#fabric practice ✨

[zorosunwashedleftcheek]

Switchin’ Up Positions

Summary: OP men and their fav positions 👅

feat: Zoro, Sanji, Ace, Kidd

cw: f!reader, NSFW, spitting, biting, bruises, idk what to tell you this is a freaky fic

a/n: ignore how I already posted Zoro’s section. it’s NOT my problem… and i edited it bc it was highkey cheeks. Also if this is rushed… i don’t care

Zoro: ✨Riding✨

As a swordsman, he is constantly aware of what and who his back is facing towards. It’s been engrained in him since he was a young child to never leave the area unguarded.

And as much as he trusts you, there’s nothing stopping an enemy from breaking down the door and stabbing him in the back while he’s balls deep in your cunt.

You’re the one who proposed the idea of riding… and he shot it down immediately. He saw it as relinquishing control and hated the idea with every once of his being.

But he couldn’t stop thinking about it… when he’s on top of you, he’s never able to fully focus on you, his ears straining as they listen for enemies outside the door, waiting to attack him while he’s pounding your pretty wet pussy.

So after a few night of thinking, he begrudgingly made his way to your quarters and muttered something along the lines of, “I guess we can try it if you really want…”

And it’s been smooth sailing ever since. He still had complete control, one hand constantly gripping your hips to guide your pace. And he was able to pay attention to you fully and completely.

He found subtleties that he had never noticed before because he was too busy being paranoid. The way you would mewl just barely when his fingers curled and twisted in your cunt. The way your thighs would twitch when he pressed down on your tummy while also thrusting in.

Riding quickly became his go to.

~

He tastes of sake.

It’s as if he’s trying to consume you, his tongue jammed down your throat and his teeth clacking against yours. Zoro took everything he did to the extreme, and kissing was no exception. He may not be super experienced or skilled, but he was hungry, and that more than made up for it.

“C’mere…” Zoro wraps an arm around your waist and drags you down onto the bed, rolling you on top of him and running his hands up and down your bare legs. You’re wearing a skirt… far too small for his liking. And watching you dance and twirl with others all night pissed him off. …Sure, Zoro denied your numerous pleads to dance, but that didn’t mean that another man could fucking dip you, your head nearly touching the ground like that one guy had done.

Now the two of you are alone on the Thousand Sunny, the night still too young for the other Strawhats to retreat.

Zoro kicks off his pants and boxers in a swift motion, his cock sliding out to rest against his stomach, precum beading the tip. He looks up at you expectantly, a stupid smirk on his lips.

God, you hate that you know exactly what he wants.

Zoro grabs your skirt, bunching it up around your waist to watch as you hover above him, your fingers hooked around your panties to pull them aside. He licks his lips at the sight of your pretty pussy, a small string of arousal connecting your folds to the fabric of your underwear.

His hand slides to up and down your thigh, soothingly, before he brings his thumb down to your clit. Rolling his thumb with familiar practiced movements over your pearl, he watches with amused eyes as you suck in a harsh breath, your face flushing as you lick your lips.

“Put it in?” You huff softly, bracing your palms on Zoro’s bare abdomen and rocking your hips forward to rub against Zoro’s length. His mouth twitches and he curses softly under his breath.

Zoro scoffs in response, using his freehand to pop open your blouse. He trails his fingers down the expanse of your stomach before circling around to unclip your bra, freeing your breasts to his hungry gaze. “Why are you asking my permission. It’s yours. You put it in.”

Your nose wrinkles at his expression, he’s looking at you as though you’d asked the dumbest question he’s ever heard. You click your tongue, but lift yourself off of him. Grabbing his twitching cock, you give a few good pumps to spread his precum across his length before positioning his fat, pink tip against your leaking hole.

Zoro twists his hand in your hair and tugs you down for a kiss, his teeth scraping against your bottom lip. You’re dizzy just from his mouth, it’s astounding how you’re ever able to survive his dick.

You can hear Zoro hiss into your mouth as you slowly yet surely suck him inside of you. He’s snug, his tip scraping your walls with every small movement.

“Fuck… you’re good.” Zoro murmur quietly, breaking the kiss to watch your pussy eagerly gobble him up, your hips shimmying to accommodate his cock as it bullies its way into you.

“Zoro…” You groan softly, leaning back and bracing hand on his thigh, your back arching towards him, your tits laying tantalizingly close to his mouth.

“You want it? Yeah, I gotcha, just hold on.” Zoro plants his feet on the mattress, one large, calloused hand moving to grab your hip while the other paws at your breast, squeezing and rolling your areola between his thumb and forefinger. “Use those pretty thighs and help me out, how about it?”

Zoro starts out with a brutal pace, never one to ease into anything. He enjoys the feel of your nails biting into his thigh while the other rests on his navel. Your face is all screwed up, your nose wrinkled and your lips parted as he drills into you. You work to match his pace, but you don’t contribute much. It’s alright though, Zoro likes it that way. He loves having complete control, adjusting how fast you move and how deep you take it. His favorite thing to do is grab your hips and hold you up until just his tip is inside of you, and then watch as you squirm and roll your hips, desperate for the rest of his cock to fill you up.

Zoro leans forward, sucking your tit into his mouth and pressing searing kisses and bites down the valley of your breasts.

Your eyes meet his piercing grey gaze and he can feel your pussy flutter around him. God, everything got you wet, didn’t it?

Your brows furrow, a pout making its way onto your face as you pant, strangled whines and moans slipping past your lips.

“Shit… fucking…” Zoro closes his eyes and drops his head back against the pillows, he can’t even look at you without getting the urge to cum. Your pretty flustered face and those fluttering eyelashes always did him in.

He has to end this quick before he accidentally cums first.

Zoro wraps an arm around your back, tugging your chest down again his. He mouths at your shoulder, leaving shiny saliva in his wake as he adjusts his hips, allowing his cock to ram against your g-spot with each brutal thrust.

He continues to bite and suck along your neck and shoulder while his eyes focus on your thighs watching them twitch and shudder as your ass bounces up and down with each thrust.

“You… gonna cum?” Zoro chokes out as he feels you clamp down around him. It’s more of a statement than a question. He’s fucked you enough times to know your body better than he knows his own. Snaking a hand down to grope and massage your thigh, he drops his head back once again, willing his orgasm away for a few more moments.

Zoro’s not one to talk during sex. He’s way too concentrated on the sensations to try and string together sentences. But he knows that you absolutely adore the sound of his voice, the way it drops an octave when he’s aroused. And in emergency’s he knows that his voice can bring you to the edge with only a few sweet croons.

You give a small, weak nod, a whine tumbling out of your lips, “Fuck… yeah… ‘m gonna cum, Zoro. You’re gonna make me cum… please…”

His lips quirk at your needy voice, god, you’re so sweet to him. “The hell’s stopping you? I wanna feel you cream my cock. Come on… do it already. I’m getting bored.”

His words do unimaginable things to you, the low rasp alone can bring you straight to the edge. Within moments your gummy walls are clamping down around him as you roughly grind against his throbbing cock.

“Ah… shit, Z’ro… I can’t-“ You coo weakly, burrowing your face against Zoro’s neck as he continues to rock your hips, his navel bumping against your clit with each steady movement, causing your thighs to tremble as sharp hisses to escape your lips.

Zoro does his best to ease you through your orgasm, but eventually he has to hoist you off of his cock and set you down on his thighs so that he can pull out in time. Grabbing his blushing cock, he finally allows his orgasm to tear through his body. Zoro’s eyes squeeze shut, his body tensing as he shoots hot ropes of cum onto your stomach. He can feel the evidence of your orgasm dribbling out of your leaking pussy and pooling on his thighs.

“Fuck you’re so messy…” He drawls as a wrack of pleasure shoots down his spine.

-

The two of you lay in your mess, dozing in and out of sleep until you eventually grow uncomfortable, your mixed cum beginning to dry on both of yours’ body. Zoro doesn’t seem to mind in the least, his muscled arms wrapped tightly around your body, keeping you trapped as he snores softly.

“…Zoro.” You huff, tapping his cheek.

No response.

“Zoro.”

Nothing.

“Zoro!”

You smack his cheek, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to catch his attention. His eyes shoot open, searching the dark room for the cause of your yelling. “Hell’s your problem, woman?” He scoffs, raising a hand to his face and wiping sleep from his eyes.

“I feel gross. Let’s shower.”

“I don’t need a shower, I’ll wipe myself off with a towel or something.”

“God, you’re gross.” Sitting up on Zoro’s chest, you glare down at him. “Come on, just keep me company at least.”

“How about you ask the guy you were dancing with to shower with you.” Zoro grumbles, turning his head to the side to avoid your annoyed gaze.

“You’re still mad about that? You’re so stupid. Dancing doesn’t always have to be romantic.”

Zoro scowls at your insult, “You’re the stupid one, that guy’s dick was practically waving in the wind and begging for a hug when you asked to dance with him.”

“Oh shut up. I’m sorry, okay? I’ll never dance with anyone else ever again.” You tease, crossing your arms over your chest. Zoro’s gaze lazily slides to where your tits are being pushed up and squished together and his scowl slowly melts into a smirk.

You glare at his expression, but there’s no real heat behind it, that hungry look in his eyes has returned, his nap seemingly replenishing his energy. Perhaps there was only one way to get him clean.

“Shower sex?”

“Deal.”

~

Sanji- Missionary

Let’s be lowkey, Sanji’s default vanilla

He does NOT pull bc he’s such a freak, and when he finally gets together with you, he’s definitely clueless. He’s gotten all of his knowledge of intimacy from romance books and poems for sure

He’ll go along with anything you want, but his go to will always be good old missionary

He likes to see your face, to know that he’s making you feel good, but most importantly, he wants you to look into his eyes and see the undying devotion he has to you

He’s SO talkative, literal yapaholic in bed

He likes being able to lean in and let your soft moans and whispers fill his ear as he rocks gently against you, soft praises tumbling past his lips as his arms hug you tight against him

He's constantly searching for reassurance and praise, he wants you to tell him that he’s doing great, that he’s making you feel good. And in return he’ll whisper the sweetest nothings in your ear as he eases you through your orgasm.

He absolutely adores the feeling of your arms wrapped around his shoulders and your face burrowed against his neck. He can cum just from feeling your bare legs lock around his waist, and it’s happened numerous times before.

Sanji would never admit it, because it’s a little perverted, and Sanji is definitely NOT perverted, never ever forever, but he also loves missionary because he can feel your breasts squished against his chest. He loves sliding a hand down and caressing and kissing the fat, never pinching or biting, as he wouldn’t want to bruise your pretty skin.

~

“Are you ready for me, love?” Sanji murmurs, his fingers continuing to pump in and out of your leaking pussy, your first orgasm of the night steadily dribbling over Sanji’s wrist.

You give a small nod, grabbing for your lover’s wrist and intertwining your fingers with his shiny, slick, ones. Sanji ducks his head down, kissing your knuckles and lapping up a mix of your cum and arousal. “Please, Sanji… need you.”

He could cum just from your words alone, but instead he gives a mute nod and leans back on his haunches. Sanji stares down at you with bated breath as he massages your thighs with deft fingers. “God… you’re beautiful. I’m gonna make you feel good… I promise… I promise…”

Grabbing your hip with one hand while the other guides his flushed cock to run along your slit. The cook’s breath trembles just slightly and he has to bow his head, his eyes squeezing shut tightly, “I could never get tired of you… you make me feel things that I’ve never felt before… I need you…”

“Sanji…”

Sanji knows that tone, you’re getting impatient. He gives an apologizing murmur, his face flushed in slight embarrassment as he finally rocks forwards, stopping once he’s half way in, his cock easing you open and stretching you perfectly. “You’re so perfect… I love you… I couldn’t live without your touch… You feel so good… so so good… please.”

You love Sanji with every bone in your body, but during sex, he could get a little preoccupied with praising your body that he nearly forgets he’s inside of you somehow. With a soft laugh, you cup his face with your hands and tug him down to your mouth, your tongue darting out to run along his bottom lip, “Shhh, Sanji. I know. Just feel me, yeah?”

Closing his eyes with a shudder, Sanji melts against your mouth, his chest pressing down against yours as he begins to rock his hips into you with slow, firm, thrusts. “…Sorry… y’ feel good…” He mumbles against your lips, his words muffled as he speaks into your mouth.

You go to respond, but instead, a soft moan is torn from your lips, eliciting a shiver to travel down Sanji’s spine. His mouth begins to wander, as it always does when he’s inside of you, and he trails soft, ghosts of kisses across your jaw and down your neck. “I love you… you complete me… y’ make me… ngh… so, so happy-“

Sanji is never one to be aggressive during sex, he’d obviously comply if you asked him to, but he prefers soft, firm movements as he rocks against your pretty, puffy pussy. He wants to make love to you, make you feel beautiful and wanted.

“Sanji… you feel so good… faster?” You murmur softly, your back arching against his so perfectly as you gasp and coo against his ear.

Sanji very nearly whimpers at your soft question, your voice just too pretty, too sweet, to be asking anything of him. You were an angel, perfection incarnate, and Sanji would be a fool to deny you anything.

“Of course… legs around my waist, love, wanna feel you hold onto me.” Sanji purrs, licking the shell of your ear, eliciting a delectable squeak from your lips. Your ankles easily hook around the curve of Sanji’s spine, your thighs squishing against his hips and causing a weak groan to sound from Sanji’s throat.

You can feel Sanji’s stomach tensing as he moves, sliding his cock out to the tip before snapping his hips forward, making your eyes roll and your back to arch as if offering yourself to the heavens.

The bed creaks beneath your body as your toes curl, your hips rolling to meet Sanji’s movements. “Good?” Sanji murmurs, his stubble tickling and scratching your collarbone as he slides his lips across your shoulder.

“…yeah. It’s good-“ You gasp, twisting beneath Sanji’s hands. Sweat dots at your forehead and you can feel your orgasm approaching, glancing at Sanji, you know he’s not far behind.

Sanji grimaces, his eyes meeting yours for a moment before they quickly dance away to watch himself piston in and out of your wet pussy, he listens to the squelches of your body as it practically begs for him. Sanji shudders at the sound, his shoulders bunching up as he listens to your body.

Everything about you is perfect in Sanji’s eyes. You could gut him like a fish and he would thank you before preparing himself into a dish for you to eat. You hold Sanji’s heart in your hands and he trusts you completely, knowing that you’d never break it.

“Damn it, angel.” Sanji hisses, running his hand down through his hair before catching your lips in a passionate kiss. “Please cum. Please, please. I wanna see you cum, angel. Wanna feel it- feel you.”

God, you can’t believe what Sanji’s words do to you. You bury your face again his neck as your hips buck up against him, searching for your release, “Come on…” You mumble impatiently, your face twisted; your nose scrunched and your brows furrowed.

Sanji leans forward, pressing feather-soft kisses to your furrowed brow and scrunched nose. His hand slides down your navel and lower, rubbing firm circles against your clit. His other arm wraps around your neck, tucking you firmly against his chest as his fingers splay across the back of your head. Sanji’s pace begins to stutter, shuddering breaths escaping his lips.

You writhe so sweetly against him, your heels digging into the small of his back. He watches with rapt attention as your orgasm washes through you, reveling in the feel of your nails digging into his shoulders. Sanji feels as though he’s staring at an angel as your lips part, your lashes fluttering and your throat bobbing.

Sanji very nearly cums inside of you, too enraptured with the sounds and sensations he’s caused you to make. You’re mid orgasm when Sanji suddenly pulls out, his eyes widening and his breath catching in his throat in a panic as he coats your stomach with sticky cum.

Normally Sanji would never cum on you. As much as he absolutely adored the sight, something about it made him feel strange, as if he were defiling a priceless artifact. Usually, he would use a condom, or jerk himself off into his hand… or your panties on special occasions- your hand on really special occasions.

“Shit- sorry, sorry, angel.” Sanji groans, his face going beet red. He pulls back to sit on his haunches as he gnaws on his bottom lip. His eyes are glued to the sight of you covered not only in your own cum, but his as well. It makes his heart pound faster.

You hold a finger up, needing a moment to catch your breath, your thighs twitching from the pleasure. Finally you open your eyes and look up at him with a sweet smile. Catching his embarrassed face, you quickly think of ways to reassure him.

Your lip quirks as an idea comes to mind.

Sliding your index and middle finger across your navel, gathering up Sanji’s mess, your fingers swirling as if painting a canvas. Sanji watches with rapt attention, struggling to keep his eyes from rolling back as you bring your fingers to your lips and slowly lick up his cum.

You let out loud exaggerated coos as you suck on your fingers, your gaze focused on your sweet lover. His eyebrow twitches, and he sniffs, pinching the bridge of his nose with a groan.

“You taste as good as your food, baby.” You hum, your fingers pulling away with a pop.

~

Ace: Against The Wall

Ace is a straight up show off

He loves to throw his weight around, and casually display his strength as if it were normal

Another thing about Ace is that he’s impatient. He wants what he wants and he’ll take it as soon as possible

That doesn’t change during sex. Ace loves picking you up and throwing you around, his hands exploring your body as he shoves you against a wall. At first it’s simply because he was too lazy and impatient to make his way to a bed, he’d simply drag you into a spare closet or pin you against a door

But he soon realized that he preferred a good old wall instead of a bed. He likes the way you giggle when he hoists you up, your thighs wrapping around his waist (or in some cases his face), he loves the way you cling to him after you cum, too weak to hold yourself up and relying on Ace to keep you from falling

Sometimes Ace likes to pretend his legs give out, he likes the adorable look of panic on your face before Ace quickly snaps his hips up, adjusting your weight and burying himself deeper inside of your walls, gravity helping to sheath himself deeper inside of you

You stopped letting Ace eat you out against the wall after a situation during a storm. A violent wave sent the ship rocking and Ace had gone careening backwards, falling straight on his back… with you still on top of him. It was a horrible experience as the two of you had made your way to the infirmary, Ace happily holding his two missing teeth in his hands as you waddled, a wound on the inside of your thigh that suspiciously looked like a bite mark.

-

You haven’t seen Ace in weeks. He’s been on some excursion, fighting some bigshot or another. He hasn’t left your mind in the time he’s been gone. You thought of him while cooking, while fighting, damn it all, you even thought of him while cleaning the toilets. Ace is your other half, and it’s like you can physically feel it when he’s apart. When you can’t hear his laugh or feel his touch. It hurts.

But that doesn’t matter anymore because Ace is back.

The ship has been a flurry of activity the whole morning, preparing his welcome back feast. Technically, Ace had arrived back home yesterday in the middle of the night but he’d spent most of his time in the infirmary before passing out from exhaustion. Marco’s the only one who’s seen him. Ace hadn’t bothered to say hi to anyone, too tired to think of anything but sleep.

But now was the time to celebrate the return of the Fire Fist.

You’re rummaging through yet another closet, Marco having asked you to search for tablecloths. But for some reason you can’t seem to find them anywhere.

If you’re being honest, you’d prefer if there wasn’t any sort of party, you’d much rather have a quiet day with Ace, just him and you. But you suppose that’s selfish, the rest of the crew want to see the safe return of their crew mate just as much as you do.

Just as you’re about to give up on what you think is the fifth closet, your eyes catch on a hint of fabric poking out from the bottom shelf.

With an annoyed gruff, you brace your hands on the wall and hoist yourself up, standing on the bottom ledge and praying it doesn’t snap under your weight as you stretch your arm out, your fingers just barely brushing against the cloth.

Just as you manage to hook your finger in a fold, you hear the familiar squeak of the closet swinging shut. A curse escapes your lips as you twist around in an attempt to reach for the door, but in the process, your foot slips and you go tumbling towards the floor.

You yelp, bracing yourself for the pain that’s sure to follow, but it never comes. Instead you feel a pair of arms wrap wrapping around your chest, tugging you backwards away from the shelf. Hold on… those arms… they feel a bit too familiar.

“Clumsy girl.” Ace muses with a chuckle, pressing a sloppy kiss to your cheek and tightening his hold around you, “Y’miss me?”

Spinning around, a grin already on your face, you meet the familiar eyes of one Portgas D. Ace. His silhouette just barely visible in the dim light of the closet. Adrenaline still pounds at your chest, but it’s mixed with excitement as you wrap your arms around Ace’s neck. “You scared me.” You scoff, a playful pout on your lips as you tug him down for a light kiss.

You’re expecting some banter in return, but instead; Ace lets out a groan as if he hadn’t drunken water in weeks and you are the sweetest of nectar. Suddenly his hands are slipping up your shirt to press against your abdomen, walking you backwards against the shelf as his mouth practically devours yours.

“Jump.” Ace pants softly, hooking his hands beneath your thighs.

-

Ace is thrusting into you with reckless abandon, the shelves creaking and groaning with your weight as the ledges dig into your back. Mouthing at your throat, Ace coos quietly, “Missed you so, so much, pretty girl. Yeah? You miss me too? You’re sucking me in right now.”

His hands devour your body, his fingertips warm to the touch as he pushes your shirt up around your neck. Ace pulls back for a moment to watch your tits bounce with thrust. His freckles glow faintly as he licks his lips.

Your quiet coos and moans surround Ace, your eyes kept focused on the door as if physically willing any crewmates from walking in on the two of you. You distantly pray that they can’t hear the sound of Ace’s skin slapping against yours.

But Ace is decidedly not trying to be quiet.

If anything, he’s louder than normal. A stupid grin on his face as he lets out low groans and cries of passion as if he’s in some cheap porno. You scowl at him, your stomach flipping as Ace brushes against your g spot. “Quiet!” You hiss, your scowl broken by a sweet gasp as Ace drives his hips up while tugging yours down.

Ace grins madly, throwing his head back and letting out a long, loud moan. “God… I missed you so much…” He cries out, grabbing the shelves and shaking them, objects wobbling and clattering together, “I can’t believe I’ve gone so long without your pretty body… your pretty little pus-“

You grab the back of his neck, a scowl on your face as you tug him into a deep kiss. Ace chuckles against your mouth, your lips finally managing to shut him up for once. You grab his hand, prying his fingers off of the shelf and guiding his palm to cover your breast.

“…missed you.” Ace finally murmurs against your lips, his voice much softer as he rolls your nipple between his fingers, his hand massaging the underside of your tit.

“Shit- Ace… missed y-“ You’re barely able to get your words out before Ace is slapping a palm over your mouth, pausing in his movements and bracing his knee against the shelf to hold you up as he reaches behind him to grab the doorknob. Your brows furrow in confusion, you hadn’t heard anything, but a few moments later you hear the sound of a pair of footsteps making their way down the hall.

Ace grins wildly, holding a finger to his lips. You know that mischievous look on his face. Shaking your head, you glare at Ace, already knowing what he’s planning. He quirks his head, pouting his lip in a false questioning look.

There are voices outside the door, some dumbasses chose this particular hallway to have some stupid conversation while you’re getting fucked balls deep only feet away.

Adjusting his stance, Ace grab your hips and begins to move once again, careful not to let his skin slap against yours. Biting his lip, Ace grins at your annoyance, using his freehand to massage your thigh while the other keeps its hold on the door.

You can feel him pulsing inside of yours, his tip ramming against your g spot with each thrust. It feels good. Too good.

Bringing your hand to your mouth, you bite down, your breath shuddering. Ace guides your head down against his shoulder, pressing featherlight kisses to your ear.

“Come on… good job being quiet, baby.” Ace whispers softly, resting his chin on your shoulder. His words are sweet and smooth, each thrust sending your heart beating out of its cage. “Gonna cum when there’s people right outside? I swear you’ve been gripping me even tighter since they showed up.”

Your hand moves away from your mouth to grip at Ace’s shoulder, your face is pressed firmly to his neck as your thighs begin to tremble from the strain of keeping quiet.

“Ace…” You groan, your words muffled as you grind your hips down against Ace, your clit bumping against his navel with each buck of your hips.

“You know I love your voice, but you gotta keep quiet.” Ace murmurs, “Can you be quiet, or do I gotta stop?”

With a firm shake of your head, your thighs tighten around Ace’s waist. You’re so close, you think you might actually start crying.

-

It feels like an eternity as you wait for whoever’s outside to leave, Ace continuing his steady thrusts into your wet pussy. He whispers quietly to you, his lips brushing against your ear as his filthy words flood your brain.

But finally, the sound of voices fades and you nearly sob in relief. “Faster.” You snap impatiently, too frustrated to try and be cute.

Throwing his head back, Ace lets out a laugh, “Yeah… yeah I can do that.”

Your brain positively melts as Ace bucks his hips into you with reckless abandon, each roll of his body causing his cock to drive straight against your g spot.

Shuddering moans and cries fill the closet as you writhe in Ace’s arms, squirming as you chase after your orgasm.

“You gonna cum, pretty girl? Yeah… me too.” Ace pants, “So you better make it quick before I accidentally cum inside.”

You click your tongue at his teasing but you can’t deny the excitement at the thought of Ace cumming inside of you. Fucking his seed up into your cunt and putting a pretty baby in your stomach. You know that Ace has… difficulties with the idea of fathers, but you can’t help but think he would be a great one.

Before you know it, you’re thrown into an orgasm, your back arching as you throw your head back. Ace just barely manages to cup the back of your head in time, stopping you from bashing yourself against the shelves and probably giving yourself a concussion.

Your thighs tense and your whimper, pawing at Ace’s chest as you slam your hips down against Ace, chasing after your orgasm.

Ace curses, turning his head to the side at the sight of your pretty face. Your cheeks are puffed out adorably, your lips pursed and your brow furrowed in concentration. Glancing down, his eyes catch on the small flame that had burst on his foot. Ace flushes in embarrassment, stomping it out.

Ace hauls you off of him, holding you up against the wall as he pulls out, your pussy tries to cling to his cock, and it practically breaks Ace’s heart. With a grunt, he cums over his hand, careful not to get any of his mess on your clothes.

“I want…” Ace pants, stooping down to grab his boxers and wipe off his sticky palm, “I want you to go to the bedroom… I’ll meet you in about fifteen minutes, ‘kay?”

He lowers you to the floor, pinching your shaking thighs playfully, “You’ll make it there alright?” He teases, wiping up any evidence of orgasm with his underwear before tugging your pants back on. Ace goes about fixing your clothes, buttoning your shirt, zipping your pants and fixing your mussed hair.

Once he thinks you look presentable enough, he quickly tugs his own pants back on, throwing his boxers to a corner and silently promising to grab them later (he won’t).

Pressing a kiss to your cheek, Ace opens the door and shoves you out with a smack on the ass, “See you soon, sweetheart,” He coos, walking in the opposite direction. He sends you a stupid wink before turning the corner.

~

Kidd: BACKSHOTS!!!!

BACKSHOTSBACKSHOTSBACKSHOTS FACE DOWN, ASS UP, THATS THE WAY WE LIKE TO FUCK!!!

Guys I may or may not love backshots as much as I love Kidd

Kidd loves every position as long as he’s able to see your body jiggle and move. He especially loves hitting it from the back in any way; doggy, prone bone, face buried in the pillows and your hips wiggling around, throwing your ass back against him like the needy thing you are

He’ll bend you over anything, a desk, a bed, the railing. Hell, if you’re flexible enough, he’ll make you bend down and touch your toes while he plows your shit

One of his favorite things to do is make you grab your ass and present your pussy to him, showing off the way you drip and leak for his fat cock

Kidd uses any jewelry you have to his advantages. Bracelets? He’s forcing your hands above your head while you practically suffocate in his pillows. Anklets? He’s tugging your legs apart until you’re nearly doing the splits as he bullies his dick into your tiny cunt. But his absolute favorite piece of jewelry that you wear are waist beads.

Even if you’re completely and utterly exhausted, too tired to move or even cry anymore. He’ll take control of your waist beads and force you to keep throwing your ass back against him, the fat jiggling and practically begging for him to slap and fondle

Let’s be honest, Kidd’s fucking feral. He licks and bites his way down your spine, leaving a path of red kisses in its path. By the time he’s done with you, you’re absolutely covered in Kidd’s lipstick. Red pigment smeared down your spine and across your face.

~ Metal clatters against the ground as your body is roughly shoved down against the cool metal of Kidd’s work table. Your bikini top has been haphazardly tugged up around your neck, the strings all tangled, showing off your pretty tan lines. Your skin tingles from the temperature as you lift your head to look behind you. Kidd grins wolfishly at your lustful gaze as he toys with the strings of your bikini bottoms.

Kidd isn’t quite sure what’s come over him, he’s seen you in a bikini hundreds of times before. Damn it, he’s seen you naked even more. But the sight of you lounging on the deck of his ship, your skin shiny from tanning had made his heart jump to his throat. You had been sleeping on your stomach, the slope of your spine and the curve of your ass on full display for the crew to see.

He had been working in his workshop when he had caught a glance of you through the window, your tits squished against the floor and your lips pouted slightly in sleep. Kidd hadn’t even realized what he was doing before he was activating his devil fruit powers, latching onto the silver bracelet he’d bought for you last month and tugging. You awoke to your hand being dragged by a seemingly invisible string. You were bleary from sleep but you already knew what was going on.

Your captain was waiting for you.

And that’s how you’d been practically dragged to the workshop, your feet stumbling over steps and nearly sending you crashing into the railing. The crew snickered and whistled at the sight of your hand being dragged by an unseen force. They knew exactly what Kidd wanted.

You’re barely able to get the door to the workshop open before Kidd is grabbing the back of your neck and tugging you into a bruising kiss. His hips rutting against your thigh as he drags you towards his desk, haphazardly sweeping his hand and sending his little ‘projects’ (deadly weapons) flying. Sliding a hand to your shoulder, he slams you down against the table, hoisting your hips up onto the surface so that your toes just barely graze the ground.

“You’re lucky I didn’t go out there and fuck you in front of the whole crew.” Kidd snarls, his hand groping your ass, his touch rough enough to make you flinch as he swats your thigh. Your hips jolt, your body jerking against the table as a sharp keen escapes your lips. “Maybe I should make an announcement, huh? Call everyone in here and make ‘em watch you cream my cock like the slut you are. How’s that sound?”

He chuckles, reaching down to poke and prod your hole through the bikini bottom, pinching your clit and rolling the nub between his fingers, watching the fabric grow damp with your arousal as your feet twitch. You twist around to look at him, your thighs clenching at the sight of your lover; he’s practically drooling at the sight of you laid out across the table. His bottom lip caught between his teeth as he kicks your legs apart, stepping forward and rutting himself against your clothed pussy, earning a gasp from your lips.

“What’s got you all worked up?” You tease, rolling your ass back against Kidd’s raging hard on. Even through his clothing, you can feel that one prominent vein on his cock that never fails to drag you into orgasm. Arching your back, you wiggle your hips in the way that makes Kidd’s eyes roll back as he attempt to hold himself back from fucking you hard and deep right now.

Kidd snarls, his eyes locked onto your ass as if entranced. In one swift movement, he tugs the string of your bikini, the fabric falling to the side to give your captain a wonderful view of your messy cunt and puckered asshole. “Tch. Show me.”

This was Kidd being nice, giving you a few moments to prepare yourself, because there are many things that your captain is, but patient is definitely not one of them. When Kidd had first asked you to expose your weeping hole to him, you had been an embarrassed, blubbering mess. Arguing and telling him that it was weird.

But that was then, and now it was like second nature as you ease a knee onto the table and reach your hand behind you, sliding your pointer and middle finger between your dripping folds and sliding them apart to reveal your pulsing hole to Kidd, arousal steadily dribbling out of your cunt and over your skin. Sliding your digits inside, Kidd watches with rapt attention as you scissor your fingers, preparing your tight pussy for Kidd’s above average cock. More slick drips down your wrist as your ass shakes, your knee jerking and your head dropping down against the table.

With a growl, Kidd unbuttons his pants and you can hear his fat cock slap against his abdomen as he watches your fingers eagerly “Whaddya need, baby?” He croons, his voice sickening sweet as he wraps a hand around your hair and tugs your head back up. Hoisting your back against his chest, Kidd licks up into your mouth, biting your lip and stealing the breath from your lungs. His other hand travels up your navel, across your stomach before grasping the fat of your breast, tugging and twisting. It’s painful, his fingers pinching and flicking your areola as if it were a toy, making you squeak and squirm against him. Yet your hand continues to work at your pussy, it’s better for both of you if your cunt is plenty stretched by the time Kidd enters you. Once Kidd loses his patience, there’s not much that you can do to stop his from entering you.

You try to respond, your chest fluttering as you try and fail to catch your breath. Kidd’s mouth chasing yours every time you try and pull away. “Mph- Kidd… can’t-“

It’s not until you fear that you might actually pass out, black spots dancing in your vision, that Kidd finally pulls away. Lipstick and saliva smeared across his lower face, and most likely yours as well. “I said, whaddya need?”

You pant, tears dotting your lashes as Kidd finally releases his bruising hold on your tit, his hand sliding to your shoulder and shoving you back down against the table. “Fuck… fuck me, Kidd… shit.”

Kidd catches your wrist, stopping your hand from continuing its ministrations against your pussy, before slamming it down by your face, your eyes linger on the sight of your shiny fingers, strings of arousal coating your skin. Without a moments hesitation, Kidd aligns his twitching length with your entrance and bottoms out inside of you. One moment he’s outside of you, and the next he’s balls deep, his tip very nearly kissing your cervix.

A mix between a relieved groan and a chuckle fills your ears as you let out a ragged cry of pleasure, a sharp jolt of pain coursing up your spine before it melts away into a blissful throb. Your back arches and your hips jerk back against Kidd as he massages your ass, his attempt at comfort. Slowly dragging his cock back, the ridges of his vein catches on your ring of muscle and you shudder, a soft coo sounding from your mouth. Kidd pulls back until his tip is just barely lingering inside of you, his gaze focused on the sight of your pussy all stretched out around him, your arousal coating his cock and dripping down his balls.

You shimmy your hips enticingly, whining with need and impatience as you look at him from over your shoulder, “Come on. Hurry up.” You huff, looking up at him with flushed cheeks and pouted lips.

Scowling at your order, Kidd scoffs and rolls his eyes, but the sight of your pretty face makes his heart jump, he secretly loves it when you’re bossy, “Yeah, yeah. You always say that shit and then cry and beg me to slow down a few minutes later. You’re annoying you know that?”

You open your mouth to shoot back an equally sharp retort, but all that comes out is a choked cry as Kidd’s hands move to grip your hips, his fingers digging into the flesh as he hauls your ass back against him, beginning his punishing pace.

Your core aches with each brutal thrust. It’s painful, the pleasure coursing through your body just enough to make it worth it. Or maybe the pain is what making it feel so good? You’re not quite sure that it even matters.

