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aurorawritestoescape · 5 months

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AMERICAN BEAUTY

best friend’s dad Joel Miller x f!reader || 2,7k

Summary: Joel sees you in a wet dream. Then you make his dream a reality.

Tw: 18+ mdni, smut, Joel’s pov, horny!Joel, age gap (reader’s in her early 20s, Joel’s in his late 40s), m/f masturbation, mention of f!oral, mention of piv, m!oral, light degradation/slut shaming, swearing. Pics are for the mood, reader has no specific physical descriptions.

A/n: This is for Jett’s Flora and Fauna Challenge 🌸 Thank you @morallyinept for hosting such an amazing event!💜Hugs and kisses to @iamasaddie for the gif in the m/b♥️Javi’s forehead smooch to @milla-frenchy for beta-ing😘 Hope you all will enjoy this filth🌹

Part 2 PLEASE, SIR || MASTERLIST

*****

It’s late. Exhausted after a long work day, Joel is sitting on the couch with a bottle of beer in his hand. He’s mindlessly flipping through channels, taking a sip of the warm alcohol from time to time.

The dark room is lit only by the TV and his pupils jump every time the screen goes black and then explodes with another picture.

A movie catches his attention and he stops pushing the button on the remote control. “American Beauty”. He’s seen it a couple of times, years ago.

He watches a little and then changes the channel. While his eyes are set on an old infomercial, his thoughts wander back to the movie. The iconic scene flashes in his mind - a beautiful girl is lying naked, surrounded by a myriad of red rose petals. Joel chuckles at the irony of him stumbling on that movie but drives the worrying thoughts away. He’s too tired for this.

Soon the exhaustion and the alcohol in his blood take their toll and his eyes close by themselves.

When they open, he sees you. Sarah’s college friend, who is staying with them this spring break. When Sarah asked him if you could crash with them for a few days, he didn’t mind. He was glad that she would have a friend to have fun with.

But the moment he saw you, he knew that he was fucked. When you smiled at him the first time, he blushed like a teenager. You were a knockout beauty. Your voice was the hottest thing he’s ever heard. Your body made his cock twitch every time he laid eyes on you and your sexy crop tops, daisy dukes and bikinis didn’t help. Be damned Austin and its hot weather!

It’s not surprising that he’s dreaming about you now. It’s fucked up but hey, it’s just a dream.

As if his mind is mocking him, he sees you completely naked, while only crimson rose petals are covering your breasts and pussy as well as every inch around you. Some of them are floating around, swirling, dancing in the air.

You look perfect, lying there like an offering to him and he craves to see more. All of you. So he blows on the petals on your chest and they fly away in slow motion, revealing your beautiful breasts. You moan when the soft flowers graze your hardened nipples, and the sound makes Joel’s cock throb with need.

Can he touch you? As soon as this thought crosses his mind he sees his hand splayed on your sternum. He swears he can feel your heartbeat under his calloused palm. He glides his hand to your breast and kneads it. Your lips open and he hears your needy whimper.

He wants to tell you, ‘yes, baby, I’ll make you feel good soon, so soon,’ but his mouth is silent. He’ll have to show you then.

His gaze travels lower, to the heaven of your body, covered by the red petals. He glances up and sees your almost pained expression. Oh how you want his fat cock! ‘I’ll give it to you good, baby, don’t you worry. Spread your legs for me.’ His wordless wish is your command and your legs part oh so slowly, while he’s holding his breath in anticipation.

In front of his lustful eyes, your pussy blooms for him, still mostly hidden by the flowers.

‘Let me see’, he wishes, “Let me in.”

He carefully picks one petal off your mound and throws it away. You pleasantly surprise him when you lift your legs, and holding your knees with your hands, open your thighs wide for him.

‘Good girl,’ he thinks.

In a second his mouth is hovering over your pussy, and the sweet scent of your arousal makes his head spin. He darts his tongue out and presses it to the petal on the crease of your thigh. It sticks and he glides his tongue over it, before taking it out of his mouth with his fingers.

He does the same with another petal, which rests right on your clit. You moan when his hot tongue grazes your bud.

He picks the petals one after another with his mouth, lips, tongue, slowly and deliberately, almost edging you and himself in the process but he can’t help it. He wants to prolong this pleasant moment.

When all the petals are gone, his eyes feast on the sight of your bare cunt in front of him, glistening, crying for his attention. He lowers his face and his mouth latches onto your waiting pussy. The taste, the feel of you make his whole body tremble, his cock aches, desperate to be touched, and the sensation is so strong, he immediately wakes up.

He’s panting heavily, eyes darting around the dark room, his mind slowly coming back to reality.

The TV is still on, illuminating his surroundings, and he sees a wet spot on his jeans. His bulge is huge and his cock is pulsating under the confines of the clothes. He needs to jerk off.

Joel listens to the sounds upstairs but hears nothing. You and Sarah must be already sleeping. He contemplates turning on porn but stops himself. He can just remember what he saw a few seconds ago. It was so fucking hot and looked real.

So he unzips his jeans and pulls his throbbing cock out of his wet boxers. It’s big and hard, ready to explode from the slightest touch.

He holds it at the base, rests his head back against the couch and shuts his eyes. The image of you splayed naked, surrounded by roses, comes back to his mind and he begins slowly stroking his cock. He brings back the memory of his mouth on your pussy, him sucking, licking your soaked hole, gathering your arousal with the tip of his tongue and drinking your juices.

Joel is close and he wants to come inside you. If only in his fantasy. He forms his thumb and index finger into a small circle and brings them to the tip of his cock. Imitating your tight pussy, he slowly pushes the head through the opening between his fingers and moans your name, followed by “Oh, baby.”

“Mr Miller?”

Joel’s heart plummets into his stomach when he hears your soft voice, coming from the hall. To his horror, he sees you standing in the doorway. He’s not sure if you saw him or what he was doing at that angle, but his heart is pounding in his chest. He roughly tucks his hard cock back into the jeans, hissing in pain, grabs his plaid shirt off the side of the couch and covers his tent.

“ ‘s late. Go to bed, sweetheart,” he throws in your direction, almost out of the room, but your hand on his biceps stops him in his tracks.

“Mr Miller?”

His head whips your way,

“If ya need anythin’, just ask Sarah. I’m headin’ to bed.” He takes a step out and you say,

“Don’t I get to enjoy it?”

He freezes and looks back at you.

“Enjoy what?”

“That,” you point at his crotch with your chin, “Your boner. I heard you say my name so… I guess you should thank me for it.”

He gawks at you at first, not believing his own ears, but then his gaze narrows and slides from your face down your body. It’s like he’s seeing you for the first time just now.

A smirk tugs at his lips.

“Oh, you’re a slut?”

It comes out as half a question-half a statement and you reply with a smile, “I wouldn’t put it like that, Mr Miller.”

He turns to you, dropping his hands, not hiding his huge tent anymore, and you stare at it shamelessly, biting your lip at the sight.

“And how would you put it? Cos ya surely sound like one,” he says, coming up close to you. His eyes slide up and down your body, taking in your hardened nipples under a soft tee, tiny sleeping shorts, barely covering anything. Your big doe eyes are staring up at him as you purr,

“I just take what I want. Whoever I want.”

“Yeah, that’s a slut. Maybe I don’t like sluts,” he growls, taking a step and caging you against the doorframe. He doesn’t touch you but the arousal oozing from the both of you electrifies the air.

“Your hard-on says otherwise,” you retort and he takes a sharp breath. “Let me help you with it, Mr Miller.”

You say his name in a sultry voice, and a shiver goes down his spine. Fuck, he needs to come soon or he’ll bust a load in his pants.

Joel shifts his jaw in thought, staring at you. You lick your lower lip, looking crazy hot, and the decision is made. By his head or his cock, doesn’t matter.. .You gave him this raging boner so you’ll have to deal with it now. Morals be damned.

Joel walks to the couch and plops down with a grunt. He manspreads and you come up to him.

“I ain’t fuckin’ you, girl,” he grunts, looking up at you from under his brows. Faking a shy smile, you kneel between his legs on the floor. The sight of you standing on your knees, so obedient to him, makes his cock leak precum.

“Can I suck your cock, daddy?”

“Fuck no, no daddies,” he growls, furrowing his brows at you.

You pout your lips in thought, scratching his jean-clad thighs with your nails.

“Mr Miller?”

He smiles. “Much better.”

“Sir?”

“Oh, fuck, yeah,” his cock practically vibrates when you call him that.

“Mr Miller it is then,” you smirk and unzip his jeans.

He lets you pull down his jeans and boxers to his mid thigh while he’s watching you, his big arm resting on the headrest of the couch, the other hand on his naked thigh.

The moment your fingers touch his stiff length, Joel curses and starts breathing heavily. He tries to keep his cool, but it’s almost impossible.

Your hand wraps around the base of his cock, that is standing at attention, red angry tip glistening with precum.

“Wow,” you breathe out, and he notices a trace of fear in your expression.

“ ‘s right. Think twice before you take on the task, baby.”

Baby. That word does something to you, he sees it. You squirm between his legs, blown eyes set on his twitching cock.

You take a deep breath, collecting yourself, and lower your head. All his muscles tense up as he anticipates the feeling of your warm mouth on his cock, but you freeze midway and glance up at him, beautiful eyes glinting in the darkness of the room.

“Was I a good girl in your fantasy?”

He bucks his hips in need and replies, “Very good girl.”

His tormenting mind brings back the images of you in the sea of red roses and a clear drop of precum beads on his slit.

You smile and murmur, “Let’s see if I can do better than her.”

With that, you lick off the arousal of his fat head and he moans at the sensation.

You start taking him in slowly but confidently, pressing your hot tongue to the underside of his shaft. Your hand is cupping his heavy balls, gently massaging them. You’re already drooling around him and he thinks, that’s what heaven feels like.

“What a nice sloppy mouth you’ve got there, little slut.”

His harsh praise makes you moan around his cock. You start bobbing your head, your mouth moving up and down his length rhythmically. Joel shuts his eyes, as the image of you working his cock adds to the ecstasy and pushes him towards the edge faster and faster. He can’t come so soon. He wants himself forever buried in your sloppy warm mouth. Or in your tight wet cunt. Fuck, why is he doing it to himself?

His balls get tight and move in your palm, and your mouth leaves his cock.

“Don’t come yet. I want it on my pussy.”

“I said I ain’t fucking ya,” Joel growls, clenching his teeth.

“I said on my pussy,” you roll your eyes and add, “Think of a dead dog or something.”

You fucking wink at him and get back to sucking his poor cock.

Your lips and tongue are massaging every inch of his length and Joel closes his eyes again, hastily trying to find something in his mind that can stop him from squirting his hot cum down your throat.

His truck needs an oil change, yeah, he’ll deal with it tomorrow. It helps for a second but then he pictures you all oiled up and glistening. This very moment your face nuzzles his lower belly as you take him so deep in your throat, he feels you swallowing around him.

Joel opens his eyes and sees tears roll down your cheeks, your lips wrapped around the base of his member, your eyes empty and full of lust.

He quickly grabs you by the hair and pulls you off his cock, trying not to hurt you. You whine and he hisses,

“Shit…gonna come.”

“On my pussy, please, please!”

