Need you inside.”

And then he was with her, his body a welcome and strangely comforting weight on top of her. He kissed her or she kissed him, and he tasted like her and he felt like home. And when he finally pressed inside her, sinking to the hilt in one slow thrust, they both took in a sharp breath not because anything was wrong but because everything was right.

Emma’s world contracted, all her focus narrowing to the point where she and Killian were joined. To the quickly building pleasure within her as with each thrust and grind of his hips, he drove her closer to the edge.

“Emma.” His voice, thin with strain, made her open her eyes. “Emma look at me.”

She could not refuse him. Their eyes locked, and it seemed as if time both stopped and raced ahead all at once, and then she was coming, first his name and then his kiss on her lips as he tumbled after her. Wave after wave of pleasure washed over her, the force of it shaking her to the marrow of her bones. Did she even have bones anymore? Who knew. All she knew was this moment and this bed and this man curled up beside her with his warm breath tickling her neck and his coarse chest hair tickling her arm.

He kissed her shoulder and got out of bed. He said something about getting a cloth or cleaning up or whatever, but Emma wasn’t listening anymore. Because the second he flipped on the bathroom light, reality had rushed back to her. Their moment had ended.

Now she had to deal with the fact that she had just fucked- No. Emma knew fucking and that wasn’t fucking. That was...It was... She couldn’t say it. Couldn’t think the words. She sat up abruptly, scanning the floor for her discarded clothing. All the fears she kept at bay came screaming back, riding rough-shod over whatever truths she’d admitted to herself only hours ago. She could feel her entire body tensing, and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her fingers gripped the edge of the mattress since she couldn’t seem to get a grip on her thoughts. This was nothing. This had to be nothing. There were rules. There was an agreement.

When Killian returned he noticed the change in her immediately and slowed his step. “Swan, are you alright?”

Emma looked at him standing there framed by the light from the doorway. Bare-chested still, but he’d pulled on a pair of plaid pajama bottoms that hung low on his hips. Everything in her had 100% wanted to do what they just did, and even now, everything in her 100% wanted to stay right here with him. That was exactly why she needed to go.

She grabbed her clothes from the floor, put her underwear back on and yanked her shirt over her head. “I’m fine.” With her jeans, bra and shoes bundled in her arms, she headed for the bedroom door. “I’m just going to head on upstairs and-”

Killian caught her arm, turning her to face him. “Swan, please stay.” His eyes spoke the rest of the words for him. Don’t run from me. Don’t run from this.

“I can’t,” Emma insisted. “You know the rules.”

Killian’s eyes bore into hers and she thought he was about to argue with her, but he simply released her arm, raising the hand that had held her to scratch at the back of his neck. “Aye, that I do.” He gestured toward the door. “Goodnight, Swan.”

“Goodnight, Killian.”

A/N: If you're reading this, thanks so much for sticking with this story! There WILL be three more chapters. I WILL finish this thing. But, in all honesty, it ain't gonna be updated until I get my story for CS Little Bang finished. Thank you for your patience. Smut disclaimer: for safety and hygiene reasons, don't fool around on horseback in real life. It's just a story, ya'll ;-)

Tell me what you think!

#captain swan #cs ff #cs au ff #cs modern au #cs western #this may be the closest thing I've ever written to PWP

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