“Fuck, you love it when I treat you like this. You probably couldn’t even cum if I’m not at least a li’l mean, huh?” Kidd teases, his teeth baring as he ducks his head down. Starting at the small of your back, his mouth attaches to your skin, sucking and biting and licking his way up the curve of your spine, leaving a mess of saliva, bruises and lipstick stains in his wake. You taste of sun tan lotion, coconut oil, and sweat. It’s making Kidd’s knees buckle with how good you feel on his tongue.

“You talk… way too much…” You bite out, dropping your head in your arms as your eyes squeeze shut, your head buzzing with pleasure.

“Good thing my teeth are as sharp as my tongue.” Kidd snarls, biting down on your shoulder. His canines dig into your skin as he feasts on your pretty figure. As if to punctuate his point, Kidd thrusts into you, purposefully pressing his tip to your cervix and making you keen in a mix of pain and pleasure.

Stars dance in your vision as you very nearly wail, your body writhing on the table in your attempt to wiggle away. It’s in vain as Kidd grabs your hips and drags you back. “See? I ain’t all talk.”

Kidd snakes a hand around your front, his fingers digging into your abdomen as if searching, “I can feel myself right… here.” Kidd sounds triumphant as he massages the slight bulge. He groans as he presses down, your gummy walls closing in around him as he resumes his thrusts. “Maybe I should put a baby up there one day, how’s that sound, babe?”

You bite your lip, unable to respond anymore for fear that you might let out a sob. Tears dot your lash line, your face splotchy and your breath shuddering. Each rock of Kidd’s hips send electricity up your spine. “I-“

Kidd cocks his head, leaning forward to peer at your face. He grins rakishly, wrestling you into a chokehold and brushing your hair past your ear. He presses a kiss to your cheek, “Are you gonna cry? Go ahead, you know I don’t mind.” Kidd grunts, snapping his hips. He’s close, both of you can tell, he’s struggling to keep his rhythm, his hips stuttering every few moments.

“‘m not… gonna cry.” You choke out, the metal beneath the two of you has grown slick with sweat and condensation. Each time Kidd thrusts his cock into you, there’s a squeak as your skin rubs against the table. You can’t help but giggle at the stupid sound, your cheek pressed against Kidd’s bicep as your eyes roll back.

“God, you’re so sweaty. What’s your problem?” Kidd gruffs, but you can hear the hint of endearment in his voice. “Just cum already, yeah?”

You turn your head, your tongue lolling out in search for Kidd’s mouth. Grinning at your fucked out expression, Kidd eagerly accepts your tongue into his mouth.

You bite down on Kidd’s lip as your orgasm washes over you like a wave. Your entire body jerking and twitching as your hips chase after Kidd’s cock, sucking him in deeper and deeper.

Kidd watches with bated breath as tears slip down your cheeks, your cries and moans quickly swallowed by his eager mouth. He continues to thrust impatiently into your creamy pussy, dragging you through your orgasm while chasing after his own.

Your cum creates a foamy ring around the base of Kidd’s cock. His face burning, Kidd allows you to kiss him one final time before he pulls back, blood coating his bottom lip from how hard your teeth had dug in.

You feel empty as Kidd finally drags his dick out of your cunt, your hole pulsing with his absence. Kidd grunts in annoyance as he jerks himself off, his bicep flexing around your throat as his own orgasm washes through him, his cum painting your back.

“I’m gonna cum in your pretty pussy one day, and it’s gonna be the best day of our fucking lives, I promise.” Kidd grunts, releasing his hold on you and running a hand through his hair. He steps back from between your legs, admiring the view of your body on display for him to see.

The lipstick marks on your back are partially covered by his cum, oil and sweat still lingering on your skin as bruises form on your ass. Your thighs tremble, your fluids coating your folds and dripping down onto the table.

-

You wake up in Kidd’s arms, your body aching as you lounge across his lap, your nose nestled against his neck. He’s toying absentmindedly, one hand tinkering with a small trinket (bomb), while the other massages your thigh.

Your body feels as though it’s been through the wringer, your thighs aching and your core throbbing. There are bruises on your hips from the table repeatedly digging into your skin.

“Hi.” Kidd grunts, barely soaring you a glance.

“…Hi.” You croak, clearing your throat as you sit up to peer at Kidd’s little invention. You smooth a hand through your hair, groaning as your hands run down your face.

“I told you you’d cry.”

[winxanity-ii]

FATHER, FORGIVE ME

ship: father charlie x fem!reader warnings: nsfw 🔞 ( oral sex/f. receiving; overstimulation; coercion/dub-con?; sacrilege, heavy religious imagery ) word count: 4.1k a/n: ahhh….I just want to say I'm so thrilled with all the love and support for the mini Devotion series! It means the world to me to see you guys enjoying it as much as I do. And a huge thank you to everyone who wished me a happy birthday! I got drunk asf, and here's the rough draft I made while tipsy, lolol. Hope you all enjoy~ 😈✨..

★·.·´ɢʀᴏᴛᴇsǫᴜᴇʀɪᴇ 🇲‌🇦‌🇸‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌🇱‌🇮‌🇸‌🇹‌`·.·★

You wouldn't say you were a bad person.

Selfish? Maybe. Impulsive? Absolutely. But "bad" seemed a bit of a stretch.

It's just that, when you saw something you wanted, you didn't hesitate to take it—and, honestly, you had no regrets. Not until now, at least.

Sitting here, surrounded by the smell of old hymn books and dusty incense, listening to some wrinkly old man in a white robe drone on about salvation.

The whole thing was your mother's doing. She had this recurring phase, like clockwork, where she'd get bitten by the "Bible bug."

For a few weeks every year, she was the most devoted Catholic you'd ever seen. She'd call, text, guilt-trip—anything to get her kids back on the straight and narrow, even if just for a Sunday morning.

For the last seven years, you'd managed to dodge it. Moved out at eighteen and never looked back, leaving the duty of church attendance to your three other siblings.

Usually, someone would take one for the team and tag along with Mom until her enthusiasm fizzled out again. But this time, it seemed your luck had run dry—your sister had finally roped you in, and here you were, seven-year streak shattered.

You sighed deeply, eyes half-lidded as they flicked across the stained glass windows—all those saints staring down at you in judgment.

You couldn't help but think of all the things you could be doing right now. Sleeping, for one. Your bed sounded like heaven compared to the hard pew beneath you.

Or brunch with your friends—mimosas and laughter, not these monotone chants and the faint smell of mothballs.

Hell, you could've called Kevin over and gotten dicked down instead of dealing with this—

Your thoughts screeched to a halt, slamming against an unexpected sight.

The old priest, the one whose croaky voice was practically white noise at this point, stepped away from the pulpit. In his place was someone else—someone younger, someone whose presence commanded attention.

A man, tall, dark hair neatly combed back, with a crisp black cassock that hugged his broad shoulders just right. He moved with a sense of ease, like he belonged up there.

And damn, was he handsome. Handsome enough to pull your focus completely, which was a feat in itself given the circumstances.

Your eyes tracked him as he approached the podium, his voice replacing the rasping chant of the old priest. It was smooth, warm, resonant. Nothing like the man you remembered from years ago.

He spoke about community, faith, redemption—but all you could think was how someone like him ended up in a place like this.

You found yourself leaning forward, just slightly, as if drawn in by some invisible force. Your irritation melted away, replaced by a strange curiosity.

Maybe… maybe this wouldn't be the worst way to spend a Sunday after all.

The priest stood quietly at the altar, his figure framed by the soft light filtering through the stained glass windows. A faint scar traced its way down the right side of his forehead, a mark that spoke of some unknown hardship or past misadventure.

He was youthful but with the stillness of someone who’d seen enough to understand patience and humility.

With each breath, the man seemed grounded in his presence, shoulders relaxed but broad, the fabric of his robe resting comfortably against his chest.

His appearance was almost angelic, yet the subtle scar and the weight in his eyes hinted at something more complex beneath the surface—a man of God, perhaps, but one who had walked through fire to find his faith.

"Oh?" You raised an eyebrow in appreciation as you stared at the handsome man up there. You leaned over a bit to your mother, eyes never straying from his figure. "Ma, who's that? Is he new?" you whispered to your mother.

She looked up from her phone, Candy Crush flashing on her screen. You silenced the snort that wanted to come out. Looked like she might retire from church early this year, you thought to yourself, seeing her early signs of disengaging.

She glanced up at the front, giving a quick look before going back to her game. "That's Father Charlie Mayhew. He was brought in about two or three years ago, I think," she murmured absently, barely paying attention.

Father Charlie.

You watched as he spoke, his voice strong yet gentle, his eyes sweeping over the congregation with a genuine warmth. He wasn't like the old priest—this one seemed to genuinely care, as if each word held weight.

You wondered if that scar came from something dramatic, some story worth knowing. Your gaze lingered, taking in the slope of his shoulders, the way his lips moved with each word. Something about him felt... magnetic.

You found yourself sitting up straighter when the two of you made eye contact—he blinked, his words stumbling just slightly, a brief hitch in his otherwise smooth delivery. "I, uh... I apologize," he stuttered, looking off to the side, the tips of his ears turning pink.

You caught the way his eyes shifted nervously, almost as if he was trying to regain his footing. It was subtle, but you could see it—the way he tried to pull himself back together, to get through the rest of the sermon without any more disruptions.

He cleared his throat to continue, "As I was saying... uh, the importance of faith in our lives cannot be overstated. We must always strive to, um, to do what is right, even when it's difficult..." His voice trailed off slightly, but he managed to steady himself, his eyes avoiding yours as he focused on the rest of the congregation.

It made something stir in you, a mix of curiosity and amusement.

You bit down gently on your lower glossed lip, eyes trailing over his form, taking in every subtle detail. The way his hands gripped the edge of the podium, the faint flush creeping up his neck—it was all so telling.

He seemed innocent, reactive.

You smiled to yourself, letting your gaze linger as he continued, noting the way he seemed to avoid looking in your direction now, as if afraid that another glance might trip him up again.

Maybe you should pay a visit to Father Charlie—see if you could break that serene composure of his.

You could already imagine it—the way he might tense up under your touch, the way his voice might crack if you whispered something just a bit too forward.

The thought alone made your heart race, anticipation bubbling up inside you, like something in you just knew—he'd be fun to unravel.

You leaned back in your seat, a slow, satisfied smile playing on your lips. Oh, this was going to be fun.

The sermon ended with a quiet murmur of 'Amen' from the congregation, followed by the gentle shuffle of people rising from the pews.

You glanced around, watching as people slowly made their way to the exits, some stopping to chat while others lingered near the back of the church.

The old priest was nowhere to be seen, but Father Charlie remained, standing at the front as he spoke softly to a small group of parishioners.

Your mother, of course, made a beeline for him. You heard her voice carrying over the hushed conversations, gushing about how moving today’s sermon was.

You rolled your eyes, unable to help yourself, and slowly rose to your feet, making your way over with an almost lazy stride.

As you approached, you could see your mother perk up, her eyes lighting up as she turned to you. "Oh, there she is! Father Charlie, this is my youngest, ____." She gestured towards you, her hand lightly resting on your arm to pull you closer. "You've met my other children over the years."

You could see the change in Father Charlie almost instantly. His posture shifted, his back straightening just a little more, his eyes rounding as they landed on you. He seemed almost like an eager puppy, his gaze bright and attentive.

He quickly pulled his eyes away, turning back to your mother with a polite smile as he nodded. "Yes, I remember," he said, his voice a touch softer. Then he turned to you, his eyes meeting yours as he gave you a gentle smile. "It's nice to finally meet you. I don't think I've seen you here before... ?"

Your mother gave a sort of laughing scoff, waving him off as she caught his attention again. She chuckled, shaking her head. "Oh, Father, the day she willingly comes to church without an incentive is the day the devil is welcomed back into Heaven's gates."

You kept your eyes on Father Charlie, a small smile tugging at your lips as you tilted your head slightly. "Maybe I just hadn't found a good enough reason to come before," you said, your gaze locked on his, your voice light but carrying a hint of something more.

His eyes widened just a little, and you watched as a faint blush spread across his cheeks, his lips parting slightly as he blinked, clearly caught off guard.

Before he could say anything, your mother’s name was called from behind. It was one of her church friends, and in an instant, she was off, waving a quick goodbye and leaving you standing there in front of Father Charlie.

You didn't waste a second, taking a daring step forward, your eyes fixed on him. "So..." you said, letting your gaze roam over him before meeting his eyes again. "You seem awfully young to be running a church like this. I have to say, I'm impressed."

He looked bashful, glancing down for a moment before looking back up at you. "Oh, well, thank you. I just... I do my best," he said, his voice soft, the pink on his cheeks deepening.

You smiled, tilting your head just slightly. "Do you do one-on-one sessions, like other churches do?" you asked, your voice carrying a hint of mischief.

He blinked, clearly confused for a moment, before his eyes widened in realization. "Oh, you mean confessionals?" He nodded quickly, his expression shifting back to something more serious. "Yes, I do. In fact, I was planning on doing confessionals later today, after the services. Not many people take me up on it, but I think it's important to always offer the option."

"Oh, really?" you said, letting your voice drop just a bit, your head tilting to the side as you watched him. You let a small smile curve your lips, your gaze never leaving his. "Well, you wouldn't mind if I came to see you and... confessed, would you, Father?"

He stuttered, his blush deepening as he quickly nodded. "N-No, of course not. You're more than welcome to come by, anytime," he said, his voice a bit shaky.

You smirked, giving him a nod. "Perfect," you said, your voice smooth, before turning on your heel and walking away, back towards where your mother was waiting.

You could feel his gaze on you the entire time, the weight of his eyes almost burning into your back. And you loved it.

This really was going to be fun.

The church grew quieter as the service officially ended, people slowly trickling out while you lingered, waiting for your moment.

Eventually, you made your way to the confessional booth, the small wooden space feeling cramped as you settled in. The air was close, the scent of polished wood and incense hanging heavy.

You could hear Father Charlie shuffling on the other side, the sound of the door closing behind him, the rustle of fabric as he got seated.

You took a breath, letting the silence stretch for a moment before you began. "Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned..." you said, your voice soft, but there was an edge to it that you couldn't quite hide.

There was a pause before you heard him clear his throat, his voice coming through the small screen that separated you. "The Lord is always ready to forgive. Please, tell me your sins, my child."

You sighed, leaning back slightly, your fingers brushing against the hem of your dress. "I fear I desire a man that is just out of my reach," you said, your voice carrying a hint of frustration. "It's wrong for me to want him... but I can't seem to help myself."

There was a moment of silence, and you could almost picture the look on his face—concerned, earnest, wanting to help. His voice was gentle as he responded. "Desire can be difficult to control, but it is not inherently sinful. It is what we choose to do with that desire that matters. You must pray for guidance, ask for strength... and remember that God understands our struggles."

You hummed softly, your eyes half-lidded as you listened to him, but your mind was drifting. His voice was soothing, and you found yourself imagining what it would be like if things were different.

If there wasn't a screen between you.

If you could reach out, touch him, feel that innocence melt away under your fingers.

Your hand trailed down your side, your fingers brushing over your thigh as you let out a soft sigh.

His voice cut through your thoughts, sounding a bit uncertain. "Sister ____... are you alright? Do you hear me?"

You smiled to yourself, your mind made up. You leaned closer to the screen, your voice dropping to a near whisper. "Father," you began, your tone coy, "I must confess... I find it difficult to focus when you're speaking. You have such a... soothing voice."

His breath caught audibly, and you could almost hear the way he was struggling to gather himself. "W-What do you mean, sister?" he asked, his voice trembling slightly, laced with confusion.

"It makes me think... sinful thoughts."

You could hear the slight hitch in his breath, the rustle of fabric as he shifted. "S-sister," he stammered, clearly taken aback. "This... this is not appropriate."

You ignored his protest, your voice growing softer, more intimate. "You know, Father, I've always heard that confession is good for the soul. And right now... I think there's only one thing that could truly absolve me of these desires." You let the words hang in the air, knowing exactly what you were implying.

"Sister, this... this isn't..." His voice was shaky now, the uncertainty clear. "I don't think—"

"Come get me, Father," you whispered, your tone daring, challenging him. "You wouldn't leave me like this, would you?"

There was silence for a long moment, and then you heard it—the slow shuffling as he moved. The sound of his door opening, the soft creak of the confessional booth as he stepped out.

You pushed your own door open, stepping out into the dimly lit church. Father Charlie was standing there, his head downcast, his face flushed a deep red. He looked like he wanted to say something, but no words came out, his eyes flickering up to meet yours before darting away again.

You took a step towards him, your movements slow, deliberate—like a predator closing in on its prey. His breath hitched as you approached, his shoulders tensing. He cleared his throat, his voice barely above a whisper. "Sister, I... this isn't right. We shouldn't—"

You reached out, your fingers brushing against the front of his chest, feeling the rapid rise and fall of his breath beneath your touch. You let your hand slide down, your voice a low purr. "Father," you purred, your eyes locking onto his, "I want you to take me somewhere... push me to a higher calling, yeah?"

His eyes widened, the pupils dilating as he stared at you, his lips parting in shock. For a moment, he seemed frozen, and then, almost as if the word was pulled from him, he whispered, "Okay..."

His hand was trembling slightly as he reached for yours, and you let him lead you out of the main church area, his eyes flicking nervously around to make sure no one was watching. He led you down a dim hallway, stopping at a small door that opened into a cramped janitor's closet.

The second the door clicked shut behind you, you were on him.

You pushed him back against the wall, your lips crashing against his. He gasped, and you took advantage, licking into his mouth, tasting the hint of mint on his tongue as a low groan rumbled from your throat. His hands hesitated for a moment before resting on your waist, his touch light, unsure.

You deepened the kiss, feeling the way he shivered beneath your touch, your hands pushing up under his cassock, fingers skimming over the hard lines of his abdomen. His muscles tensed under your fingertips, a shudder running through him as he let out a shaky breath.

You pulled back, just enough to see his face in the low light, and he chased your lips, leaning forward as if he couldn't stand the sudden loss of contact.

You let out a dark chuckle, your hands coming up to cup his flushed cheeks, squeezing gently. His face was a deep shade of red, his eyes half-lidded, his breath coming in short, uneven pants. He looked almost dazed, completely overwhelmed, and it only made your smile widen.

Your thumb grazed over his plump bottom lip, pressing gently before dipping just inside his mouth. His eyes fluttered, his tongue flicking out hesitantly to brush against your thumb before retreating. You let out a soft sigh, a hint of a teasing smile tugging at your lips. "Oh?" you murmured, raising an eyebrow, your gaze fixed on him.

Charlie swallowed hard, his eyes locked onto yours, his breathing ragged. You stepped closer, rising onto your tiptoes, your lips just barely grazing his as you spoke. "You did so well during the sermon, Father," you whispered, your voice low and dripping with suggestion. "It makes me wonder... what could such a blessed mouth do somewhere else?"

His breath hitched, his eyes widening slightly, but he didn’t pull away. You gripped his shoulder, your fingers digging in just enough to make him shiver, and tugged him downwards. "On your knees," you said, your tone commanding, leaving no room for hesitation.

Slowly, almost as if in a trance, Charlie sank to his knees, his eyes never leaving yours. His gaze was filled with a mix of confusion, desire, and something almost like reverence, and it sent a thrill through you.

You watched as he knelt before you, his lips parted, his chest rising and falling with each shaky breath. You could see the conflict in his eyes, the part of him that knew this was wrong, that wanted to resist—but the desire was stronger, and he couldn't bring himself to stop.

You smiled, running your fingers through his hair, your touch surprisingly gentle. "That's it," you murmured, your voice softening just a fraction. "Such a good Father... doing exactly what you're told."

You took a step back, your eyes never leaving his as you moved to the nearest wall, leaning against it comfortably.

With slow, deliberate movements, your hands reached down, unzipping your mini skirt and letting it slide down your legs, pooling around your ankles. You made a show of it, your fingers tracing along your thighs, sliding over your hips, and letting out a soft sigh as you watched him.

Charlie's eyes widened, his gaze following every movement, his lips parted, his breath catching in his throat. The flush on his face deepened, his eyes locked onto you with something like awe, mingled with pure, unfiltered desire.

You smirked, lifting one hand and curling your fingers in a come-hither motion. He hesitated only for a moment before slowly beginning to crawl towards you, his eyes never breaking away from yours.

The sight sent a thrill through you, a shiver of excitement running up your spine. He reached you, his hands carefully coming up to rest on your legs, his touch light, almost reverent.

His fingers traced along your calves, moving upwards with a hesitant slowness that made you release a shaky sigh, your back arching slightly as his touch grew bolder.

His hands were trembling as they reached your hips, his fingers brushing against the edge of your underwear. He swallowed hard, his gaze flicking up to meet yours as if silently asking for permission.

You gave a small nod, and he let out a shaky breath, his fingers hooking into the waistband and slowly slipping your underwear down, his eyes fixed on you the entire time.

Once they were off, he shifted closer, his breath ghosting over your bare skin. He surprised you by gently lifting one of your legs, settling it over his shoulder as he pulled you closer, his face inches away from your most intimate parts.

He let out a deep, almost pornographic groan as he leaned in, taking a slow, deep breath, as if breathing you in. The sound sent a jolt through you, your fingers tightening in his hair.

Charlie looked up at you one more time, his eyes searching, as if asking for final permission.

You smiled, your fingers sliding through his hair before giving a gentle but firm scratch along his scalp, your silent approval. He closed his eyes, letting out a shaky sigh before leaning in.

At first, his movements were hesitant, his tongue slipping out to give an experimental swipe. He was sloppy, uncoordinated, his lack of experience clear, but there was a determination in the way he moved, as if desperate to please.

You let out a soft hum, the sound encouraging him, and he grew a little more confident, his tongue pressing more firmly. He licked a long stripe up, his tongue swirling at the top, and you couldn't help the small smile that tugged at your lips.

"That's it, Father," you murmured, your voice a soft purr. "You're doing such a good job."

The praise seemed to light something in him, a low groan vibrating against you as he pushed in closer. The sound made you gasp, your back arching slightly as the vibrations sent a rush of pleasure through you, your fingers tightening in his hair.

He grew bolder, his tongue delving deeper, slipping inside you as he began to eat you out like a man starved. He was messy, the wet sounds filling the small space, his lips and tongue moving with increasing fervor, as if the more he tasted, the more he craved.

He bullied his tongue into you, his nose brushing against you as he lost himself in the act, his hands gripping your hips tightly, holding you against him as he worked.

You bit down on your lower lip, trying to keep quiet, but the soft, wet sounds filled the small space, making it impossible to ignore.

Your hand moved up, your teeth sinking into the back of it as you stifled a moan, your thighs trembling as he continued. His tongue moved with determination, pressing deeper, swirling before retreating, then focusing on your most sensitive spot.

When his lips closed around your clit, giving a particularly hard suck, your vision blurred, and stars burst behind your eyelids. Your back arched, your body pressing against his face as the waves of pleasure rolled over you, your breath coming in ragged gasps.

Your thighs shook as you slowly came down, your body relaxing slightly against the wall. You let out a shaky breath, your fingers still tangled in his hair, tugging gently. You gave Charlie a small shove, pushing him back just enough.

He hesitated, his tongue giving one last languid lick, followed by a reluctant suck before he finally pulled away, his lips glistening, his breath coming in low, heavy pants. His bottom face was a mess, his eyes half-lidded, dazed as he looked up at you.

You leaned down, your fingers cupping the bottom of his face, your thumb brushing over his flushed cheek as you gave him a swift peck on the corner of his lips. He blinked, his eyes widening slightly, a blush deepening across his face.

Straightening up, you reached down, picking up your discarded thong, folding it neatly before slipping it into the pocket of his cassock. He stared at you, his lips parted, his breathing still uneven.

"Thank you, Father~" you purred, your voice dripping with satisfaction. You watched as his blush deepened even more, his eyes darting away from yours. "You know," you continued, your tone teasing, "I might just have to come back for confession more often."

He swallowed hard, his eyes flicking back up to meet yours, a mix of confusion and something darker swirling in them. You smiled, giving him a wink before turning on your heel, striding out of the closet, leaving him kneeling there, his breath still shaky, his face still flushed.

As you walked away, a satisfied smile playing on your lips, you couldn't help but think that maybe church wasn't going to be so bad after all.

A/N: hehehe, dont mind me, just wanted to see charlie's and y/n relationship in reversal...

[seafoamaphrodite]

a beginner’s guide to…

✨ altars ✨

here are some materials you can use for an altar, whether it is for your spellwork, a deity, or any other use! altars should reflect your personality, and be a space where you feel happy and safe :D

none of these materials are required, and everything is completely customizable to your beliefs! (just practice respect and safety obviously)

🕯️ basics 🕯️

an altar cloth is a piece of fabric that covers your altar. this could be a bandana, a small blanket, or even a piece of paper!

a glass plate is a mundane but VERY versatile altar piece. it can work as an offering dish, a tray to collect wax drippings, or just a little trinket holder

candles are an easy addition to any altar. you can use any type of candle, but my favorites are taper and prayer candles. scented candles are completely fine to use as well! choose candles based on color and scent

natural materials like crystals, flowers, plants, animal bones (responsibly sourced), etc. are an incredible addition to any altar! if you have a deity altar, learn about their associations and use this to guide your choice

paper and pen/pencil will be your best friend if you write petitions, draw sigils, etc. keep them near your altar for convenience

🌱 cleansing 🌱

many people believe an area should be “cleansed” before it is used as an altar or sacred space

methods of cleansing include incense, water cleansing, sage smudging, and more

incense cleansing is often done by wafting an incense stick or cone through a space and visualizing the smoke clearing out negative energy

sandalwood, lavender, and rosemary are common incense choices for cleansing

water cleansing is something i do a lot, it can be done by sprinkling water in an area or even washing/pouring water. regular tap water is perfectly fine, but you can also incorporate moon water, sun water, rainwater, etc.

smudging with sage involves burning a bundle of sage and, similar to incense cleansing, wafting the smoke through the area. sage smudging is traditional to indigenous tribes like the Lakota and Navajo. as a result, sage smudging (especially the use of white sage) is often considered cultural appropriation when done by non-indigenous people. i am not indigenous nor do i use sage, so i am not incredibly well versed on the subject but i thought i should include it. always do research and practice respect and sensitivity 💌

🌙 takeaways 🌙

finally, your altar is YOUR space. you can include or exclude anything you want; your space doesn’t need to be “aesthetic” or make sense to others

my first altar was a cardboard box with one candle and a handful of crystals. it wasn’t expensive or fancy, but it got me into my practice

through the years, my altar has grown and changed as i have

if you want to make an altar, start with what you have! you would be surprised how powerful your resources are 🩷

[lyn31]

Another Game?

Summary:

You book an appointment with Dr. Zayne for a "check-up," but professionalism was never your real intention. What begins as a playful challenge soon unravels into something far more intense, testing the limits of control, composure, and just how far he's willing to go to satisfy you.

Ao3 link

My Masterlist ✨

Notes:

Pairing: Zayne x MC/Reader CW: Smut, roleplay, sex, semi-public sex, teasing, fingering, I still fit some fluff in there somewhat, oh and this is a long one......god help me Heyy look! Not an AU ahahaha

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You step into Zayne’s office, the sterile scent of antiseptic clinging to the air. The door clicks shut behind you. He doesn’t look up right away, gaze fixed on the holographic display above his desk. His posture is composed—crisp white coat, sleeves folded to his elbows, revealing the firm lines of his forearms. Professional. Detached.

You wonder if he even remembers.

Then his eyes flick up, catching yours. A pause.

“…You actually showed up.”

He doesn’t sound surprised, but something lingers beneath the usual impassivity—a flicker of intrigue, the faintest hint of amusement. He leans back, tapping the console to dismiss the screen, blue light fading from his face.

“Of course I did,” you say, feigning innocence. “I have an appointment, don’t I?”

Zayne exhales—almost a scoff—but gestures toward the examination table nonetheless. “Then let’s begin.”

No push. No mention of yesterday’s conversation—yet.

You climb onto the table, letting your legs cross at the ankles. Zayne stands before you, tugging on a pair of gloves with slow precision. The snap of latex against his wrist sends a tingle down your spine.

“Any concerns?” he asks, tone purely clinical. “Pain? Discomfort?”

You hum, trailing a finger along your collarbone. “Well… my chest has been feeling strange lately.”

His expression sharpens. “Strange how?”

You barely suppress a smile. He thinks you mean your heart. Of course he does.

“It’s been tight,” you murmur, pressing a hand just above your breast. “Like something’s pressing down on it.”

Zayne doesn’t hesitate. He steps closer, fingers cool through the thin fabric of your blouse as he presses against the center of your chest. “Any shortness of breath? Dizziness?”

You shake your head, watching him. The calculation in his gaze, the slight shift in his stance—it sends a slow curl of heat through your stomach.

He reaches for his stethoscope, looping it around his neck. The metal gleams under the clinical lights, and the sight alone makes something in you tighten with anticipation.

“Unbutton your shirt,” he says, the same way he always does.

But this time, your fingers move slower.

One button. Then another.

You part the fabric just enough, the lace-trimmed edge of your bra peeking through.

Zayne doesn’t react.

You almost pout.

He tugs his gloves tighter, then presses the stethoscope against your skin. The metal is cold, and you inhale sharply, arching ever so slightly under his touch.

“Deep breath.”

You obey, slow and drawn out.

His frown is slight. “Your heartbeat is steady. No irregularities so far.”

You tilt your head. “Maybe it’s my clothes.”

His brow lifts. “Your clothes.”

“They feel… restrictive.” You toy with the lapels of your blouse, shifting just enough for the fabric to slip further off your shoulders. “Maybe they’re the problem.”

Zayne’s silence is damning. You can practically hear the gears turning, restraint pressing thick in the space between you.

Then, finally, he exhales.

“…Explain.”

A shiver of delight runs through you. Oh, he’s playing along now.

You trace a finger down your collarbone, teasing. “It only gets worse when I move.” A slow roll of your shoulders, the subtle arch of your spine. “Like I can’t quite breathe properly.”

His eyes flicker down. Then back up, sharp as a scalpel. “You want me to believe that the fit of your clothing is causing chest discomfort.”

You blink at him innocently. “I don’t know, Doctor. You tell me.”

The title lands between you like a challenge.

Zayne’s gloved fingers flex at his sides.

Then, smoothly, he steps closer.

“I suppose we’ll have to test that theory.”

His fingers skim along the open edge of your blouse—clinical, precise, but lingering just a fraction too long. His eyes meet yours, steady, unreadable.

“If your clothes are restricting my examination,” he murmurs, “we have two options.”

You already know where this is going, but you keep your expression neutral, waiting.

“Either I remove them for you,” he continues, measured and calm, “or you remove them yourself, and we proceed with the full examination.”

There it is.

Anticipation thrums through you, heat curling low. He’s still playing the professional act, but the weight in his voice betrays him. He’s watching. Waiting.

You press your lips together, pretending to consider. “Wouldn’t it be improper for a doctor to undress his patient?”

Zayne doesn’t rise to the bait. “It’s a medical necessity. For accuracy.”

You exhale, dramatic. “Well, if it’s for accuracy…”

Your fingers find the remaining buttons, slipping them free with slow precision. The fabric slides from your shoulders, pooling around your elbows before you let it fall onto the table behind you.

Zayne watches. Silent.

His expression doesn’t shift, but his fingers twitch—so subtle you almost miss it.

You smile.

Then, just to test him, you reach back, unhooking your bra with a quiet snap. The straps slide down your arms, lace slipping away, leaving you bare beneath his gaze.

The air between you thickens.

Zayne doesn’t react—not immediately. He simply exhales, slow and measured, before reaching for his stethoscope once more.

“Lie back.”

Steady. Too steady.

Your breath hitches, but you obey, reclining against the cool surface of the table.

Zayne leans over you, pressing the stethoscope to your chest once more. The metal is cold, but it’s not the temperature making you shiver this time.

“Breathe in.”

You inhale, deep and slow.

The stethoscope drags lower, tracing the curve of your ribs, the underside of your breast. His fingers graze your skin—a little too deliberate.

Your grip tightens on the table’s edge.

“Please breathe normally,” he murmurs. “I can’t get an accurate reading otherwise.”

Your voice is barely steady. “I am breathing normally.”

“Are you?”

His gaze flicks up, catching yours. He doesn’t smirk. Doesn’t gloat. But the shift is there, an unspoken challenge woven through his voice.

The stethoscope circles lower, pressing just above your nipple. You inhale sharply, your back lifting slightly off the table.

“Sensitive?” Zayne asks, the picture of professionalism.

Bastard.

Your lips press together, but he only hums, adjusting the stethoscope with a thoughtful tilt of his head. “That could indicate a heightened response. I’ll need to examine further.”

His fingers, still clad in gloves, follow the stethoscope’s path—skimming, lingering.

He’s torturing you. Deliberately. And you have half a mind to call him out on it—

Until he speaks again, smooth and detached.

“…Are you sure your chest is the only area that’s been bothering you?”

The breath catches in your throat.

You meet his gaze. He’s waiting.

For you to say it.

For you to push the game further.

And, oh, you will.

Your grip flexes against the table. His gaze lingers, cool and patient, waiting for your answer.

You take a slow breath, letting the tension stretch, before finally exhaling, “Actually…”

Zayne doesn’t move, but you don’t miss the way his eyes sharpen, just the slightest fraction.

“My chest isn’t the only thing bothering me.”

His silence is expectant.

You let the moment breathe, dragging it just long enough before you shift slightly on the table, parting your legs ever so subtly.

“It’s… lower.”

A bold claim, but one you deliver with just enough hesitance—like you’re still playing coy, like you’re not deliberately pushing him to react.

Zayne exhales through his nose, slow and measured. His gaze flicks downward, skimming the length of your bare stomach before settling at the hem of your skirt.

“Lower,” he repeats, as if confirming.

You nod.

He holds still for a moment, his expression carefully neutral. Then, without hurry, he reaches for his gloves, snapping a fresh pair on with precise, practiced movements.

“Well,” he says, tone still entirely neutral, “I’ll need to examine that as well.”

Your stomach tightens.

He moves as if nothing is amiss—like this is just a routine check-up, another standard procedure. His hands find your knees, pressing against the soft skin there before sliding down, tracing the length of your thighs with methodical ease.

Then, carefully, with intent, he urges them apart.

You exhale, pulse thudding in your throat as the air shifts against the exposed skin beneath your skirt. Zayne’s touch remains steady, his gloved hand a stark contrast against your warmth.

His thumbs stroke idly over your inner thighs, like he's weighing his next move. “Your symptoms,” he murmurs. “Describe them.”

You stare at him.