Joel groans and grabs you by the arm, lifting you on your feet. He tosses you on the couch, takes off your shorts and snarls, “ ‘course, no panties, little slut.”

He kneels between your legs, his hand braced on the headrest, the other wrapped around his ready-to explode cock.

“Show me your kitty, baby.”

“Oh, so is it ‘slut’ or ‘baby’, Mr Miller?” You purr, pouting your lips, but spread your thighs nonetheless.

“Right now you’re a fuckin’ brat,” he snaps and you smile, pulling your knees to your chest, just like in his dream. You lift your shirt, offering your breasts for his view as your hand darts to your pussy to spread your folds with your fingers, so he could paint every inch of you.

He points the tip at your soaked cunt, pumps his cock once, twice and the first jet of his cum shoots and lands right on your clit. You whimper into the back of your hand and your fingers get to work, swirling your bud, using his cum as lube. Joel doesn’t tear his eyes off the sight, milking his pulsating cock and giving you more, more, coating your pussy with a thick layer of his creamy load.

You’re wriggling under him, your nipples hard, belly heaving and when one more squirt hits your clit, you come, silently screaming and squeezing your eyes shut in euphoria. Joel sees your hole clench around nothing, and regrets not fucking your little pussy.

He’s panting, hovering over you, drinking you in and trying to memorize every little detail for his spank bank, while waves of pleasure hit you again and again, your body shaking and trembling.

“Oh, sir,” you whimper and he smiles triumphantly.

When your climax subsides, Joel goes to the bathroom. As he’s soaking a towel with warm water, he stares at himself in the mirror. His hair is tousled, face flushed. The realization of what he’s just done slowly sinks in and he curses at the reflection, “Fuckin’ dumbass.”

He returns and hands you the towel. You sit up and start wiping his cum off.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell Sarah. Or anyone else,” you say, looking up at him.

Joel nods, and his hand darts to touch your face but he stops himself. You get up and grab your soaked shorts off the floor before turning to him.

“How about we watch a movie tomorrow, Mr Miller?” You ask, coming up to him with a gorgeous smile on your lips that makes him blush. “Same time, just you and me?”

Joel’s looking into your eyes, fruitlessly trying to hide his infatuation with you, and his hand rises to your face. He gently brushes your lower lip with his thumb and mumbles bitterly, “Think I know what movie to pick.”

Your face lights up and you purr with a wink, “Can’t wait to not watch it with you. Sweet dreams, daddy.”

Joel grunts disapprovingly and slaps your naked ass, when you turn to leave. You gasp, looking back at him, and bite your lip.

Before going upstairs, you give him a charming smile and he takes a deep breath.

Yeah, he’s fucked.

*****

Thank you for reading!🌹

Please consider commenting and reblogging if you enjoyed the fic!♥️

Pt 2 PLEASE, SIR || Masterlist

Tag list:@milla-frenchy @harriedandharassed @survivingandenduring @missannwinchester @iamasaddie @nervousmumbling @bbyanarchist @stevie75 @puduvallee @auteurdelabre @mountainsandmayhem @senoratess @flamingochick55 @theoraekenslover @schnarfer @littlemisspascal @mermaidgirl30 @staywildflowahchild

Tagging lovelies who showed interest in the wip post🌸 @604to647 @fruityreads @joelmillerisapunk @corazondebeskar @janaispunk @bubble-pop-eclectic

If you'd like to be tagged in my future fics, let me know!💕

#pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #jettsflora&faunachallenge #joel miller x you #pedro pascal characters #the last of us #joel miller tlou #pedro pascal smut #joel miller fanfiction #no outbreak!joel miller #joel fic #joel fanfiction #joel miller the last of us #joel miller fic #Joel jacks off #american beauty

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el-pada · 6 months

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beauty and the beast inspired 2003 au by @scarredwoods

im so normal i promise

#my art #ilustration #digital art #artists on tumblr #fanart #tmnt #tmnt 2003 #tmnt leo #miyamoto usagi #usagi yojimbo #leosagi #katana shipping #au #beauty and the beast au #woods might be posting a fic for it so e #just wanted to post smth

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foolishlovers · 6 months

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Where a Canvas Blooms by foolishlovers

It’s an Arrangement. Aziraphale knows this. He knows a lot of things, and others he doesn’t, but the most important things, he knows. He knows that the cheeky redhead in his arms smiles and purrs when he runs his fingers through his hair, knows that Crowley’s hands are rough from working outside, knows the softness of his heart. Aziraphale doesn’t know he’s in love with Crowley until he does. But it’s just an Arrangement. Is it? Part 1 of The Cuddle Arrangement

word count: 3.8k rating: T relevant tags: Human AU, Trans Aziraphale, Trans Crowley, Touch-Starved Aziraphale, Touch-Starved Crowley, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Cuddling & Snuggling, Comfort, Pining art by the wonderful @omens-for-ophelia

#pls scream with me about the beautiful art i love it so much 😭#also appreciating all the support/reblogs/comments!! 💜#good omens #good omens fanfic #good omens fanfiction #good omens fic #good omens human au #aziracrow #aziracrow fic #ineffable husbands #trans crowley #trans aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley #foolish writes #where a canvas blooms #the cuddle arrangement #cuddle au

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biteofcherry · 1 year

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Nature’s beauty

mountain rescuer Steve Rogers x female reader

summary: Your teasing comment about staying home barefoot and pregnant makes something in Steve snap. He’s now eager to turn it into reality.

warnings: consensual; barebacking; breeding kink; housewife kink; light bondage; dubiously consensual taking of risky pictures; lots of filthy talk (not even dirty, just nasty filth); mention of cumplay; established relationship; Steve’s a rescuer but who will rescue us from Steve’s hotness;

*no squirrels were harmed in the process of writing the story

“Come on. Get out of there!” You huffed, tapping your fingers against the wood of the small birdhouse installed high on the tree trunk.

It was a birdhouse - and just this morning you saw a small, colorful bird check it out - but some sneaky, red squirrel decided to squat inside it. How did it even fit through the tiny hole, you had no idea.

You noticed it as you returned from your little hike, seeing a flash of an orange fluffy tail as the squirrel stuffed its tiny butt through the hole. So you tried climbing the tree, not much successfully, and scare the intruder out.

It wouldn’t be a good house for a growing squirrel anyway.

To prop yourself, you used one of the wooden crates Steve built you for the vegetable garden that you planned on starting. Since it wasn’t enough to reach the birdhouse, you stuck another crate on top of it. The construction swayed a little, but you braced yourself against the tree trunk and reached your hand up to knock on the small wooden house.

“Your nuts won’t fit in there with you!” You called, though it was doubtful the squirrel would understand you.

The crates wobbled, but before you had a chance to stabilize yourself with both hands on the tree two strong hands gripped your hips and easily lifted you up.

“And what do you think you’re doing, sweetheart?” Steve’s steady voice calmed your initial panic.

You melted into his embrace as he set you down on your feet on the ground and spun around to face him. Your immediately wrapped your arms around his neck, straining on your tiptoes to greet him with a kiss.

He’s been gone for nearly two days - his usual shift stretching longer due to a crisis his team had to react to in the higher parts of the mountains.

“Steve.” You breathlessly whispered his name, smile stretching on your lips.

So close to the way you looked and sounded when he woke you up with his mouth between your thighs.

“You’re back.” You pecked his lips once again then grinned. “Just in time for eviction.”

“Eviction?” Steve’s eyebrows rose in surprise.

“A squirrel locked herself inside the birdhouse. We need to chase her away. For her own good.” You pointed up at the tree where few weeks ago Steve installed the birdhouse.

With a shake of his head and an overly dramatic sigh, Steve went to his truck to get his backpack with the climbing gear. He put the crates away - sending you a warning glare for coming up with a dangerous idea of putting your safety on top of them - then tied a rope around the tree to have a leverage for climbing. He reached the birdhouse exceptionally quickly.

Once he brought it down, you opened the front panel and shooed the squirrel away. It looked at you indignantly, holding a nut in its tiny paws, then scrambled away onto another tree near your house.

“I see you got into serious animal real estate business, even though you only got back home yourself.” Steve chuckled, pointing at your small backpack and the camera placed a few feet away.

“I went to the valley to take some shots of the early crocuses.” You beamed, picking up your things.

“But!” You kept close to Steve as you both walked up the porch and into the house. “I prepared a stew earlier and some garlic bread slices that are ready to pop into the oven.”

“Wow. You’re organized like a proper housewife.” Steve snickered, patting your ass.

“Yeah?” You glanced at him over your shoulder, waggling your eyebrows comically. “You gonna keep me barefoot and pregnant?”

“We can have that arranged.” Steve wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you to him. He kicked the door shut behind you and dropped his backpack to the floor.

“Ah-ah!” You quickly slipped away from his grasp.

You turned around with a grin, mischievous sparks lighting your eyes. You lifted the camera and clutched it protectively to your chest.

“Gotta put the fragile goods into safety first, before you go all patriarchal on me.”

“You’ll never forgive me that vase, won’t you?” Steve hung his head in shame, but he couldn’t suppress the proud smirk on his face.

The pretty, pink glass vase became a collateral damage when the two of you resolved a minor argument with hot, angry sex.

Steve bent you over the table and fucked you so hard that your hands flailed helplessly around and you knocked the vase off the table. As the glass shattered all over the floor, you gushed around Steve’s cock with a scream that surely carried through the mountain range.

“That orgasm was worth the sacrifice.” You laughed, disappearing into the bedroom.

“But my camera is too precious to risk it!” The cottage you and Steve were living in wasn’t tiny, but small enough that your voice easily reached other parts of the house if you raised your volume a bit.

“Duly noted!” Steve called back.

He walked into the kitchen where the faint smell of stew lingered in the air. He sat down on one of the chairs and bent down to unlace his shoes, smiling to himself as he thought of you cooking and dancing around the kitchen.

You were quite messy when you cooked, even worse when you baked. But there was no hotter sight than you naked on your knees on the tiled floor, with smears of flour on your face and then his cum dribbling down your chin.

Suddenly, provoked by your recent words, an image of you walking around the kitchen pregnant flashed through Steve’s head.

He saw you glowing and round, cutting strawberries with a smile as he whisked the batter for pancakes. You’d snack on the strawberries, claiming to be hungry and impatient to wait for breakfast. He’d take the fruit from you with a laugh, lick the sticky juice off your fingers. Then go on his knees to pleasure you until you can’t stand upright anymore.

He imagined you bent over the sink, hands in soapy water from washing dishes, as he fucked you slowly from behind - unable to keep his hands away from your pregnant belly, needing to take you as soon as he comes home from his shift.

He easily pictured you carrying a toddler on your hip, bouncing the kid lightly as you walk barefoot around the house, the swell of your belly growing with another baby.

You’d take the kids to the meadows, play with them and take stunning photographs of the nature and of the kids exploring its beauty. You’d chase away squirrels and tend to your vegetable garden - happiness radiating off your faces. You’d cook meals and try new baking recipes, and you all would eat together.

And later in the evening, when he puts the oldest kid to bed and you nurse the newborn baby to sleep, he’d take you again.

Fill you full through your needy cries, letting the nature take its course with your body as well.

Steve was so deep in this unexpected rush of craving he didn’t hear your soft footsteps at first. Only when you called his name upon entering the kitchen did he look up.

There you were - feet bare on the floor, your pants replaced with soft, cotton pajama shorts, and in his t-shirt which you liked to wear around the house.

All that was missing from the fantasy was your pregnant belly stretching the fabric of the tee.

Steve crooked a finger at you, wordlessly calling you over.

You noticed the heat in his gaze, how wider his pupils got and that his lips were slightly parted on a quickened breath. It was a look signaling some mindblowing pleasure coming your way, though you weren’t exactly sure what caused it at the moment.

You walked over, straddling Steve’s lap and placing your hands on his shoulders. His palms spread over your ass, fingers kneading your flesh and forcing you to rock against him.

Against his undoubtedly growing, impressive erection.

“I feel that you’re really happy to see me.” You grinned at Steve, but couldn’t help yourself from rubbing against him.

“Always.” Steve muttered and kissed you.

His lips were soft, but the way he used them was anything but gentle. He took possession of your mouth, tongue slipping between your parted lips to tease a moan out of your throat.

Your fingers weaved into his hair, fingernails scratching his scalp and causing Steve to purr.

He gave your asscheek a smack. Not exactly painful, but firm enough to elicit a squeak out of you and have you buck against him.

“I want to fuck you bare.” Steve growled, hips pushing up into you.

“Wha-” your mouth was still chasing his lips, your mind not yet fully catching up with his request.

Steve gave your ass another slap and tilted his head back, so your gaze focused on his eyes and what he was saying.

“I want to fuck you bare.” He repeated, his voice low and raspy with dark need.

“I want to fill you up and breed you.”

You shivered at his words. Your nipples tightened into hard peaks and your clit throbbed.

“You’re serious.” Your voice came out breathless, your throat suddenly dry.

Steve and you talked about having kids before, but it was all vague; nothing beyond agreeing that you wanted to build a family together, sometime. In the far future.

Since it was a unspecified future and your health didn’t allow for you to take pills or hormonal shots, Steve always had a strip of condoms at hand. Even in the spur of the moment quickies on your hikes, he always sheathed himself. You never took him bare.

Never felt him fill your pussy with his cum.

“What’s that thought, sweetheart?” Steve leaned forward and nipped your bottom lip when you let out an involuntary moan at the thought of being full of him.

“We’ve never done it bare.” You rubbed your heated core over his clothed cock. “I only had your cum in my mouth, or on my body.”

Corner of Steve’s mouth tilted in a smirk. He slid one of his hands to grip the back of your neck as he licked a wide stripe from your throat over your chin and up to your lips.

“I promise to still let you play with my cum from time to time, doll.” He kissed you again.

With your big eyes full of wonder, you always liked him to paint your body with white streaks of his spent. You stuck your little tongue out, swallowed him greedily, and scooped up every drop from your skin.

“But from now on, we’ll mostly fill your sweet cunt with it.”

You felt his dick twitch beneath you as he said those words. You felt your own panties and shorts dampen with your growing slick.

“What do you say, sweetheart?” Steve nudged the tip of your nose with his affectionately. “Want to get pregnant?”

“Pregnant and barefoot?” You huffed a breathy laugh, realizing it was your own words from earlier today that spurred Steve’s desire.

“Well, some days are really cold out here, so I think we can skip the barefoot part.” He smiled against your lips. “But we’re definitely doing the pregnant part.”

You were constantly grinding against him, your breasts pressed and rubbed against Steve’s chest. Growing heat consumed you and you wanted, needed, Steve to sate the fire he ignited. You felt as if your body wouldn’t calm down until he spilled inside you, like he promised.

“Yes!” You captured Steve’s mouth, clinging to him even closer.

“Yes, Steve!” You head fell back as he kissed and bit down your throat. “Fuck a baby into me!”

In rushed moves, surprisingly efficient considering how both of you were trembling with impatience, you undid Steve’s pants and took him into your hand. He pushed your shorts and panties to the side.

You both moaned as you slid down his cock. The feel of his hot flesh without the latex cover made your toes curl.

It was quick and brutal, really; your thighs burned as you bounced up and down on his length. A tearing sound, as Steve yanked on your t-shirt, didn’t falter your pace.

Your climax came as dizzying, filling the house with your scream and Steve’s loud groan following soon after.

Nothing but the pounding of your hearts and heavy breathing, as you sat tangled and spent. A little mewl of surprise bubbled on your lips when you felt Steve’s cock twitching and spurting more of hot come inside your fluttering walls.

It was hotter and wetter than how it felt ever before; and the thought of Steve’s cum filling up through your cervix made your pussy clench around him.

When you slid off him a while later, a thick dollop of cum dribbled out of you. Steve put your panties back in place, cotton quickly filling and staining with the mixture of juices.

“That won’t do.” Steve frowned, as he pulled the waistband of your panties and glanced at the mess between your swollen folds.

“You’re dripping it all over and it has to take.”

Before you had a chance to ask what he meant - your brain fuzzy from the aftershocks and bliss - Steve picked you up.

He carried you to the bedroom and dropped you onto the bed. He got his t-shirt over his head in a split of a second, then moved your pliant body around, getting rid of all of your clothes as well.

“Stay here.” He pointed at you and walked out of the bedroom.

You did enjoy the view of his naked ass moving. As well the way muscles in his back flexed.

When Steve returned, he had three climbing ropes in his hands.

“What are you planning mister rescuer?” You arched a brow.

He merely winked at you, joining you on the bed and straddling you. He weaved the blue cord around your wrists, binding them to the headboard. One of the red ropes tied around your left ankle; the other around the right.

You expected Steve to tie your legs to the foot of the bed, but instead he bent your legs at the knees and pushed them up toward your chest and slightly to the sides. The ends of the rope he tied to the headboard as well.

Once he was done, your breath was quickened again, as your vulnerable exposed position registered.

“Now,” Steve knelt back and ran a finger up your ass, “all my cum will stay nicely snug in your pussy.”

He scooped whatever dribbled out of you and pushed it back into your quivering cunt. He was right. In this improvised bondage version of a mating press, your hips were tilted up enough for the gravity to work in favor of impregnation.

“You’re so beautiful.” Steve looked at you, love and desire shining in his eyes.

From your gorgeous face, hair sticking to your sweaty skin; your breasts shaking with each breath and your lovely legs strained and bound; to your gorgeous ass and glistening, swollen folds.

A thick trickle of his cum lingered just below your leaking hole. He moved his hand slowly up your ass, reaching up to push that one drop back inside you.

“I wish I could preserve this image forever.” He murmured.

Then paused.

Slowly, Steve’s gaze shifted from your pussy to your face. His eyes darkened and a naughty, evil really, smirk curved his mouth.

“What are you thinking, Steve?” You asked warily, partly scared of his wicked idea and partly excited.

Steve got off the bed, but returned rather quickly.

With your camera in his hands.

“You can’t be serious.” You squeaked, squirming against your bonds. But they were fucking secured top notch, you were unable to even pull your legs closer together.

“Why not?” Fingers of his left hand returned to your heated skin while he held the camera in his right hand. “You take photographs of nature. What’s more natural than this?”

He traced one of your swollen folds and pulled it slightly to the side, exposing your hole and the white cream filling it.

A shutter clicked. First photo of your pussy saved on the memory card.

Steve took a few more photos, from different angles. Some close-ups of his cum, some a wider perspective including your stretched body visible between your spread legs.

He moved closer, kneeling up and positioning his hardened cock between your sopping folds.

He moaned as he watched his dick slide back and forth; looked up at your face and held your gaze when you whimpered as the head of his cock bumped against your swollen clit repeatedly.

“What’s more natural than a pretty cunt serving its purpose?” Steve rasped out, guiding the tip into your opening.

He angled the camera again, snapping a picture of your pussy opening up for him. Then a series of photos as he slowly pushed inside.

“Fuck, sweetheart, you’re taking me so good.” Steve bit down on his lip as he thrust deeper. “Such a fucking beautiful sight.”

He flipped the camera function to video, recording as he buried himself in your wet cunt. Your wrecked moan at the stretch, too. And the squelching sound of a filled pussy.

Steve’s free hand rested on your mound, thumb drawing the hood over your clit up and then resting on the hardened nub. Your hips bucked when he started rubbing.

He tilted the camera up, making sure to register all of your body before focusing on your face. You whined his name aloud.

When you noticed the camera pointed at you, you closed your eyes and turned your head to the side embarrassed.

“Don’t be shy on me, sweetheart.” Steve cooed, maintaining a steady pace. “You’re stunning. Absolutely fucking gorgeous. And your pretty, little pussy-”

He returned the lens between your spread thighs, recording every detail of his cock driving into you.

His dick shined with your juices and remnants of his cum. Your folds were puffed and darkened, and your clit crushed under his big thumb. Your wetness smeared around, glistening on your ass and thighs, as well shimmering on the hair above Steve’s cock.

“She’s swallowing me, doll. Greedy, little pussy.” Steve growled, picking up his rhythm.

“What she’s hungry for, sweetheart? Huh?” Though his hand was shaking slightly, he managed to move the camera so it was recording your face again.

“Tell me, what she’s hungry for?” He delivered a firm smack atop your clit that made you squeak and clench around him.

“It’s hungry for your cum!” You cried out.

You felt the heat engulf you whole, felt it almost burn the skin off your cheeks from the inside.

Steve always had a penchant for dirty talk, but it wasn’t always as nasty. Just a few lines here and there. Something about fucking you bare, trying to knock you up, made him wilder. And he forced you to interact along with him.

“Wants to be filled?” Steve’s raspy voice prompted again, another slap stinging your clit.

“It wants to be filled so bad!” Your need overcame the embarrassment.

With your eyes still closed, you babbled all the filth you were shy to admit, but everything you knew Steve wanted to hear.

“Wants you to fuck it hard and come inside. Please, Steve. Need you- Need you to make me take it! Fill my belly and make it swell!”

“Fuck, sweetheart.” Steve nearly came at the sputter of your dirty words. “My sweet, fucking, dirty girl.”

He put the camera down on the side of the bed. He didn’t bother to switch it off.

It recorded a slightly blurred angle of Steve’s hips driving into you, his balls slapping against your butt as he leaned fully on top of you and bottomed out.

It recorded the sounds of your bodies - wet squelching, skin slapping, Steve’s heavy groans and your high pitched cries; and filthy demands.

“I know you’re close, sweetheart.” Steve stretched himself over you and propped his weight on his forearms on both sides of your head.

“I am! I am, I’m so close, Steve!”

Your body wanted to move along with his, to rock up into him and touch him, but your tied limbs prevented you from doing so. You could only lay there and take whatever Steve gave you. However he gave it.

“I’ll get you there, I promise.” He nipped along your jaw, lavishing each sting with a lick of his tongue. “First, though-” he paused to kiss you fully.

A surprisingly thorough kiss, considering how frantically his hips were pumping you.

Steve’s voice turned into a low, gravelly growl.

“Tell me your purpose, my sweet fuck doll.”

So close to the edge that your toes were curling, you weren’t resilient enough to fight for more dignity. You knew what hot, humiliating words Steve fished for.

And you knew you could scream them out, because once he untied you and you left the bedroom, Steve would respect you like he always did. He would worship the ground you walk on and cherish you. Give you the stars, if he could.