He meets your gaze, expectant, composed.

You swallow, fingers curling slightly. “It’s… hard to explain.”

“Try.”

Oh, he’s awful.

You shift slightly, just enough to feel the ache between your legs sharpen. “It feels… hot.”

Zayne hums, dragging his fingers higher. “A warm sensation in a specific area?”

Your teeth sink into your lower lip. “I… guess so.”

He nods, acknowledging it with quiet interest. Then, with infuriating patience, he smooths his gloved hands further up your thighs.

“Any discomfort?”

You suck in a breath. “Not exactly.”

“Strange.” His tone is mild, completely detached. “You’re requesting an examination for something that doesn’t hurt?”

You glare at him.

Zayne doesn’t acknowledge it. He simply exhales, feigning thoughtfulness, before his fingers hook under the hem of your skirt.

“I’ll need a clearer view to assess properly.”

Your breath catches, but you lift your hips slightly, just enough for him to slide the fabric up, exposing the damp fabric clinging between your legs.

The crisp air barely registers against the heat spreading low in your belly.

Zayne’s gaze drags over you, lingering on the damp fabric of your panties, the way you’re already wet from nothing but his teasing.

Then, like nothing at all, he presses his palm against the soft cotton.

You jolt, hips twitching instinctively. Your fingers tighten at your sides, resisting the urge to grab at his wrist—to make him press harder, to make him move.

Zayne hums, thumb grazing absently over the damp patch. “Noted.”

You don’t even have time to react before he adds, completely straight-faced, “The fabric may be affecting circulation. Would you prefer to remove them yourself, or shall I?”

A loaded question, if there ever was one.

Your breath shudders. He’s still playing his game, still waiting for you to crack first.

But two can play.

You lift your hips just slightly, reaching down to slip your fingers beneath the waistband. Slowly, deliberately, you slide them down, letting the damp material drag against your skin before finally kicking them off the edge of the table.

A quiet exhale slips past his lips.

Then, just as patient as before, he shifts closer, gloved fingers parting you with infuriating gentleness.

He speaks with practiced neutrality.

"I’ll begin."

The first touch is light—barely there, a teasing brush of his fingers against your folds, feeling, assessing. The latex is smooth, the contrast against your warmth making you shiver. He moves methodically, mapping you out like he would a textbook illustration, slow, impersonal.

Your breath stutters as he spreads you wider, the motion precise. His thumb presses just above your clit, holding you open while his fingers explore, a slow drag from entrance to tip. The touch isn’t meant to satisfy—it’s meant to study.

"Hm." Zayne tilts his head, as if in deep thought, his eyes flicking up to yours for the briefest moment before returning to his work. "The area is… unusually sensitive. Are you experiencing any discomfort?"

You bite your lip, forcing down a whimper. "No."

"Interesting."

His fingers slide lower, pressing against your entrance without pushing in, circling, spreading the wetness across his fingers. Your thighs twitch, a reflexive attempt to close around him, but his grip tightens—keeping you still, keeping you open. He hums again, thoughtful, detached.

"There's quite a lot of moisture." A pause. "Perhaps an overactive response?"

Your thighs twitch, but his grip tightens, still keeping you in place. The bastard is enjoying this—drawing it out, making you squirm under the guise of professionalism.

"Would you say this is a normal amount for you?" he asks, his tone giving nothing away.

You suck in a sharp breath. You should have known he'd make you say it. You can’t just whine, can’t just push against his hand and take what you want. No, he wants you to explain yourself.

Your voice is uneven when you answer. "It… it happens when I’m aroused."

His fingers still—just for a moment—before resuming their torturous pace.

"Hm. I see, it is a normal reaction of course."

His fingers continue their slow, deliberate exploration, spreading the slickness across his gloves as if considering his next step. Then, finally, he presses inward.

Slow. Too slow. The stretch is barely anything, just the tip of his finger easing into you before retreating, testing your resistance. His free hand shifts slightly, reaching for something just out of view. Before you can register it, the press of the stethoscope against your stomach makes you jolt.

"Relax," he murmurs, voice maddeningly soft. "I need an accurate reading."

As if that is why your muscles are tensing. As if he isn’t the one making your heart hammer against your ribs.

His finger sinks deeper, curling just enough to make you gasp. Your hips jerk up, chasing the movement before you even realize it—but then he’s gone, gloved touch retreating, leaving you empty.

"Hm." He exhales lightly, gaze flickering over your body before meeting your eyes once more. "A more thorough examination may be necessary."

The words alone make you clench around nothing, thighs threatening to snap shut, but his hands keep you open yet again. His thumb brushes over your clit—just once, barely enough pressure to count—and you nearly arch off the table.

Zayne watches you, patient as ever as if it’s just another part of the check-up.

"Deep breaths," he says. "This may take a while."

His fingers return to you, sliding through the slickness he’s already drawn from you, gathering it up before pressing inward again. The chill of his touch is startling, even through the latex, heightening the sensitivity prickling along your skin. This time, he doesn’t retreat. The stretch is unbearably measured, as he sinks his fingers inside you, just one at first, moving with the same methodical precision as before.

"Any discomfort?" he asks, as if he doesn’t already know the answer.

You shake your head quickly, breath coming shallow. "No."

His finger curls slightly, pressing against a spot that makes your thighs tremble. "That’s good."

His movements remain lingering, thorough, like he’s actually examining you. Twisting his wrist slightly, he presses deeper, his knuckles brushing against your swollen folds. The heel of his palm hovers just above your clit—not close enough to give you what you need, but just close enough to tease, to remind you how little he’s actually giving. The lingering cold of his touch only amplifies the sensation, sending sharp, involuntary shivers through you.

Then, with his free hand, he picks up the stethoscope again.

The metal rests against your chest, just above your racing heart, and you jerk at the sensation, a small gasp slipping out before you can stop it.

"Your pulse is elevated," he observes, his voice as steady as ever. "Try to calm your breathing."

He adjusts the stethoscope slightly, the movement coinciding with the slow thrust of his fingers. His voice remains maddeningly even. "Is this making you nervous?"

You swallow hard, gripping the edge of the examination table. "No."

"Then why is your heart racing?"

He presses the metal piece of the stethoscope lower, the edge barely grazing your nipple. The temperature difference—his cold fingers inside you, the icy press of metal against your skin—is unbearable. Your back arches involuntarily, and Zayne’s gaze flickers up, studying the reaction as if filing it away for later analysis.

He hums, contemplative. "It seems there’s a correlation between certain stimuli and your heart rate." His fingers push deeper, curling just right, and a small, choked noise escapes you before you can stop it.

He pretends not to notice.

Instead, he glides the stethoscope across your chest at an agonizingly slow pace. The edge drags over your nipple, the lingering chill making you whimper. His fingers inside you don’t falter, maintaining their slow, torturous rhythm.

His fingers slip out of you, leaving you empty for a torturous moment—until you feel his hands on your thighs, spreading them wider.

"Even without apparent symptoms, a thorough examination is still necessary," he murmurs, gaze settling between your legs.

He lets the words settle before shifting his attention. Then, without hurry, he picks up a small bottle of lubricant from the tray beside him, snapping the cap open with the ease of routine.

His gloved fingers return, coated now, sliding against your entrance with obscene ease before you can even catch your breath. The first brush is smooth, his fingers slipping against you with effortless precision.

“Breathe,” he instructs smoothly, pressing against your entrance with more intent this time. “I'll make sure to be thorough.”

And then he pushes inside, stretching you open with two fingers this time, filling you in one slow, controlled motion.

The stretch burns just enough to make your breath hitch. He pushes in fully, his fingers sinking deep, before stilling just long enough for the sensation to settle.

“Let me know if it’s too much,” he says, tone as calm as ever, but there’s an unmistakable tension in the way his fingers flex inside you.

Too much? It’s nowhere near enough.

You shake your head, swallowing hard. “It’s fine.”

"Good." He adjusts his angle slightly, and the next thrust is just a little firmer, the pads of his fingers press into the soft, vulnerable spots inside you. “Judging by your reaction, I assume this spot is particularly sensitive.”

Your breath stutters as his fingers brush a spot that makes your stomach tighten. He notices. Of course, he notices.

"Here?" he asks, pressing again.

A strangled sound catches in your throat. You try to nod, but the movement barely registers.

"I see," he murmurs, as if making another note in his imaginary diagnosis. He presses deeper, the glide of his fingers calculated as he drags them against that same spot. The slow friction makes your thighs twitch, heat pooling unbearably low, but he keeps his pace infuriatingly steady.

Just when you think it can’t get worse, his free hand shifts. The cold metal of the stethoscope returns, settling just below your collarbone.

"Another deep breaths," he instructs again. "I need to get a proper reading."

You suck in a shaky inhale as he moves the metal piece of the stethoscope lower, the edge grazing the swell of your breast before settling directly over your nipple. The unyielding metal presses against your skin, making you tense, your back arching instinctively at the unexpected sensation.

Zayne, naturally, notices.

“Interesting,” he muses, still feigning detachment. His fingers inside you curl slightly, pressing just right, while his other hand subtly adjusts the stethoscope, dragging the cold metal in slow, lazy circles.

Your head falls back against the table, lips parting around a helpless sound. The pressure, the contrast, the unrelenting patience of it all—it’s unbearable.

He doesn’t ease up.

"You’re definitely more responsive to certain stimuli," he observes, as if it isn’t obvious.

His fingers withdraw slightly before sliding back in, the stretch more pronounced this time, and your thighs tense around him. His movements remain methodical, controlled, but there’s a new weight to them, as if he’s savoring your reactions despite himself.

Still, he plays the part.

“Your heartbeat hasn't stabilized,” he says, voice smooth, unaffected. “Perhaps I should continue until it stabilizes.”

As if that would actually work.

He presses the stethoscope lower, The stethoscope drags down your ribs, over the dip of your stomach—inch by inch, closer to where his fingers are working you open.

You feel lightheaded, burning up from the inside out, but Zayne remains composed, watching you carefully as he pushes deeper, as if gauging just how much you can take before you finally break.

And you’re close—so painfully close.

And just when you think he’ll let you fall apart, his fingers are gone—leaving you clenching around nothing.

The sudden emptiness makes you whimper, hips lifting slightly as if chasing the contact.

Zayne ignores it.

Instead, he sets the stethoscope aside and tilts his head, regarding you with that same unreadable expression.

Zayne exhales slowly, as if in deep thought, before his gloved fingers skim along your inner thigh, just shy of where you want him.

“I can’t seem to determine the exact cause,” he murmurs, gaze flicking over you clinically. “I’ll need to run more tests.”

You let out a sharp breath, frustration coiling tight in your stomach.

More tests. Of course, he’d say that. As if he hasn’t already had his fingers inside you, as if you aren’t already dripping onto the examination table, as if your body isn’t screaming for him to stop pretending and just fuck you already.

His fingers remain maddeningly still, resting against your thigh like he has all the time in the world.

That’s the last straw.

With a groan of impatience, you yank him forward, your hands fisting in his coat as you crash your lips against his.

The force of it catches him off guard—just enough that he has to brace a hand against the table, steadying himself. His palm presses firm beside your head, the shift bringing him closer, trapping you beneath his frame. Even now, he remains measured, his movements precise—until you deepen the kiss, until you pull him in harder.

He stiffens, just for a second. A sound catches in his throat, a quiet, unbidden reaction. Then his fingers flex against the table—just once—before he reins himself back in. You take full advantage, your tongue sliding against his, pouring every bit of frustration into the kiss.

Then, pulling back just enough to breathe, you meet his gaze head-on, your voice edged with impatience.

"Fuck me, Doctor."

His gaze lingers for a beat—assessing, considering.

Zayne exhales slowly, dragging a gloved hand down your side, settling at your waist. Despite everything, he still keeps his composure. His professionalism.

“…I see,” he murmurs, tilting his head slightly, as if considering the request. “A rather unconventional treatment method.”

His voice remains perfectly measured, but you can feel the tension in the way his fingers flex against your skin.

Without rushing, he straightens, adjusting his gloves as he reaches for the small drawer beside the examination table. You watch, breath coming shallow, as he retrieves a foil packet and tears it open with precise, practiced ease.

Then, locking eyes with you, he lowers his waistband.

Your stomach clenches at the sight his cock, thick and already achingly hard, standing rigid against the smooth plane of his lower abdomen.

And yet—he doesn’t rush.

Instead, he rolls the condom on with excruciating slowness, deliberately dragging out each movement as if testing your patience.

Your fingers twitch against the edge of the table, resist the urge to grab him and force him to move faster.

He catches it, as he always does.

But instead of relenting, he simply hums, smoothing the latex down to the base before finally meeting your gaze again.

“Proper preparation is crucial,” he muses, voice infuriatingly calm. “It would be irresponsible to rush.”

His hand wraps around the base of his cock, giving himself a slow, deliberate stroke. Heat pulses through you, making your hips shift.

He watches the reaction, silent for a moment—before exhaling softly, finally settling between your spread thighs. His hands slide beneath your thighs, guiding you until your hips meet the very edge of the table, your legs now hanging freely. The shift leaves you open to him, perfectly positioned.

"Now," he murmurs, tone still so composed. "Shall we continue?"

His cock drags along your entrance, slow and deliberate, the tip pressing against your slick folds but never quite pushing in.

It’s unbearable.

You pant, fingers tight on the edge of the table as he keeps up his torment.

“Any last concerns before we proceed?” Zayne asks, as if this were still some routine check-up. His voice is infuriatingly steady, like he isn’t teasing you to the point of madness.

Your patience snaps.

“No,” you grit out, glaring at him. “Just fuck me already.”

Zayne makes a soft, thoughtful sound—almost like he’s considering your words. But instead of giving you what you want, he adjusts his grip on your hips, positioning himself better.

As if it’s the most natural thing in the world, he asks, “How’s the pain level?”

You actually let out a laugh—breathless, disbelieving. “Are you serious?”

He hums, pretending to consider. “Perhaps it would be best to start slow.”

Before you can protest, he presses in—just the tip. The stretch is delicious, but not nearly enough.

Your nails dig into the table. “Zayne.”

He doesn’t respond—at least, not in words. Instead, he leans in slightly, tilting his head in mock curiosity. His cock nudges deeper, inch by inch, testing your patience.

“You sure there’s no discomfort?” he asks smoothly.

Your glare sharpens. “Only because you’re still teasing.”

His lips quirk slightly. “Hm. I suppose this position isn’t effective.”

Before you can process what he means, he shifts.

With little warning, he grabs your hips and flips you over, pressing your chest against the cool surface of the examination table. The movement knocks the breath from your lungs, leaving you gasping. Your feet hit the ground, stabilizing you—but barely.

And then he’s there, lined up against you again, his cock pressing against your entrance once more. His hands slide up your sides, steadying you, before dipping beneath your waist to prop you up at just the right angle.

One of his hands trails lower, curling around your thigh, lifting one of your legs onto the table. The shift forces you open even further, leaving you completely at his mercy.

"Much better," he murmurs. "Let's try again, shall we?"

Without further warning, he thrusts into you, burying himself to the hilt in one deep, fluid motion.

A strangled moan rips from your throat.

Zayne exhales, fingers tightening against your hips, as if the feeling of you around him is testing his control.

He starts slow—pulling out almost entirely before sliding back in, filling you all over again. Each thrust is measured, controlled.

"Does this ease the discomfort?" His voice remains steady, like he’s still focused on his so-called examination.

You can barely think, much less answer him. A whimper escapes instead, your fingers gripping uselessly at the smooth surface beneath you.

"Hm." He adjusts his angle slightly, sinking in deeper, making your legs tremble. "How about now?"

Your mouth opens, but before you can say anything—

A sharp knock echoes against the office door.

Both of you freeze.

Your heart leaps into your throat, lungs seizing as Zayne goes perfectly still behind you, his cock still buried deep inside. The only thing you can hear is the distant hum of the hospital lights—too loud, suddenly deafening.

The knock comes again, followed by a muffled voice.

"Dr. Zayne? Are you available?"

Fuck.

Your body tenses, every nerve on edge as you hold your breath, praying that whoever it is will just go away or for Zayne to do something, anything.

For a moment, he doesn’t. His silence stretches long enough to make your pulse spike in raw panic.

Then—a slow exhale, deliberate. His weight shifts.

But you didn’t expect his hand to move to covers your mouth.

He doesn’t pull out.

Instead, his other hand slides between your legs, fingers finding your clit.

You jerk beneath him, a muffled whimper caught against his palm.

"Shh," he whispers, calm and teasing. His cock twitches inside you as he resumes his movements, rolling his hips in slow, deliberate thrusts.

The knock sounds again.

His fingers circle your clit, lazy and unhurried, matching the rhythm of his thrusts. He’s barely moving—just enough to keep you teetering on the edge, just enough to drag out the pleasure.

Your thighs tremble, every teasing stroke winding the heat tighter—so close, so dangerously near the edge.

Your muffled whimpers, shaky and desperate, are the only sign of how wrecked you are beneath him—while Zayne remains infuriatingly composed, his breath steady, unbroken. Even when you clench around him, even when your body trembles, he doesn't falter. The only real evidence of his own unraveling is the faintest hitch in his breath, lost beneath the slick, sinful sounds between you.

The office is quiet except for the rhythmic slide of him inside you, the wet, obscene sounds barely masked by your unsteady breaths. The sharp rustle of his coat with each movement and the faint creak of the examination table beneath you only make the silence more suffocating.

The voice outside the door fades. Footsteps retreat down the hall.

The moment the sound disappears—

Zayne's fingers move faster against your clit, his cock thrusting deep.

The pleasure coils so tightly in your core, unbearable, before it snaps all at once, dragging a cry from your throat. His hand remains over your mouth, not quite as tight, but enough to stifle the sound as your body clenches down around him, shuddering under the force of it.

Your vision whites out for a breath, heat rippling through every nerve as the tension unwinds in sharp, relentless waves. His fingers don’t stop, coaxing every last tremor from your body, his thrusts steady, unrelenting, prolonging each pulse of pleasure until it borders on too much.

He exhales sharply, fingers tightening on your thigh as he keeps moving, fucking you through it, prolonging every shuddering aftershock.

Even now, he doesn’t let go—not until the last tremor fades, until your body goes slack beneath him, spent and breathless. Only then does he finally lean down, lips ghosting over the shell of your ear.

"Good girl," he murmurs, maddeningly composed. "You kept quiet so well."

His cock is still hard inside you. Moving. Teasing.

"And we’re not done yet."

If anything, he takes his time now, fully regaining his composure, even as you're still shaking beneath him. His thrusts remain slow, measured, letting you feel every deliberate movement of his cock inside you.

Your body twitches with every lazy roll of his hips, the aftershocks of your climax still rippling through you.

"You’re still trembling," he observes, voice smooth. His fingers trace idle circles against your inner thigh, feeling the slight shudders coursing through you. "Perhaps we should pause for another assessment."

You shake your head quickly, barely able to form words. "Don’t—don’t stop."

Zayne exhales softly. Then his hand slides down again, settling between your legs. His fingers find your clit, pressing down just enough to make your breath stutter.

"You're still responsive," he muses, voice as steady as ever. His movements remain excruciatingly unhurried, dragging out every sensation, every pulse of overstimulation. "Sensitive, too."

A low whimper catches in your throat. The contrast between his slow thrusts and the precise circles on your clit is unbearable.

"Do you think you can handle another?"

It takes a moment to process the words through the haze of pleasure. Then, weakly, you nod.

"Good." he murmurs, and his grip shifts. His fingers slide higher, stroking the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, his touch deliberate. The slow caress only heightens the ache already coiling deep in your stomach.

Then—he shifts his hips, angling himself just a little differently, sinking into you in a way that makes your whole body jolt. The change is subtle but devastating, forcing him even deeper.

A choked gasp escapes you. Your fingers flex against the table, scrabbling for support.

Zayne hums, as if pleased with your reaction. His touch on your thigh lingers, his fingers kneading lightly, soothing and teasing at once.

Then he thrusts—slow at first, testing, before drawing back and snapping his hips forward with a sharp, precise motion.

The force of it makes your breath stutter. He does it again, each thrust with the same pressure, driving into you with an unrelenting rhythm, every movement pushing you closer to the edge. The steady, rhythmic pressure builds unbearably fast, winding tighter and tighter until—

Your body is raw, wrung tight from the first climax, but this one is sharper—like a live wire pressed to your spine, making you arch helplessly beneath him.

But Zayne doesn’t stop. He keeps moving, fucking you through every aftershock, his thrusts slow but unyielding, prolonging each pulse of pleasure until you're gasping—oversensitive to each shift, each lingering stroke. You twist beneath him, unsure if you're trying to escape or take him deeper.

Your legs twitch against the table, your breath coming in uneven shudders as the intensity finally begins to subside.

And then—you feel it. A pause, just barely there. The faintest shift in his grip, a breath that drags a fraction too deep. His rhythm falters—not by much, but enough.

Zayne exhales sharply, fingers flexing against your thigh, his rhythm stuttering. Your walls still flutter weakly around him, and this time—this time—he doesn’t recover immediately.

His grip tightens. A slow breath through his nose, as if re-centering himself.

"I suppose that confirms my hypothesis," he murmurs, though there’s a faint edge to his voice now—just a little rougher, just a little less composed.

A fresh wave of heat builds in your core, slower this time, rolling through you with a dull, insistent throb instead of a sharp jolt.

Zayne hums, his hips resuming their movements—unhurried, deep, every stroke dragging against your still-sensitive walls. "It seems we’re reaching the final phase of this examination."

His thrusts stay deep and steady, teasing rather than overwhelming, giving your body just enough time to recover—just enough time to let the heat start pooling again, simmering beneath the surface. Your breath stutters, legs trembling against the table, anticipation building in slow, excruciating waves.

Then—he slows. Excruciatingly so. Not enough to stop, just enough to keep you hovering, desperate, the pleasure slipping just out of reach.

"You're already taking me so well," he murmurs, his voice lower now, his grip flexing against your thigh. "But if you want more, you should ask properly."

Your fingers tighten against the table. A whimper slips from your throat.

His thrusts slow to a near stop.

"Go on," he coaxes, tilting forward just slightly, letting you feel every inch of his cock still inside you. "Tell me how badly you need it."

Heat coils tight in your stomach. Your pride keeps your lips sealed, but it’s a losing battle. The ache is unbearable. When you finally speak, your voice shakes.

"Hah—y-you’re the one who said this was an examination," you pant, gripping the table. “So finish it properly.” Your voice is hoarse, barely steady.

A pause—just long enough to make you second-guess, to leave you teetering on the edge. Then, far too calm for what he’s about to do—“You’re right.”

And then he thrusts. Hard.

A ragged moan rips from your throat, the force of it knocking the air straight from your lungs. The shift in angle sends pleasure surging through you, fierce and overwhelming.

Then he does it again.

And again.

Until his pace is no longer slow, no longer careful—no longer methodical.

Just deep, sharp thrusts, filling you over and over, every movement deliberate, precise, but losing that careful restraint, inch by inch.

You can feel it in the way his grip tightens against your hips, in the controlled but rough snap of his thrusts, in the way his breathing finally, finally breaks from that infuriating steadiness.

Your name slips from his lips—not perfectly even anymore, but a little more raw, a little more strained.

It sends another sharp wave of heat straight through you.

Then—

Zayne exhales sharply, and you feel it—the slight tremor in his movements, the way his cock twitches deep inside you.

And then, without warning, he pulls out.

A whine of protest leaves your throat before you can stop it, your body aching at the sudden emptiness.

Then he’s flipping you over again, pressing your back against the table, his hands guiding your legs around his waist.

His gaze lingers, half-lidded and hazy, but still sharp beneath the haze of lust.

“I need to see you,” he murmurs.

Then—

He thrusts back in.

Your breath catches, back arching, as his cock buries itself inside you again in one smooth motion.

Zayne exhales sharply, his hands bracing against the table on either side of you. His face is close—too close—his breath warm against your skin, his gaze locked onto yours, refusing to waver.

And then he moves.

Not teasing anymore.

Just chasing his own pleasure.

And you’re right there with him.

Your body is still trembling when the last wave crashes over you, your breath coming in ragged, uneven gasps. It’s too much—too sharp, too overwhelming—but Zayne’s grip keeps you steady, refusing to let you slip away.

And then, he breaks.

His breath shatters on a sharp exhale, his body tensing—then shuddering—as he buries himself deep inside you one last time. You feel it in the way his fingers clutch at your skin, almost too tight, as he finally, finally lets go.

For a long moment, the only sound in the room is the sharp, uneven rhythm of your breathing and his, mixing with the faint hum of the hospital lights.

The silence stretches. Neither of you moves, still caught in the lingering pulse of it all—his weight half-braced over you, his breath still uneven against your skin.

Then—slowly—he exhales, long and measured. And with deliberate care, he pulls away.

Your body protests the loss, muscles still tense, but Zayne is already moving—hands steady as they guide your legs down, adjusting your position with the same practiced precision as before. As if he hadn’t just—

You barely register the soft rustle of fabric as he removes his gloves, the quiet snap of the discarded condom. Then, warmth—his hands, bare now, skimming lightly over your thighs, tracing slow, steady paths as if grounding you back into yourself.

“Easy,” he murmurs. Not a command. Just a reminder.

You exhale shakily.

Zayne’s gaze flickers over you, scanning, assessing. His usual precision is back, but there’s something different in the way he touches you now—less clinical, more... grounding.

His hand moves, brushing over your hip, then lower, between your legs. You twitch at the touch, still sensitive, but he’s gentle, using a clean cloth to wipe away the mess between your thighs.

You blink blearily at him, still trying to come back to yourself.

“…You had that ready?”

Zayne hums softly, unbothered. “Of course.”

His movements remain methodical, careful, making sure you’re clean before setting the cloth aside. Then, with that same infuriating ease, he adjusts your skirt—smoothing it down, covering you again, as if he hadn’t just spent the last hour ruining you on this very table.

Your breath catches slightly at the contrast, at the effortless way he slips back into professionalism. As if he hadn’t just been—

Your fingers twitch, reaching for him before you can think better of it.

Zayne doesn’t move away.

Instead, he exhales quietly—then leans down.

The kiss to your forehead is firm, steady—a grounding weight rather than a fleeting touch.

Your chest tightens, warmth settling beneath your ribs.

His lips linger there for a second longer, then move lower. A soft press to your temple. The corner of your eye. The bridge of your nose. Each touch unhurried, deliberate—as if reassuring himself that you’re still here, still whole.

A slow exhale leaves you, your body finally beginning to relax.

Zayne pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, studying you with quiet intensity.

“Are you alright?” he asks, voice quieter now, lacking its usual calculated edge.

You hum softly, still catching your breath. “I think my legs forgot how to work.”

He doesn’t comment—just moves, shifting to sit beside you on the examination table, his presence a solid, grounding warmth at your side.

You let yourself lean against him slightly, just enough to feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

There’s no rush to move.

No immediate need to separate.

Zayne doesn’t fill the silence with unnecessary words, doesn’t try to push you forward before you’re ready. Instead, he just remains there, his palm settling lightly over your waist—absentminded, but firm.

It’s you who breaks the moment first.

You tilt your head up, a teasing glint flickering past the haze of exhaustion. “So much for this is a professional environment.”

Zayne exhales sharply, a near-silent laugh, before giving you a look. “That changed the moment my certain patient decided to seduce me during her check-up.”

You grin, pleased. “Guess I should book another appointment soon, then.”

Zayne exhales quietly, fingers pressing briefly against your waist. “You can barely sit up.” A beat. Then, softer—“…You should rest first.”

You hum noncommittally, tilting your head up to brush a soft kiss against his jaw, feeling the way his breath hitches ever so slightly.

“…There’s still some time before my next appointment,” he murmurs after a beat. “You can stay until you feel steady again.”

A rare concession.

One you don’t take for granted.

So you settle in a little more, letting your body slowly come back to itself.

Zayne waits, unhurried.

And when you finally do sit up on your own, legs still trembling slightly, his hand lingers at your back—just in case.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Notes:

I gone through so many draft for this.... until I satisfied with this one ahahahaha well hope y'all enjoy the play :D

I was editing to add the rest of the series part but it was too long ahahaha so here's just the whole list: My Masterlist ✨

[ellesthots]

code of ethics

v. “coffee”

read on AO3 🤎

parts: previous / next

plot: you finally get answers from your professor.

pairing: professor!bruce wayne x student!reader

cw: 18+, smut !

words: 6.1k

a/n: this chapter was a (lovely) beast to write !! the next one will be the last in this miniseries !! it'll have Bruce's POV ✨ i wanted to include some other elements, but i'm saving those for fateful 🤭 enjoy <3 feel freeeee to let me know what you think!

Shaking hands held either side of the sink in the closest bathroom. A sopping clump of paper towel sat at the edge of it from trying to take some of the puffiness out of your eyes; its lukewarm form mocked you as it dripped down the porcelain’s edge. 

If you didn’t come back to class, it would be strange. The loser in the back would assume you didn’t know what you were doing, that Professor Wayne had drilled into you, and that would be that. Being reduced to the memory of ‘TA Who Got Told Off By Professor Wayne and Never Showed Again’ sounded like a miserable existence. 

You checked in the mirror once more to see your tear troughs bloated from crying, but you didn’t have time to care. Every passing second was another moment lost to the abyss, a sacred spilling of opportunity knowing the talking-to that would inevitably result in your removal from the course after this first day. 

Walking down the empty hallway to class had your steps echo, filling you to the brim with dread. If he had to get the administration involved, did you have to worry about more than being kicked from class? Would you be able to walk these halls again? You weren’t particularly attached to the Humanities building, but you didn’t want to be ripped from it, either.

Professor Wayne’s voice boomed from outside the classroom door. “Ensure your papers are submitted in PDF format before midnight EST, and follow current APA guidelines.” Just in time. “If any of these requirements are not met, your grade will reflect it.” Oh, brother. You gritted your teeth and walked in.

“The references must—”

Your eyes flicked to his, and he immediately looked back to the board. “They, uh, the references must be published within the past five years.” 

You’d never heard him stutter during a lecture. Was he that pissed at you? Dear god. 

The seat creaked when you sat, and you cringed as eyes wandered to you and the whiteboard. Your skirt rode up in the back, and you tried as delicately as possible to tuck it back under you, but it wouldn’t go. You glanced nervously at Professor Wayne, grateful he was paying full attention to the students. 

Though you’d only taken two courses from him, syllabus day was never just syllabus day. He sped through the document, then lectured like the class had already read the bajillion required books. You remembered the panic that tormented you in September when he’d done that, slinging about terms you’d only barely heard, or not at all, then hardly elaborating. ‘The answer’s in the reading,’ he’d say when a brave student raised their hand to clarify. No one ever had the heart to tell him his expectations were so high they were practically crushing. 

He grabbed a dry erase marker and began writing something you couldn’t parse while you fought off a panic attack. What was he about to tell you? Your thoughts spiraled unproductively, and you began to regret ever leaving the bathroom and its proximity to toilets with the nausea ravaging your system. 

Professor Wayne continued his lecture, skirting past the syllabus as if it hardly existed. His white button-up was smartly tucked into tailored black slacks, and you could make out the slightest hue of his skin beneath the fabric. The turn of his hips and the flex of his back as he drew timelines across the whiteboard made you jam your teeth into your tongue. Power play. That’s all this is. 

He turned to address the entire class, and his sweeping eye contact landed on you in what felt like an accident. His gaze stuttered alongside his words for the second time this evening, and you cocked your head. Huh. 

While he guided the class in an exercise, your focus trained on a new tic; one of your first observations of him last year was how smooth and steady he was, expression unwavering to a disturbing degree—but now saw the bobbing of an Adam’s apple and the rolling of his bottom lip under his teeth. Huh!

Your hands began to tingle as you sat back, zooming out from the classroom for a moment. The lines he drew were shakier. His lines had been too straight before, so these newbies wouldn’t notice. But you did. What terrible, awful, no good thing had you done that warranted this? 

“Adriana.” 

His icy blues speared right through you, weighing more than the entire classroom’s attention and bringing you to alertness faster than your borrowed name. “Yes?”

“Can you hand out the activity I asked you to bring?”

You squinted. Nowhere in any email had there been an activity listed. 

The students were rigidly silent, a norm for his classes; Professor Wayne commanded perfect attention, and people picked up on it from the second he entered the room. It felt electric, alive, intimidating.

Sweat gathered on the back of your neck. You must’ve forgotten it in the anticipation of your scheme. It would be listed in a line somewhere your eyes skipped over in the bustle, and class would be fucked for your mistake. Absolutely fucked, all because you had it out for the man. “I, um,”

Inhaling the first words of your apology, you stalled. Power play. You’d been singularly set on your goal for today, yes, but you weren’t completely distracted. Definitely not incompetent enough to forget one of two printables. 

“Professor.” You forced your trembling hands to fold gently in your lap. His stare could’ve pinned you to the wall. “You didn’t send me an activity.” 

Professor Wayne’s jaw ticked. “Are you cer—”

“I’m sure, yes,” you interrupted. Your smile was sickly sweet, and his gaze tore from yours. That same thoughtful double-blink surfaced as when you’d called him out about the reference page. You hadn’t thought it meant anything then, but now you wondered.

“Alright everyone, let’s pivot.” 

Thankful he wasn’t making an example out of you, you finally relaxed into your chair and let the grin slip. While he faced the board, you took advantage of your position behind his desk and checked your phone, swirling with nerves.

SYLLABUS - PDF was the only email attachment. 

Thank fucking god.

Time passed surprisingly easily with this win draped over you. How embarrassing for him to forget and call attention to it. And how fucking great did it feel not accepting the fall for his mistake. His handwriting got a bit wobblier. Victory on day one.

The high of throwing off Professor Wayne made the remaining time pass tolerably. An inch of traction had been won, and even if it was naive, you felt more secure going into the conversation. So when students began filing out and others began the quintessential line of post-lecture questions, you felt smug—not afraid. 

Who was to say you couldn’t just throw whatever accusations he was about to make back in his face again?

A few students who weren’t Bruce Wayne superfans found themselves disgruntled with the lengthy line, and moved to you to answer questions. Some regarded APA formatting, to which you gave the obligatory Purdue OWL site link, and a smattering of other questions were easily answered by gently pointing to the section in the syllabus. The student who walked with you to class was the last in your line, and looked nervously at Professor Wayne before walking up. 

“Hey, you took this class, right? You said in the fall?” He hiked his book bag up on his shoulder where it just slipped down again. His elbow had a red spot from where its weight tugged. 

You nodded, fighting a smirk. He looked precisely as you’d felt sidling up to the professor’s desk at the midterm. 

“Can you give any pointers on how to get a good grade? I didn’t expect him to be so…”

“Intense?”

He looked to the ground and mumbled, fiddling with the leather strap. “I thought the ratings might’ve been spammers or something.” 

A quick glance at Professor Wayne showed he only had two students left to talk to. You leaned forward and lowered your voice, elaborating on what you’d mentioned earlier. “Make sure your formatting is solid. And that you actually do the readings and look over the slides before coming to class, and that your questions aren’t answered in the text. He asks for a lot of reading, and the people who didn’t prioritize it regretted it.” 

He nodded like some sort of soldier, bidding a frantic “Thanks!” and promptly speeding off, his bag slapping his leg with each step. You hoped he wouldn’t get eaten alive the rest of the term. 

“Y/n?”

Something about how he said your name made your stomach curdle. The professor’s voice wasn’t its usual penetrating timbre; it was hollowed-out and tentative. A scan of the room revealed the last two students must’ve busted their asses to leave, because the room was barren. No one had even left a paper shred. 

“I understand you want to know definitively why I can’t let you be my assistant?”

You swallowed a gasp when you saw how intently he was staring. All you managed was a nod, all the air ripped from the room. You walked around to where you could better see him, situating at the edge of his desk. He rolled back in his chair, creating an additional foot of distance between you. 

“This conversation could be uncomfortable. Are you confident you don’t want a mediator?”

Professor Wayne looked strung-out—no, tightly wound, about to break. Your stomach launched into your throat. “I’m confident.” Get it over with. Rip the bandaid off.

He held your tense gaze like a promise. “Feel free to leave at any point.” 

What the fuck? You shifted your weight to your back leg, grinding your teeth together, body trying to metabolize the suspense in any way it could. What were you supposed to say to that?

“If you’re already uncomfortable,”

“Tell me.” You snapped louder than you meant to, and your ears got hot. You could barely handle a week without knowing, and another minute when he was so close was unthinkable. 

He didn’t break eye contact. Like it was an obligation he didn’t so much as blink. Shallow breaths were interrupted by longer, slower ones, like he was intentionally trying to calm himself. Your hands began to tingle. “In the effort of transparency…”

The pressure in the room changed. No idea what he was about to say, but knowing undeniably that whatever it was, the hammer was about to drop, and hard. Tears stung your lashes. For a split second you considered backing out. Telling him it was okay, that you’d accept not knowing, because your heart began to hammer painfully against your ribs. 

“As I was prepping our last meeting for 505, and through no fault of your own,” he emphasized those words like his life depended on it. “I realized I had developed an attraction to you.” 

It didn’t compute immediately, but your body caught on before anything else. Your shoulders relaxed, vision blurred, but your mind spun like he’d spoken gibberish. 

“With only a single session remaining, I considered early termination too disruptive to your education. After our final meeting, I blocked you from registering for any of my courses and sought to limit all future interactions were they to occur despite the registration block.” Professor Wayne stood then, tucking both hands into his pockets. His stare faltered, briefly, then trailed back. 

Attracted? To you? Bruce Wayne? Your professor? 

“I completely understand if this taints your experience of my courses, and I want to assure you that until the very end of Winter term, I was entirely unaware of my feelings.” 

That was why he didn’t walk you out. Holy shit. 

“I am taking extra steps to ensure this is never recreated with another student. Booking the classroom rather than the isolated setting of an office, and working with the English department to approve a second student per mentorship hour.” 

You placed your hand on the desk to steady yourself, rapidly becoming dizzy. Everything flooded you: the way he looked at you when he sat back in his office, the crinkle in his eyes, and the way he’d looked exasperated when you’d wanted him to sign the override. 

“I am very sorry. I did not want to leave you in the dark, and I apologize for any grief my distancing has caused. If you would like to file a report, you are welcome to.” 

This snapped you out of your reverie. “Why would I report you?”

He looked confused. “If you ever felt or feel uncomfortable, or if you’d like to talk to someone about it. I know this is unexpected and unsettling.”

“You said you didn’t know.” 

“I was not cognizant of the disparities in how I treated you versus other students. I rationalized casual conversation in an intimate environment. It is unacceptable, wildly inappropriate, and I am sorry.” 

If he thought this was ‘wildly inappropriate’, he’d go to an early grave looking at your daydreams. 

You peered at him just as he released a massive breath. A defiant part of you crept in: you’d tried so hard to hide your crush, done everything in your power, held back sighs as his hand gripped his pens, the edge of his desk, not fixing your stare too long at the ripple in his shirt when he moved, ensured you didn’t linger on his lips when this whole time… 

You were angry. At him for not just telling you that last day, and at yourself for thinking he was so impossibly out of reach. 

“You’re right,” you crooned. “Can you pull up the report form, please?” 

“Absolutely.” He stepped to his monitor and typed something onto the screen. “For consent purposes,”

“Consent?” You placed your hand on the edge of his desk, leaning just a tad closer. 

“Yes,” he continued, pausing only a split second. “The dean receives all reports of misconduct; if they deem the transgression severe enough, they will contact the local branch of the department of education to discuss further action.” He clicked the mouse around, eyes poring over the screen. “Those are the individuals who will have access to your report, but they are bound to confidentiality outside of the chain of command. I will not be able to read what you write.”  

“You seem familiar with this process.” 

“It’s important to know all resources to ensure student success.” He tilted the screen to you.

“Could’ve sworn I read that line in the student handbook.” So clinical, and why? Moving and speaking like a robot. Efficient, streamlined, tight. What might get him to unravel? 

“Do you want me to email you a copy?” 

“It’s quite virtuous of you to confess those feelings, Professor. Could cause trouble.”

“With how it’s affected you, you have a right to know.” Matter-of-fact. Plain. Heavily restrained. You gnawed on the inside of your cheek, a thin veil concealing your frustrations. A small tear in the membrane that would forever close if you didn’t pry it open right now.

“Before I go,” like hell you were leaving. “I’m still a little confused about the report. It’s not like we acted on our feelings.”

“Filing a report is available if you’re experiencing discomfort, irrelevant to action.” 

When you thought he’d fully skipped over the casual confession, his brow furrowed, then settled. He kept strictly to himself, and you could’ve stomped your feet like a toddler at how professional he was behaving. Clinical! Sterile! Bland! Blah! Push it. Push it! 

“It’s not like you fantasize about it, right?” God, even saying the word felt salacious in his presence. And the way you lit up when an edge finally crept into his voice… whew. Who knew frustration could make someone so brave? 

“Is there anything else you need?”

You could tell the instant it left his mouth he regretted it. He squeezed his eyes shut and his lips pressed into a thin line. Visibly showing distress? He was cracking. A perfect slot. An opening.

“It just feels unethical.”

He looked at you. 

“For a student to be punished for her professor’s feelings.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. Your stomach flipped. “I can’t have you in my class.”

“Because I’m too distracting? Can’t control yourself?” 

“Control and distraction aren’t concerns.”

“Then what’s the issue?” Back to square one. Bickering. The only way you could stop from vibrating at the realization that Professor Wayne probably wanted to fuck you. The only way to keep your heart at a halfway decent pace. 

“It’s inappropriate and unfair to you.”

“Why do you get to decide what’s fair?”

“You’re my student.”

Could he feel the heat emanating off your cheeks? “I’m your assistant.”

“I’m in a position of power.”

“Wouldn’t you be anyway, Bruce Wayne?”

You made a point to emphasize his full name, drive home the things you weren’t saying. He was smart as a whip, and would undoubtedly pick up on the subtext.

“This is different. You know that.” 

Firm. A bit… annoyed? Were you losing him? Pulling him in? You pivoted. “Can I see the form again?”

You set your phone on the desk and walked closer, leaning toward the screen to read. Falsification of Credentials, Plagiarism, Unauthorized Recording, Discrimination, Sexual Misconduct, Other. 

His mouse was weighty as it glided across the smooth grain. Click. A drop down menu appeared.

“Inappropriate remarks? Sexual advances? Unwanted touching?” You mused aloud. “None of these fit.”

Buying time or trying to drive home the point, you couldn’t tease out why you were pretending to stare soo intensely at the document. His presence behind you was warm and inviting, and you clenched your ab muscles to keep from spinning on your heel and falling into his chest. 

“Inappropriate remarks.” 

You pouted, feigning serious thought. “No, doesn’t track.”

“If you don’t want to make a report, you don’t have to. But it’s available if you do.”

“Do you want to be reported, Professor?”

Each time you said it, you swore he looked like he wanted to tell you to stop. Especially now, as you peeked at him over your shoulder. 

“I want whatever keeps my students safe and comfortable.”

“You’re really hung up on that.” Fuck the pleasantries. You pushed his setup forward, the mouse accidentally clicking Other in the process, and turned to face him. You gripped the desk behind you, lifting your ass just onto the edge. “The teacher-student thing.”

“As I should be.”

“I am, too.” 

“Please get off my desk.”

“So polite.” You pulled yourself further onto his desk until you were fully off the ground. “I imagined you’d be demanding.”

“What are you doing?” he asked, weakly.

“Want me to confess, Professor?” It felt so freeing to act without a care in the goddamn world. Your pulse rocketed, feeling the heavy wood beneath you supporting your newfound bravery. “All the fantasies I’ve had about you?”

“Don’t say that.”

“You don’t want to know?” You tapped his thigh with your shoe, and nearly screamed at how dense he was. This was the perfect height to take all of him in; the shoulders, the arms, the hair that just wouldn’t stay tucked behind his ears, and the—oh. 

“Stop calling me that.” His voice was hoarse and whisper-quiet.

“What else should I call you?”

His breath came out in a tight, audible sigh. “This isn’t appropriate.”

“Neither is crushing on a student, but here we are.”

While he’d said it first, you said it blatantly. He looked at the floor, ashamed. A jolt of care cinched your chest, seeing so plainly how affected he was. 

“I’m trying to make it right.”

Atonement for his sins, when he hadn’t made any yet. When you wanted this. Wanted him. Needed him. You called him out. “You’re trying to relieve guilt.” 

Double-blink, again. You caught another tell like a precious stone and tucked it into your pocket for safekeeping. He had nothing to feel guilty for. Fucking nothing. 

“Guilt about wanting to fuck me.”

It might be cruel, but teasing such a considerate and harrowed man was titillating. Maybe it would drive home your point. “Because how despicable is it…” you reached out to grip a fold in his shirt, pulling him closer. He didn’t resist. “For the ethics professor to stare at the short little skirt of his mentee...”

He swallowed thickly, and you noticed how dilated his pupils were. It sent a shot of lightning up your spine. Your fingers caught on a button halfway down his chest. “Y/n…”

You moved his hand under your skirt. “Thinking of laying her across his desk, hiking it up,”

“I can’t…”

Pulled his warm hand between your thighs. “How I might say your name when—”

“Please,”

“Stop?” You paused, removing your hand to hover above his. He didn’t move away, but his face twisted like he was in pain.

A critical point. You suspended the act and let your lust speak for itself. Transparency. “I’ve wanted this for months. So, so badly.” Your hand fell flat to the desk as you shifted your hips. “So if you want me, here I am.”

It took a second to compute it, but he leaned in. Inching closer, slowly, far too slowly, and it hit you like a freight train when his hand began to trail up your thigh. You bit back a sigh, desperate not to scare him off, but yearning to show how much you needed him. He’d never been this close.

The room held a weighted silence. You couldn’t feel yourself breathe as your fingers curled around the waistband of his slacks. The heat of his breath against your lips invoked a warm summer breeze. Your mouth parted, legs spreading incrementally wider as his finger gently pulled back your underwear. 

Closer.

Both hands traveled to his button, unfastening it with a held breath. A quarter past the loop. Half. The tension released between your fingers as his brows knit together with need.

Professor Wayne slammed back, spinning the chair out behind him. “I can’t. You’re my student.”

It was dizzying how fast he’d yanked away from you. Through slow, regulating blinks, you caught glimpses of his hands in his hair, his shoulders rolling back, and rebuttoning his pants. 

Was Adriana still logged in on your phone?

You reached to the other end of the desk and grabbed it, mistyping your passcode in your fluster. The page loaded swiftly and before you could overthink it, you hit DROP COURSE — SUBMIT.

You flipped it for him to read the confirmation. “Not anymore.” 

The phone’s light highlighted a war breaking out in his thoughts. His teeth pressed indents into his lower lip as he hesitated, glancing from the phone back to you. You pulled it back. Pushed it behind you. And let out a small, needy sigh. 

Throbbing desire pooled between your legs as he took a step forward. Yes. His eyes lowered to your jaw, your chest, then your legs. His breathing sped up. Yes. You rested back on your elbows, looking up with doe eyes. 

Professor Wayne turned away, and you nearly tried to grab him, but he was already out of reach. You didn’t have to watch to see that he was leaving.

Fuck.

You slid off the desk and your shoulders caved in, fighting rejection’s bitter current from pulling you under. Crying could come when you were home in bed; when you could have the real Adriana make you some food, throw some random movie on her phone, and help you forget about this embarrassing attempt at throwing yourself at him.

The whiteboard was cool on your arm as you leaned against it. Your wrist smudged the line he’d drawn. Waves of disappointment were getting increasingly difficult to manage. 

Click.

Through bleary eyes you saw him switch the lock on the door. Panels of LEDs drew dimmer. 

He looked behind and made direct eye contact, his stormy and deep. He walked long, quick strides. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,”

Before another thought could form, Professor Wayne had your arms pinned above your head. You’d only realized he’d started kissing you when the taste of coffee hit your tongue. Holy fucking shit. 

He was so unbelievably dense and all you wanted to do was feel it. You wanted to grab him, wrap yourself around his waist, but you were pinned to the whiteboard with his hands, hips, and kisses. He groaned into your mouth, and you broke a hand free to grasp at his jaw. 

You had to make sure this was real; you pressed firmer against him, almost gnashing teeth. He released his grip on your wrist to follow your lead, cupping your face with both hands. The warmth of his fingers made you gasp. 

“Please,” you whined, terrified he’d end this before you got what you desperately wanted. 

“Please what?” Gone was his hesitance, his questions and rumination. The slight huskiness made your knees weak.

Words failed you as wet kisses found the nape of your neck. You slammed his hand from your cheek and put it up your skirt. His fingers made quick work of shifting your panties out of the way, straightening your spine like a rod as his fingers dragged up, then down.

His fingers teased your entrance, and your eyes snapped open when he didn’t push in. You grabbed fistfuls of his hair while he kissed his way to your ear, the slight skip of stubble across your hot skin giving you goosebumps. 

Up, down… he slipped the tip of his finger inside. You bit your cheek at the tease. “Is this what you want?”

You nodded, gripping his shoulder to pull him in. 

“Use your words.”

Your heart raced to a fever pitch. It took you a minute to find them, still thrown this was even happening. “I need you.”

“I know, Y/n.” Your breathing hitched like you’d never heard your own name. His breath was hot against your ear. “Where do you need me?”

“Inside,” you gasped, and your nails dug into his shoulder as he stretched you out. “Fuck!”

He swallowed your moans with another kiss. His cologne wrapped you in a tourniquet, making your breathing ragged and vision shake with every plunge of his fingers. As if you weren’t already melting, his teeth snagged your bottom lip, the sting making you tense, amplifying the sensations. 

“This skirt…”

“Mmm,” 

His fingers curled inside you and you lurched forward, letting out a noise so pathetic you would’ve been embarrassed if you had a single brain cell that wasn’t being fucked silly. 

“Your moans,” he made a pleading sound. “You’re so ready for me.”

“I am,” you managed, tension slowly building in your core. Puffy, and slick, and needy, so fucking needy, his fingers felt divine, oh, my god… fuck, god…

“I need to feel you.” 

He hooked your legs around his waist and held you mid-air like it was nothing; like he didn’t spend his days lecturing and grading papers behind a desk, like he did this all the time.

Desk. He set you down carefully, but that was the last of his restraint. Sweeping arms knocked the carefully-set papers and pens across the floor with a crash. He caught the back of your head in his hand before it hit the monitor, and pulled you in for a rough kiss. 

“Oh my god, please, please.” Desire pulsed throughout your body, lit up like a live wire, watching him undo his zipper. You surged forward and practically tore off his dress shirt, ripping at the buttons with a singular focus. Each inch of skin exposed ratcheted it up a notch until you swore you weren’t breathing. 

He pulled his slacks down to his calves, then his boxers, and you paused before the last button to gawk. Better than you imagined…

A sharp inhale accompanied him pulling the shirt over his head, and you saw stars at his mussed hair. “Professor…”

“Lay back for me, baby.” 

You followed the orders of his hand splayed out atop your stomach, guiding you back with a gentle press. The nickname rang in your ears. 

Professor Wayne’s hand slid from your stomach past your skirt, dipping between your thighs once more. His wrist nudged your legs apart, and you watched his eyes drop to your pussy.

“Perfect.” His thumb skimmed your clit, making you jump. His brow furrowed, and he stalled, the weight of his fingers pressing against you, hesitant to let himself give in. 

“It’s okay. I want this, I want you, please, please, please,” you didn’t care about begging; not when he looked like this. Not when he was hard as a rock, his toned skin glistening, his hair hanging just barely over his eyes. “I’m on the pill. Just fuck me.”

His sigh was deep and resigned, like he’d finally accepted this. His breathing sped up. “You want me to fuck you?”

“Yes!”

He slapped his dick against your clit, and your hands clenched to reign yourself in. His head teased your pussy, pushing in just enough to make your head fall back, but never further. 

“Right here?”

A little deeper.

“On my desk?”

Not enough. All of it. All of him.

You wrapped your legs around him and pulled him in hard, making him groan and his hands fall to either side of you. His lashes fluttered as you moved your hips up and down, covering your mouth to muffle the high-pitched moans at feeling him fill you so fully. 

“Fuck, so fucking wet,” he gasped, effortlessly matching your tempo. His strokes were rhythmic, and he stared in awe at you sliding up and down his shaft with total ease. 

“All for you,” it was getting harder and harder to speak. His biceps, triceps, deltoids, shit, he was thick, tight, strong.

“All for your professor?”

“All for my fucking professor, fuck, faster,” 

“Christ,”

“Harder, harder, mhm—” 

Your back arched as his hips started snapping into you. You’d worship this desk when you finished—the height, the angle, the dull, quivering pleasure of him hitting that soft, perfect spot… You lost yourself in his thrusts. 

He moved his hand to your clit and sped up, cursing under his breath. Indents of the side of the desk dug into your palms as you strangled it. Holy shit, shit, shit…! You writhed, clawing at his chest, brain going offline.

“Good job. There you go…” 

Your body throbbed, abdomen clenching, head spinning. He grinned, and you descended from the clouds. 

He slowed down, and you must’ve shown the disappointment on your face because he picked up the pace. “You want more?”

“I want you to cum in me.”

His eyes flashed with surprise, and fuck, you could’ve orgasmed again. His cheeks bloomed red from blushing, and he slowed to a stop. “Are you sure?”

You were still coming down from the high, but you never thought he’d even kiss you, let alone this. When you said it, you expected him to turn it down immediately; so now it was on the table, you were certain you’d never wanted anything more. After half a year spent under the covers dreaming of him alone, your reward would be this.

Breathy streams of yes, of I mean it, of tugging at his shoulders, of his hands roaming under your shirt. He unclipped your bra, and your nipples pebbled between his deft fingers. The wet noises of his cock driving in and out of you mingled with the echoes of his moans filling the lecture hall. Cries of how good you felt, how close he was, and you memorized every syllable like you’d die otherwise.

Professor Wayne had snags and scars across his torso, but you couldn’t get a good look as he shook your body with the force of his delicious strokes, fuck. Your body never wanted to release him, but you could tell he was closer than he let on; the want etched between his brows, the slight stutter in his hips, how ragged his breathing had become. 

His blue eyes zeroed in on yours, intensely focused. You knew the words before they fell out of his beautiful, slacked mouth. “I’m gonna cum,” 

The monitor’s glow illuminated his face as he started to peak; his eyes fluttered shut, his staggered thrusts making you whimper. Before you could tell him to fill you up, coax him through it, a pitchy groan fell from his lips. He slammed his hand on the desk for balance as he folded forward, nearly collapsing his heaving body on top of you. 

Warm, quick breaths painted your cheeks as you felt his cock twitch inside of you, strong and steady, the polar opposite of the picture in front of you. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and where you touched his body left temporary prints of lightness. 

You locked eyes then. Seconds slowed to minutes as you soaked up the moment, blissfully sated, patiently scanning his face for any sign of regret. 

Sharp jingles of keys startled you from the other side of the door, catching Professor Wayne’s attention. No. Oh no. You tried to scramble up, preparing for him to be mad at the close call. Hopefully it’d be a close call, and not—

“It’s alright.” He looked away from the door and pressed a tender, reverent kiss to your lips. “Janitor unlocks all the doors in this hallway at the same time. Opens mine last for cleaning.”

“Oh,” was all you could muster. He slowly pulled out, your pussy aching at the loss. You already wanted him again. 

Still catching his breath, he opened a drawer and got some tissues. “Let me clean you up.”

His aftercare was so sweet it felt like foreplay. Gentle swipes on your inner thigh, attentive eyes roaming for misses. Now that he was more or less static, you got a better look at his torso; it kept you from looking at the arc of his hands moving along your legs and his ‘just fucked’ face. The marks looked menacing and violent. A bruise was in the final stages of healing just above his navel. 

“Where are those from?”

He disposed of a tissue wrapped inside another, then pulled up his slacks. He answered as he pulled up their zipper. “Motorcycle accident.” 

You sat up, straightening your shirt to look put together, and smoothed the skirt down your thighs. He shrugged on his shirt, making quick work of the buttons. You knew what his fingers felt like. What he felt like. What he sounded like. Your face heated. Adriana might give you an earful when you got back, but you’d have this memory no matter what. No matter if this was the last time. No matter if it happened over and over again. 

Keys jingled closer. You didn’t trust it.

Without anything left on the desk besides, you pointed at a random part of his computer screen, pretending to have a question like it wasn’t the report form. He stood beside you with his hands on his hips, feigning interest.

“Sorry Bruce. Lock stuck.”

A short man with sandy blonde hair accidentally pushed the door open, the end of his mop poking into the classroom. Could he tell you’d just fucked? Could he hear any of it?

“No worries, Henry.” 

Henry went to leave, and you released the breath you were holding. 

“Actually, I’ll start here if you don’t mind. Marshall didn’t have class today.”

Professor Wayne glanced at you. It felt like checking in, asking permission, and you nodded. His voice was more than back to its usual refinement. “Sure.”

You gathered your folio, its innocence intoxicating. In no universe had you thought the plan would work. Now the evidence of him was sticky on your skin and panties.

Henry began by emptying the trash at the front door, forcing you coy. 

“Thanks for the help, Professor Wayne.”

“My pleasure.”

His eyes sparkled, and you commended yourself for stringing together words in their wake. “Are you available to meet later in the term?”

He bit the inside of his cheek, and took a full breath. “Just let me know when you need my help.”

You smiled at the ground and walked out the far door, bidding him goodnight. Henry said something to him about a vacuum, and you pressed out into the hallway, cutting to a back exit. 

Fresh evening air cooled your lungs and the rain soothed your scorching skin. Professor Wayne. You traced your sore lips with the tip of your finger, and laughed as you waited at the crosswalk. 

The taste of coffee held you all the way home.

taglist: @noisylime @serynstorylover @crayzmarvelfan800 @dreamer7black @sad-ghouls @smellingbats @eddiew-k @kha0sblossom @omithemonki @badbishsblog

[austinbutlerslovers]

Pleasure Palais

Label Mature 18+

Summary Austin’s eye catching ensemble is so distracting it brings you to your knees.

❤️‍🔥Passionate Smut ❤️‍🔥 Austin in work mode• teasing • flirty •romantic• eye catching imprint• bj in the green room • semi public • size kink •cum eating/swallowing• orgasm denial • kiss it better •oral on fem against a wall • p in v against a wall• orgasms •cream pie • after care

🔗 Masterlist

✨Inspo multiple DMs/comment/request/reblog *minor delay Caught Stealing trailer dropped 😱

Pleasure Palais

The Cannes Film Festival is a two day whirlwind of glamour and chaos, and you’re right in the middle of it.

You’ve been by Austin’s side through the frenzy of his Eddington’s premiere, watching him navigate the spotlight with that effortless charm that makes your heart race. 

Now the following day in true Cannes fashion, it’s the daytime photo call and panel discussion.

In the hotel room, you slip into a chic outfit: a low-cut white halter top, tucked into a high-waisted tan skirt, cinched with a slim leather belt. You complete the look with a delicate charm bracelet, and a dainty gold chain, and your black Yves Saint Laurent sunglasses.

It’s Cannes so you want to look polished but not overdone, blending into the sophistication with ease.

Austin is styled wearing a black dress shirt, sleeves rolled up unbuttoned, and expensive beige slacks—loose-fitting, yet tailored so perfectly they hug his waist accentuating every line of his body. 

He turns toward the mirror, checking his side profile—and that’s when you see it.

The fabric clings to the outline of his cock, so prominent it’s practically obscene, heavy and hanging, shifting with every slight movement.

His eyes find yours in the mirror, and he smiles at you affectionately and you smile back a little dazed just as his publicist steps in to speak with him.

No one else seems to notice, but you can’t stop staring now, and you’re consumed with the thought of whether his styling might be just a bit too exposed as you all head out the door.

The elevator ride to the basement is quiet as his bodyguard and publicist stand on either side. Austin slowly pulls you to him by your waist, his nerves rising, and touching you always helps him refocus. He grins down at you, his blue eyes calming your own anxiety in the middle of the frenzy, and his familiar cologne is divine—warm, clean, unmistakably him.

“You look so good,” he compliments, his eyes dipping to your chest before meeting yours with a heat flickering in them. His finger playfully traces the hem of your top, tugging lightly. “I like this on you,” he says, his voice low and suggestive

“Austin,” you giggle softly, seeing the desire in his eyes making a flutter rise in your chest. ‘Be good,’ you mouth, and he just slyly grins as the elevator doors slide open.

You step out into the hotel’s long service tunnel, the blue floor stretching ahead to the far end where a sleek black SUV is waiting to take you to the photo call at the marina.

The tunnel is lined with fans and photographers and Austin graciously pauses to take photos, and sign a few autographs. 

His strides are confident, bold and those slacks—God, they’re lethal. You walk beside him, trying to keep up as your eyes keep lowering to his crotch. 

Austin’s cock subtly swings with every step, the fabric outlining his movement, and at the end of the tunnel he glances down, a faint blush creeping up his neck as he notices.

He slips his hand into his pocket to adjust himself trying to shift the fabric modestly, but it only draws your attention more, the motion making the outline even clearer, and you bite your lip.

He’s fully showing now, and worse, you want to help him with it…help him in ways that are anything but modest.

He catches you staring and smirks, that knowing glint flashing in his blue eyes.

“Something distracting you, baby?” he teases, his voice low and warm as he slips on his Article One x Mission Workshop sunglasses, the amber-tinted frames catching the bright sun light exiting the tunnel.

“Austin… your pants,” you blush. “There’s…a lot showing.” You admit, breathier than intended the sight consuming your thoughts.

He leans in closer his lips brushing your ear as you reach the SUV. “Yeah? We’ll have to deal with it later then,” he grins, and the way his hand subtly grabs your ass as he helps you climb in tells you he’s thinking the exact same filthy thoughts you are.

At the photo call, the energy is full of excitement, the sunlight glints off the ocean in the distance, the marina is alive with voices, cameras, and the soft sea breeze. 

You wait just beyond the ropes watching with excitement as Austin greets his costars. He walks right up to hug Pedro Pascal who’s in a black sleeveless tee, all easy grins and toned arms, pulling Austin into a friendly hug. 

Emma Stone is radiant in a black dress with white accents, standing next to Joaquin Phoenix, who’s brooding in a white tee. Boyd Holbrook and Scoot McNairy, the other Eddington stars, round out the group, all six of them a vision of star power. 

As they pose Austin’s slacks still draw your eye, the fabric shifting as he moves, and you’re practically brimming with want, standing off to the side, trying not to look like you’re losing your mind.

You’re supposed to be the supportive girlfriend, cheering him on, but every time he adjusts his stance, you imagine the weight of him, the veins, the taste. 

When the photo call ends, you follow Austin and his costars into the Palais des Festivals et des Congrès for the panel discussion, your body slightly hotter than usual due to Austin’s undeniable allure and the Mediterranean sun.

In his private green room, the air conditioning is a welcome relief as you wait for the panel to start. A makeup artist dusts Austin’s face and fixes his hair, while his publicist briefs him that he has fifteen minutes until he’s called onstage. 

A TV on the wall plays Cannes Film Festival promos, and a table holds an assortment of his favorite snacks, almonds, strawberries, and dark chocolate. 

When the team slips out, Austin grabs a bottle of chilled water and unbuttons his collar from the Cannes heat, his slacks still doing unspeakable things to your sanity.

You can’t take it anymore and with the door right there, you stride over locking it with a decisive click.

Austin grins, setting his water down. “Right here?” he asks, the smirk on his lips showing he knows exactly what your thinking.

You cross the room, heart pounding as you stop in front of him. “Yes, right here,” you say, your voice hushed with need. “Those fucking pants are showing everything, Austin.”

His blue eyes darken as he adjusts his stance, making the outline of his cock even more pronounced. “That bad, huh?” he drawls his voice low and teasing. 

You’re already tying your hair up and he groans softly, the sound sending a jolt through you. 

“Fuck, you’re gonna do it,” he says, and you step closer kissing  his neck, your hand rubbing his crotch, feeling him harden beneath your touch as he pleasurably sighs.

His height and presence are overwhelming as you feel him start to harden against your palm. “Get on your knees for me,” he commands, his voice low and laced with affection as his thumb brushes your cheek.

You lower instantly, knees hitting the carpet, mouth watering as he unbuttons his slacks and when he pulls himself free, you nearly whimper. 

His cock is everything you’ve been obsessing over long, thick, heavy, veins pulsing under smooth skin, the head flushed a deep pink. 

You reach up, carefully wrapping your hand around the base, and you’re mesmerized by the weight, the length, the sheer size of him.

“Baby we gotta be quick.” he says, his voice hushed and desperate.

“Okay,” You whisper and lean in, your lips parting, as you take him into your mouth. He’s warm and heavy, the slightly salty taste of him intoxicating. 

You start slow, tongue tracing a thick vein along the underside, feeling it pulse as he groans, low and guttural, the sound making you throb, your panties already soaking through. 

As you begin to suck him off you’re so turned on it’s almost painful, and your hand drifts between your thighs, slipping into your panties, fingering yourself as your hips rock slightly, chasing relief.

“Baby…focus,” he breathes, noticing you distracted and you whine around him but you obey, pulling your hand away to double your efforts on him.

You suck harder, hollowing your cheeks, taking him deeper until he hits the back of your throat. You gag, eyes watering as you gaze up at him, but you don’t pull back, you want to feel every inch, every vein. 

Your throat tightens, but you push through, moaning as your tongue memorizes the shape of him, the way he fills your mouth so completely.

“Baby, fuck,” he gasps, his large hand sliding along your throat, his fingers stroking gently as he guides you. “Take it deeper… you can do it…—fuck… fuck that’s it—that’s my girl.” He praises, his voice filled with satisfaction, and you enjoy it, whimpering as you struggle to fit more.

His thumb brushes your cheek as he starts meeting your mouth with shallow thrusts. “You’re doing …so fucking good.” He says on each one. 

You’re lost in him, in the weight, the taste, the feel of every vein against your tongue. You can barely fit him, but you try, gagging again, your moans vibrating around him. 

He groans, hips twitching, and you feel him throb harder, the pulse intoxicating.

“You’re ..gonna make me come…if you keep keep that up,” he says, his voice tight, and you nod as best you can, desperate to please him. 

You’re so turned on it’s unbearable, your core clenching with every sound he makes, every time his cock throbs aching to have him inside you.

“Gonna come,” he warns, his grip tightening in your hair. “You want it?…Want me to fill that pretty mouth?”

You moan, nodding, and he groans your name, hand cupping your face  as he comes. It’s overwhelming, hot and thick, spilling down your throat and you swallow every drop as he watches, his blue eyes dark with awe and desire.

You pull back, gasping, lips swollen, throat raw, but you feel triumphant as you watch him trying to catch his breath. 

He tucks himself back into his slacks, then immediately pulls you to your feet. He kisses you deeply, tasting himself on your tongue. 

“You’re so fucking incredible,” he whispers, against your lips as his hands roaming your body. “You’re gonna have to wait ‘til after for your turn.” he breathes.

You grin against his lips, still throbbing, but you nod, “I can wait,” you whisper knowing he’ll make it more than worth your while. 

He reluctantly lets you pull away and you head to the mirror, fixing your hair and wiping your lips to reapply your lip gloss. His eyes are on you the entire time wandering with intent until there’s a knock at the door and he smirks, unlocking it. “Let’s get through this panel baby,” he says, his  voice low. “I can’t wait take care of you.”

You’re seated in the theater of the Palais des Festivals et des Congrès with a few other guests of the Eddington stars, waiting as the crowd fills in. 

The air is filled with anticipation, and when Austin and his costars, Pedro Pascal, Emma Stone, Joaquin Phoenix, Boyd Holbrook, and Scoot McNairy, enter to applause, your heart skips. 

They take their seats on the stage, and Austin looks effortlessly magnetic in his black dress shirt, one button undone, those tailored slacks still accentuating every line of his body. 

His cheeks are tinged pink, his expressions carefree, a relaxed lightness in his demeanor that makes you smile.

During the panel, Austin is lighthearted, answering questions with charm. When asked about his character Vernon versus his costars, he leans into the mic, grinning. “Ari told me to make Vernon the embodiment of the internet, and I just ran with it” he says, earning laughs. 

“But honestly, with this cast? They have all been a joy to work with.” He admits, his genuine happiness shining through with a swell of pride.

The panel stretches on, and Austin is half-engaged, joking with Pedro and Emma, until an audience member accidentally spoils the ending of The Last of Us, startling Pedro. 

Austin’s face lights up in amused shock, eyes wide as the crowd playfully boos the spoiler. He laughs, shaking his head, then makes eyes at you in the audience, a playful glint in his gaze. 

When an Elvis question comes up, he answers playfully before turning the mic away, and you can tell he’s clearly distracted now. His eyes keep finding you, and you can tell his thoughts are consumed now by you entirely.

When the panel ends to applause, the cast exits, and you make your way to the green room.

Austin finds you there with his security, and he takes your hand in his, fingers intertwining as he gives a nod to his team and you leave the Palais des Festivals et des Congrès together. 