“My p-purpose-” your voice choked on a moan as Steve angled his hips, driving his cock into that spongy, oversensitive spot inside you.

With a whine you dropped your gaze down, unable to look right into Steve’s eyes as you cried out the words.

“To be bred! Fuuuuck. To be bred and have your babies! Be y-your, ah, little housewife. To serve you, serv- Fuck! Steve!”

“I got you, sweetheart.” Steve groaned, leaning his forehead against yours.

He slowed his pace, but each snap of his hips drove his cock into you deep and rough. Skilled, coarse fingers maneuvered between your bodies, finding your clit.

A few strokes over your nub combined with the incessant pounding into your sweet spot were enough to push you over the edge.

You clenched your hands around the ropes that tied your wrists to the headboard as you shattered. Steve’s choked, low moans lost in the sound of your keening, as he came right after you.

Steve dragged his lips across your cheek toward your lips. Kissed you slowly, and wet. Your ragged breaths mingled, a string of saliva stretching between your mouths and popping.

He remained buried inside you, his cock twitching and spurting more cum into your clenching channel.

“I fucking love you.” Steve breathed heavily, a huff of chuckle at the end of his confession.

“Mhmm. I love you, too.” You opened your eyes halfway. “You perv.”

You both laughed, a quiet, intimate sound between lovers that knew each other to the tiniest bone.

With a displeased groan, Steve pushed himself up. He was careful as he sat back, not wanting to slip out of your pussy too quickly.

His gaze focused on your joined bodies as he withdrew inch by inch. His cock glistened with thick cream; your walls fluttered at the friction. He admired your open hole for a moment then squeezed your puffed folds between his fingers.

“Gotta keep it in, sweetheart.” Steve tugged on your folds lightly, keeping them pinched between his fingers.

“I could make you come again. Help your pussy swallow more of it into your womb.” His eyes, still hazy with desire, drifted back to your face.

You groaned. Your cunt clenched at the mere idea of another orgasm shattering your body.

“How about we leave it as it is for now?” You wiggled your butt as much as you could in your restraints. “You can do more nasty things to me in the upcoming days.”

Because you knew if you allowed Steve to make you come again now, he’d use his mouth. And if he used his mouth, he would switch into the overstimulation mindset - he always did that when he went down on you.

You were plenty ruined today without that.

“As you wish.” Steve sighed, with exaggerated disappointment.

“But I’m keeping your legs tied up for a bit longer.” He announced, releasing your folds and patting them less than gently.

You squeaked and glared at him, but it only made him grin.

“Better untie my hands.” You said, making a comically frowny face. “So I can call for the mountain rescuing service to save me from a brutal bear’s captivity.”

Steve laughed and plopped down on his ass, then stretched himself on the bed crosswise. He reached for the camera and finally turned recording off.

He did switch to a browsing mode, though.

“Stop working yourself up again!” You reprimanded him when you realized why Steve moaned suddenly. “Untie me and bring me food.”

“Isn’t it your purpose to serve me food, little housewife?” Steve propped himself on his elbows and looked at you with a cheeky grin.

“Can’t do that while I’m bound.” You smiled sweetly.

Steve moved up and leaned over you, untying the ropes around your hands in two swift moves. He rubbed the skin on your wrists then placed a soft kiss on each.

“Hmm, brutal bear has to think of ways to keep you full and still able to do your housewife duties.” He winked at you.

“Yes, yes, can you think of that while we’re eating?” You rolled your eyes.

As on cue, your stomach rumbled.

“You stew here.” Steve moved down your body and kissed your abdomen, then hopped off the bed. “I’ll reheat everything. Want some wine, too?”

Slipping his pants back on, Steve left the bedroom. And you inside it.

With your legs still up and spread, your hips tilted up and cum brewing in your cunt.

“Are you fucking serious?!” You yelled after him.

His response was an impudent snicker.

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x you #chris evans x you #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers smut #chris evans smut #mountain rescuer steve rogers #mountain rescuer steve rogers x reader #steve fic: nature's beauty

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everafterwhat · 8 months

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Some fanart for @royalrebelpropaganda ‘s “I place my head between my knees (do you ever have nights like these)” on Ao3! It was such a good piece of work, quite possibly my favorite eah fanfic I’ve read so far that I had to draw a little piece based on it😭💓

It didn’t exactly come out how I wanted it to, specifically the windows. They’re supposed to be enchanted windows so you can see landscape (or whatever you want to see really) despite the fact that the dorm’s bathroom has no way to see the outside world. She likes to look out above the trees to blue skies above, and finds it a great source of natural light and vitamin D (whether or not she’ll admit it, she prefers sunny says to stormy skies despite anything she says).

Everyone go read their fic it’s so good, you won’t regret it‼️‼️‼️‼️

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fanfic-gremlin-ft-trauma · 9 months

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happy birthday to one of the greatest fics of all time <3 ( @bisexuallsokka , thank you for writing this masterpiece.)

#atla #zukka #zuko x sokka #zukka fanart #atla fanart #tangled au #now that i see you #now that i see you fanart #fic fanart #so. this fic…#I know I’ve talked about it like. two or three times in the past #but I’m so serious about it #genuinely it is one of the greatest fics I’ve ever read not even exclusive to this fandom #it’s so well written and thought out and carefully crafted #(much like the rest of Jo’s work but I don’t want these tags to be overly long)#so if you are a tangled fan and anyone with a brain #please give this fic a read #literally? it will change your life #anyway happy birthday to this masterclass beautiful extraordinary masterpiece

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vanteguccir · 5 months

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── ୨୧ !　𝗩𝗢𝗚𝗨𝗘 𝗕𝗘𝗔𝗨𝗧𝗬 𝗦𝗘𝗖𝗥𝗘𝗧𝗦

　　　　　　𝒄𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒔 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒐 x famous!reader

SUMMARY: Where the world-famous actress and model, Y/N, is invited by Vogue to record a video of her Beauty Secrets, but during the recording, Chris, her boyfriend, decides to make a brief appearance.

WARNING: None.

REQUESTED?: No.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism, copy, or "inspiration"! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

　　　༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

The golden sun peeked through the silk curtains, illuminating Y/N's spacious marble bathroom. She was at home in her luxurious suite, ready to share her beauty secrets with the world.

A few days ago, Y/N was busy organizing her appointments when an email with the iconic Vogue logo caught her attention. With a mix of curiosity and anticipation, she opened the message to discover that Vogue was interested in featuring her in its exclusive beauty video series, Vogue Beauty Secrets.

The news filled her with excitement and pride. As one of the most in-demand models of the moment, walking on runways for renowned brands like Gucci and being a regular in the pages of Vogue itself, Y/N was already a familiar presence in the fashion industry. However, the invitation to share her beauty secrets with the Vogue audience represented an exciting opportunity to connect on an even deeper level with her fans and followers.

As Y/N prepared to start recording the video, she could hear the distant sound of laughter and the distinctive hum of video games coming from the next room. Her boyfriend, Chris, was immersed in one of his thousands of games, completely absorbed by the virtual world.

With a captivating smile, the girl waves to the camera with her left hand, starting the recording. Her long hair falls like a silken waterfall as she approaches the dressing table adorned with high-quality beauty products.

"Hi, guys! It's Y/N here." She greets enthusiastically, her smile stretching across her face as her right hand lifts slightly, showing the white mug full of fresh brewed coffee. "And I'm back on my favorite channel. Today is a very special day because I'm sharing my beauty secrets with you!"

With grace and elegance, Y/N begins her skincare routine, explaining each step in meticulous detail. She gently applies a gentle cleanser, massaging it into her skin in circular motions while commenting on the latest happenings in the fashion world.

"You know, being on the cover of Vogue for the fifth time is an honor." She shares casually. "But it's also a reminder of how much hard work and dedication it takes to get there. I remember when I was just a 10-year-old kid walking down the hallway at home in my mom's heels."

While applying a refreshing toner, Y/N describes how she likes to take care of her skin to keep it radiant and flawless, even under the relentless camera spotlight.

"It's all about consistency and finding what works for you." The girl advises gently, looking directly into the camera with confidence. "And never underestimate the power of drinking lots of water and getting enough sleep!"

With one fluid movement, Y/N moves on to the next step: makeup. She carefully selects her favorite products, explaining the reasoning behind each choice as she applies them with masterful skill.

"My makeup philosophy is simple: enhance natural beauty." She explains, delicately tracing her eyebrows with a pencil in the tone of her natural hair. "It’s all about enhancing, not transforming."

Y/N lowered her head slightly, her right hand hovering over her laid out products before her index finger and thumb fished out her Dior blush.

"This one is Dior Backstage Rosy Glow Blush. It's super beautiful and gives you, like, baby pink glow. I'm literally obsessed!" The girl opens the small packaging, momentarily showing the pink powder to the lens before applying it delicately to the apples of her cheeks with a white brush. "I used to use really heavy blush when I was in school." Y/N confesses, laughing. "My face looked like a paint palette! Chris said it also looked like I had sunbathed for hours without sunscreen. But over time, I learned the art of subtlety."

As she continued to expertly apply her makeup, focusing on the smooth strokes and precise touches, a noise at the bathroom door broke her focus. With a surprised sigh, she saw through the mirror her boyfriend entered the spacious room with a frustrated expression on his face.

"Fucking hell!" He grumbled under his breath, muttering curses as he ran a hand through his disheveled hair.

Y/N couldn't help but laugh softly at the sight of him, knowing he was dealing with another loss in his game against Nick and Matt.

"Having some trouble, babe?" She asked playfully, turning her face slightly towards him and giving him an amused look as she continued to apply her makeup.

Chris let out a heavy sigh and walked with quick steps toward her, looking over Y/N's shoulder to see what she was doing. His eyes widened in surprise as he noticed the strategically placed recording camera before turning towards his girl with raised eyebrows.

"Wow, wait!" The boy exclaimed, excitement clear in his voice. "Are you recording a video?"

Y/N nodded, smiling as she explained about Vogue's invitation and the opportunity to share her beauty secrets with the world, her hands gently closing the packaging of the blush before putting it away in its original place.

Chris watched with admiration her animated features as she talked and her hands moving her favorite products - which he had already memorized, him himself buying many of them for her everytime he passed by Sephora -, his eyes shining with pride.

"That's so cool, baby!" He exclaimed, smiling big and wrapping an arm around her waist, moving so that he was more centered inside the lens's frame and clinging to his girl. "You're amazing, you know that?"

"If your intention is to make me blush, it will be impossible under those layers of blush." Y/N intervened, raising her right hand with her palm facing him, rolling her eyes playfully in an attempt to feign annoyance, but the minimal smile on her face said otherwise. "Do you want to stay here? With me."

"Can I?" Chris widened his eyes comically, turning abruptly to her, feeling elated.

"Of course you can, honey!" Y/N couldn't help but laugh at Chris's excitement, nodding with a smile. "Welcome to my world of beauty." She opened her arms in an exaggerated gesture of welcome, receiving a nasal laugh in response.

As she resumed her makeup, explaining the next steps in detail, Chris watched with interest, asking questions and showing genuine interest in the entire process, a childish and euphoric aura surrounding his body.