The ride back to the hotel is intimate, his hand resting on your thigh, his thumb brushing slow, affectionate circles. You lean your head on his shoulder, and he gently tilts your face closer, his fingers cradling your jaw as he presses a soft kiss to your temple. 

“Having you here with me has been amazing  baby,” he says, his voice low and tender, “I love you being by my side.” He admits his lips lingering as you feel the sincerity in his words. 

“Im glad you brought me,“ You smile, placing your hand on his feeling your heart swell as he nestles closer.

When you enter your hotel room and the door clicks shut, you kick off your sandals intending to head to the shower, but Austin playfully pulls you back to him by your wrist.

“Austin—” you smile, and his eyes darken as he lures you closer.

“Where do you think you’re going,” he says his voice smooth as he backs you against the bedroom wall with a gentle but firm press of his body.

“Been thinking about what I want to do to you all panel,” he confesses, his voice low and dangerous and his lips brush yours as he kisses you deeply, his mouth trailing down your jaw, your neck, sucking softly as you sigh. “You have no idea how badly I want you right now do you?” he whispers.

You gasp, hands clutching his shirt as his fingers slips between your legs, rubbing over your panties, feeling the heat there. “You’re still wet for me, aren’t you,” he asks, pulling your high-waisted skirt up, bunching it at your hips.

“Yes,” you breathe, your voice trembling with need, and he kneels down, kissing up your thighs, his breath warm against your skin. “I still owe you from earlier,” he says, looking up at you, his eyes full of adoration as his lips brush higher, and you shudder, already aching for him. 

His fingers tease the edge of your panties, before thoroughly pressing against your clit and your back arches off the wall, a soft moan escaping you.

He’s intentional and careful as he pulls your panties down, admiring the soaked fabric with a low groan. 

“You’re so patient waiting for me like this,” he says, his voice filled with admiration as he places a kiss on each of your thighs, keeping your skirt bunched at the waist. “Tell me how good it feels when I please you baby,” he says, looking up into your eyes.

You nod, breathless, gazing down at him and he brings his mouth to your center. His tongue slides out, slowly teasing you as his mouth latches gently. He swirls his tongue with deliberate care, and you try to grip the wall, your hips trembling, fighting not to press against his face. He hums softly, the vibration sending a shiver through you and his lips brush your clit with gentle, featherlight kisses, until you whimper, craving more, but he pulls back.

You exhale loudly your body aching with need as his long, slender fingers slowly push inside of you, reaching a depth that makes you tighten around them as you gasp. He glides them in and out so slowly that the torturous pleasure makes you squirm, and he watches you, his blue eyes filled with want.

Those sinful slacks still cling to him, and you can already see just how hard he is, the outline of his cock making your core throb at the sight. 

He brings a hand down to stroke himself as he fingers you. “Why so quiet, baby?” he teases, his voice low and playful, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Not feeling good enough for me to hear you yet?”

“F-feels so good,” you whimper, and he smirks, pumping his fingers faster, steadily building up your pleasure. “Not yet, baby,” he says softly.

He lifts your top with his other hand, passionately kissing along your stomach as his fingers find the spot inside that makes you clench hard, a sharp breath escaping as you clutch his sandy brown hair. 

“Right there, huh?” he says, his voice low and encouraging. You nod desperately, and he lowers his face between your legs again, his mouth working your clit with slow, deliberate flicks of his tongue as his fingers thrust deeper, hitting that spot.

You whimper and moan, gripping his hair to stay sane as your clit throbs and your walls pulse around his fingers. He goes faster, his tongue pressing harder against your clit, and you moan louder, holding his head against you, loving in the way he’s devouring you. 

He pulls back slightly, bringing his thumb to your clit, rubbing tight circles just so he can watch you as your body tenses. Then just as you begin to orgasm his mouth returns, sucking your clit with fervent intensity, sending waves of pleasure crashing through so intense your mind blanks from the sensation.  

Your moans are shaky breathless sobs as you come down, until slowly he pulls back slipping his fingers out of you. 

He stands up and you watch in awe as he unbuttons his dress shirt exposing his toned torso, then he undoes his slacks, his cock sliding free, long and hard, throbbing in his hand. 

He holds it, before teasing you, slipping the tip between your thighs and brushing it against your entrance making your core throb at the sensation. “Your aching for it aren’t you?” he asks, his voice husky, eyes locked on yours.

“Yes, Austin,” you breathe, your voice shaky with pleasure, and he pulls your top off, smiling as his hands go to your waist, unlooping your skirt’s belt and pulling it down, letting you step out of the fabric.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he praises, his hands gripping your hips as he presses himself closer. 

He lifts one of your legs, hooking it around his waist, as he presses his chest to yours, pinning you against the wall. “I know how much you want it, baby, you waited so patiently for me through that panel,” he says, and he pushes in slowly, just the head, letting you adjust to his size and your wetness pulls him in as he groans,staring into your eyes.

“Fuck, you feel how you take me,” he breathes as he slides in deeper, inch by inch, until he’s fully inside, and the stretch makes you gasp as he starts to thrust, slow and passionate, holding you against the wall.

Your fingers dig into his shoulders as he moves, each thrust hitting that perfect spot inside you. “You wanted me like this all day…since the tunnel haven’t you,” he breathes, his voice filled with lust as he kisses you deeply.

 “Yes“ you gasp, against his mouth, the relief overwhelming after waiting so long as you begin to moan in pleasure. He picks up the pace, his hips clapping between yours as his rhythm fills the room. 

“Love how patient you are for me” he breathes, kissing down your neck, “I’ll make it worth your while,” he says back against your lips, and he swallows your desperate sounds as they escape.

His thrusts grow harder, deeper, and you cling to him, your body trembling as another orgasm builds.

“I want you to come for me,” he says, his hand slipping down to rub your clit as his strong, solid frame thrusts you against the wall, your pussy throbbing as he grips your thigh, pounding into you so fast it jolts you. 

“Austin yes…” you gasp“ please don’t stop”

His fingers stoke your clit faster as he hits the spot again and again, and your moans start to rise as the pleasure takes over.

“Let go for me, baby,” he whispers, his eyes adoring you, his words, his touch, and the way he fills you is too much, and you cry out, your walls clenching around him as you come. 

He groans, feeling you flutter against his cock, and pushes even deeper, his thrusts slowing as he spills inside you, his forehead resting against yours.

“Love you so much,” he whispers, kissing you softly, and he holds you close as you both come down together, your breaths slowing as his hand affectionately traces along your side.

He pulls out carefully, helping you steady yourself as he lowers your leg, and you look up at him in a blissful daze.

 “That makes us …more than even,” you grin, your voice breathless and dreamy.

He grins in return as his eyes light up with warmth, “Let’s shower together then,” he says, and you smile as he leads you toward the bathroom, his arm securely around your waist.

He turns on the water, the sound of it cascading against the glass filling the space, and when the steam begins to rise, he steps in first, offering a hand to help you inside. 

The warm water washes over you both, soothing your skin, and he pulls you close, your bodies pressed together under the shower. 

“Feel good?” he asks, his voice low and tender, his hands sliding up your back, slick with water.

“Everything with you feels good” you admit and he grins leaning in to kiss you. His hands roam, one cradling your neck, the other tracing your spine, fingers grazing the small of your back. 

“I’m so glad you’re here with me,” he confesses  his blue eyes filled with admiration as he lowers his head kissing the side of your neck.

“Cannes has been so fun with you,” he adds, his voice sincere, lips grazing your skin as his strong arms wrap around you.

You tilt your head to look up into his eyes. “Cannes was fun… but I miss home,” you say softly, and he smiles, kissing your forehead, his hand lingering on your cheek.

“Me too, baby,” he says, his voice warm and reassuring. “This is our last night here, then we’re heading to LA tomorrow. Just you and me, in our own space.” He confirms and his eyes hold a promise of comfort that makes you lean into his touch, the thought of returning home with him after Cannes sounding like the most relaxing thing in the world. 

END 🍆

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[puffins-muffins]

Disruption

Pairing: Raymond Smith x F!Reader

Word Count: about 4k

Summary: Ray’s been buried in work for hours, but you’ve been craving his attention and you know exactly how to get it.

Warnings: SMUT! 18+ only please, minors DNI!! (unprotected - be responsible!) P in V sex, cursing, established relationship, thigh riding, very soft Dom!Ray, orgasm control, light degradation (dirty talk)

A/N: Y'all, this man has the patience of a saint - but he's finally making his debut!! 🙌🏻 Just a really quick shoutout to the best bestie ever, Laur (@laurfilijames)! Because we wouldn't even have this if it wasn't for her! ANNNND the title idea/brainstorm sesh!! My beautiful, brilliant minded friend - thank you for getting me through this one. 👯‍♀️ I love you endlessly!!! ✨All feedback (reblogs, comments, likes) is much appreciated and encouraged!! ✨ Enjoy babes! 🩷

Ray’s been at the dining room table for hours. Papers spread out; laptop open - some godforsaken ledger pulled up with a scowl carved into his face. Perfectly content to ignore the way you’ve been pacing around the house like a restless cat in heat.

You tried reading, scrolling, even taking a long bath to distract yourself. But he hasn’t looked up once - not when you padded past him with wet hair and freshly lotioned skin. Not when you slipped into one of his oversized cardigans - soft, worn-in wool that smelled like him, and nothing else but a pair of lace panties.

None of it worked.

Each time you walk past, he’s there - so focused, so calm, so fucking hot about it. And you’re bored, dripping into your panties because he hasn’t touched you all day.

Now you hover at the edge of the room, arms crossed beneath your chest, one hip cocked out, watching him. The deep blue walls and low pendant lights bathe him in warm amber, highlighting the sharp lines of his face and the steady, graceful rhythm of his pen against paper.

The soft grey pullover sweater he’s wearing clings to his back, the fabric stretching over lean, hard muscle. When he reaches forward or shifts in his chair, you watch the defined lines move beneath the material - all quiet dominance and control.

He has the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, exposing lean forearms threaded with veins and the solid weight of his favorite watch. His glasses sit perched low on his nose, his brow slightly furrowed as he makes notes on whatever spreadsheet he’s buried in now.

You sigh, loudly. Theatrically. But Ray doesn’t even glance up.

However, you do notice the faintest hesitation in his pen. He doesn’t react outwardly, but the subtlest shift sets across his toned shoulders, telling you he’s not as focused on his work as he’s pretending to be.

You can’t help the way your lips purse, just a little, at the realization. A quiet spark of satisfaction curls at the corners of your mouth.

Smirking, you saunter towards him, each barefoot step slow - letting the cardigan swing open just enough to tease. You stop behind his chair, stealing another moment to admire the shape of his back. There’s something so goddamn beautiful about the way he works - you could watch him like this for hours, casually running empires from the dining room.

His rich scent hits you as you approach - a hint of cedar from his cologne, clean detergent, and the lingering warmth of musk that always clings to him. It sinks into your lungs, leaving your head spinning in the best kind of way.

You shift in beside him, close enough to be felt, your voice soft and spoiled, almost petulant as you speak. “You’ve been working forever.”

He hums, his pen still moving. “Because someone has to make sure the money’s clean, darling.”

His pinky ring catches the light as he writes, glinting with every movement - precise and practiced, like everything he does.

Reaching out, you trail your finger slowly across his back, gliding from one broad shoulder to the other. The soft knit of his sweater shifts beneath your touch, and you feel the tension ripple beneath it.

“Are you insinuating that I’m dirty, Raymond?” you tease, your voice dipping low as you lean down, lips brushing his ear. Your teeth graze the shell of it, just a nip, soft and delicate - before pulling back with a wicked little smile.

Ray pauses at that, setting the pen down with a soft click, and lifts his head. He looks at you over the rim of his glasses, eyes dragging slowly over your body - your bare legs, the cardigan slipping low, the peek of lace beneath. He blinks once - then again, fast. A tic you’ve come to recognize. It’s how he reins himself in when he’s trying to stay composed.

Something he’s struggled with more since you came into his life, but not in a way he minds.

He turns slowly in his chair, finally facing you - gaze pinned, taking his time, indulging in your sight like it’s his reward.

His hand drags thoughtfully across his beard, like he’s weighing something - his fingers disappearing for a moment in the thick, meticulously kept scruff. Then he tips his chin and gestures toward his lap with a nod. “Come here,” he commands.

You bite your lip, eyes wide and a little too innocent, even as you let the cardigan slip a touch lower off your shoulder - just enough to offer a better view of your breast. Your tone is soft and sweet on the surface, but it’s laced with mischief. “Thought you were working.”

“I am.” His voice drops, low and sharper now. “Don’t make me ask again.”

A soft, excited meep slips past your lips - something small and involuntary, because you love it when he gets like this. You obey instantly, straddling his lap without hesitation, settling yourself over one thick, tailored thigh.

Ray raises an eyebrow when he realizes where you’re sitting. “What exactly are you doing?” he asks, voice edged with intrigue - his eyebrow still lifted, the corner of his mouth twitching like he's this close to smiling.

You rock your hips once, just to test him, and the pressure is perfect. Denim against lace. His firm muscle pressed right where you need it.

Your arms curl around his neck, fingertips brushing the nape of it, leaning in close. “Getting creative,” you purr, dragging your lips over his jaw. “Since you’re too busy to fuck me.”

Ray doesn’t move, but his hands come up, gripping your hips. And then his thigh flexes beneath you, just once - enough to make you feel it. He watches you like something primal and a little bit entertained, a faint sound catching in his throat.

“Go on, then,” he orders, his tone is dry with a tinge of amusement as he indulges you. “You’re already making a mess of my evening. Might as well make a mess of my fucking trousers while you’re at it.”

Glancing up at him through your lashes, your mouth curves into a smile that’s playful, sheepish, and just a little smug. Ray hates mess. Hates anything unclean or out of order. But you? He wants the mess when it’s yours.

You start to move slowly at first. Hips rolling in lazy motions, grinding yourself down on the solid muscle of his thigh. The friction is divine, and every drag of lace against denim makes you press down harder.

He’s focused, tracking each twitch of your lip, every flutter of your lashes, all the tiny reactions in the way you rock against him. You let out a breathy moan, soft and helpless, grinding down exactly right - and his composure falters. His jaw tics, his long fingers flex against your hips, like the sound and feel of you is almost too much for him.

Your eyes lock - his are dark and calm, yours wide and hungry. He doesn’t blink or move, just holds you there on his leg with his firm grip and consuming stare. Your pulse hammers in your throat - you shouldn’t like being watched this much, but you do. There’s something raw and electric about the way he looks at you.

Your pace picks up as your orgasm builds, pressure curling deep in your belly. The cardigan slips off one shoulder with the increased movement, your body flushed and glistening with heat underneath it. Ray tilts his head slightly and adjusts his glasses like he’s refocusing.

Both hands move up your body, one arm wraps around your waist, keeping you balanced. The other slips beneath the wool draped around your unexposed shoulder, guiding it down your arm.

Your chest is bare to him now, your nipples stiff from the air and your own need. He studies you with quiet obsession - his hand slides up to cup one breast fully, his thumb brushing over the swollen peak while he watches your breath hitch at the contact. He squeezes, enough to make your body jolt, then repeats the motion on the other side. The sound he pulls from you is almost pathetic - high and fragile enough to make him smirk.

“You know how good you look like this?” he praises, slate-blue eyes locked on your chest as his thumb teases you again. “These perfect tits out. Cunt soaked for me.”

His cardigan pools around your elbows as your pace stutters, hips grinding faster and harder as you chase the pressure. Every movement of your clit sweeping over his thigh sends pleasure rolling through you.

Desperate, broken noises spill from your lips, gasping as your grip tightens on his shoulders, nails biting into the soft material of his sweater - completely losing yourself on the muscle he’s tensed just for you.

“Can’t help but act up when you want my cock, can you?” he growls low, his thigh flexing hard beneath you again.

You whimper, your head shaking from side to side with hopeless want. He can see how far gone you are - pupils blown wide, sweat clinging to your skin, your pink mouth parted in a silent, pleading gasp. But you don’t let go. Because he hasn’t told you to.

And you’re waiting - just like he’s taught you too.

You’re grinding frantically against him now, breath catching on every exhale, lost in the burning haze of need. Your orgasm is just out of reach, held hostage by the absence of his permission - while he watches - composed, relishing in it.

Ray is savoring this - the way your release belongs to him. He loves to own these moments, making sure your orgasm isn’t just something you take, but something he gives.

And then his voice slices through it all. “Do it,” he instructs, quiet and absolute. “Make a mess, love.”

His order is your undoing - your hips jerk forward, involuntarily, chasing that final bit of friction. The tension coils so tightly it’s nearly unbearable - your breath shatters, legs trembling as your entire body locks up in ecstasy. You cry out, grinding against him as your orgasm burns through your core, blurring your vision and leaving you slack with pleasure. You soak his thigh completely, the mess is hot and unfiltered, gushing through the lace and darkening the fabric beneath you.

You’re panting against his chest, eyes fluttering open slowly, still floating in that haze. And when you finally look up at him, his gaze is dark and heavy with desire - like he’s drinking in the sight of you ruined and breathless in his arms and loving every second of it.

“Needy little thing,” he remarks, not even trying to hide the amusement in his tone at your behavior.

Ray’s hand moves to your jaw, fingers curling gently around it as he guides your face closer to his, leaning in to press a kiss to your damp temple.

He shifts beneath you then, lifting you off his lap with gentle care. You whimper softly at the absence, legs still shaky, and he steadies you while you find your footing.

That’s when you see it, the shape of him - hard, thick, and straining beneath his trousers. Your breath catches, and you nibble on your lips as your thighs instinctively clench. You're still aching, still needy, because he hasn’t fucked you properly yet.

But Ray knows this, and without a word, he reaches for the cardigan still hanging from your arms. He slips it down slowly, knuckles grazing your sides as the wool glides over your skin, removing it and folding it over the back of the chair - neat and methodical, just like him.

With a quiet shift, he removes his glasses - holding them delicately in one hand - while his other bunches the fabric of his sweater between his shoulder blades. In one smooth motion, he pulls it up and over his head, muscles flexing as golden skin stretches across his torso. His chest is broad, lean, and defined in a way that’s always present beneath whatever crisp layers he wears. His stomach muscles contract with the motion, and as the fabric clears his head, it tousles his perfectly styled hair - leaving it just slightly disheveled.

He drapes it over top of the discarded cardigan, still holding his glasses, still watching you, before he slides them back on. His eyes trail down your body, devouring every inch of you standing there in nothing but those lace panties, chest flushed from release, plump lips parted, legs pressed together like you’re trying to hold in what’s left of your composure.

Ray looks down at you for a moment longer, like he can’t quite believe how pretty you are like this. His hand lifts, brushing the pad of his thumb slowly across your bottom lip, feeling the softness. He watches you like he’s starving, the quiet intensity in his eyes makes your pulse stutter. Your mouth parts, and you take his thumb between your lips - just to show that you’ll let him do anything.

And then almost like a switch, his expression changes, eyes darkening with intent as he instructs, “Turn around.”

You do as you’re told without hesitation.

He places one hand between your shoulder blades and guides you forward until your bare stomach meets the edge of the table. His palm flattens gently against your back, and with that same calm control, presses you down and bends you over without a word of resistance.

You brace yourself on the table, breath shallow, chest rising and falling against the cool wood. Behind you, there’s the quiet clink of his belt coming undone, the low slide of leather through denim - the sound alone makes your stomach flip.

Just as your breath steadies, you feel him at your hips, his fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your panties. He drags the lace down slowly, letting it slide over the curve of your ass, your thighs, until it catches around your ankles. The fabric is damp, clinging slightly from how soaked you are, and you feel the low rumble of approval from his chest as your foot moves to kick them aside.

He pushes your legs further apart with a nudge of his toe, causing you to gasp softly. But you move easily and eagerly - parting your thighs wider for him, desperate to be filled. The cool air against your bare cunt only intensifies the ache between your legs.

The heat of his body crowds in around you as the weight of his cock brushes your inner thigh. He guides himself through your dripping folds, dragging his tip slowly between your swollen lips, smearing your release all over his length. His precum mixes with you - warm, sticky, and lewd.

One slow roll of his hips, and he’s pressing inside you - holding, letting you feel the stretch begin. The first few inches make your knees buckle. He’s thick and unforgiving, filling you up like it’s the first time all over again. You clench around him, greedily trying to take more, but he holds steady - giving you only what he wants.

Then he sinks in - and the most delectable, shameless sound escapes your body. Ray grunts at the feel of you, his hand coming to your hip, holding you firmly as he starts to move.

He fucks you with long, deep strokes - dragging the length of himself all the way out before thrusting back in, a bit harder each time. The pressure, the fullness, the overwhelming movement of him, slams into you all at once.

His grip tightens around your waist, one hand trailing slowly up your back, firm and steady, pinning you to the table.

You whimper, fingers digging into the edge of the table - no matter how many times he fucks you, no matter how wet or ready you are, the feel of him inside you always leaves you wrecked. So much and not nearly enough - an exquisite kind of ache.

A moan tears from your throat, loud and greedy, while Ray sets his pace - punishing and devastatingly precise. The table shifts beneath you, legs creaking in protest, and somewhere under your cheek, you feel papers slipping - documents he’d been buried in all evening, now pushed askew by the force of your body jolting against the wood.

“This what you needed?” he taunts, his voice a mixture of gravel and silk. “After all that whining - this what you were after?”

You nod, gasping his name as he drives deeper, harder, each thrust stealing the air from your lungs. His own breathing grows heavier, but his control never wavers - one hand stays locked around your waist, the other ghosts up your spine.

“Listen to you,” he utters, dark and amused. “Can’t even take a proper fuck without crying for it like a filthy thing.”

A high pitched whimper tumbles from your lips at his words, mouth open against the table, fingers still clawing at the edge for something to hold onto while he drills into you - measured and merciless.

Ray goes on, his breath brushing across your skin. “Couldn’t behave yourself. Grinding this cunt all over my fucking thigh, desperate for anything I’d give you.”

His fingers slide up the back of your neck and tangle into your hair, curling tight - not forceful, but to keep you right where he wants you. He leans in until his mouth hovers at your ear, the heat of him sending goosebumps down your spine.

“But you like being like this, don’t you?” he rasps, his voice rough and raw.

Another thrust and your voice stutters from your throat as he fucks into you like he owns you, hitting your g-spot, over and over, making your legs quiver under the pressure of it, your body clenching tight. You’re dripping for him, so wet he buries himself in your drenched heat, every thrust slick and loud.

He pants, “Soaked and spread out for me,” hips snapping forward again, “My perfect, messy girl.”

You sob out his name, wrecked and breathless - his only response is another relentless thrust of his hips and a low snarl. You feel him everywhere - wrapped in your hair, pressed along your spine - mouthing filth into your skin like its devotion.

He straightens up behind you while his pace quickens, skin on skin echoing off the walls. You gasp, your head turning just enough to look over your shoulder - and what you see nearly undoes you all over again.

Ray’s brow is furrowed, jaw clenched, sweat beading along his temple. He’s flushed, focused, and fucking you so purposeful, it could only be him. Without breaking his stride, he lifts one hand to his face, slipping his glasses off.

He wipes the sweat from his brow with the back of his wrist, a low exhale slipping between his clenched teeth. Then, hurried, he slides them right back on. You watch his lashes flutter once, then twice, and again in quick succession.

Because he needs to see.

Needs to watch the way he sinks into you with every push - how soaked your cunt is, how you clutch around him like it’s the only thing you know how to do.

The sight of him above you, bare-chested and sweating, muscles flexing with every snap of his hips, working his cock into you - steals the breath straight from your lungs and makes your head spin with how utterly gone you are for him.

You feel it building again - quick and heavy - your body still strung out from riding his thigh, the teasing, the stretch of him. Your clit throbs, your arousal making a mess of both your thighs and the table beneath you.

“That's it,” he murmurs, his voice thick with pride. “Squeezing me so good, going to milk every drop out of me.”

You nod urgently, hips jerking, the tops of your thighs bumping the edge of the table, his name slipping past your mouth in broken cries.

You can’t wait - not this time.

“Please… please, let me! I need to come, Ray - please!”

You’re begging before he even gives the word, too desperate to hold it in, too strung out to care. You typically know better, but right now, all you can do is plead.

Your desperation punches right through his composure. He groans, low and ragged, his usual soft tone completely abandoned. And that’s when his fingers slide low - finding your clit, rubbing it just right, coaxing your orgasm forward while his cock pounds into your perfect spot.

You cry out for him - broken and high - as your orgasm slams through you like a wave, your vision going white at the edges. You pulse around him hard, soaking him all over again, the slick sounds between you turning obscene.

But Ray doesn’t stop.

His thrusts keep coming, dragging you straight into overstimulation. Whining, you tremble beneath him as your body jerks, raw and ruined - tipping past the edge until you're spiraling all over again.

He groans out, pace faltering, hips snapping faster as he loses his own control. “Fucking hell - look at you,” he pants. “Can’t stop making messes all over me.”

You’re still pulsing around him, fluttering and tight, and it tips him. With a hoarse sound, he drives into you one last time and spills deep, flooding you with his release. You feel every throb of it, every warm pulse as he fills you with his cum, groaning again, hips rocking slowly, like he can’t stop, like he needs to feel every last drop sink into you.

His movement softens, breath ragged against your back as he stays buried, grinding lazily through the aftershocks. With a final exhale, he lets his weight settle over you gently, his chest pressed to you, his body flush with yours.

His lips land on your shoulder - light and slow - kissing you there once, then again - a little lower, a little longer. The brush of his thick beard against your skin is warm and scratchy, pulling you gently into the afterglow.

You shift slightly beneath him, and he finally, gently pulls out - his softening cock slipping free with a low groan, followed by the slow warmth of his release trickling down your thigh.

He presses a final kiss to your shoulder, then lifts up from you just enough to move. One hand stays on your back while the other slides around your waist.

“Easy now,” he soothes, voice low and spent.

With a careful grip, he helps you upright, guiding your body back against his chest, steadying you as your shaky legs try to find themselves again. His arm wraps fully around you, keeping you close.

You lean into him, flushed and breathless, your skin damp, a gorgeous grin spreads across your lips - it’s lazy and satisfied, like you’ve just been thoroughly, completely fucked out of your mind.

Ray glances down, catches the look on your face, and shakes his head with a soft, incredulous laugh. “Christ, love. You act like this wasn’t your plan the second I opened my laptop.”

You tilt your head, feigning innocence - but the mischief in your eyes gives you away completely. “It wasn’t!” you protest, far too quickly - your voice softening, sweet and smug, before adding “…But you left me unattended.”

Ray lets out a quiet breath as he leans in, pressing a slow kiss to the space between your cheek and your ear - softly inhaling your scent, a private little indulgence.

“I ought to fucking know better,” he mutters against your skin, but here’s no bite in it, only fondness and amused surrender. The kind of affection reserved for someone who keeps getting away with it… because he wants them to.

As he steps back, his ringed hand slips from your waist to your ass, delivering a firm little swat that makes you gasp and laugh.

“Minx,” he mutters dryly under his breath - like its fact.

And fuck if you don’t already want to do it all over again.

[lila-lou]

✨Barely alive 2/2✨

Summary: In a motel room thick with blood and unspoken love, you fight to keep Dean alive. One night together, a thousand words never said and now, silence might be all you have left.

-requested-

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, Angst, Language

Word Count: 5727

A/N: English isn’t my first language, please be lenient.💙

Three days later, your body still ached like hell, but you were upright. Mostly. Walking was a joke — every step sent shocks of pain through your hip and across your belly — but you were stubborn enough to grit through it. The stitches held. The skin around them was tight and angry, healing in that raw, swollen way that promised a brutal scar. Ugly. But you didn’t care. Not when he was still breathing.

Dean hadn’t moved much. He was awake now, off and on, eyes fluttering open for a few minutes at a time before exhaustion dragged him back under. The fever had broken late last night — just barely — and not before you’d walked five blocks, half-limping, half-holding your side together, to steal a bottle of antibiotics from a corner clinic with a lock that practically begged to be picked.

You didn’t feel bad. Not even a little. Not when you’d stood in that bathroom, panting and shaking, watching the pink pills dissolve in a bottle cap of water just to get him to swallow it. Not when he’d whispered a slurred, “You’re crazy”, with a half-smile before passing out again.

He was worse off than you — by a long shot.

The infection had set in hard. Deep. His wounds were healing, but slow. Angry. And his whole body still trembled with the effort of staying conscious, like gravity was just too much.

Now, you sat beside him, legs stretched out stiffly, one hand resting near his. Your back was pressed against the creaky motel headboard, the scratchy paint cool against your sore, sweat-damp skin.

You’d stripped down to your underwear and a tight, cropped top — not out of vanity, not even comfort, but necessity. The bandages around your side stuck to every piece of clothing you tried to wear, and the thin fabric you’d kept on let the air hit your skin, let your body breathe while it tried to pull itself back together.

The motel room was warm, maybe too warm, but your body still shivered in waves — a mix of healing, blood loss, and three nights of broken sleep. The only thing grounding you was Dean.

His hand was still close to yours. Bruised knuckles, taped fingers, skin pale and clammy. You couldn’t stop looking at them. Those hands had saved you a thousand times, even when he didn’t think he was worth a damn.

He was breathing deeper now. Slower. But his eyes weren’t closed. They were open, half-lidded, but watching you. Quiet.

You turned your head toward him slowly, the movement pulling at your stitches. “Hey”, you murmured, voice soft and hoarse.

He didn’t speak right away, just let his gaze drift over your face. His eyes were tired, bruised and bloodshot, but they held something else too. Something unspoken and deep and aching.

His lips parted. Barely. “You look like hell”, he said again, and this time, it sounded more like him.

You huffed, low and rough. “Still prettier than you, Winchester”.

A flicker of a smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. Just for a second.

Then his eyes drifted lower, over your exposed stomach, the jagged bandage wrapped across your side. The bloodstains that had soaked through despite everything. His jaw clenched. “You shouldn’t be hurt”, he rasped.

The guilt in his voice was sharp enough to slice glass. You didn’t look away. You didn’t soften it. “I am”.

He swallowed hard, throat working around the truth. “I dragged you into this”.

“No”, you said, leaning toward him just a little, enough that your knee brushed his hip. “You didn’t. I chose this". You paused. “And I’d do it again”.

His eyes closed for a second. Like that hurt more than anything else. “You almost died”, he whispered.

You nodded. “So did you”.

He opened his eyes again. Something inside them cracked open, something you weren’t sure he could take back. “I never wanted to hurt you”, he said, voice rough. “That night… I shouldn’t have—”.

“Dean”, Your voice was quiet, but firm. “Don’t. Don’t go back there“.

You reached out, your hand barely steady, and brushed the damp hair from his forehead. His skin was still too warm, but not the burning fever it had been. Now it was the kind of heat that clung to you, stubborn, lingering, like him.

“Just…”, your voice cracked, barely more than air. “Just heal”.

You didn’t ask for anything else. Not answers. Not promises. Not even the truth about what that night months ago had meant. You couldn’t carry that now, not when both of you were still bleeding inside and out.

You just wanted him to stay. That was enough.

Five days later, the motel room still smelled like antiseptic, old blood, and stale air, but it was quieter now. No more fevered moaning, no midnight panic over shallow breaths. The worst had passed.

And somehow, so had the silence. Dean was standing. Barely.

You stood at the edge of the tiny motel kitchenette, one hand braced on the table, watching him with your heart in your throat. He grunted as he pushed up from the mattress, arms trembling under the weight of his own damn body, jaw clenched like he was holding back a scream.

“Geez”, you muttered under your breath, already stepping forward, but he shook his head.

“I got it”, he bit out. Stubborn as hell.

You paused, just a step away, hands hovering like maybe you could catch him if he went down. Like you weren’t still limping, yourself. Like your side didn’t throb every time you breathed.

He wavered once. Caught the edge of the dresser with his left hand. Blood drained from his face, but he didn’t fall. Just breathed through it, shaky and slow.

“Dean—”.

“I got it”, he snapped again, quieter this time. And then, softer, “I just… need a second”.

You swallowed down the knot in your throat and nodded, even though every cell in your body wanted to wrap yourself around him and never let go.

He stood there, breathing hard, bent slightly forward, like the pain in his ribs was trying to fold him in half. Sweat glistened at his temple. His legs shook under him like he’d walked through fire.

You reached out, just one finger, and let it brush against his wrist. Not to stop him. Just to remind him you were there.

His eyes met yours. Exhausted. Worn. But lit with that same stubborn fire that had kept him breathing when he shouldn’t have. “See?”, he rasped, managing a crooked smirk. “Still got it”.

You didn’t laugh. You just whispered, “Yeah. You do”.

But the truth was written all over him — this was going to be slow. Brutal. Painful.

“I need to shower”, Dean grumbled, shifting his weight again like standing wasn’t already the biggest accomplishment of the week. “I fuckin’ stink”.

You raised an eyebrow. “Not gonna argue with that”.

He gave you a look, part glare, part exhausted challenge, and you nodded toward the dingy motel bathroom like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Alright. C’mon, then”.

Dean blinked. And for a second, he just stared at you like you’d said something in Latin. His eyes, still a little swollen, still bruised and bloodshot, somehow managed to go wide. “With you?”, he asked, and his voice cracked a little, maybe from the dryness, maybe from something else.

You crossed your arms slowly, ignoring the pull on your healing side. “Dean. You can barely stand. I’m not gonna let you pass out in there and crack your skull open on some questionable motel tile”. Then you tilted your head, smirking just a little. “Yes. With me”.

He tried to grin, but it came out crooked and winced. “What’re you gonna do, huh? Your little body can’t catch all this if I go down”.

You rolled your eyes. “No, but I can drag your heavy ass out again. Don’t make me prove it”.

Dean chuckled under his breath, then winced immediately. “Shit. Don’t make me laugh. Hurts”.

You softened at that, just a little, and stepped closer, curling your fingers gently around his wrist. His skin was warm and slick with sweat. You could feel how weak he still was in the way he leaned into you without meaning to.

You helped him shuffle toward the bathroom, your arm snug around his waist, his weight draped heavy over your shoulders. Every step was slow and uneven, but he let you guide him, let himself lean on you in a way Dean Winchester rarely allowed anyone to see.

You nudged the bathroom door open with your foot, turned the light on with a flick of your wrist, and muttered, “Don’t worry. I won’t stare at your dick”.

Dean let out a soft snort, breathless and broken, but still Dean. “Tch. Rude”.

You raised your eyebrows as you eased him toward the edge of the tub. “Please. I’ve seen worse”.