As Y/N picked up her favorite mascara and began to explain in detail about the brand and its incredible formula that provided volume and length without clumping, Chris's eyes traveled between the product - which he already knew very well - and her concentrated expression. He could see the passion in his girlfriend's eyes as she talked about her beauty rites, and this only increased his admiration for her, an involuntary smile resting on his face.

Then, when Y/N was about to apply the mascara, the boy gently stepped forward, extending his hands, stopping her movements. The girl raised her eyes to him, a confused expression hovering over them before noticing what he wanted to do after watching Chris take the product from her hands.

That wasn't unusual between them; Over the three years of their relationship, Chris had become skilled at some specific makeup steps, helping his girlfriend on several occasions.

"Can I?" He asked softly, holding the mascara in her eyes level.

Y/N smiled, feeling grateful for her boyfriend's affectionate gesture, throwing a wink in the direction of the camera before turning her body slightly to the side, so that her face was still visible to the lens and that Chris could see her completely.

"Please, go ahead, baby." She finally replied, her eyes shining with tenderness as she watched Chris move closer, wanting to put himself in an easy position for both of them, without running the risk of smudging his work.

With skill and care, Chris began to apply the mascara to Y/N's long, naturally curled lashes, following the precise movements he had observed she doing so many times. He furrowed his eyebrows in a serious expression, determined to do an impeccable job, his tongue lolling out of his lips in concentration.

"Chris and I have an interesting ritual. For as long as I can remember, I've always been very careful about the way I look, and that didn't change after I started dating Chris, and much less when we started actively going to each other's houses." Y/N explained softly, without moving her lips too much with the intention of not making him smudge his work. "And Chris, being the adorably clingy boyfriend that he is, would spend hours in the bathroom with me while I was trying out new makeup or getting ready to go out. He would just sit on the closed toilet seat and watch me for minutes on end."

"How could I not look at a work of art as perfect as you?" The boy interrupted her, shooting off his sentence before an involuntary smirk appeared on his lips, feeling the skin of her right cheek burn against his own hand.

"And then, one day, he asked to do my makeup, but before I explained the function of each product." Y/N quickly resumed her train of thought, ignoring her boyfriend's flirting. "And over time, every time we go out together, he asks to help me, or just to watch me doing my skin routine."

"Sharing these intimate moments with you is the best part of my daily routine." The brunette said softly, his tone low with the intention of only his girlfriend hearing, his eyes meeting hers tenderly.

Y/N quickly pressed her lips into a thin line, feeling her neck and cheeks burn even more in shyness, her right hand moving up his body, caressing his covered hip lightly with her fingers in ghost touches.

When he was finished, Chris stood back with a triumphant smile, admiring his work with pride. Y/N turned around, facing the camera and the mirror completely, observing her own reflection for a few seconds, impressed with the result. Her lashes were perfectly defined and voluminous, exactly how she liked them.

"Wow, you're getting better at this!" Y/N exclaimed, approaching her face to the camera slightly, blinking repeatedly, wanting the lens to capture her boyfriend's perfect work. "Thank you, my love."

Chris smiled excitedly, happy to have made Y/N feel even more pretty, his hands returning to their previous place on her waist.

"Vogue, please, get Chris to do the next episode of Vogue Beauty Secrets."

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

extra - comments:

"petition for Chris and Y/N to start posting makeup videos together ✏️📄"

"I never thought I would see Chris knowing about makeup, much less doing someone's makeup 😭"

"this is the cutest thing I've ever seen in my entire life 😔✋🏻"

"I need a boyfriend like Chris, who does my makeup every day 🙏🏻"

"Chris is the true meaning of acts of service 🥺"

"couple goals fr 🤞🏻"

"Chris is to blame for my standard being so high 😫"

"get someone that looks at you like Chris looks at Y/N while she puts on makeup 🤭"

“okay, but can we talk about Y/N’s flawless skin? I'm jealous 😫”

"Y/N's makeup >>>>>"

taglist:

@lustfulslxt @ladybunny44 @worldlxvlys @earth2starkey @remussbitch @freshloveforthefit @sturniolowhore @luvr4miya @alorsxsturn @urfavgirllyyyyy @hearts4chriss @cupidzsq @dracoflaco @rootbeerworshiper @junnniiieee07 @elliesturniolo1 @sstvrnioloo @lightsgore @gidgett11037 @ksskianshd @soimightlikeoldmen69 @ldr-sl0t @breeloveschris @its-jennarose @sainzzsturns @ecliphttlunar @soso-scarlettolivia @sturnolio-luvs @bitchydragonparadise @freshsturns @h3arts4harry @patscorner @strnilolo @bernardsbendystraws @mattsneezing @poetatorturadaa @meg-sturniolo @orangeypepsi @jnkvivi @chrisactualwife @watermelonreid @fratbrochrisgf @elordilover @somegirlfromasgard @hpyjw

(If you want to be added to the taglist, go to this post)

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helen-with-an-a · 20 days

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Welcome Home - Beautiful Girl Series (18+)

Hiiiii - so I have deciede to expand this into a little universe type thing that I will be updating as and when I feel like it. I hope you enjoy.

Beautiful Girl Masterlist

Alexia Putellas x Reader

Description: Alexia comes home from the Olympics.

Word Count: 9k

TW: Smut, 18+, talking through an orgasm, self-doubt, SoftDom!R

Alexia was exhausted – so, so tired. But it wasn’t just her body that was weary. Sure, the Olympics had pushed her to her physical limits. The gruelling schedule of Euro qualifiers, the relentless training camps, and the fierce competition itself had left her muscles aching, her joints stiff, and her energy reserves depleted. Every stride on the field had demanded more from her than she thought she could give. Yet, it was the mental strain that truly wore her down, leaving her feeling hollowed out from the inside.

The pressure had been immense, an ever-present weight pressing down on her shoulders. Every match, every practice, had required her to be in peak mental form – focused, strategic, unyielding. The expectations of her country, her team, and herself had been a constant whisper in her mind, never letting her forget what was at stake. The emotional highs and lows, the anxiety before each game, the sleepless nights replaying every mistake, every missed opportunity – it had all built up, slowly eroding her mentally.

She had fought battles on the field, but the real war had been within her own mind. Now, as she sat in the quiet aftermath, the silence was deafening. It wasn’t just physical fatigue that made her feel so drained, but the mental and emotional toll of weeks, months even, of pushing herself to the brink. She was running on empty, not just in her body but in her soul. The exhaustion was deep and pervasive, and it clung to her like a shadow she couldn't shake.

Alexia wasn’t sure what to expect when she walked through the door to your shared home. Her mind raced with possibilities, each one a small beacon of comfort she desperately needed after everything she’d been through. Maybe you would be there waiting for her, the door opening to reveal your warm, familiar smile. She could almost feel the way your arms would wrap around her, pulling her into a gentle hug that seemed to melt away all the tension she’d been carrying for so long. The thought of your soft voice murmuring reassurances, telling her how proud you were, how happy you were to have her back, sent a wave of warmth through her. She imagined you guiding her gently to the couch, where she could finally let go, sinking into the cushions as you tucked a blanket around her, making her feel safe and cherished.

Or perhaps, as she walked in, you’d greet her with a cup of chamomile tea, its soothing aroma already filling the air. You knew it was her favourite, the one thing that could calm her mind and ease her into relaxation. The steam would rise in delicate curls, and she’d close her eyes as she took that first sip, letting the warmth spread through her. Beside the tea, maybe there would be one of her favourite snacks – something simple but perfect, just what she needed after the chaos of the past weeks. You would take her bags without a word, knowing she didn’t have the energy to deal with them right now, and quietly carry them into the bedroom to be unpacked later, when she was ready.

What she didn’t expect was you standing just behind the door, so close that she almost bumped into you as she stepped inside. The proximity startled her, making her jump slightly, her hand instinctively going to her chest as her heart skipped a beat. But the surprise quickly melted away into a smile, a mixture of relief and affection spreading across her face.

Before she could say a word, you were already there, closing the door behind her and enveloping her in your arms. “Welcome home, my beautiful girl,” you cooed softly, your voice a soothing balm to her frazzled nerves. The words were simple, but they meant so much to her.

You had been able to attend her group games, cheering her on from the stands with that infectious energy she loved so much. Every time she glanced up at the crowd and caught sight of you, it filled her with a surge of pride and determination, knowing you were there, sharing in her victories and frustrations. But the demands of preseason back home had called you away sooner than either of you had wanted. Just when the tournament was heating up, when the stakes were getting higher, you had to leave France and return to your own commitments. She understood, of course – the preseason training took precedence for you – but that didn’t make the parting any easier.

It had only been a few days since you’d left, but to her, it felt like an eternity. The days without you dragged on, each one longer than the last. Every time something happened on the field, whether it was a brilliant play or a tough moment, she found herself instinctively wanting to look for you, to share the experience with you. But you weren’t there. The seat you’d occupied during those first few games was now empty, a stark reminder of your absence.

She tried to focus on the competition, on the training sessions, on the strategy meetings, but there was an ache in her heart that she couldn’t quite shake. She missed your voice, your reassuring presence, the way you’d always know exactly what to say to calm her nerves or fire her up. The brief video calls and text messages you exchanged were a lifeline, but they weren’t enough. She wanted to feel your hand in hers, to see your smile in person, to hear your laugh echoing around her again.

Even the few days apart had felt like a lifetime. Every night after the games, as she lay in bed alone, she found herself reaching out, hoping to find you there beside her, only to be met with the cold, empty sheets. She missed the way you’d hold her close, the sound of your breathing lulling her to sleep. Without you, the victories felt a little less sweet, and the tough moments a little harder to bear.

You pulled her into a hug right there in the hallway, not caring that her bags were still slung over her shoulder or that her hair was tousled from the long journey.

She felt the tension in her body begin to dissolve as she leaned into you, breathing in the familiar scent that she had missed so much. “Hola, mi amor,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper as she let herself relax completely.

Your embrace was strong yet gentle, your firm body providing the perfect support as she melted into you, allowing you to take her weight without hesitation. It was as if all the exhaustion and stress she had been carrying evaporated in that moment, leaving her feeling lighter, freer. You held her close, your arms wrapped securely around her, one hand rubbing soothing circles on her back while the other cradled the back of her head, pressing her even closer to you.

“You did so well,” you whispered, your voice filled with genuine pride as you held her close, your lips brushing against her ear in a way that was both comforting and reassuring.

But she couldn’t let herself fully sink into your embrace, not when the weight of disappointment still hung so heavily on her shoulders. “We lost,” she said bluntly, her tone edged with frustration and a trace of bitterness. It was a simple statement, but the finality in her voice spoke volumes. Forcing herself to step out of your arms, she created a small distance between you, her gaze dropping to the floor as if to avoid the kindness in your eyes. The warmth of your hug, which she had longed for during those endless days apart, now felt almost too much to bear. She couldn't let herself be comforted when all she could think about was the sting of defeat.

“You came fourth,” you countered, your voice firm yet gentle, refusing to let her diminish her achievement. “That’s not losing, baby.” Your words were meant to soothe, to remind her of the incredible feat she and her team had accomplished, even if it wasn’t the outcome she had hoped for. But you could see the stubborn set of her jaw, the way she crossed her arms tightly over her chest as if trying to hold herself together. She wasn’t ready to let go of her disappointment just yet.