“Lies”, he grumbled, dragging his feet just enough to settle on the closed toilet lid while you reached over to twist the water on. He winced as he moved, his hand tightening around yours for a second. You glanced back at him, brows pinched. “You alright?”.

“No”, he said plainly. “But you knew that already”.

You gave him the smallest smile. “At least you’re honest”.

He leaned back against the wall, sweat beading along his hairline, chest rising hard with the effort of just existing. And then, with a low, almost lazy smirk, he muttered, “I am gonna stare at your tits, though”.

You didn’t even flinch. “Figured you’d want some reward for not dying”, you said, deadpan.

Dean let out a breath that could’ve been a laugh, soft, quiet, but real. It was the first time in days his voice sounded more like his own, even if it was still shredded with pain.

You turned back toward the water, letting the steam build as the temperature warmed. “Think you can stand in there long enough to rinse off?”, you asked over your shoulder. “Or should I just hose you down like a blood-covered golden retriever?”.

“You’re so romantic”, he muttered, shifting like he was trying to sit up straighter, then grimaced. “Help me up?”.

You nodded, moving beside him again, hands under his arms, careful of the worst wounds. He braced against you with another grunt, breathing hard as he got back to his feet.

The water hit your skin like heat from another world, too hot, too sharp, but it pulled the stiffness out of your spine just enough to function. You didn’t let yourself enjoy it, not really. Just turned your body under the spray, rinsing off blood, grime, and three days’ worth of sweat in under a minute.

Then you turned to him.

Dean was slumped against the wall of the shower, eyes half-lidded, arms braced like just standing was a test of willpower. He looked like hell, cuts angry and healing wrong, bruises in dark shades of yellow and purple, the bandage over his ribs already damp and curling at the edges.

“Let me”, you murmured, reaching for the washcloth.

“I can—”.

“Nope”.

He gave you a look. “Y/N—”.

You raised a brow, cutting him off before he could get the words out. “You can barely hold yourself up. You're not washing shit”.

He tried to argue again. Failed. His jaw clenched, eyes narrowed. But he didn’t stop you when you reached for him.

You worked gently - starting with his arms, wiping around the worst of the cuts. His breath hitched every time the cloth touched a tender spot, but he didn’t complain. Not out loud. You moved down, across his chest, where the bruising was deepest, his ribs taped just tight enough to hold him together.

Then your hand moved lower, over the softer curve of his stomach, where the edge of one jagged scar cut across the line of muscle.

You felt his eyes shift. Your jaw ticked. “You’re staring”.

He didn’t even deny it.

“Hell yeah, I am”, he rasped, voice rough, tired, but undeniably Dean. “You’re naked, and I’m not dead. What do you expect?”.

You shot him a look, mouth twitching. “Focus on not collapsing. Then you can earn flirting rights”.

“Wasn’t flirting”, he said, slower now, voice a little more weighted. “Just… appreciating the view”.

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth in your chest betrayed you.

Then you felt it — the brush of his fingers, slow and rough, sliding up your side with effort and trailing toward your chest. His eyes were on you, soft in a way that was almost shy, like even now, touching you felt like something too good for him to ask for.

The moment his hand cupped over the side of your breast — not greedy, just there, real — his body twitched, a sharp intake of breath tearing out of him.

He doubled over halfway with a grunt of pain. “Fuck”, he gasped, voice strained, head dropping forward against your shoulder.

“Dean—”. You caught him quick, steadying him, one arm wrapped around his waist before he could slip.

“Ribs”, he muttered. “Bad fuckin’ idea. Shit”.

You held him close, shaking your head against his temple. “You’re such a dumbass”.

His breath hitched again, wet and low, but he chuckled, even if it hurt. “Worth it”.

You didn’t push him off. Just stayed like that, chest to chest under the hot spray, your heartbeat pressed into his.

“Next time”, you whispered, “just say you missed me”.

His voice was barely audible, muffled by your skin. “I missed you”.

And damn if that didn’t almost hurt worse than any wound.

Still, your hand slid lower. You weren’t trying to tease him. You weren’t even thinking past the need to care for him, clean him.

But before you could go further, Dean’s hand came up — weak, but firm — closing around your wrist.

His face was still tucked into the crook of your neck, breath hot and uneven against your skin. And when he spoke, his voice was a rasp, wrecked and worn thin by pain and exhaustion… and something else entirely. “If you touch me there right now”, he breathed, “We´re having a huge fucking problem”.

You froze. For a split second, you thought maybe you’d misheard him — or maybe he was delirious again. But then you felt it. Pressed against your thigh. Hard. Really hard.

And oh, the color that rushed to your cheeks could’ve burned straight through the steam filling the shower. You pulled back just enough to look at him and even with the bruises, the cuts, the swelling still softening the edges of his jaw, Dean Winchester looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole.

He didn’t meet your eyes. He just kept his forehead tucked against your shoulder, his breath shaky, and muttered, “It’s not like I meant to”.

Your lips parted, but no sound came out. You were torn between embarrassment, surprise, and the tiniest flutter of heat curling in your stomach, because even now, that reaction was so Dean it nearly made you laugh.

Instead, you cleared your throat and nodded, still pink in the cheeks. “Well. At least I know the blood loss didn’t kill everything”.

Dean groaned, muffled against your skin. “Please stop talking”.

“Shut up”, you whispered back, unable to help the smirk pulling at your lips as you reached for the washcloth again. “I’ll just let you handle your own lower half, Romeo”.

“Probably for the best”, he grumbled, finally leaning back against the wall as you handed him the cloth.

His hand trembled as he took it. He didn’t say anything else, but there was a flicker of something behind his eyes, a quiet gratitude, a kind of aching affection that lived in the spaces between your banter and the way you held him up without ever making him feel weak.

You turned to rinse your hair, trying to focus on something else — anything else — while Dean slowly, carefully, tried to wash himself.

You kept your eyes up. Mostly. Your cheeks still burned. And when his arm accidentally brushed your hip again, you both pretended you didn’t feel the way your hearts stuttered in sync.

After the shower, the motel room felt too cold.

Not in temperature — the air was warm enough, still thick with humidity from the bathroom — but in the way your bodies ached from every movement, skin prickling as if the exhaustion had sunk deep into your bones. You were both clean, finally, wrapped in towels and breathing just a little easier.

But now came the worst part. The necessary part.

“Alright”, you said quietly, your voice hoarse from steam and silence, as you pulled the med kit back onto the bed. “Time for the fun part”.

Dean was already sitting on the edge of the mattress, towel hanging low around his waist, damp hair clinging to his forehead. His skin was flushed from the shower or maybe from the effort of just surviving it. His shoulders were hunched forward, arms braced on his thighs, head bowed like the weight of the world was still sitting there.

He looked up slowly, eyes finding yours. “Gimme a sec”, he mumbled. “Shower wiped me out”.

You didn’t say anything. You just nodded, knelt in front of him, and started with his side.

The bandages were soaked. Warm from the water, dark with blood that hadn’t fully clotted. You peeled them off gently, working around the stitches you’d already redone once. The skin beneath was angry, raw, but not as inflamed as before. The antibiotics were helping.

“You’re healing”, you murmured, more to yourself than him.

“Still feels like I got hit by a semi”, he muttered, lips twitching in a grimace. “Then dragged a mile”.

You cleaned the wound in silence, your fingers tender but efficient. He hissed through his teeth a few times, and once his hand closed around your forearm. Not to stop you, just to ground himself.

When you were done, you rewrapped him with fresh gauze, taping it tight enough to hold but not enough to pull. You ran your fingers lightly over the edge, checking for warmth, infection.

Then you met his eyes again. “My turn”, you said softly.

He didn’t like it. You could see it in the flicker of guilt across his face, the way his jaw tensed. But he nodded and shifted, dragging the blanket across his lap so you could take his place on the bed.

You sat down on the edge of the bed, breath shallow, the sting in your side reminding you just how far from okay you still were. The towel clung to your damp skin, loose and heavy, and for a second you hesitated — not from shame, not with Dean, but from the intimacy of the moment. The gravity of what it meant.

You opened the towel and eased back, slow and careful, your body still aching in a dozen places. Your skin was bruised, streaked with half-healed wounds, some bandaged, some raw. But you didn’t flinch. You trusted him.

Dean’s breath caught in his throat. Not in lust. Not in awe. But in pain. Guilt. And something else too deep for words.

You were completely naked in front of him, vulnerable in every way. And it wasn’t about sex. It wasn’t about heat. It was about being seen. Truly. Bruises, blood, and all.

Dean sat forward slowly, still towel-wrapped himself, hands shaking as he reached for the med kit.

And then, Dean Winchester — stubborn, bruised, barely standing — touched you like you were something holy.

His fingers were gentle as they cleaned around the wound on your side, starting from your thigh and working up with soft, careful movements. The cut was healing, but jagged, still red and swollen, angry around the stitches. You bit your lip when the alcohol touched skin, but didn’t pull away.

Dean looked up at you once, and you swore there were tears in his eyes. He blinked them away.

“I should’ve gotten to you faster”, he murmured. “I should’ve stopped them before they touched you”.

“Dean…”, you said softly, voice strained.

He shook his head, wiping away a trickle of blood that had bubbled up from where a stitch had torn loose. “They hurt you. I let that happen”.

“No”, you whispered. “We survived it”.

He didn’t argue again. Just kept working in silence, cleaning, pressing a cool cloth to the inflammation, rewrapping the gauze like it mattered more than anything else he’d ever done.

When he was done, he eased back, exhaustion weighing down his frame, but his eyes never left you.

You didn’t reach for the towel. You just looked at him, breathing slow, every inch of you bare and still. “Thanks”, you said.

One week later, Dean was sitting on the edge of the bed again, jeans hanging low on his hips, boots discarded, a fresh bruise blooming along his jaw from moving too fast yesterday. He was mostly himself now, or at least, enough to crack real jokes, walk to the diner without you hovering, and eat half a burger before passing out in the middle of The Rock on TV.

But something had changed.

You hadn't talked about it. Not directly. No late-night conversation, no "what are we" declarations, no dramatic confessions over coffee and gauze. But still, the shift was there. Quiet, permanent.

You weren’t friends. You weren’t whatever you had been before the blood and the pain and the moment you laid your naked, broken body in front of him and said heal me.

You were his. And he was yours.

Now, you stood between his legs, one hand braced on his shoulder, the other gently pulling a stitch from the skin above his eyebrow. The wound was mostly healed, pink and tight and already threatening to leave another permanent reminder of what he’d been through. His head tilted back slightly, face relaxed, gaze locked somewhere between your throat and your mouth.

“Hold still”, you murmured, voice low, careful.

“I am still”, he replied, but his fingers flexed on your hip through the soft cotton of your sweatpants, barely there, but not nothing.

He’d been getting more touchy the past few days. Subtle things. Hand on your lower back. Shoulder brushing yours when you passed each other in the kitchenette. That one night he pulled you under the covers without asking, like you belonged there.

He hadn’t kissed you yet. Hadn’t dared.

But the way his hands touched you now — without urgency, without expectation — was louder than any kiss could’ve been.

“You know”, he murmured, eyes flicking upward as you worked the next stitch out slowly, “it’s kinda messed up how hot you look playing nurse”.

You snorted softly, not missing the way his hands slid a little lower, now resting on the curve of your ass. You didn't call him out for it. You just said, “Keep talking and I’ll leave the last stitch in crooked”.

“Worth it”, he muttered.

The corner of your mouth twitched. You didn’t pull away. Not even when his thumbs rubbed slow circles through the fabric.

You pulled the final stitch, wiping away the thin line of fresh blood with the pad of your thumb.

Then you stepped back just a fraction and he followed — not with words, but with the heat of his gaze and the way his hands curled into the waistband of your pants, holding you there.

Still no kiss. Still no label. But his touch said everything. You didn’t need to ask. You already knew.

Without a word, he tugged at your waistband.

You didn’t resist.

You let him pull you forward, onto his lap, your knees bracketing his thighs, your hands bracing on his shoulders as you lowered yourself carefully. His body was still healing, still warm beneath your palms, but solid now. Steady. Dean.

Both of his hands slipped back down, gripping your ass with a hunger that had been buried for far too long. Not rough. Not selfish. Just need. “Kiss me”, he murmured, voice low, wrecked, and reverent.

You blinked, heart pounding hard enough to echo in your ribs.

His forehead leaned forward until it touched yours, his breath fanning across your lips. “Kiss me”, he said again, quieter now. “And tell me you’re healed enough… for me”.

There was no mistaking what he meant. It wasn’t just a kiss. It wasn’t just comfort. It was him asking — not just for your body, but for permission to fall apart inside you. For the ache, for the closeness, for the redemption only you could give him.

Your fingers slid into his damp hair, still soft from the shower, and you leaned in just enough to let your lips brush his, not a tease, not a question, just contact.

Then you whispered, breathless against his mouth, “I’m not all the way healed”.

His body stilled.

But your hands tightened in his hair, your thighs flexed around his hips, and you pulled him closer — lips barely apart. “But I’m healed enough”.

That was all it took.

Dean surged up, capturing your mouth in a kiss that was weeks of pain, of silence, of not-touching, not-saying. It was bruising and tender all at once, his hands sliding up your back, pressing you down onto him like he could fuse you there.

Dean kissed you like he didn’t know how to stop. And maybe he didn’t. Not anymore.

His hands were warm and steady on your body, and even though he was still healing, you felt the strength in him, the want beneath every slow breath and gentle squeeze. His fingers flexed on your hips again, and he shifted, trying to ease you backward, to lay you down.

But you shook your head. “No”, you whispered, voice quiet but sure, one hand on his chest to still him. “Let me”.

His gaze flicked up to yours, surprised, reverent, and he didn’t argue. Just nodded once, jaw tight, eyes burning. He dropped his hands to your waist, not guiding, just holding, and let you move.

You leaned back, breath soft against his cheek, and stood long enough to hook your thumbs into the waistband of your sweatpants. You slid them down carefully, slow and deliberate, feeling his eyes follow every inch of exposed skin. The ache in your side tugged at you, but you pushed through it.

You stepped out of them, leaving yourself in nothing but the oversized flannel he’d given you two nights ago. Sleeves rolled up, hem brushing your thighs. His scent still clung to it. Like home. Like him.

Dean’s eyes were locked on you, lips parted, jaw tense.

You moved back toward him, slow and steady, your fingers brushing over the edge of his waistband now. “Your turn”, you murmured, and he didn’t say a word, just lifted his hips enough to let you pull his jeans and boxerbriefs down in one gentle motion, revealing the full weight of how much he wanted you.

And shit, even now, bruised, stitched, not even fully healed, he was beautiful.

You climbed back into his lap slowly, knees on either side of his hips, your hands steady on his chest, the flannel falling open just enough to reveal the line of your collarbone, the curve of your breast beneath it.

Dean didn’t move. Didn’t rush. He just stared up at you like he wasn’t sure you were real. “Y/N”, he breathed, voice wrecked. “You sure?”.

You leaned in, your lips brushing against his, slow and soft. “I’m sure”, you whispered.

You lowered yourself onto him slowly, your breath catching as your body stretched to take him in — not just from the physical ache still lingering in your muscles, but from the feeling of it. Him.

Dean.

The man you’d bled for. Fought for. Saved.

He let out a low, broken sound the second he was inside you — not quite a groan, not quite a gasp. Something guttural. Something raw.

His hands gripped your hips like he was trying not to fall apart, even as he tilted his head back and hissed, “Fuck sweetheart.

You stilled, giving both of you a moment, your hands braced on his chest, the soft fabric of his flannel brushing against your stomach where it had fallen open more. Your heart pounded as you looked down at him, and he looked wrecked.

Not from pain. From you.

You leaned in, lips grazing his ear, voice breathless. “Still sure you’re healed enough for this?”.

He chuckled, low and cracked, a little unhinged. “I’m about five seconds away from embarrassing myself like a teenager, so… yeah. Think I qualify”.

You smiled, not teasing, not mocking. Just full of that ache you’d been carrying since the moment he almost died in your arms.

You started to move. Slowly. Carefully. Rolling your hips in a slow, deliberate rhythm that pulled a strangled moan from his throat.

His hands slid up your back, one fisting in the flannel, the other curving around your waist, pulling you closer until your foreheads touched, and his breath mingled with yours. “You feel…”, he tried, then swallowed hard. “Fuck, you feel so good”.

You nodded, lips brushing his. “So do you”.

He let out a breathless laugh — and then, softly, like he couldn’t stop himself, “I missed you”.

You stilled again, just for a second.

Then you kissed him. Deep, slow, and sure, your hips never fully stopping, rocking against him in a rhythm that kept both of you on that tightrope edge. He groaned into your mouth, hands gripping you harder now, but still not rough, just desperate.

“You’re beautiful”, he breathed, and you could feel the emotion under it. The pain, the gratitude, the terror of how close he’d come to losing you. He was trying to cover it, like always, with a joke.

“You ride me like that any longer”, he whispered, lips brushing your neck, “and I’m gonna fuckin’ cry”.

You laughed against his throat, breathy, warm, and rolled your hips again, slower this time, dragging him deeper. “Then cry”.

His breath stuttered. “Don’t say shit like that, sweetheart”.

“Why?”, you whispered against his ear, voice softer now. “Scared I’ll know how much you love me?”.

His whole body tensed beneath you. Just for a moment.

And then he wrapped both arms around your waist, pulled you flush to him, and moved. His hips thrusting up into you in a slow, devastating grind that made your mouth fall open, breath catching on a moan.

“I love you so goddamn much it’s killing me”, he said through gritted teeth, voice breaking at the edges. “And you sitting on me like this? Wrapped around me like I’m not the reason you almost died? That’s gonna haunt me for the rest of my life”.

You cupped his face between your hands, pressing your forehead to his. “You’re not the reason I almost died”, you whispered. “You’re the reason I’m still alive”.

And that was it.

Dean’s mouth crashed into yours — no hesitation, no jokes — just need. Tongue and teeth and breathless groans between kisses that went deeper than skin. You moved with him, both of you chasing the edge with slow, aching desperation. Every rock of your hips, every whispered gasp and stuttered breath, was a vow neither of you had the words for.

When you came, it was quiet — full-body, trembling, your forehead still pressed to his. And Dean followed seconds after, his face buried in your shoulder, muffling a broken groan against your skin as his hands gripped you like he could keep every piece of you with him forever.

The only sound afterward was your breathing, heavy, slow, entwined, and the soft creak of the motel bed under your weight.

You didn’t move. He didn’t let you. He just held you, still buried inside, and whispered against your skin, “You’re mine. You always were”.

You didn’t know how long you stayed like that.

Skin to skin, heartbeat to heartbeat, your cheek resting on Dean’s shoulder while his fingers traced lazy circles on the small of your back. His breathing had finally evened out, his body no longer trembling beneath you. You could feel the heat of him everywhere. Not from fever this time, but from something warmer. Something that felt like home.

Outside, rain had started, light and rhythmic, tapping against the motel windows like the world had decided to hush itself for just a little while longer. You barely noticed it. You were too wrapped in the moment. In him.

Dean shifted slightly beneath you, just enough to pull the blanket up over your bodies. His arms curled tighter around your waist, anchoring you to him without a word.

“Still alive?”, you murmured sleepily.

“Barely”, he whispered back, voice rough with sleep and something deeper. “But if this is the afterlife, I’m good with it”.

You smiled against his chest.

For once, you didn’t feel like you had to prepare for the next hunt. The next wound. The next goodbye. For once, it was enough to just be.

You ran your fingers gently through his hair, and his lips brushed the top of your head in return — soft, reverent, like he was afraid to break the silence, the safety.

“We’re okay”, you whispered.

Dean’s arms tightened just slightly. “We’re okay”, he echoed.

And for the first time in a long time… you believed it.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰 

-

Taglist: @blackcherrywhiskey @baby19sthings @suckitands33 @spnfamily-j2 @lyarr24 @deans-baby-momma @reignsboy19 @kawaii-arfid-memes @mekkencspony @lovziy @artemys-ackles @fitxgrld @libby99hb @lovelyvirtualperson @a-lil-pr1ncess @nancymcl @the-last-ry @spndeanwinchesterlvr @hobby27 @themarebarroww @kr804573 @impala67rollingthroughtown @deans-queen @deadlymistletoe @selfdestructionandrhum @utyblyn @winchesterwild78 @jackles010378 @chirazsstuff @foxyjwls007 @smoothdogsgirl @woooonau @whimsyfinny @freyabear @laaadygisbooornex3 @quietgirll75 @perpetualabsurdity @pughsexual @berryblues46 @deanwinchestersgirl8734 @kr804573 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @barnes70stark @roseblue373 @shanimallina87 @ascarriel @deanwinchesters67impala @thebiggerbear @quietgirll75 @barnes70stark @kellyls04 @spxideyver @ralilda @americanvenom13 @ozwriterchick @lmg14

[chaotic-for-good]

peach card

Luigi Mangione x Reader

no use of y/n

NSFW as heck

summary: a lighthearted game inspires you and Luigi to explore lands yet untouched.

cw: anal sex, soft dom lulu, dirty talk, you know the drill

author’s note: first off, apologies I have not yet had the brain power to address prior requests. to be honest, I wasn’t really sure I’d come back to this, and all of my attempts to write anything else I’d discussed before had me nearly tearing out my hair. for whatever reason, the thing that finally yanked me from my grief cave and into a sexy enough mindset to write smut was… butt stuff. so! if that’s not your thing, this is not the fic for you. if it is! 🤭😏 hehehe

word count: 3.6k

🍑🍑🍑🍑🍑🍑🍑🍑🍑🍑🍑🍑🍑🍑🍑🍑🍑

“I mean, I’ve always been intrigued. Just… only if the other party was, too,” you clarified, arching a brow. “Not your thing?”

You cast him a look from across the picnic table. He looked unfairly radiant, all lit up with the late afternoon sun playing in his chocolate curls. You chuckled lightly—he was holding the card tight to his chest like one of the screaming kids playing tag nearby might somehow decode “have you ever done anal?” from four feet away.

The brewery probably hadn’t realized what kind of game this was when they stuck it on the shelf next to Uno and dominoes.

He’d pulled down his Ray-Bans, squinting slightly, pinching his lower lip with that pointy incisor you adored.

“I think I’m on the same page,” he said after a beat, exhaling. “It’s not something I’ve been dying to do, so it just never happened… but. I’d be down.”

He flushed as he finished the last swig of his beer, glancing over at you. “Now that I think about it? Be hot to have a first time with you.”

“One pure part of me left for you to have,” you teased, winking as you plucked the card from his hand. He rolled his eyes, but the corners of his mouth turned upward as the two of you started scooping the rainbow of cards back into their cracked plastic container.

✨🍑✨🍑✨🍑

He was practically vibrating in the kitchen. Taut, contemplative, lips pressed together as he squinted down at the pan. He ran a hand along the back of his neck as he let the onions sweat—a dead giveaway. You always knew when that big brain of his was firing on multiple cylinders. It was like watching the air tense around a storm.

“Something on your mind, big guy?” you asked, wrapping your arms around his waist from behind. You kissed the dip between his shoulder blades, resting your cheek against the solid warmth of his back.

He peeked at you over his shoulder, his fingers skimming gently along the forearm you had draped across his stomach.

“Remember that card game?” he asked, hesitant.

“The anal card?” you snorted, tracing lazy circles into the soft fabric of his t-shirt.

He huffed a quiet laugh, nodding as a flush crept into his cheeks.

You paused, sensing the shift. Peering up at him, your smile turned mischievous.

“You really are obsessed with my ass, huh, babe?” You squeezed his sides playfully for emphasis. He groaned, leaning into you, but your teasing cracked through his apprehension.

Turning around in your arms, he slid his palm down the small of your back.

“‘Kay, fine, pretend that’s news,” he said, voice soft, earnest. “I’m obsessed with you, alright? And… honestly? I want all of you.”

“Well, it just so happens—” you drew his chin down to yours, pressing a kiss at the corner of his mouth. “—I think about what that would feel like. Like… When I’m alone. Touching myself, thinking of you.”

His mouth dropped open, brows lifting. “Fuck,” he choked out, grabbing your chin in his hand.

He turned the dial on the stove off before backing you slowly against the wall across from the counter, moving his hand to wrap lightly but authoritatively around your neck.

“You think about me taking you like that, pretty girl?” He breathed, grazing his teeth along your lower lip.

“Yeah, baby,” you purred.

“Feels so good when you eat me,” you babbled. “Makes me want to feel it, feel that full of you.”

“Shit,” he groaned against your throat, your fingers threading through his hair. “Like, right now?”

He pawed at your breast, kicking one leg out to open you up, slotting himself between your hips. You were already warm, already buzzing.

“You’ll get me ready?” you asked him, voice smaller, but certain.

“It would be my honor,” he said, pressing a hand to his chest in mock theater.

Then softer, eyes locking with yours: “Seriously. I just want to make you feel good. We can stop anytime. I’d be thrilled just to spend time with you. Especially in or around your perfect ass,” he added, winking.

You laughed, wrapping your arm around his neck. Somehow, he understood. No hesitation. No panic. Just the kind of yes that blooms quietly in your chest when you feel safe.

“Okay,” you whispered, nodding against his forehead.

He exhaled like you’d handed him a gift he wasn’t sure he deserved.

Then, wordlessly, he scooped you up—one arm under your thighs, the other wrapped around your back, pressing you close to his chest. You clung to him, heart thudding, grinning into the warmth of his neck.

He carried you out of the kitchen, turned the corner into the bedroom, and kicked the door shut with his heel.

“Obviously, I’m big on setting the vibe, as well you know,” he said, peppering you with kisses before tossing you—gently but deliberately—onto the bed.

“While I get to work on that front,” he added, tugging on the hem of your shirt, “take that off for me?”

You propped yourself up on your elbows, watching as he pulled out his phone. A soft click of the screen and the lamps on either side of the bed dimmed to a warm, golden hue. The speaker on the dresser chimed to life, the low pulse of music filling the room.

He listened for a moment, then nodded in approval. “That’s better. Now I can focus on my girl.”

He pulled his shirt over his head, muscles flexing as the fabric dragged upward. His slightly crooked happy trail carved a line from his navel down. He was already half hard, and your mouth went dry just looking at him. Your thighs squeezed together instinctively.

He moved toward the bed with an easy kind of hunger, crouching over you just long enough to kiss your temple.

“You talk to me, yeah, baby?” he murmured, voice low as his fingers hooked into the waistband of your shorts. “I need to know how you feel every second.”

He slid them down slowly, pressing his lips against your thighs as they were revealed inch by inch. He wasn’t in a rush. That was his way—especially in the bedroom. Every motion was measured.

“There she is,” he whispered against your belly, sighing. Then he licked a long stripe from your hole up through your slit.

You gasped, arching beneath him as his tongue got to work.

He half moaned, half mmm’ed, slashing his tongue back and forth over your clit with just the right pressure. His left hand stayed high, thumb circling your bud in sync with his mouth, while his right moved lower—rubbing soft, deliberate circles around your ass, teasing but patient.

He looked up at you through dark lashes, then plunged his tongue into your core. His thumb never left your clit as his other hand resumed its gentle, grounding rhythm below.

He groaned low in his throat as he pushed your legs up, presenting you. The sound vibrated against your skin. He began pressing soft kisses just below your entrance. Slinging one forearm over your thigh to keep his fingers on your clit, he worked with maddening patience—but his mouth shifted lower, breath hot against the tight circle of muscle.

His lips brushed against you.

He used both hands to part your cheeks, thumbs stroking lazy circles into your skin as his mouth lapped and sucked with slow, confident pressure.

You whimpered as he dipped the tip of one long finger inside, barely opening you.

“Yes,” you gasped, threading your fingers into his hair. You felt deliciously full. It made you wonder how it would feel to have a little bit of him in every hole you had.

“That’s it,” he groaned, voice thick as he pressed a kiss to your hip. Half a finger was inside you now. “God, you feel so fucking good already.”

He pulled back just far enough to reach for the bottle of lube on the nightstand. You watched him pump some onto his fingers, then rub them together—warming it, working it in. His expression was focused—tender, almost reverent.

“You’re doing perfect,” he murmured, leaning in to kiss your inner thigh as he brought his slick fingers back to your ass. “Tell me if anything feels off. We’ll take our time.”

You nodded, breath shaky, but your legs relaxed instinctively. You trusted him completely—there was no part of yourself you had to hide from him.

He resumed slowly—pressing the first finger in again, now slick and smooth, easing deeper with care. He didn’t rush. He worked in shallow, gentle strokes, stopping when your breath hitched and pulling back just enough to let you catch up.

“You’re opening up for me,” he whispered, nuzzling into your skin. “Just like that. That’s my good girl.”

You whimpered again, so loud you were almost embarrassed, as he worked you open a little more. He added more lube, circling your hole slowly before sliding in deeper.

His mouth found your clit again, and the combination sent heat curling low in your belly.

“Need more?” he asked against your mound, voice breathless but controlled.

“Yes,” you rasped. “Please.”

He moaned into you, grinding his hips against the bed. “Fuck. You don’t know what that does to me.”

Then he added a second finger—slower this time, stretching you just enough to make your back arch. His free hand cradled your hip, grounding you. His mouth stayed on you, lips working your clit like he wanted to undo you from the inside out.

“That’s it, baby girl,” he grunted, pumping two digits inside you in earnest now. “Almost ready to take me. Okay to keep going?”

He cocked his head, flashing that devilish half-smile of his. It made your nerves vanish and your pelvic floor flutter. You bit your lip, nodding.

“Use your words, baby,” he tutted, catching your clit between his lips and stilling his movements both there and behind. That tone always made your heart stutter, your body go weightless. Like you were floating right above your skin.

“Want more,” you breathed, squirming. “I can take it.”

At that he practically growled, deep in his chest, before reaching for the bottle again. You watched, breathless, as he pumped more lube onto his ring finger, rubbing it in with deliberate care.

“You sure?” he murmured, eyes locked on yours. “Gonna stretch you real slow, sweet thing. Want you to feel how ready you are.”

You nodded again, letting your mouth fall open. Needy and soft and completely his.

He pressed a kiss to your inner thigh, then shifted, hand cupping your hip as the slick pads of his fingers circled your entrance once more. Then, with infinite patience, he began to push—two fingers already seated, the third easing in beside them.

You sucked in a breath, body going tense for half a second—until his other hand found yours, fingers lacing tight.

“Breathe for me,” he whispered. “That’s it. You’re doing so fucking good.”

Just like that, you opened for him.

An almost guttural moan punctuated by a sigh escaped his lips. Then you realized: the soft, rhythmic shudder of the bed wasn’t from you. It was him—rutting into the duvet, chasing relief like he couldn’t take one more second.

“Babe,” he gasped, voice breaking. “I’m dying to be inside you.”

Hearing him that desperate almost made you come on the spot—and the moan you let out in response was absolutely pornographic. “Please,” you panted, bucking into his fingers. “Please.”

He pulled all three digits from you, slow but urgent, making you gasp at the sudden emptiness. Then he was shoving down his shorts and briefs, cock springing free—pink tip flushed, leaking, beautifully hard.

“Oh! One sec,” he said suddenly, catching himself. His voice dropped into that commanding register you loved. “Touch that pretty clit for me. I wanna hear you from the hallway. Understood?”

You nodded, lips wrapping around two of your fingers before reaching down between your legs. He bolted from the room, heavy cock swinging obscenely, and your pussy pulsated in response. Oh, you could make noise for that boy.

“Lu—” you gasped, swirling slick fingers over your clit, “I need you—”

Your other hand found your breast, thumb teasing your nipple as you writhed on the sheets.

“Need you to take me,” you whispered, voice gravelly, trembling.

“Atta girl,” he said when he returned, tone thick. He crossed the room in a few quick strides, spreading a towel across the bed as his chest heaved.

“Roll over onto your side for me, love.”

You obeyed immediately—of course you did. You were his good girl.

He flopped down beside you, a small glass bottle of lube in one hand, already squirting it into his palm as he wrapped his fist around his dick.

“I’m gonna take you just like this,” he murmured, slotting himself behind you. “That okay, gorgeous? I read it’ll be more comfortable. And I can still see your face.”

Propped up on one elbow, he looked down at you—somehow soft and feral all at once. Then he brushed a strand of hair back from your cheek and kissed your temple, his voice barely a breath:

“We’ll go real slow. And we’ll stop whenever you need. You ready for me?”

Instead of answering, you reached down and grasped his thick length, guiding it between your cheeks, dragging it right where you wanted him.

“Oh,” he rasped, grabbing your top thigh beneath the knee to open you up. He nodded in understanding, pressing the flushed head of his cock to your entrance. His eyes never left yours as he began to ease in—so slowly.

Just the tip.

“Holyfuckingshit,” he panted, voice fraying as an inch or two slid inside. Your breath hitched, chest rising, overwhelmed in the best way.

“How’s that feel?” he murmured against your lips. “Want me to stay like this for a second?”

Your sweet boy. Always checking in.

“Move,” you whispered, “but don’t go deeper yet.” You dragged your tongue along his in an open-mouthed kiss—the filthy kind he loved when he was buried inside you.

He groaned, low and broken. “You’re gonna be the death of me, you know that?”

He eased out slightly, then pressed back in—just enough to make you clutch the sheets.

Yes.

You tilted your head back, pressing your cheek to his, your neck exposed. He didn’t hesitate—his tongue ran along the tender spot below your ear, teeth grazing just enough to make you shudder.

Restraint was written all over him: jaw clenched, breath shallow, eyes wide. He looked beautiful like this—lips pink and plush, sweat beading at his temple, every muscle in his body focused on not giving you too much, too fast.

“More, baby,” you crooned, pulling at his hip. “Make me yours, Gi.”

His breath caught—sharp and audible. He tilted your head up by the base of your skull, and he continued sliding in, centimeters at a time.

“Mine,” he gritted out. “All mine.”

You barely stopped yourself from crying out, stretched full, the ache blooming and exquisite. He was inside you, and somehow not done yet.

You wrapped a hand around the column of his neck, grounding yourself. “How much to go?”

He looked down at where your bodies met, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest—affectionate, familiar. Then he gave you that look: one corner of his mouth tugging down, brow dipping just slightly. Not quite a smile, not quite a wink. Like a shared joke. He knew how big he was—and that you’d still take all of him.

“Half,” he murmured, mouth twitching. “Not even.”

You took a steadying breath. Met his gaze.

“All the way,” you said. “I want you to.”

“That’s my girl.” His face lit with something like pride, and something hungry. He wrapped his hand around your inner thigh, lifting, holding you open.

“Take a deep breath,” he guided. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”

His eyes never left yours as he pushed in deeper, slower than before.

You nodded, sucking in air as your whole body tensed. Your pussy and ass clenched together, trying to make sense of how full you were, how good it already felt.

And then he was seated fully inside you.

His hips nestled against yours, the coarse hairs on his thighs brushing the backs of yours. Holy. Fucking. Shit. You could barely breathe.

You weren’t sure where pain ended and pleasure began—the lines were so blurred, the sting in concert with the rapture. Your body was reeling, craving movement but not quite ready yet.

To steady yourself, you turned toward the hand cradling your head and slipped two of his long fingers into your mouth, sucking greedily, eyes fluttering closed.

He panted, mouth open, breath ragged. The sound alone made your body clench around him again.

“So fucking tight,” he groaned, eyes fixed somewhere over your shoulder, mouth slack—like he was trying to make sense of what he was feeling, trying not to come from just being inside you.

You could see him fighting it—struggling to stay still, to not lose it.

“I want to feel myself inside you,” he nearly begged, sliding a hand between your thighs.

“Yes, yes, yes,” you chanted, fingers still partly in your mouth, the rest of you already unraveling.

He let out a ragged moan, swirling two slick fingers over your clit before sliding them lower, inside. His eyes locked on your face, studying every twitch and gasp.

His other hand steadied you at your neck, grounding you. You could feel the press of his cock inside you as his fingers slid into your pussy, the dual sensation dizzying.

And from the look on his face—jaw slack, lashes fluttering—you knew he felt it too: the surreal, world altering awareness of being in you twice, surrounded by you completely.

“You belong to me,” he breathed, voice hoarse with awe and want.

His fingers moved idly between your legs, stroking your pussy even as he began to thrust in earnest—pulling almost all the way out of your taut hole before plunging back in, slowly, taking you apart piece by piece.

You fucked him back as best you could, hips rocking, your back arching, your hands trailing down the length of his muscled arm like you were trying to hang on.

“Just like that, baby,” he cooed, undone by your responsiveness. His thumb found your clit again and circled, steady and skilled.

“Oh, shit,” you cried out, every nerve on fire. You could hardly believe how good he made you feel—your body adjusting around him, the press against both sets of walls sending you spiraling.

“Lu—” you gasped, voice trembling, confusion blooming with arousal. “I think—”

He hissed against your neck. “I can’t hold off if you come, baby. You feel so fucking good.”

His hips were stuttering now, thrusts sloppier, more erratic—but he never let up on your clit. Kept working you. Kept chasing it.

“I want it,” you whined. “I want it, I want it—”

The coil inside you was pulling tight, too tight, with different nerve endings flaring, both familiar and not. Shimmering on the edge of something bright and impossible, like you didn’t know if you were going to come or shatter.

What finally sent you both over the edge was your own voice, nearly screamed aloud: “You own me—”

You felt him swell suddenly, impossibly—his cock pulsing inside you as he cried out, voice wrecked, face contorted in ecstatic agony. His brows drew together, eyes squeezed shut.

And at the same time, you bucked beneath him, vision blowing white, ass and pussy clenching down hard. Your whole body convulsed in a release so deep it made time feel slippery, like the moment stretched out around you.

Your arm twitched. Your head lilted back against him, mouth open, trembling.

“Jesus,” you finally managed, laughing breathlessly in disbelief.

“Not Jesus,” he murmured, nudging a knuckle under your chin. “Luigi.”

You shook your head, letting out a husky, giddy giggle just as he gently pulled out. Cum spilled from you, warm and slick, making you flinch, still sensitive.

Smart guy, bringing that towel.

“You okay?” he whispered, already rolling you toward him, foreheads brushing.

“I was half a virgin when I met you!” you responded dramatically, pressing a hand to your chest.

He groaned. “I’ll take that as a good thing, Regina.”

You both laughed genuinely as he kissed you, deep and sweet. “Love you, baby.”

“Love you, mister,” you replied, dragging a fingernail along his cheek. “And I’m honored to take your virginity—even if it is a bullshit construct designed to commodify women.”

He snorted. “The pleasure was mine, beautiful.” Then, raising a brow and tilting his head like he was offering candy: “Bath time?”

“Mmm. That sounds incredible,” you sighed, stretching. The bed shifted as he rose.

You heard the squeak of the faucet, followed by a wicked little giggle.

The speaker chirped to life again as the song changed. Lyrics washed over the room: Booty had me like… Luigi cackled from the bathroom, clearly proud of himself.

“Fucking frat boys,” you muttered under your breath.

“What’s that, princess?” he called out, voice sing-song. “Come say it to my face! In the tub!” He punctuated with a splash, smacking the water with excitement.

You groaned, hoisting yourself up from the bed—but you were melting. His.

[mermaidgirl30]

✨Her Bodyguard, His Shining Star Part 2: No More Hiding✨

Bodyguard! Joel Miller x Popstar fem! reader

Part 1

A/N: Pedro’s SNL skit with Sabrina flooded all the bodyguard x popstar inspiration for me, so here is part 2 🥰

Chapter Summary: It was just supposed to be a photoshoot until he couldn’t stop looking at you. Maybe it’s more than just butterflies you feel for Joel.

Rating: 18+ only MDNI

Word Count: 4.8k

Tags: Fluff, flirting, pining, dirty talk, cute pet names, unprotected piv, switching POVs, reader is a singer, Joel is a bodyguard, reader has long hair, large age gap (reader is 25, Joel is 44)

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

New York City—a place where dreams come true. That’s where you are, in one of the flashiest skyscraper type buildings for the afternoon. You dazzled the world, enough for your manager to get a call asking if you’d be on the cover of Vogue. You were ecstatic, wide-eyed that this was even happening, but here you were in a private studio getting pampered and all glamorous for the magazine shoot. It was all surreal, but the best part about it was that Joel was here for you. 

   The camera flashes your way, clicking every few seconds as the photographer moves around and shouts instructions at you. “Turn around, now look at me, big smiles! Beautiful!” Jacque yells excitedly, his thick French accent bouncing off the ivory walls. 

   The sunlight spills through the large glass windows looking over the city, a glittering crystal chandelier hangs in the middle of the room. The light pink backdrop behind you blends in with the bright lights beaming down at you. The furniture is a lavish cream color, the couch made of velvet. The whole room is practically made for a royal princess. Guess this makes you one. You still can’t believe you’re going to be on the cover of Vogue; it’s almost like you’re walking in a dream.

   “Hey, keep up that smile. I’ve got to head out to meet with some of the tour managers, but I’ll see you later, okay?” Your stylish manager Trish waves, and you give her a nod, watching her walk over to where Joel’s sitting on the far side of the couch. 

   “You take care of her today, got it?” she asks with a knowing gaze, giving him a tight lipped smile because she knows he will.

   “Yes, ma’am. Always do.” He gives her a tip of his head, a tousled curl falling into the center of his forehead until he pushes it back with a large palm gliding through his lush hair. She walks off just as he looks back at you, giving you a flirtatious wink that sends pink to your cheeks.

   “Look right at the camera, angel. Perfect,” your photographer beams as another click comes from his expensive camera.

   Your dress is short, icy white with crystals covering the silky fabric. This was your third outfit change, the last dress to finish off the photoshoot. The dress barely grazes your thighs, the fur coat hanging off your shoulders making the room feel stifling. You know the real reason why you’re burning up, and it’s not the fur coat or the temperature of the room. It’s because Joel Miller can’t take his eyes off you in the corner of the room. 

   Your eyes flick toward his every few poses, your body turning just enough to get a view of him from your peripheral vision. You can feel the heat coming off his large body, even if he’s all the way across the room. 

   You can almost taste the coffee flavor that simmers on his tongue, watching him take another sip from his ceramic mug the hosts gave him this morning. You’re dying to have a moment alone with him again, wanting so badly to wrap your arms around his neck and devour his taste with your tongue. Just like that night at Coachella when you were wrapped up in his arms all night long.

   You turn your back to the photographer, peeking over your shoulder while you tease the camera with a wink and a scrunched up nose. You hear Joel choke on a sip of coffee, clearing his throat as he readjusts his position on the velvet couch. You giggle at the sound, knowing you were the one that nearly made him fall off the side of it. You love to tease him, and you know he loves it just as much as you do. 

   “Eyes right here. There, beautiful! Okay, come sit on the ledge by the window for me. Yes, wonderful,” he claps, watching you get into place. 

   You decide to focus back on the camera, back on what you should be paying attention to. You can’t concentrate on anything when Joel is in a room, though. He’ll surely get you into trouble one of these days.

   Joel sits with his back glued to the couch, legs splayed wide, a large hand running up and down the scruff of his face. He can’t keep his eyes off you, can’t seem to stop being mesmerized by the beauty that stands before him. He thinks you look like an angel. Bright lights shining on your little white dress, beautiful eyes silhouetted by the soft curls that spiral down your shoulders. And your legs. God, your legs. Long, tanned thighs that are thick and toned. He thinks you’re so very perfect. Beautiful, smart, kind, funny. Well, you’re everything he’s ever wanted.

   It takes everything in his power to hold himself back from you right now. His fingers dig into the edge of the couch with every turn your body makes, his heart thunders with every flick of your eyes in his direction. He’s so enamoured by every move you make that it makes his mind tick with endless possibilities. 

   He still can’t believe he had you in the trailer at Coachella a few weeks ago, can’t fathom that his lips have been on every inch of your soft skin, his cock buried deep in your pretty pussy. He still remembers how you taste. Vanilla scented skin, citrus flavors flowing down your thighs, your sweet release stuck on his taste buds like it’s his new favorite brand of whiskey. Your melodic moans echo through his mind night after night when he’s twisting in his sheets, begging to hear those pretty sounds purring in the shell of his ear. 

   It’s getting harder for him to control himself around you in public, his fingers buzzing every time your smooth skin brushes against his hand on the side of the street. He wants to tangle his fingers through yours, brush your knuckles against his lips while you lean your head on his shoulder. One day he’ll get to. But for now, he’ll enjoy every single second you have together in the privacy of his own home. 

   He watches you lean against the cascading windows, sees your beautiful smile beaming through the sunlight. You’re so angelic that it makes him want to fall to his knees, worship you like you deserve to be. He’s completely head over heels for you, has been since the moment he met you. It’s not just your looks, your perfect body, your lilty voice. No. He sees how pure your heart is, knows exactly the type of girl you are. 

   The public eye doesn’t know you like he does. They think you’re just some fashionista pop star who likes attention. You’re not superficial, not stuck up, not anything like the fans think. He knows the real you, and he swears you’re the shiniest diamond in the rough. Sweet, kind, caring, and so devoted to spreading awareness on important issues in the world. He doesn’t know how he got so lucky, but he counts his blessings every day for taking a job that led him to you. His shining star.

   The photographer leads you back in front of the pink backdrop, telling you to turn and flip your hair to the camera. You do as he says, giving him the best smile you can muster. “Okay, push your hair back. Just a little,” he asks nicely. You flip your hair behind your shoulders, feeling the fur coat slip further down your arms. 

   “No, honey. Try again. Where’s Cynthia when you need her?” He looks around, finding the room empty of your makeup artist. “Rats. I need to adjust my lense, one second. Joel!” Joel’s eyes go wide, and he sits up straight on the edge of the couch. “Come here for a second, will you? I need you to try to fix her hair, and take her coat off for me. Need to adjust this, be back in two minutes,” he says as he rushes into the other room.

   Joel walks timidly over to you, one foot in front of the other. His blue flannel clinging to his broad shoulders, material binded to his large biceps. He rolls his sleeves up carefully, exposing those long, thick veins that pave the way to his big hands. 

   Your breaths come in waves, your skin glistening with nervous sweat the closer he gets. It’s so hard to hold back when all you want is to jump in his arms, have him scoop you up as he lets you bury your face into the warmth of his chest. That’s all you want right now, all you need. 

   Two more steps and he’s right in front of you, almond eyes gazing down at you, a crooked smile forming over his mouth. He brushes his fingertips slowly over your jaw, delicately tracing his calloused thumb under the bottom of your glossy lips. You almost fall into his broad chest, almost close your eyes and inhale his woodsy cologne that’s stuck to your lilac sheets back at home. You wish the photographer would never come back. He could just leave you alone with Joel in the private space of this loft, and that’d be perfectly fine with you. 

   He pushes an out of place curl behind your ear, tracing the edge of your cheek while his other hand pushes your hair behind your shoulders, lingering a hand over the bare skin on your arm. You blink up at him, nerves buzzing through your lower region, and you wish you could stay in this moment forever. 

   “Do I look okay?” you ask nervously, fluttering your eyelashes up at him as he gives you a deep chuckle in response. 

   “You’re drop dead gorgeous, sweetheart. Not even the sun could outshine you right now.” His words are soft, fingers still lingering over your heated cheeks. Your mouth drops open, still digesting the words that just came from his open lips. 

   “Oh, that’s a… that’s…” Before you can say anything else Joel helps you slide the fur coat off, his calloused fingers skating down your glittery skin as you feel hot fire run through your veins. 

   “You know… I can’t stop thinking about that night at Coachella. The first time I kissed you, tasted you, felt you…” He cups your chin, pulling your face up to his as he gazes deeply into your eyes. You can’t move, can’t speak when his lips are this close to your skin. It’s like everything around you just stops in time. There’s no photographer, no waiting camera, nobody else here except you and Joel. It’s your room, your moment, all yours. 

   “Joel…” you whisper, feeling his lips close in, barely grazing against the gloss of yours. 

   “Yeah, pretty girl?” he asks, his warm breath blowing across the top of your lips. 

   “Kiss me…”

   Just as he’s about to press his lips to yours, Jacque swiftly struts into the room, and Joel jumps back with your jacket in hand, running a hand nervously through his tousled curls as he flicks his brown doe eyes to you and backs up to the couch. 

   You sigh, your heart still lodged in your throat. You were so close to being right where you wanted to be, right on Joel’s lips where it’s warm and inviting and feels like home. 

   “Eyes on me, gorgeous. Push your fingers through your hair and give me that beautiful smile!” Jacque starts flashing the camera, and you pose and smile, giving him your most flirty positions. You feel Joel’s eyes searing into you, undressing every piece of material on your skin, lighting a fire in your core that only he can create.

   He’s a wildfire, and he burns. 

   After a few minutes the photoshoot ends, and Jacque is sending you off with a hug and multiple kisses to your cheek. “Stupendous, darling! I’ll get these edited and back to you in a few days. So nice to work with you again. Keep in touch!”

   You say your goodbyes and let him pack up his belongings while you slip into the changing room and get undressed quickly. Your zipper catches on the sheer material, and memories flash in your mind of the night Joel came into your trailer and helped you out, which led to his lips on yours and then down to your core…

   Shaking the steamy memories away, you slide on a white sundress and leave your photoshoot clothes hanging on a hook. Your stylist said she’d be back later to take your things, so now you’re free to roam around New York City.

   Taking one more look in the mirror to make sure your hair and makeup are in check, you slide on a pair of white Converse and exit the room, entering back into Joel’s vicinity where it’s hot and stifling.

   “You ready to go explore the city, pretty girl?” he whispers out, his hot breath fanning across the shell of your ear which makes goosebumps explode down the width of your arms.

   “Mmm. If it means I get you all to myself today then yes,” you smile, drawing closer to his body, your arm sliding against his discreetly while you walk to the door. His large hand brushes yours when he opens the door for you, and his other hand guides you forward, his fingers tracing against the small of your back like electricity. 

   Once you’re out of sight, his fingers lace through yours and he tugs you toward the lavish elevator, planting a kiss on the crown of your head. “‘Course, sweetheart. You can get me to yourself all day, any day. Jus’ say the words and I’m yours,” he purrs, making your heart swell at the soft words.

   “You have me, Joel. I’m all yours, but only if you’re mine.”

   “I’m all yours, baby.” 

   Before the elevator makes it up to the top floor, Joel pulls you flush to his broad chest and cups the back of your head, drawing you close until his lips meld with yours. It’s like fireworks exploding, sparks flying when his lips connect with yours. It’s like this right here is meant to be. And the feelings inside you are explosive like dynamite. You’re falling for him. Hard.

   The quiet ding of the elevator forces your lips apart. Luckily, no one else is in the elevator, so you have it all to yourselves. He shuffles you inside and clicks the button, lighting up the number one, and then the doors close with a bang.

   The air is stifling in here, lust and feelings permeating like a thick fog around your head. All you can see is Joel’s glittering brown eyes that have trouble and need swirling inside those chocolate irises that stare you down like he wants to devour you. And you’ll let him. God, you’ll let him.

   “God, you’re so beautiful,” he drawls out like smooth butter, making your breath hitch at the words of affirmation.

   “You think so?” you whisper out quietly.

   “It’s not a question, baby. It’s a fact.”

   One hand lingers on the curve of your hip, the other traces softly down your jawline, his thumb brushing against your bottom lip dangerously slow like he’s memorizing every crevice and line of your glossy lips. 

   “I think,” he says while he backs you up against the wall, his arms caging you in on each side so there’s no escape, “you’re the most beautiful girl in the world. And the things I want to do to you shouldn’t even be allowed.” His chest is flush with yours, crowding your space until you can smell every inch of his coffee and woodsy scents colliding together, starting fires deep in your core. 

   Your lips part, and you look up innocently into those lust-filled pits. “So, what are you going to do with me? You going to be my well behaved bodyguard or are you going to fuck me right now, Joel?”

   It only takes a second for him to snap. He hits a button on the wall until the elevator is completely stopped, not even caring that we could be caught. He doesn’t care because all he can think about is having his cock stuffed deep inside you until you’re screaming his name in pure pleasure.

   Taking you up against the cool wall, he lifts you up, slides his hand up your dress till you’re a panting mess just waiting for him to eat you alive. Your legs clamp around his hips; your lips moan his name as he skates his calloused fingers up your skin, and then his lips crash against yours. Hot bliss courses through your veins, his tongue tangling with yours. You drink down his coffee taste, revel in the feel of his palm rutting against your clothed core, making slick crash against the lace material. 

   It’s not enough. You’re not close enough, can’t breathe unless you’re skin to skin to him, his body above you, crushing you to the mattress as he lights your body on fire with each stroke of his tongue, each thrust of his hips, each taste of his plush lips. And he knows. So he crushes his broad body against yours and slips your lace to the side till his fingers circle tightly against your aching bundle of nerves. 

   “Joel,” you pant into his open mouth, letting him devour you with each flick of his tongue. 

   “Hm?” He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t mutter a word more, just swallows your pretty moans. His thick finger are tantalizing. Deft motions taking you to places that only Joel knows how to get you to. 

   Your head falls back against the cool metal wall as white-hot heat slides through your core, your walls clenching around nothing. You’re almost there, almost tearing through your body just as Joel’s deep voice breaks through the fire that’s burning you alive. 

   “Go on, pretty girl. Let me see you,” he drawls out, his lips dragging down your neck, mouth nipping your collarbone. 

   With one more stroke of his big fingers, you’re done for. “Joelll,” you moan, your eyes screwed shut as heat floods down your thighs. Slick covers Joel’s palm, and he audibly growls as he watches you come undone just for him. 

   “There ya go. So pretty, baby,” he hums, warm breath blowing over your mouth. 

   He doesn’t even let you catch your breath till he’s unzipping his fly, shoving his pants and boxers down. His hard length lines up against your slick folds, his swollen tip nudging gently against your opening until you’re practically begging him to take you. 

   “Need you,” you pant, breathless as you slide forward and feel him start to push through your slickness. 

   “Use your words,” he teases, his hand sliding down your back, holding you up off the floor. 

   “Need your… need all of you. Need you inside me,” you whine, lips parted when he smirks devilishly your way. 

   “That’s all you had to say,” he chuckles. Then he’s wasting no time. He thrusts deep inside you, till he bottoms out. Till you feel him everywhere. 

   Gasping, you take a deep breath, let him pound into you, let him fill you with his thick cock and his languid strokes. He scratches that itch against your spongy walls, takes you all the way to heaven each time he kisses your cervix. He feels so good, always hits just the right spot. It’s like he knows you inside and out. Knows exactly what to do to get you to a mind-blowing orgasm. 

   “Oh, fuck,” you whine as he thrusts deeper, harder, until you feel all of him, all at once. 

   “Yeah? That right?” he chuckles as he thrusts once more, repeats the motions languidly. “Takin’ me so good, pretty popstar. Always take my cock so well,” he groans, fusing his lips right under the shell of your ear, hitting another sweet spot as heat slides down your spine. 

   “You’re all I need, Joel. Your lips, your cock, your hands, your everything,” you sing out as he ruts as deep as he can. 

   “Well, you’re all I need too, darlin’. All I fuckin’ think about is havin’ you in my arms,” he drawls out through a grunt. You feel he’s almost there. Feel his cock swell inside you, see his eyebrows thread together, hear the struggle in his deep breaths. 

   But you’re right there too. You were the moment he spoke those sweet words. Letting your walls squeeze around his thick cock, you let him know you’re right there too. “Joel, you’re gonna make me—”

   “Come for me. Come on my cock. Wanna feel you squeeze me,” he slurs through each ragged breath, his hand squeezing around your hip, thrusts speeding up with each word that leaves his beautiful mouth. 

   So you do. Clenching around him, you let his unrelenting thrusts take you over the edge. Pressing your forehead against his, you feel your climax wash over you. Moaning through it, calling his name through the small elevator, you give him everything. Slick coats his cock, washes over him. And then he lets his release take hold seconds later. With one more jut of his hips, he spills his hot seed inside you, claims you as his own with each syllable of your name dripping off his tongue. You let it wash through you, soak him up till you’re certain his DNA is mixed with yours. You’re both tangled together, bodies twisted around one another, peppering soft kisses against each other’s mouths. 

   His forehead falls against yours as he slowly releases your legs from around his hips, sets you down gently to where your feet are planted on the floor. And he slowly adjusts your panties back in place, makes sure you’re put back together after he just tore you apart. Your hands slide up his broad chest once he’s done adjusting his pants back in place. He cups your cheek, looks at you like a man in love. And maybe he is. You see it through the stars twinkling in his brown flecks, see it in his dreamy smile, feel it in the way he touches you—like you’re made of gold dust. And it’s right on the tip of your tongue, right on the edge of his. You can feel it everywhere, dancing around you like it’s been floating there, waiting for this moment. 

   He tips your chin up, looks at you like no one else has, and then it’s there slipping off his tongue into the warm air. “You know, I never imagined I’d be falling in love with the girl I’m supposed to be protecting, but here I am. Already fallen for my pretty popstar.”

   Your lips part, words lost as love serenades through your bloodstream. He just said he’s falling in love… “You… love me?” you whisper out, fingers curling around the front of his soft flannel, eyes blurring through the meaning. 

   He nods, gives you a crooked smile, brown eyes glinting. “I do, babygirl. I love you.”

   You gasp, drag your hand through his tousled curls, stand on your toes so you can brush your mouth over his. “I love you too, my big, soft bodyguard.”

   He scoops you up into his big arms, presses his lips against yours until all you can taste is him. You revel in his touch, the words still dragging over his tongue. I love you, I love you, I love you. 

   You let him brush his knuckles over your cheek, allow him to tangle his fingers through your hair, let him whisper words of affirmation through each kiss, each stroke of his tanned skin. 

   When he parts from your lips, he stands back, eyes slipping over you for a beat, memorizing this moment in time. This special, once in a lifetime moment. He breaks the silence with his husky breath. “Guess we should get out of here?” he asks, knocking his knuckles on the elevator door. 

   You sigh, wanting to stay in this little bubble forever. But you can’t, so you nod. “Yeah, should get out of here.”

   With one more tilt of his head, he presses the lit-up button, till the elevator starts moving down again. 

   You blink up at him, wondering what comes next. Wondering if this can really go on outside these closed-up walls. You know what your publicist will say, know what the tabloids will throw together. Some ridiculous scandal they’ll say. A fling that won’t last. Word will get out to the crowds, your label, your manager. But you just don’t care. You don’t fucking care what anyone says because they don’t know you and Joel. They don’t know us. 

   Us. Yes. You’re an item now, inseparable. And you don’t plan on ever letting that change now. You’ll just hold on to him till the inevitable happens. But maybe this will last. Maybe it’ll end with a rock on your finger, his lips against yours down the aisle, a honeymoon you never want to come back from. Because this feels like forever. And maybe you want it to be. 

   When the elevator doors slide open and you scuff your Converse against the smooth marble floors, you feel blood rushing through your veins, hear static inside your eardrums with each step you get closer to the glass doors. The ones that’ll lead you out to the public. 

   As you close in on your last steps, you stop, look over at Joel. He’s got the same expression as you. Knit eyebrows, jaw ticked, a little worry dancing through his glazed-over eyes. “So,” he asks, worry masking his deep bravado. 

   “So,” you repeat, your heart thrumming through your chest. 

   He slicks a hand back through his curls, sighs when he drops his hand. “We doin’ this?” he asks, the back of his knuckles brushing against yours. 

  You flick your eyes to the closed doors, look outside the gigantic city with big buildings and sunlight streaming through grey clouds. Just as fear takes hold, it disappears the moment he holds his open palm out, waiting for you to take it. 

   Biting your bottom lip, you hover over his hand, think about the consequences of your actions. “What about the paparazzi?”

   He shrugs, slides the fear away. “Don’t care about ‘em. All I care about is you,” he listlessly says, firm on his decision. 

   You melt over his doe eyes, sink a little into the floor. “You really want to take this into the public, where everyone can see?” you ask with wide eyes, feeling a little safer as his calloused fingers glide over your open hand. 

   “I’m tired of hiding, darlin’. I jus’ wanna hold my girlfriend’s hand out in public. Wanna take you shopping and to go eat at that fancy spaghetti restaurant you love. Wanna kiss you under the sunlight and take you on real dates. Wanna make you mine, sweetheart.”

   You lace your fingers through his, seal the deal with a squeeze. “Then I’m all yours, handsome. In private, in public. I could care less about the tabloids. All I want is for my boyfriend to hold my hand while we stroll down the streets together.”

   Joel cups your chin, lifts your mouth to his and crashes into you with a heart-stopping kiss. One that could shatter the earth. You melt into him, forget everything else that’s going on around you, even ignore the person that strolls around the two of you in the lobby. It’s just you and Joel. Nothing else matters. 

   When he leans back, he gives you a wide smile, squeezes your hand and opens the door wide for you. Fresh air kisses your skin, makes you a little breathless when he locks his fingers around yours and leads you down Central Avenue. 

   “C’mon, pretty girl. Let’s go explore New York the way it was meant to be explored. With you right by my side, my hand in yours.”

   And then the rest is history. You don’t care about the flash of cameras around the corner. All you can focus on is his hand in yours, his body shielding you from anyone that’s not him, and the twinkle of his brown eyes filled with love. 

   Love. You’re so in love with your bodyguard, and he’s in love with you. Just a popstar destined to find her bodyguard. The bodyguard that’d change your life forever. 

   Mine. 

[gracie-eilish]

party girl

an: ok so i love this little duo. as someone who used to be so uptight and scared and didn’t go to parties or anything until like my junior year of college, i would have LOVEDDDDD a night like this. anyways, i miss going out😭 being only 22 and post grad is not for the weak. the trashy college bars are calling me.

also this is so long but oh well.

The second Billie burst through your apartment door, you knew she was up to something.

She was grinning, her blue eyes twinkling with mischief, her jacket slung over one shoulder like she had just walked off the cover of a college magazine. You barely had time to glance up from your book before she bounded over to you, excitement radiating from her like an uncontainable force.

“Baby,” she started, practically bouncing on her heels. “Guess what?”

You raised an eyebrow. “You finally learned how to sit still for more than five minutes?”

She let out a dramatic gasp. “First of all, rude. Second of all—no. But I did get invited to a huge frat party tonight. And before you start—yes, I already know what you’re gonna say, and no, I’m not accepting any excuses.”

Your stomach immediately twisted. “Billie—”

“Nope! Not listening,” she sing-songed, plopping down beside you on the couch and tugging the book out of your hands. “You study way too much, babe. You need a break. And what better way to relax than getting absolutely wasted with your super-hot, super-athletic, very fun girlfriend?”

You sighed, biting your lip. “It’s not that I don’t want to—”

“Uh-huh.” She smirked. “But?”

You sighed again, playing with the hem of your sweater. “I don’t really… do parties.”

“I know,” Billie said, her voice softer now, less teasing. “But that’s why I wanna take you. You’re always working so hard, and I just think—” She paused, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “I think you deserve a night to just be. No stress, no books, no deadlines. Just you, me, and a whole lot of bad decisions.”

You let out a small laugh despite yourself. “I don’t know, Billie…”

She pouted, leaning in dramatically. “Please, pretty girl? Just one night?”

You looked at her—the way her eyes sparkled, the way her lips curled up just slightly at the edges, the way she was looking at you like you hung the damn moon—and you knew you were doomed.

With a deep breath, you exhaled, “Fine.”

Before you could blink, Billie let out an excited squeal and tackled you into the couch, peppering your face with kisses. “YES! I knew I could convince you! My cute little nerd does have a wild side!”

You giggled, squirming under her. “Billie, get off!”

“Never,” she declared, grinning as she nuzzled into your neck. “Everyone’s gonna be so jealous that I get to take home the prettiest girl at the party.”

Your face burned. “Billie!”

She just laughed, sitting up and clapping her hands together. “Okay! Time to get you dressed. And before you even think about reaching for your oversized sweater, babe, no. We’re going sexy tonight.”

You giggled and groaned. “What did I just get myself into?”

✨

You sat on your bed, cross-legged, while Billie was rifling through your closet like a woman on a mission. “No… nope… absolutely not… too nerdy—no offense, baby—ooh, this is hot.”

She turned, holding up a short black dress with thin straps, giving you a smug grin.

Your eyes widened. “No way. Absolutely not.”

Billie pouted, walking over and holding it up against your body. “Why not? You’d look so good in this, baby. Just imagine—me, all over you at the party, everyone wishing they were me because I get to touch you.”

Your face burned. “Billie—”

“Please,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “For me?”

You hesitated, running your fingers over the fabric. It was pretty. Maybe too pretty.

But after a second, you sighed. “It’s just… it feels like too much for a frat party.”

Billie studied you for a moment before nodding. “Okay. That’s fair.” And then, with a glint in her eyes, she turned back to your closet and started digging again. “Lucky for you, I’m a problem solver.”

You frowned. “Billie, what are you—”

Then, suddenly, she gasped. “Babe.”

You blinked as she spun around, holding up a black crop top you had completely forgotten existed.

Your sister had insisted you bring a few of her going out tops to college, saying you needed “just a few things to push you out of your comfort zone.” You had shoved them to the back of your closet the second you unpacked.

Billie grinned like she had just discovered buried treasure. “What is this, and why have you been keeping it from me?”

You bit your lip. “It’s… just something my sister made me bring.”

“Well, she was right to make you bring it.” Billie held it up to your chest and smirked. “This. With your ripped jeans. This is the one.”

You hesitated. “Are you sure?”

Billie stepped closer, wrapping her arms around your waist. “Baby. You have to let me be selfish just this once. I need everyone to see how insanely hot my girlfriend is.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes. “Fine. But I swear, if I feel uncomfortable—”

“I’ll give you my jacket. Promise,” she murmured, pressing a quick kiss to your lips. “Now sit over here. Let me do your hair.”

You obeyed, sitting at your desk turned vanity, as Billie stood behind you, running her fingers through your hair, removing the elastic holding it up.

She hummed. “I say we ditch your cutie ponytail tonight. Let me curl it, yeah?”

You hesitated. “I don’t know, Billie, I always—”

“I know,” she cut in. “You always do the ponytail. Tonight, we’re switching things up. Trust me, babe. You’ll look so hot.”

You sighed but nodded. “Okay, fine. But if it looks bad—”

“—you’ll be the prettiest girl there,” Billie finished, pressing a kiss to your temple.

As she worked, you closed your eyes, letting yourself enjoy the feeling of her fingers gently styling your hair. Every now and then, she’d tuck a strand behind your ear or run her nails lightly against your scalp, and your heart would do little flips.

“That feel good baby?” She giggled at your droopy eyes and blissed out smile. All you could do was hum a response, making her giggle more.

When she finished and stepped back, she let out a low whistle. “Oh, babyyy. You look like a supermodel.”

You turned to the mirror, blinking at your reflection. The soft, cascading waves framed your face beautifully, giving you a completely different look. You looked perfect.

Billie grinned. “I might have to fight someone tonight.”

You laughed, reaching to take off your glasses, but Billie grabbed your wrist. “Wait.”

You hesitated. “What?”

She bit her lip, studying you. “Okay, yes, you look insane without them. But honestly?” She gently placed them back on your nose, brushing her fingers against your cheek. “I love your big doe eyes too much. Even when you’re looking all sexy.”

Your stomach flipped. “Billie.”

She smirked, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Now, come on, supermodel. Go get dressed.”

Billie went over to sit on your bed, twirling a strand of her own hair around her finger as she watched you hesitate near your bathroom door. “Baaabe,” she whined playfully, dragging out the word. “Go put the outfit on! I need to see my sexy girlfriend in all her glory.”

You fidgeted with the hem of your sweater. “What if I don’t feel comfortable in it?”

Billie tilted her head, giving you a soft smile. “Then we’ll find something else, no big deal. But at least try it on for me? Just once?”

You sighed, glancing at the little black crop top Billie had laid out on your bed earlier. It still felt like a lot, but the excitement in her eyes made it hard to say no.

“Fine,” you murmured. “But if I hate it, you’re letting me wear my sweater.”

Billie smirked, crossing her arms. “If you hate it, I will personally wrap you in my jacket all night. Now go, before I lose my mind wondering how hot you’re about to look.”

You rolled your eyes, but her words sent a flutter through your chest as you finally stepped into your bathroom.

You took a deep breath as you stood in front of your mirror, smoothing your hands over your ripped jeans and adjusting the hem of the little black crop top. It felt… different. More revealing than anything you usually wore. You weren’t used to showing this much skin, and your nerves were starting to creep back in.

Swallowing, you hesitantly stepped out of your room, fidgeting with the bottom of your shirt as you walked back into your room where Billie was waiting. She was scrolling through her phone, but the second she looked up and saw you, her jaw dropped.

Her mouth parted slightly, eyes dragging over you slowly, like she was committing every inch to memory. “Holy shit,” she breathed.

Your cheeks burned as you crossed your arms, shifting on your feet. “Is it… too much?”

Billie blinked, shaking her head quickly as she stood and strode over to you. “Too much? Doll.” She placed her hands on your waist, fingers brushing over the bare skin between your top and jeans. “You look insane. Like, actually unreal. Are you trying to kill me?”

You let out a nervous laugh, biting your lip. “I just don’t usually wear stuff like this.”