“We won the World Cup,” she argued, her voice tense with the pressure she had placed on herself. The memories of that triumphant victory were still fresh in her mind, the euphoria of being the best in the world. “We should have won this too.” Her words came out in a rush, tinged with self-reproach, as if by not winning, she had somehow failed to live up to her own expectations – or worse, to yours.

You looked at her, your eyes softening with understanding. “It’s more than I’ve ever done,” you said with a raised eyebrow, your tone light but with an underlying seriousness that you hoped would break through her self-imposed guilt. It was your way of gently reminding her that not every battle could be won, that her worth wasn’t tied to a single result, and that you were proud of her no matter what. The eyebrow raise was your little challenge, a playful nudge for her to see the bigger picture.

But more than that, it was an invitation for her to acknowledge her own greatness – not just as an athlete who had once stood at the pinnacle of the world but as someone who had given everything she had, time and time again. You didn’t need her to be perfect, to win every trophy, for her to be your hero. You admired her not just for her victories but for her courage, her tenacity, and the way she kept fighting even when the odds were against her.

She met your gaze, and for a moment, the tension in her features softened. There was a flicker of something in her eyes – a hint of acknowledgment, maybe even a touch of the humour that had always been between you. But it was fleeting, and she quickly looked away, still struggling with her own expectations. Even so, your words lingered, like a seed planted in her heart, waiting for the right moment to take root.

You had been expecting this – the self-deprecation that crept into her words, the harshness with which she judged herself. It was a familiar pattern, one you had seen many times before, but it had grown more intense since her return from injury. She had always demanded excellence from herself, setting standards so high that even her most extraordinary achievements seemed like mere steps on a ladder she was forever climbing. But now, her expectations had spiralled into something almost unattainable. Perfection wasn’t just a goal; it had become an obsession, and anything less than flawless felt like failure in her eyes.

Since that injury, the one that had taken her out of the game she loved and forced her to the sidelines, she had been on a relentless quest to prove herself again – not just to the world, but to herself. She believed that every move, every play, every decision had to be executed with absolute precision. There was no room for error, no space for the human imperfections that naturally came with being an athlete, especially one who had battled back from the brink.

But flawless was a standard she could never quite reach, and deep down, you knew she realised that. It was as if no matter how well she played, no matter how many accolades she earned or how many times she was hailed as a hero, she could always find the cracks, the tiny flaws that no one else noticed but that loomed large in her mind. She would fixate on them, replaying them over and over in her head, as if by dissecting every mistake, she could somehow erase it from existence.

You had watched her after games, seen her sit in silence with her head bowed, her mind churning as she picked apart her performance with a ruthless precision. Even when she had been the best player on the field, she would find something – anything – to criticise. Maybe it was a pass she hadn’t made, one that in hindsight seemed obvious, but in the heat of the moment had slipped by. Or perhaps it was a pass she had made, but it hadn’t gone as planned, the ball intercepted or misdirected, and she would berate herself for not seeing a better option.

Then there were the tackles – those split-second decisions where she would question whether she had gone in too soft or too late, or if she had hesitated when she should have acted. She would remember every press she hadn’t started, every time she hadn’t been quick enough to close down space, and those moments would linger in her mind, gnawing at her confidence. It was never enough for her to simply have done well; she needed to have done everything perfectly, and that was a burden she carried alone, even though you were always there, trying to help her see just how incredible she truly was.

You understood that this self-imposed pressure came from a place of love – love for the game, love for the team, and love for the standard she believed she needed to uphold. But it also came from fear. Fear of not being good enough, of not being the player she once was, of letting others down. And that fear had taken root during her recovery, blossoming into an unyielding drive for perfection that was as much a curse as it was a motivator.

You had seen it in her eyes, the way they would cloud over with doubt even as others celebrated her success. You had heard it in her voice, the way it would falter when she spoke about her performance, as if she couldn’t allow herself to take pride in what she had done. It was as though she believed that acknowledging her brilliance might make it slip away, that if she didn’t keep striving for more, she would somehow fall short.

And so, as she stood before you now, her posture tense and her expression guarded, you weren’t surprised by her reaction. You had known this moment was coming, the one where she would downplay her achievements and focus on the mistakes, no matter how minor they were. But what she didn’t realise was that in her pursuit of perfection, she had already achieved something far greater. She had fought her way back from injury, not just physically but mentally, and had returned to the game with a resilience and determination that few could match.

She might see the flaws, but you saw the brilliance – every single time.

“Ale, baby, I need to ask you something,” you began, your voice steady but laced with concern. You took a small step closer, ensuring she could see the seriousness in your eyes, feel the weight of the words you were about to speak. “And I need the truth from you, okay?”

Her gaze met yours, a mixture of curiosity and slight apprehension flickering across her face. She could sense that this was more than just a casual question, that what you were about to say carried significant importance. You reached out, gently taking her hand in yours, your thumb brushing soothingly over her knuckles as if to reassure her that whatever she said, it would be alright.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to,” you continued, your tone softening, letting her know that there was no pressure, no expectation, only the need for honesty between you. “Or if you think it might be too much right now.” You paused, giving her time to process, to understand that this was a safe space where she could express herself freely, without judgment or fear of disappointing you. “But I really need your honesty.”

She looked at you, her eyes searching yours for a moment, and you could see the internal struggle she was grappling with – the desire to be strong, to push through, to keep going despite the exhaustion that weighed on her, both physically and mentally. But beneath that, there was also a flicker of vulnerability, a quiet plea for understanding, for permission to admit that maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t as okay as she tried to appear.

You waited patiently, giving her the space to respond in her own time, your hand still holding hers, grounding her in the moment. Finally, she gave a small nod, a silent acknowledgment that she was ready to hear what you had to ask.

“Is it too much for you right now?” you asked, your voice gentle, filled with nothing but concern and care. The question hung in the air between you, and you could feel her tense slightly, the weight of the words settling over her. You knew how hard it was for her to admit when she was struggling, how much she prided herself on being resilient, on pushing through whatever challenges came her way. But you also knew that everyone had their limits, and you needed to make sure she wasn’t pushing herself past hers.

You watched her closely, seeing the conflict play out in her eyes, the way her brow furrowed as she considered your question. You could almost hear the thoughts racing through her mind, the internal dialogue as she weighed the expectations, she had placed on herself against the reality of how she was feeling. You squeezed her hand gently, offering silent support, letting her know that whatever she decided, whatever she needed, you were there for her.

And as she looked back at you, there was a moment of quiet understanding between you – an unspoken recognition of the love and trust that bound you together, and the knowledge that she didn’t have to carry this burden alone.

“Sí,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, yet the weight of that single word was enough to break your heart. You nodded, feeling a deep ache settle in your chest as you looked at her. The strength she usually carried seemed to have faded, leaving behind only the raw vulnerability that she rarely allowed herself to show.

“Do you need me to make it better?” you asked softly, wanting nothing more than to take away the pain, to ease the burden that had become too heavy for her to carry alone.

“Sí,” she said again, her voice a little stronger this time, but still tinged with that same quiet plea for help. It was a simple answer, but it carried the full weight of her exhaustion and her need for care. She was finally letting herself admit that she needed you, that she couldn’t do this alone, and that small surrender filled you with a fierce determination to be everything she needed in that moment.

“Ok,” you whispered, your voice steady even as you swallowed the lump in your throat. You wanted to be strong for her, to guide her through this moment with the gentle care she deserved. “I want you to go upstairs and shower,” you said, smoothing a hand over her hair in a soothing gesture. You felt her lean into your touch, seeking comfort in the simple act of you being there for her.

“I want you to make the water nice and warm, and take as long as you need,” you continued, your voice filled with a calm assurance that you hoped would ease the tension you could feel radiating off her. “At least five minutes, but you can take longer if you need it.” You chose your words carefully, emphasising her needs rather than her wants. You wanted her to understand that it was okay to prioritise herself right now, to take the time to care for her body and mind, to let go of the pressure she constantly placed on herself.

“When you’re finished,” you added, keeping your tone gentle and steady, “go to the bedroom and lie down for me. I’ll be up very soon.” You wanted her to know that she wasn’t alone in this, that you were right there with her, ready to take care of her, to make sure she felt safe and loved.

As you spoke, you pressed a gentle, reassuring kiss to her lips, a tender promise of your unwavering support. It was a brief moment, but it conveyed everything you felt – your love, your concern, your commitment to being there for her no matter what. You felt her respond to the kiss, a small sigh escaping her as if the simple act of being close to you allowed her to release some of the tension she had been holding onto for so long.

She pulled back slightly, her eyes meeting yours, and in that moment, you saw the gratitude mixed with the fatigue. She didn’t have the strength to say much more, but she didn’t need to. The trust in her gaze, the way she leaned into you, spoke volumes. You gave her a small, encouraging nod, and she turned slowly, heading upstairs with the kind of weary steps that told you just how much she had been holding in.

You watched her go, your heart heavy with the knowledge of how much she had been carrying alone. But now, she didn’t have to. You were here, and you would make sure she got the care and rest she so desperately needed.

As the sound of the shower started upstairs, you took a deep breath, already thinking of what else you could do to help her feel better, to bring her some peace. This was just the beginning of making sure she knew that in her moments of weakness, she could always count on you to be her strength.

You could tell this was going to be a difficult road to navigate, one that required a delicate balance between understanding her needs and guiding her through the storm of emotions that swirled inside her. You knew her well enough to recognise the signs – how she would retreat into herself, seeking an outlet that would let her escape from the relentless pressure, from the weight of her own expectations.

She would want you to be rough, to push her beyond the edge of her thoughts, to make her brainless through sharp commands and intense physicality. It was a dynamic you had shared before, one that allowed her to relinquish control, to lose herself in something raw and primal. When everything else in her life felt like it was slipping out of her grasp, she craved that release, that moment where she didn’t have to think, where she didn’t have to be perfect. She needed to let go, to surrender completely to you, trusting that you would guide her through the darkness, but you knew this wasn't just about physical release.

This time, it wasn’t just about intensity or escape; it was about her deeper need to be cared for, to be understood in a way that went beyond words or actions. She needed to feel safe in her vulnerability, to know that even in her most fragile state, you would be there to catch her, to hold her, to bring her back to herself.

But navigating this would require more than just responding to her desire for roughness. It would mean reading between the lines, understanding the nuance of what she was truly asking for, even if she couldn’t articulate it herself. You would need to be attuned to every subtle shift in her mood, every flicker of doubt or hesitation that crossed her face, and respond with a mixture of firmness and tenderness that would allow her to feel both challenged and cherished.

There would be moments when she might push you away, trying to test the boundaries, trying to see if you could really handle all that she was feeling. In those moments, you would need to stand your ground, to be the rock she could lean on, even when she was fighting against the very support she needed. You knew she might want you to be rough, but you also knew that you couldn’t let it go too far – that beneath the surface, she needed your guidance, your patience, your unwavering presence.

You would have to walk this line carefully, giving her what she craved while also protecting her from the depths of her own frustrations. It would mean being firm when necessary, issuing commands that would help her shut off the noise in her mind, but also knowing when to soften, when to pull her back from the brink and remind her that she was more than the sum of her failures and frustrations.

You started the ascent up the stairs, making your way over to the dresser in the corner of the room, your steps purposeful but measured.

Inside, there was a neat row of toys, each item meticulously arranged, each one holding its own set of possibilities. The collection was a blend of colours and textures, each piece chosen with care, not just for their functionality but for the unique experiences they could create. You ran your fingers lightly over the array of plastic dildos, each one varying in sise and shape, each capable of evoking a different response, a different sensation. The cool, smooth surface of the toys was a contrast to the warmth of the room, and the familiarity of their weight in your hand brought a sense of calmness and control.

Next to the dildos were a few vibrators, each one powerful in its own right. You knew how to use them to draw out her pleasure, how to make her lose herself in waves of sensation, leaving behind the thoughts and worries that so often clouded her mind. The quiet hum of these devices was a promise of escape, of a release that went beyond the physical, allowing her to focus on nothing but the feeling of being overwhelmed in the best possible way.

Nestled beside the vibrators was a small bottle of lube, the clear liquid glistening in the dim light of the room. It was a simple yet essential tool, one that ensured comfort and ease, allowing you both to explore without hesitation, without any barriers between desire and action. You picked it up for a moment, feeling the coolness of the bottle in your hand, before setting it back down carefully, knowing you would reach for it again soon.

And then, there were the soft, fuzzy red handcuffs, resting at the far end of the drawer. The bright red fur was a playful contrast to the metal underneath, their purpose clear but their execution gentle. They weren’t about confinement or punishment; they were about surrender, about giving her the opportunity to let go completely, to trust you to guide her through the experience, to hold her safely in a space where she could finally release all the tension she had been carrying.

You reached for the items you had chosen, the carefully selected tools laid out before you. Your fingers brushed over them with a sense of purpose and anticipation. The time you took to pick out each piece reflected the care you wanted to show Alexia, knowing that every touch, every choice mattered in creating the experience you both sought.

You then turned your attention to your own clothes, removing them with a deliberate slowness. Each article of clothing was shed with a mix of intention and reverence, as if the act of undressing was part of the ritual of preparing for this moment. As you slid out of your shirt and then your pants, you could feel the fabric falling away, leaving you with a growing sense of readiness. The process wasn’t rushed; it was part of the anticipation, a way to connect more deeply with the moment and with Alexia.

Once you were down to just your underwear, you paused for a moment, taking in the way the soft fabric clung to your skin. The sensation was both intimate and grounding, a reminder of the shared vulnerability that was about to unfold. You felt a gentle thrill at the thought of Alexia waiting for you, her trust in you a constant source of motivation.

You knew she would be on the bed, likely lying there with a mix of expectancy and quiet submission. The thought of her waiting, possibly feeling a blend of nervousness and excitement, added a layer of intimacy to your movements.

You were right; Alexia was exactly as you had envisioned. As you entered the room, the sight before you confirmed your expectations. She was lying on the bed, positioned exactly how you had requested, her body relaxed and open. Her blonde hair was spread out across the pillows, cascading in a cascade of soft waves that framed her face and shoulders like a golden halo. The contrast between her pale skin and the rich texture of the bedding created a striking visual that had your blood thrumming.

Her hands rested by her sides, palms open and fingers slightly curled, as if she had consciously chosen to display her openness and surrender. The act of leaving her hands unguarded was more than just physical – it was a testament to her willingness to let go of control, to embrace the moment without reservation. She showed no attempts to hide herself or shy away, even though she was completely naked. There was no self-consciousness in her posture, no sign of hesitation or discomfort. Instead, there was a raw, unfiltered trust that emanated from her, a profound assurance in your presence and in the dynamic you shared.

Her complete nudity wasn’t just a physical state but a symbolic one, representing her willingness to be vulnerable and exposed, both emotionally and physically. It was a reflection of the trust she had in you, a trust that you would honour her needs and desires with the utmost care and respect. The way she lay there, seemingly at ease, was a powerful display of her belief in your ability to guide her through this experience, to help her find the solace and release she sought.

In this moment, Alexia had relinquished the burden of her thoughts and anxieties, surrendering them to you with an unspoken plea to make them vanish. She was not just seeking physical pleasure or release but a deeper form of escape – a chance to reconnect with herself, to rediscover the parts of her that were lost or obscured by stress and self-criticism. You were acutely aware of this, recognising that your role was to bridge the gap between her current state and the peace she yearned for.

She trusted you to make her Ale again, your beautiful girl.

You were prepared to honour that trust with every touch, every word, every action. Your goal was clear: to erase the stress and worries that had been clouding her mind, to restore her sense of self and allow her to be nothing but your beautiful girl once more.

“Well done, baby,” you cooed softly, your voice rich with affection as you walked over to her. The warmth of your words was like a gentle embrace, meant to soothe and affirm. The sincerity in your tone conveyed how deeply you appreciated her willingness to follow your guidance, her openness to the experience you were sharing.

As you approached her, your gaze took in every detail of her delicate form, lying gracefully on the bed. The sight of her – vulnerable, trusting, and completely present – filled you with a profound sense of gratitude and love. You could see the subtle flush on her cheeks, a testament to the emotional and physical journey she had undertaken. The glow of her skin, warmed by the moment and the intimacy of your shared experience, made her even more radiant in your eyes.

You reached out, your movements slow and deliberate, as if you were savoring each second of the connection you were building. Your fingers traced a gentle path over her cheekbones, the light touch designed to convey both reassurance and tenderness. The sensation of your fingers dancing across her flushed skin was meant to be soothing, a delicate caress that spoke of your deep appreciation and care.

The way your fingers moved was deliberate and graceful, each touch lingering just long enough to be felt but not so long as to disturb the serene atmosphere you had worked to create. Your touch was meant to connect with her on a deeper level, to reinforce the trust she had placed in you, and to remind her of the intimate bond you shared. You could feel the subtle texture of her skin beneath your fingertips, the slight warmth that spoke of her emotional openness, and the gentle rise and fall of her breath as she relaxed into the moment.

As your fingers continued their exploration, you allowed yourself to fully immerse in the sensation of the moment. You let your touch convey all the unspoken words and feelings that were so important in this shared experience. Your caress was a silent affirmation of how much you valued her effort, how deeply you cherished her willingness to be open and vulnerable with you.

“You are such a good listener for me,” you added, your voice infused with admiration and tenderness. Your touch continued to explore, tracing the contours of her face with gentle precision. You let your fingers move with a lightness that was both comforting and intimate, allowing her to feel the full extent of your care. Each stroke was a promise, a reassurance that you were there to guide and support her, to help her find solace and connection in the experience you were sharing.

“Por favor, mi amor. Quiero volver a ser Ale, no Alexia,” she murmured, her voice tinged with a blend of longing and vulnerability. The request was both a plea and a declaration, a tough one for her to make.

“Oh, my beautiful girl,” you responded, your voice softening with a mixture of affection and reassurance. The words flowed out of you comfortingly, settling over Alexia like a soft blanket. “Thank you for telling me what you want.” Your appreciation was sincere, recognising the courage it took for her to voice her desires so openly.

You moved with deliberate care, positioning yourself to straddle her, your presence becoming a tangible anchor in the sea of her emotions. As you settled over her, you let the bright blue vibrator slip from your grasp and fall onto the bed beside her. The vibrant color of the toy stood out against the bedding, its presence now a clear indication of what you had planned for the night. You allowed her to see it, its promise of intense, controlled stimulation adding a new layer of anticipation to the moment.

“Can you tell me what you need, though?” you asked, your tone gentle but insistent. Your question was more than a simple inquiry; it was an invitation for her to articulate her deepest desires and requirements. You wanted to ensure that every aspect of the evening catered to her needs. You knew that what she wanted sometimes was what she needed.

You watched her closely, noting the way her eyes softened as she considered your question. You hoped she would feel empowered by your willingness to listen and adapt, finding comfort in the fact that you were committed to meeting her needs with sensitivity and care.

As she began to speak, you tuned in with complete attentiveness, your focus unwavering on both her words and the emotions they conveyed. Her voice, though hesitant and laced with vulnerability, was filled with a deep, earnest need. “I … I need … I need to be good again. I need to be good for you.” Her admission was a fragile thread of hope, a cry for reassurance that she could reclaim a sense of self that felt lost or diminished. “Ya eres buena. Ya eres tan buena para mí.”

You could see the conflict in her eyes, the struggle between her self-perception and the reality of your feelings for her. “I will help you be Ale again,” you continued, “but I need you to know that you already are la chica más perfecta del mundo.” Your declaration was a heartfelt promise, a commitment to guiding her back to a place of inner peace and self-acceptance.

“I do not feel it,” she admitted, her voice breaking slightly as she spoke. Her words were a testament to the gap between her self-perception and the image you held of her. It was clear that she was struggling to reconcile her inner turmoil with the love and admiration you offered.

“I know, and that’s ok too,” you reassured her, your tone steady and understanding. “But you are kind, and beautiful, and strong, and good.” Each descriptor was chosen with care, meant to address different facets of her being that you saw and cherished. The kindness that defined her interactions, the beauty that radiated both inside and out, the strength she demonstrated in facing her challenges, and the inherent goodness that made her who she was – these were the qualities you wanted her to remember, even when she struggled to see them in herself.

You leaned down, your movements slow and deliberate. Your lips met Alexia's in a kiss filled with all the passion and tenderness you felt for her. The kiss was soft at first, but it quickly grew more fervent, a dance of affection and desire that mirrored the intensity of your feelings. You poured your emotions into the kiss, letting the heat of your passion blend seamlessly with the gentleness of your touch. Each movement was a deliberate act of intimacy, meant to reassure her and to let her feel the sincerity of your love.

As you pressed your lips against hers, you felt her sigh softly into the kiss. The sound was a subtle but powerful affirmation of her surrender and trust. It was a release of the tension that had been building within her, a moment where she could let go and simply be present in the shared intimacy.

Her body seemed to melt into the bed. The way she relaxed into the mattress spoke of the safety and peace she felt in your presence. It was as if the kiss was a balm, soothing away the anxieties and stresses that had been weighing on her. She let herself be enveloped by the sensation of your touch, the softness of the bed providing a supportive backdrop to the warmth and intensity of your kiss.

The kiss continued, a blend of passion and tenderness that flowed effortlessly between you. Your hands cradled her face gently, your thumbs stroking across her cheeks. The movements of your lips were synchronised with the rhythm of her breathing, creating a harmonious exchange that was both comforting and exhilarating.

“So beautiful,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper as you gazed intently at her. The words were a soft exhalation of admiration, a reflection of the profound appreciation you felt as you took in every detail of her face. Your eyes traced the delicate contours of her features, from the gentle curve of her lips to the soft arch of her brows. Each nuance of her expression seemed to radiate a captivating beauty that was both physical and emotional, captivating in its sincerity and depth.

In response, she offered a tender compliment of her own, her voice warm and affectionate. “Tu también eres hermosa, mi amor,” she said, her words wrapping around you like a comforting embrace.

“Thank you, baby,” you replied, your voice carrying a note of gratitude and warmth.

“Ale, I want you to do something for me, can you do that?” you asked softly, breaking the moment of love-filled silence that enveloped you both. Your voice was tender not wanting to pop the bubble you had created.

She looked at you with a mix of curiosity and openness, her voice carrying a gentle sigh as she responded, “Cualquier cosa.”

“I want you to take this vibrator,” you said, reaching over to pick up the toy from where it was resting on the bed. “And I want you to use it on yourself.” As you spoke, you noticed a wave of panic flicker across her face. Her initial reaction was one of concern, a surge of anxiety about the unfamiliar direction in which you were guiding her.

“Hey, no, shhhh, it’s ok,” you reassured her gently, your voice taking on a soothing tone as your hands carded through her hair. “I’ll still be here, I’ll be right here.” You shifted your position, climbing off her and laying down on your side beside her. The movement was deliberate, meant to provide her with the reassurance that you were not retreating but rather preparing to support her in a new way. As you settled into your new position, you maintained eye contact, your gaze steady and comforting.

“I’m going to walk you through it, ok?” you said, your voice firm yet gentle. The promise of guidance was meant to provide her with a sense of direction and support, to help her navigate this new experience with confidence. “And I want you to listen to me. Can you do that, beautiful?” The question was both an invitation and a challenge, encouraging her to trust in your words and follow your lead.

She hesitated a little, her hazel eyes wide with nerves and uncertainty. “Don’t worry, Ale,” you said softly, your voice a steady anchor in the sea of her anxiety. “I will do all the thinking for you. You just have to follow what I say.”

She took a deep breath, her resolve firming as she nodded slowly. Her eyes flickered back to the vibrator in your hands, a mixture of curiosity and nervousness reflected in her expression. With deliberate care, she extended her hand towards the toy, her fingers trembling slightly as she grasped it from your grasp. She held it in the air for a moment, waiting for you to tell her what to do next.

“Ok, beautiful,” you said, your tone warm and encouraging. “Turn it on for me and put it on your stomach, trail it up and down – do whatever feels good.” Your instructions were clear and gentle. You leaned in, pressing a soft, reassuring kiss to her temple.

Alexia jumped slightly when the toy made contact with her skin. She traced the vibrator slowly up and down her abs, each deliberate pass enhancing her sense of confidence and control. As the gentle hum of the toy made contact with her skin, she began to feel the initial waves of anticipation, each movement helping to melt away her lingering tension. The soft vibrations worked in tandem with her growing self-assurance, guiding her into a deeper state of relaxation and enjoyment.

Your hands soon joined the vibrator in its exploration, adding an extra layer of sensation to the experience. You moved with a mixture of intent and tenderness, scratching light, teasing patterns on her skin that complemented the vibrator's rhythmic pulse. Your touch was deliberate, tracing a path along her abdomen with a feather-light caress, heightening the overall sensory experience.

Every now and then, you allowed your hands to wander higher, reaching up to pinch gently at her nipples. The slight, sharp sensation of your touch contrasted with the vibrator's steady hum, creating a thrilling interplay of pleasure and sensitivity. Your fingers, confident and skilled, occasionally grasped and squeezed her breasts more firmly, sending pulses of sensation that made her gasp and moan softly. Each touch, whether gentle or firm, was designed to enhance her pleasure and deepen her sense of connection with the experience.

“Such a good girl,” you whispered softly into her ear, your voice gentle and reassuring to avoid startling her. Your words were a caress in themselves as Alexia let the thoughts slip further from her mind.

As you spoke, you felt her body respond with a soft whimper, a deliciously melodic sound. “You look so sexy,” you continued, your voice rich with admiration. She swallowed at the praise, her breath increasing with every passing heartbeat.

The sight of her reaction was incredibly rewarding, and you took a moment to truly appreciate the scene before you. The way her body responded to your compliments, the way she seemed to melt into the experience, was something you would never forget.

“Open your legs for me,” you instructed softly, your tone laced with the same affection and care that had marked your previous words. The command was gentle, intended to guide her without pressure, to encourage her to further engage with the sensations you were both creating. You reached out, skimming her face in a gentle touch. Your fingers lingered on her skin, feeling the warmth and softness of her skin.

She complied with your request without hesitation, her movements smooth and responsive. As she followed your instructions, you let out a contented hum, a sound of approval and satisfaction that conveyed how pleased you were with her responsiveness.

“Are you wet for me, Ale?” you asked softly, your voice carrying a note of genuine curiosity. You didn’t really need to ask, you knew how easily Alexia could get wet, but it was a way to check in with her.

“Sí,” she stuttered, her voice betraying a mix of anticipation and vulnerability. Her response was tinged with a breathless quality that had your mind reeling. You responded to her admission with another tender kiss, this time pressing gently against her cheek.

You let your hand find hers, gently halting her movements. Your touch was purposeful and deliberate, designed to guide her without disrupting the flow of her pleasure. Slowly, you manoeuvred the vibrator between her thighs, positioning it in a way that would maximise the sensations she felt.

“Let yourself feel this, baby,” you instructed, your tone soothing and encouraging. Your words were a gentle nudge towards whatever she felt like doing. “Do what feels good, what feels right.” The emphasis was on her autonomy and pleasure, encouraging her to listen to her body and respond to her own needs.

“If you need to cum, you can do,” you added, your voice filled with a supportive warmth. “If it’s too much, you must stop,” you continued, your tone shifting to a more serious but caring note. The instruction was a crucial part of maintaining her comfort and safety. “I’ll know if you push yourself.” The reminder was a protective measure, meant to ensure that she was aware of her own limits and that you were attuned to her well-being.

She nodded furiously at your words, her eagerness palpable as she prepared to follow your instructions. Her eyes were tightly shut, her breath coming out in short, sharp huffs. “Go on, beautiful girl,” you murmured softly in her ear. “Show me how good it feels.”

With a gentle but deliberate motion, you finally pressed the vibrator against her clit, its vibrations meeting her sensitive skin with a precise and exhilarating touch. The moment of contact was electric, her reaction almost visceral.

The moan that escaped her lips was nothing short of cinematic, raw and unrestrained in its expression of pleasure. It was a sound so primal and expressive that it felt almost otherworldly, as if the sheer intensity of her feelings had transcended the ordinary. Alexia had always been vocal in her pleasure, her sounds often coming out unabashed and proud. But this moan was unlike anything you’d ever heard before.

As you continued to hold the vibrator in place, you could see the impact of your touch on her body. Her breathing became more erratic, each inhale and exhale a testament to the waves of pleasure she was experiencing. Her body responded with a mixture of shudders and tremors, her hips pressing further into your hand.

As each compliment left your lips, you watched Alexia’s body react in increasingly intense ways.

“You look so fucking good, baby,” you murmured, your voice thick with admiration. The impact of your words was almost immediate. Her body responded with a shiver, a visible tremor that coursed through her as if your praise had ignited a spark of pleasure. Her eyes fluttered open briefly, locking with yours before slamming shut again as another wave of ecstasy coursed through her.

“So wet for me,” you continued, your tone filled with a blend of appreciation and desire. As you spoke, her breath hitched, and her hips instinctively arched slightly in response. She let out a soft moan, her body moving rhythmically with the vibrations.

“Look at you, beautiful. Letting yourself feel good,” you said next, your voice gentle yet filled with admiration. She gasped, letting her shoulders relax as she let out a contented sigh, her body seeming to melt further into the bed. Her face contorted in pleasure; her mouth thrown open in a silent scream as she surrendered to the sensations with an almost ethereal grace.

“I’m so proud of you, Ale,” you said, smiling as her cheeks turned crimson. Her back arched slightly, her chest heaving as she absorbed the warmth of your pride. Her entire form seemed to radiate a mix of pride and pleasure telling you just how much she needed this.

“Una chica muy buena,” you whispered softly, your words laced with endearment. You knew how much you speaking Spanish turned her on.

She began to jerk slightly, the rhythmic, involuntary movements a clear indication that she was on the verge of reaching the peak of her pleasure. Each slight twitch of her body was a telltale sign that she was just about to tip over the edge into the intense, exhilarating climax she had been building towards. Her entire form seemed to quiver with anticipation

“Mi amor,” she gasped, the term of endearment escaping her lips as she forced her eyes open. Her gaze was filled with a mix of desperation and longing, a visual cue of her need for connection and reassurance as she approached her climax. Her breathing was uneven, each gasp a clear sign of her struggle to maintain control amidst the surging waves of pleasure.

“I’m here, baby,” you responded softly, your voice a soothing balm amidst her heightened state. You leaned in close, pressing a quick, tender peck to her lips. The kiss was brief but intimate, a way to anchor her to your presence as a soft murmur of encouragement and praise. “You’re doing so well for me. So pretty, so sexy.” Each compliment was carefully chosen to help guide her to release.

“You’re my good girl, aren’t you, Ale?” you asked, your voice filled with a mixture of affection and anticipation. The question was a gentle prompt for her to finally let go. Her answer came in the form of a shout, a loud, expressive confirmation of her pleasure and the intensity of the moment. The shout was a raw, uninhibited sound that told you just how much she needed this.

In that instant, she came hard, her body reacting with a powerful intensity. The climax was sudden and overwhelming, her body twitching violently in response to the peak of her pleasure. Her entire form seemed to convulse with the intensity of the orgasm, her muscles contracting and releasing in rapid succession.

You continued to talk her through it, your voice a steady, soothing presence amidst the storm of sensations she was experiencing. Your words glided over her body like a gentle caress, each phrase carefully chosen to enhance her pleasure and provide comfort as she squirmed and writhed in the throes of her climax.

"Just let it happen," you murmured. “"You're so beautiful like this, so perfect. Feel every bit of it, let yourself go."

As she squirmed, you adjusted your touch to stay in sync with her movements. The gentle pressure of the vibrator, combined with your affirming words, created a harmonious rhythm that matched the ebb and flow of her climax. "You’re so amazing, Ale," you continued, your voice infused with admiration. "I love seeing you like this, so open and free."

When she finally pushed your hand away, you could immediately sense a shift in the dynamic between you. It was as if the push was a punctuation mark on a deeply satisfying experience, an unspoken acknowledgment that she had reached her limit and was ready to transition from the intensity of the moment.

The way she moved your hand away was deliberate, though not harsh – more of a gentle nudge than a forceful shove. Her fingers, slightly trembling, brushed against your skin as she guided your hand away, and the contact was a tactile reminder of how much effort and energy she had expended. The push was accompanied by a deep, ragged breath, a sign that she was feeling the aftershocks of her climax and needed a moment of reprieve.

As your hand left her body, you could see the immediate change in her expression. Her features relaxed, and her eyes, which had been wide with the intensity of her pleasure, were now soft and partially closed. There was a look of exhaustion mingled with satisfaction – a sign that she had given everything she had to the moment and was now in a state of blissful fatigue.

“Was … was I good?” The question carried with it a subtle hint of self-doubt, despite the overwhelming evidence of her pleasure and the constant stream of words from you. Her inquiry was more than just a question; it was a reflection of her desire for affirmation and connection. You knew she wasn’t asking about the sex either – her question was layered with deeper significance. The last few years had been incredibly taxing on her, leaving her emotionally drained and often in need of reassurance. The demanding pressures of her career, coupled with personal challenges, had created a landscape where her self-esteem and sense of validation were frequently put to the test.

“So good, my beautiful girl.”

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