Billie’s teasing softened into something more tender as she tucked a loose curl behind your ear. “I know, baby. You don’t have to do anything different, don’t have to be anyone different. Just be you, and I promise you’re gonna turn heads the second we walk in.”

You hesitated. “You really think so?”

Billie smirked, leaning in until her lips brushed your ear. “I know so.” She let her lips linger just below your jaw, pressing a slow, teasing kiss to your skin. “But don’t worry, pretty girl. I’ll be right by your side all night.” Her fingers squeezed your waist. “No one gets to enjoy this view but me.”

Your stomach flipped, and suddenly, the nerves in your chest felt just a little lighter. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

✨

The house was packed. Music thumped through the walls, the bass rattling your chest, and the scent of cheap beer and too-strong cologne filled the air. Groups of people stood around, red cups in hand, laughter and drunken shouts echoing through the space.

You were definitely out of your comfort zone.

But Billie? Billie was thriving.

She was at home in this chaos, her arm draped protectively around your waist as she guided you through the crowd. Every few steps, someone would call her name—girls from her team, random partygoers who had clearly seen her dominate the field—and she’d flash them that cocky, dimpled grin, giving them a wave but never once letting go of you.

“You okay?” she murmured into your ear, her lips brushing against your temple.

You nodded, gripping her hand tightly. “Just… a little overwhelmed.”

She squeezed your hand reassuringly. “I got you, baby. Just stick with me, yeah?”

You nodded again, feeling the warmth of her body against yours.

“Now,” she smirked. “What do you wanna do first? Dance? Drink? Make out in a dark corner?”

Your face burned. “Billie!”

She laughed, pulling you closer. “What? Just putting all the options on the table!”

You huffed, but before you could respond, someone shoved a drinks into your hands. “Drink up, O’Connell!” some guy called, grinning at Billie. “And, uh— girlfriend?”

Billie rolled her eyes but took the drink. “You wish you could handle my girl,” she shot back, shoving the guy away, smirking as she turned to you. “C’mon, babe. Just one?”

You hesitated, eyeing the cup.

“Live a little,” Billie whispered teasingly, scrunching her nose and smirking, her fingers brushing against your waist.

You took a deep breath smirking a bit… and knocked back the shot.

The burn was immediate, spreading down your throat and warming your chest. You coughed a bit, eyes watering making you giggle, and Billie grinned. “Atta girl!”

One shot turned into two. Then three. And before Billie knew it, you were the life of the party.

She watched in pure disbelief as you laughed, your once-shy demeanor completely forgotten. You were dancing—actually dancing—and her heart swelled at the sight of you, all carefree and beautiful and hers.

“Who are you, and what have you done with my girlfriend?” Billie teased as she came up behind you, her hands finding your hips.

You turned to face her, your eyes bright and a little hazy. “You wanted me to have fun,” you giggled, your arms looping around her neck. “So I’m having fun.”

She chuckled, leaning in close. “Oh, you are something else, pretty girl.”

You smirked up at her. “Your pretty girl.”

Billie’s breath hitched. “God, I love when you say that,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

For the rest of the night, she didn’t let you out of her sight. Every time someone looked at you a little too long, she tightened her grip around your waist. Every time someone tried to flirt, she pulled you into a kiss. And when you laughed, your head thrown back, your eyes crinkling at the edges—she swore she had never been happier.

Because this? Seeing you happy, seeing you let go, even for just one night? It was everything she ever wanted.

As the party raged on, Billie tugged you into a quieter corner, tilting your chin up with her fingers. “You having fun, baby?”

You nodded, your cheeks flushed from the alcohol. “Mhm.”

She grinned. “Good. ‘Cause I think I might be a little obsessed with drunk you.”

You giggled. “Drunk me is fun.”

“Drunk you is so fun,” she agreed, pressing a kiss to your nose. “But I think it’s time I take my girl home before she ends up challenging someone to beer pong.”

You pouted. “But I bet I’d win!”

Billie laughed, shaking her head. “Oh, I know you would. But I’d rather get you home and take care of you.”

You hummed, wrapping your arms around her. “You’re so good to me.”

She softened, brushing her thumb over your cheek. “Of course I am, baby. You’re my girl.”

You smiled, leaning into her touch. “Your girl.”

Billie smirked. “Damn right.”

And with that, she bent down so you could hop onto her back, wrapping your arms around her neck and shoulders—because, really, what better way to end the night than carrying her very tipsy, very cute girlfriend home?

✨

Now, as Billie carried you out of the frat house and toward her car, you arms were slung lazily over her shoulders, keeping you close. You were still giggly, still warm from both the drinks and the buzz of the night, and Billie was eating it up.

“You, my love, were a menace tonight,” Billie teased, shooting you a sideways grin as she unlocked the car.

You blinked at her, your big, glassy doe eyes blinking slowly. “Me?” You gasped, pressing a hand to your chest dramatically. “A menace?”

Billie laughed, opening the passenger door for you. “Oh, absolutely. My shy little bookworm turned into a whole different person after those shots.” She watched as you plopped into the seat with a happy sigh, your head lolling against the headrest. “I’ve never seen you like that before.”

You giggled, adjusting your glasses as they started slipping down your nose. “Maybe ‘cause I never did shots before.”

Billie smirked, leaning down so her face was close to yours. “I think I kinda liked it. My baby all carefree, having fun…” Her fingers ghosted under your chin, tilting your face toward hers. “Looking as hot as she did tonight.”

Your face burned immediately, and suddenly, the confidence you’d had back at the party fizzled out. You shrank back slightly, covering your face with your hands. “S-Stop.”

Billie just grinned, laughing as she helped buckle you in. “Oh no, no, no. You don’t get to hide from me now, sweetheart.” She tapped your knee before shutting the door and jogging around to the driver’s side.

Once she started driving, the car ride was filled with your soft giggles and Billie’s affectionate teasing. At one point, your glasses slid crooked on your nose again, making Billie glance over and chuckle.

“Babe, your glasses,” she said, reaching over at a red light to gently straighten them.

You scrunched your nose. “Why do they keep doing that?”

Billie smirked. “Maybe ‘cause you had a few too many drinks and your giggling so much you keep knocking them around.”

You pouted. “I like my glasses.”

She softened, tucking a loose curl behind your ear. “I love your glasses, baby.” She tapped the frame lightly. “You know I can’t get enough of these big, pretty eyes.”

Your blush deepened, and Billie loved it.

“Okay,” she said, steering the conversation elsewhere as she drove. “Tell me the truth—did you actually have fun tonight? I know this wasn’t, like, your usual scene.”

You hummed, resting your cheek against the cool window. “I did. Like… a lot.” You looked over at her. “I’m really glad I went with you.”

Billie beamed, glancing at you briefly before turning back to the road. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You twirled a strand of your hair between your fingers. “I even… kinda liked my outfit.”

Billie gasped dramatically. “Stop. My little bookworm liked the sexy outfit?”

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t make fun of me.”

“Never,” Billie said, but she was grinning. “I told you you’d look amazing.”

You sighed contentedly. “And I even liked my hair…”

Billie reached over, running her fingers gently through your styled waves. “Good. ‘Cause you looked like a supermodel, baby.”

You turned your head to hide your smile, but Billie saw it. And she loved it.

When you finally arrived home, Billie helped you inside, keeping her hands steady on your waist as you wobbled up the steps. You were still giggly, still buzzing from the night, and Billie was adoring it.

As soon as she shut the door behind you, you collapsed against her, wrapping your arms around her waist and clinging like a koala. Billie chuckled, rubbing your back.

“You’re so warm,” you mumbled into her neck.

She smirked. “That’s ‘cause you’re all over me, babe.”

“Mmm. I like being all over you.”

Billie’s heart swelled. She could definitely get used to this.

“Alright, sleepyhead,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “But before bed, let’s get some food and water in you, yeah?”

You groaned dramatically, your grip tightening. “Nooo. Don’t wanna.”

Billie smirked before effortlessly scooping you up into her arms. You let out a surprised squeak, but it quickly turned into delighted giggles as you clung to her.

“Why are you so strong?” you marveled, blinking up at her dreamily.

Billie grinned, carrying you toward the kitchen. “‘Cause I gotta carry my pretty girl around when she gets all sleepy and clingy.”

Your face burned, but instead of pulling away like usual when flustered, you just whined and buried your face in her neck. “Not fair.”

Billie just laughed, setting you down on the counter before grabbing a water bottle and a snack for you.

“C’mon, baby, drink some water for me,” she cooed, twisting the cap off and holding it up to your lips.

You pouted but took a few sips, making Billie smile.

“Good girl,” she praised, making your face burn.

After some light coaxing, you nibbled on the snack she gave you, still kicking your feet playfully. Billie smirked.

“You’re so giggly tonight,” she mused, running a hand up your thigh. “I love it.”

You giggled again. “I love you.”

Billie’s smirk softened into something more affectionate. “I love you too, baby.” She tapped your knee. “Alright, let’s get you in pajamas.”

She led you to the bathroom, where she attempted to let you brush your teeth yourself—but you kept missing your mouth, more focused on looking at her on the mirror with those big, drunk, bambi eyes.

Billie melted.

“Oh my God,” she giggled. “Okay, I gotcha, baby.”

She carefully helped you brush your teeth, laughing as you scrunched your nose at the taste of mint. When you were done, you wiped your face clean and changed into a big, soft t-shirt and sleep shorts.

Once she finally got you into bed, you immediately latched onto her, nuzzling into her chest and curling up like a koala.

Billie laughed, wrapping her arms around you. “Oh, we’re cuddling immediately, huh?”

“Mhm,” you hummed, sighing happily. “You’re so comfy. I love you.”

Billie smiled, kissing the top of your head. “I love you too, baby.”

As you drifted off, Billie just held you close, feeling completely and utterly smitten. She loved when you got all sleepy and snuggly with her. She loved that she got to take care of you, that you trusted her this much.

Yeah. She could do this forever.

[felinecyan]

I Still Believe

[Shota Aizawa and Student!Reader]

Synopsis: All it takes is one person. One person to tell you something you’ve done right. One person to believe in you when no one else will. And that one person could change everything.

WC: 1994

Category: Hurt/Comfort, Platonic, Dadzawa✨

I thought it would be beneficial to start of my Aizawa route with Dadzawa. Hurt/Comfort tropes align with me AND him so well.

『••✎••』

The door of class 1-A's dormitories swung open, the wood and glass making a loud banging noise as it collided with the wall, a cloud of dust appearing and a small dent created in the plaster. Your head hung low, your body leaning on the door, as you stood there, panting, with tears streaming down your face.

You avoided everyone's eyes as you made your way to the common room. You tried to hide your body, pulling your hoodie over your face as you shuffled over, trying not to look at anyone as if they could see right through you. None of them noticed, too preoccupied by your classmate Bakugou's daily tantrum.

You slipped past unnoticed, walking over to the staircase. The class chatter turned to a dull murmur as you went upstairs, your feet taking you to your dorm without a second thought. It was only when you opened the door and looked around your dark and dingy bedroom that the weight came crashing down on you.

Your body crumbled, your knees falling from underneath you as your tears stained the carpet. Your body shook as you sobbed, your hands clutching onto the fabric beneath you as if you'd fall off the earth otherwise.

You knew U.A. was going to be hard; you came prepared, but nothing could have prepared you for this. You felt absolutely horrible. Compared to everyone, it was a slap in the face to say that you weren't good enough. You weren't smart enough; you weren't strong enough.

You weren't good enough.

Everyone in your class was so much better than you. Midoriya was a powerhouse; his Quirk was so powerful it would've made you laugh. Bakugou was a force to be reckoned with; his intelligence and his drive were unmatched. Iida, Todoroki, Yaoyorozu... all of them had amazing Quirks and were incredible at fighting, and yet here you were, at the bottom of the class, not even worthy of being called a hero.

Your parents were right. You weren't fit for this. They had warned you. They told you that even if you were in the top ten in the exam, you weren't meant for U.A., but you didn't listen. You wanted to become a hero; you had the opportunity, so why wouldn't you take it?

You should've listened.

The day was awful. Aizawa had kept his entire attention on you, watching every single move, every single mistake, like a hawk. Being outside the classroom, working on techniques, and using your Quirk was humiliating. The more he watched, the more frustrated he seemed, and the more frustrated he seemed, the worse you were. Even when you'd wake up at ridiculous hours, practicing until your muscles screamed at you, the improvement was not visible.

How would you be a pro if you couldn't even get the basics down?

You let out a shaky breath, trying to calm yourself. You were a mess. You couldn't even breathe properly; your head was pounding, and you felt light-headed. The tears were flowing down your cheeks like a river. Your arms shook as you tried to push yourself up. Your legs felt weak, and you were scared that you would fall again.

Then, a soft knock on your door. You froze.

"Go away," you croaked, your voice hoarse and scratchy. "Please."

The door opened, the hinges creaking softly. You looked over, trying to make out a figure in the darkness, and found yourself staring into two glowing red eyes.

Ah, shit.

You completely forgot about the roll call.

You quickly scrambled to stand, your legs wobbling beneath you as you struggled to stay upright. You tried to wipe away the tears and snot running down your face, not wanting him to see you in such a weak state, but he had already seen everything.

Mr. Aizawa stood there in the doorway, his hands in his pockets, a look of concern written on his face while those beaming red eyes stared into yours, preventing you from doing anything. Still, he said nothing, just waiting. Waiting for you to speak. Waiting for an explanation. Waiting for an excuse.

The silence was suffocating. You hated the way his gaze burned a hole through you. The tension was almost unbearable, and you weren't sure how much longer you could hold it together.

"I... I'm sorry," you managed to say after a few seconds, your voice barely above a whisper. "I'm so sorry."

Your body began to shake as the tears started to flow freely again. You tried to hide your face in your hands, ashamed that you were showing so much weakness. You tried to calm yourself, taking deep breaths and wiping your nose, before looking back up to meet his gaze.

The red eyes dissipated, returning to their normal black color. The light from the hallway filtered in through the door and the window, and you were thankful. Now, you didn't have to see the disappointment in his eyes.

"What are you sorry for?"

The question caught you off guard. You blinked, unsure what to say because, truthfully, you had a lot of things to apologize for. You were sorry for your Quirk, sorry for not trying hard enough, sorry for being a disappointment, sorry for wasting his time.

"For... missing roll call." You figured this was a safe answer, the answer that he most likely wanted.

But, oddly enough, you could see a hint of annoyance flash across his face. His hands fell out of his pockets, and he crossed his arms over his chest. Oh, no. This wasn't the answer he wanted, and now you were really in for it.

"And why would that be a problem?"

"Because it's part of the rules, and it shows I'm irresponsible and disrespectful," you muttered, staring at the ground.

"That... might have some validity." He was clearly trying to be polite, but his words stung nonetheless. "However, that's not the real issue, is it?"

His voice was calm, yet it was firm and unyielding. He was expecting an answer.

"Well..." you started, not really knowing how to proceed.

"Do you want to be a hero?"

The question made you freeze, and you had to stop and think. Did you want to be a hero? Of course you did. That was why you were here. It was why you had left your parents, it was why you had trained so hard, why you had studied late at night, why you had worked so hard to be accepted into U.A.

But...

Did you deserve it?

No.

"Of course I do," you replied, nodding your head vigorously. "More than anything."

"Then why do you act like you don't?" He raised an eyebrow, his expression serious. "By your attitude, it seems as if you don't feel you belong here. As if you don't want to be here."

His words struck you harder than any punch ever could. The tears returned, and you fought the urge to sob. You felt so stupid. So pathetic. Here you were, crying when there were other students who had real issues, who had real problems, and yet you couldn't hold it together for a second.

"I..." You struggled to find the right words, the words that would convey just how much you wanted this. How much do you want to become a hero? How much it hurt. How much it killed you inside. "I don't know."

He frowned, his brow furrowing. "You don't know? What kind of answer is that?"

You shook your head, biting your lip. You couldn't bear to look at him.

"I don't... I don't deserve to be here." The words tumbled out before you could stop them. Your eyes widened, and your hands flew to your mouth. You couldn't believe you had just said that.

He looked surprised, but he didn't seem shocked. He seemed almost resigned as if he had expected something along those lines.

"Is that what you think?" he asked quietly. You tried your hardest to read his expression, but his face was completely unreadable.

"I..." You hesitated, unsure if you should say what you really thought, but the stern look he gave you pushed you forward. "Yes."

He let out a deep sigh. "Why?"

You didn't want to answer. You didn't want to tell him that you were afraid, that you weren't good enough.

He waited patiently, his expression neutral. He wasn't going to leave until he had his answer.

"I... I can't do this," you admitted, tears blurring your vision. "I can't keep up. Everyone else is so much better than me, and I just don't see why I should even bother anymore. No matter how hard I try, no matter how much I practice, I just end up disappointing everyone."

Aizawa's expression softened slightly, and he uncrossed his arms. He walked closer, and you backed away, not wanting him to see how weak you were—not wanting him to see how vulnerable you were. But he followed, moving closer and closer until he was standing in front of you, inches away from your trembling form.

That's when he bent down, and his hands cupped your chin, forcing you to look up.

"You don't disappoint me." His eyes were kind, and there was a hint of a smile on his lips. "You're trying. That's more than I can say about many other students in this class."

Your eyes widened, and you shook your head. "That's not true! You saw today, I—"

"I saw a student who is willing to do whatever it takes to be the best they can be," he cut in, his voice calm and steady. "That's all anyone can ask for. If you're not giving your all, then what's the point?"

"But... I'm not good enough," you whispered, your lip quivering. "I can't do it."

"Who said that?" His gaze was intense, and his hand moved from your chin to cup your cheek. "Who told you that you couldn't do it?"

The only people who had ever told you that were your parents, but you couldn't tell him that. You couldn't bear to have him look at you with pity. You couldn't bear to have him look at you at all.

You didn't answer. You couldn't answer.

"Listen to me," he said, his voice dropping lower as he took note of your expression. "There's no such thing as not good enough. There's only enough. You are enough. More than enough."

"But-"

"Don't argue with me," he said, shaking his head. "I know what I'm talking about. If you weren't enough, if you weren't worth it, you would've never been accepted into U.A. to begin with. But you're here, and that means you're more than enough. You're worth it. Never forget that."

His words were like a knife through your heart, and the tears flowed freely now. You couldn't stop them even if you tried. You felt so overwhelmed. He was saying all the right things, all the things you had wanted to hear, and it was too much.

You let out a strangled sob, and he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a hug. His hands ran through your hair, and his voice was soft as he murmured in your ear.

"I've seen potential in you from the start," he said, his words filling you with hope. "I still believe in you. I still see that potential. You just need to believe in yourself, and then you'll start to see that progress within yourself."

You clung to him, your face buried in his chest. His arms were strong, and they felt so safe like nothing could ever hurt you. Like you could never disappoint him.

"Thank you," you whispered, your voice barely audible. It was all you could say.

Thank you for believing in me. Thank you for not giving up on me.

Thank you for being the first one to tell me I was good enough.

[ketaundkrawall]

Backstage ☽｡⋆ Joost Klein

Summary: Joost fucks you backstage.

Warnings: smut (18+!!), pwp (like literally), unprotected piv, oral (m!receiving), chocking, teasing (😈), softdom!Joost, gf!reader, sex in a backstage area, praise kink (blink and you’ll miss it), horny idiots and I hope that’s it, no use of Y/N, afab!reader

WC: 969ish

A/N: so this one is based on this request I got few days ago! Thank you for the req Nonnie :3!! I hope it lives up to what you imagined 🥹 and reqs are always open for you all my people ✨

18+ under the cut!

The air was heavy and warm, your skin layered with a coat of sweat as Joost pressed you against the wall of the backstage area. The concrete cooling your skin down as his hands roamed all over your body. Teeth clashing and heavy breathing the only audible sound in the small room. The soft tips of his fingers drawing circles on your hips, pulling you even closer to him.

Turning his head away and he looked you deep in the eyes. Oh those beautiful eyes. “I need you now.” He said, desperation coating his words.

An equally needy sound leaving your lips as he took your hand and pressed it firmly against his crotch, showing you just how much he needed you right now.

Your hands were quick to find his belt, opening it while falling on your knees in the process. Hooking your fingers through the loops of his jeans you pulled them down along with his boxers, freeing his throbbing erection. Your mouth watering at the sight in front of you.

Feeling a hand around your chin Joost made you look up at him. His hair was all messy, his cheeks flushed and eyes dark with lust. Definitely a sight for sore eyes. “Open your mouth for me.” He said, brushing his thumb over your lower lip.

Not breaking eye contact you opened your mouth, watching his every move, as he pushed his thumb into it. Closing your lips around it you twirled your tongue around his thumb, sucking slightly on it which earned you a deep moan from him.

Soon the finger was replaced with his dick. Watching you move your head and working his length into your mouth, Joost closed his eyes. Enjoying the feeling of the wet and warmth of it. He always loved when you got on your knees for him. As he looked down he could’ve come there and then. Your eyes were closed as your pretty little mouth swallowed him whole.

Feeling the familiar warmth spread across his lower abdomen he was quick to pull you off him, earning a whine from you. “Hey!”

Grabbing your arm he pulled you up and pushed towards a table that was standing in the middle of the room.

Your brain couldn’t really comprehend what happened next. Joost swiftly and in one motion emptied the table with one arm. Bottles and plastic cups clashing onto the floor making a mess. Bending you over he pulled your skirt up your hips.

Biting your lip to keep you from moaning his thumb brushed against the wet fabric of your tiny thong you decided to wear. “Are you gonna fuck me now or what?” You sneakily remarked, gaining you another slap on your ass, harder this time.

“Definitely will baby. Definitely will.” He mumbled. Pushing it down your legs, you shivered as the air hit your wet and dripping cunt. The feeling of Joosts fingers sliding up and down your wet slit made you hold onto the table harder. Knuckles turning white.

Grinning to himself he watched you writhe beneath him. Deciding not to tease you more, he wrapped his slick coated fingers around his dick, giving it a few strokes before teasing your entrance with the tip.

Whimpering you tried to push back for some friction. “Ah-ah.” Joost chuckled.

Another whine and god he loved when you let out those little noises, blood rushing straight to his cock.

Snapping his hips forward you practically screamed his name out of pleasure. His hips now flush against your ass. “P-please.” Your desperation was music to his ears. “Fuck me Joost.” And that was all he needed to hear. He grabbed you by your neck, pressing the side of your face against the table, fucking into you like a mad man.

Skin slapping against skin and shallow breaths filling the quiet room. “So good for me.” He moaned. “Taking my cock so well Schat (Baby). Feeling so perfect around me.”

You tried to say something but your brain was fogged. Only filled with cock and the feeling of his hand around your neck, chocking you oh so nicely.

It didn’t take long for the both of you to come closer to the edge. Joost could feel your pussy tighten around his cock, indicating him that you were close so he put two fingers on your clit rubbing it in tight circles. “Come on, I know you’re close.” He breathed out, feeling his own release building up in the pit of his stomach. “Cum on my cock baby.”

And with that you couldn’t hold back anymore. Your mind went blank as your orgasm washed over you, knees buckling. You were sure if Joost didn’t hold you up by your hips you’d fall right over.

Feeling you tighten around him his hips stuttered before stopping completely and emptying himself deep inside you.

It takes you a moment to come down to planet earth. Pulling out of you, you could feel a kiss being pressed to the back of your head. Feeling too fucked to get up, you just stayed in your place, hearing your boyfriend getting dressed again. The loss of contact making you whine softly.

Looking around the dressing room, Joost picked up a cloth to clean you up, being very gentle and soft. “Thank you.” He said, pulling your panties back and your skirt down before helping you stand back on your wobbly legs.

You chuckled. “No need to thank me next time just warn me before attacking me like a horny teen.” Leaning closer you pressed a kiss against his lips. “Let’s get back out there. Bet everyone’s wondering where you are.” And with that you both walked back out the room and right back into the crowded hall of the club Joost had just performed in minutes ago.

-

A/N: Hope you enjoyed this little cutie and feel free to ask/request anything!!

[mommyslittlebird]

Mommy needs you

Bottom!Stepmom!Wanda x Stone!Reader

After a long day of teasing, you finally decide to treat your clearly desperate stepmom, Wanda, to a reward.

CW: Stepmom/Stepdaughter, cheating, dirty talk, humiliation, blowjobs, voyeurism, mentions of bondage, Wanda has a penis. MDNI.

Word count: 1.8k

A/N: I have to go to work in like 4 hours but I was consumed with ✨thoughts✨. Writing blowjobs is so hard because it means one of your characters can’t talk 😭. I wrote this like 5 different times before I got to a version I actually liked, and still the end was a bit rushed, but I hope you enjoy anyway.

In her defense, you had been teasing her all evening. The way you’d licked the whisk clean, using the hot kitchen as an excuse to strip down to little more than just an apron, a few too many two-finger-taste-tests, giving her two of your fingers for taste tests of her own. You really couldn’t blame her.

Still, you couldn’t hold back a smirk as you sat across from her and your father at the kitchen table. Luckily, your father paid little attention to either of you as he hurriedly wolfed down his dinner in preparation for his night shift at work. He hadn’t even been downstairs for half an hour before he was throwing his coat over his shoulders.

“Alright,” he sighed in the same tone he used before he left every night. He always made it sound like he was leaving for 8 months when he’d only be gone 8 hours. You wished he’d leave for 8 months. “It’s time for me to head out.” He bent over and kissed Wanda’s forehead, which was noticeably sweatier than usually. “Get some rest, both of you!” He called before walking out the door, leaving you and your stepmother alone.

A small giggle escaped your lips as your stepmother turned to face you. She looked nothing short of pathetic, breathless as she practically humped the wooden dining chair. You stood up, circling the table to stand behind her. “Did you enjoy your dinner mommy?” you asked, nuzzling her neck while you ran your hand down the front of her pink sweater.

She bit her lip. “Mhm,” she groaned, grinding further into her chair as your lips met her neck.

“Mmm you seemed like you were enjoying it,” you teased, kissing up under her ear. “Can I get you anything else? Dessert, perhaps?”

“Please detka,” she moaned. As your hand got lower and lower, her hips started to buck up against it instead of down against the chair.

You reached between her legs, lightly tracing her bulge with the tips of your fingers. “Aww poor mommy. I bet this needy little cock can’t wait for another course can it? It must hurt so bad rubbing up against this denim, hmm?” You gently squeezed the fabric for emphasis.

“N-no. Please detka, I need you,” she stammered.

“Aww does mommy need her little girl to take care of her?” you feigned sympathy.  She nodded eagerly. “Tell me mommy. Tell me how bad you need me.” You kept massaging her through her pants.

“Please. Oh please, I’m so hard for you it hurts. Please, I need your mouth, your hands, anything please!”

“Shh mommy it’s okay. I’m gonna take good care of you. Let’s just get you to the couch, okay?”

To your surprise, Wanda didn’t protest. She stood up on shaking legs and made her way to the living room, laying out a blanket before sitting down. You followed close behind her, heart racing as she wordlessly followed your directions. You could see the desperation in her green eyes. How could you not give her exactly what she wanted?

You stroked her hair out of her face, meeting her gaze. “I’m going to take such good care of you, mommy. Just lay down. Just like that.” You guided her head down on to a couple pillows you had grabbed.

She was already in the process of kicking out of her jeans to reveal a lacy pair of pink panties: one’s she had stolen from you. Her dick was straining uncomfortably against the fabric, leaking precum from the tip that threatened to escape through the leg hole. “Aww mommy, you’ve made a mess of my panties. It’s okay. I’ll forgive you just ‘cause they look so pretty on you. Do you wear my panties when you play with yourself?”

Wanda’s whole face reddened. She did, and you knew that after catching her late one evening with her cock and a light blue thong in her hand. The thought that she got off to the thought of you even when you weren’t around sent a shot of pleasure between your own legs. She nodded bashfully.

“That’s very naughty of you, mommy. Getting yourself off to the thought of your little girl’s pussy,” you teasingly scolded. “Maybe for that you deserve to have these little panties shoved in your mouth, hmm?” You chuckled darkly, toying with the waistband. “Maybe we’ll save those for later, when your pretty little brain can’t come up with any more words.”

You pulled the fabric down, smirking as her already twitching cock sprung out. You were practically salivating at the way a thin trail of precum dripped down from the tip like melted wax from a candle.  “Mommy you have the prettiest little cock in the whole entire world,” you started, kissing a trail up her shaft. When you got to the top you opened your mouth wider, allowing the tip to creep in past your lips. You moaned at her taste.

She groaned and allowed her head to roll back. It was a gorgeous sight, the way her hips arched away from the sofa to force her further down your throat. You greedily accepted every inch, bobbing your head so far down the tip hit the back of your throat. Your eyes rolled back as you took her down to hilt, reaching your hand up to fondle her balls.

“Oh that’s it sweet girl, you're making mommy feel so good. Keep going just like that.” It took all her strength to keep her head up, but the beautiful sight between her legs made it all worth it. “You look so pretty with my cock in your mouth detka. You’re mommy’s pretty girl.”

She thrust her hips up desperately into your mouth, causing you to gag and sputter around her. Saliva fell from your open mouth, sloppily covering her shaft. “Fuck, you’re making such pretty noises,” she whined. You pinned her hips to the sofa, mostly stilling her hips from her needing rutting. She whimpered, looking like she might cry if you stopped now.

Naturally, you stopped, lifting your head and moving to nip at her thighs.

“No! No, please!” she begged. “I’ll stay still. I’ll be good, I promise.”

You kissed her balls, sucking the skin into your mouth while stroking her shaft with your hand. “Shh,” you soothed. “You’re being all perfect and needy for me. I just need you to last a little bit longer, okay?” You rubbed her tip with the pad of your thumb, wiping away the dribbling precum.

She nodded, defeated but determined to behave. She attempted to still her hips but she couldn’t help but buck up into your hand.

You rested your head innocently on her thigh. “You're just so pathetic and desperate for me aren’t you? You need your little girl to milk your little cock for for you?” you teased. She nodded, propping herself up on her elbows.

Determined to knock her back down, you took her length back in your mouth. You closed your lips around her, sucking and licking the tip. She cried out and fell back against the pillows. Satisfied, you picked up the pace, going just as fast as you'd been going before

She wiped away the hair that clung to your sweaty forehead. She wanted to see the look in your eyes, and she was not disappointed when your blown out pupils met hers. “Keep looking at me detka. Mommy’s gonna cum for you. You want to watch mommy cum?”

You nodded eagerly. She had lasted longer than you’d expected, even though it had still been less than 10 minutes. Her hips stammered pathetically as she filled your mouth with her cum. You swallowed, determined not to miss a drop. You felt her go soft in your mouth and finally lifted your head, watching as trails of spit dripped down her cock.

“Oh you were so needy for me, weren’t you mommy? You came so fast for me.” you teased, lightly grazing her sides with your fingernails. Her body shivered in response.

“Yes, detka. Thank you, you made mommy feel so good.” She was breathless, staring open mouthed at the ceiling as she laid limp against the pillows.

“Mmm you tasted so good, mommy.” You eased her sweater up slowly, kissing a wet trail from her stomach up her chest. You took one of her nipples into your mouth, sucking and flicking fetherlight touches with your tongue.

“Mm carefully sweetheart,” she warned. “You know how sensitive mommy gets after- ah!” You cut her off with a sharp squeeze to her other nipple.

“Mommy?” you asked. “Do you think you have any more cum left for me?” You knew from experience that Wanda usually couldn’t get hard a second time in the same night, but you thought it was worth an ask anyway.

She chuckled. “No more, honey. Not tonight. Sorry you didn’t get to play with mommy for so long. That’s what you get for teasing all day.”

You whined, finding your way back to her overly sensitive nipple. “‘s okay,” you reassured. You contented yourself to keep playing with her chest, lazily circling your tongue around her skin, sucking and flicking her bud with the tip of your tongue. After a few minutes, she gently pulled you back, wincing as her abused nipple was exposed to the chill air. You moved to the other nipple, but you were stopped by Wanda pulling the sweater back down, tucking it under your head.

“Do you want mommy to play with you tonight?” she asked.

You thought for a moment. You rarely derived any pleasure from anyone touching you directly. You still let Wanda’s needy hands wander, but it was more for her pleasure than yours. If she was super good for you, sometimes you’d let her watch you masterbate. Other times you were just very loud and left the door open a little bit so she would catch you. You loved to pretend you didn’t notice her as she jerked off through the crack in the door. The thought gave you an idea. You grinned sadistically.

“I think,” you started, tracing your finger up over her sweater, “I might like to have you all tied up on my bed while I touch myself.”

She moaned at the unexpected proposal.

“Do you think you’d like that? To watch me get myself off to your pathetic body while you can do nothing but squirm around?” you asked. You watched her eyes dilate at your words. “My pervy stepmommy, watching her little girl fuck herself. I bet that’d make you all needy and desperate all over again.”

You stood up next to the couch, reaching out your hand for her to take. You helped her up. She moved to get redressed, but grabbed her wrist when she went to put her (your) panties back on, snatching them out of her hand.

“Nuh uh,” you chided. “These are going in your mouth.”

[angel-of-the-moons]

Need Steven with a freak. Let’s say he’s been dating this girl for a while and he’s ready to take it to the next step. He’s super worried he’ll make you all uncomfortable and stuff when he asks but the next thing he know he’s being ridden till the break of dawn

(I’m ovulating I am so sorry-)

OMG SAMESIES AND I. AM. ✨FERAL✨ RN

Please

Steven Grant x Fem!Reader

TW/CW: Smut, just smut af, protected sex (implant), oral sex (m!receiving) creampie, overstimulation

MINORS DNI I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTENT YOU CONSUME

A/N: This lil dress here is what I had in mind for the outfit in the start. (I'm a sucker for sunflower patterns)

🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒

It had to be tonight. He just couldn't take it anymore. None of them could.

But Steven was the worst about his urges. He felt awkward and worried it would chase you away, the first girlfriend he ever got to finally have; all the others didn't understand his... Problems.

Problems he later learned were triggered by Marc (and in some cases, Jake), but you? You took them in stride, like a duck to water.

The moment he first saw you, his breath had been sucked right out of him. Marc and Jake went dead silent, too.

It was a gloomy, dreary day; the rain coming down in heavy droplets, casting a grim light down on the London streets.

But there you were, walking around the museum, looking at exhibits and scribbling notes in your tiny notebook with oh, so many post-its sticking out, fattening the tiny book until it looked close to bursting.

You were the only ray of sunshine on that day, your yellow dress that hugged your body just right, little sunflowers covering the fabric. Your hair done just the right way to accentuate your face as your eyes studied each artifact and bauble you saw.

To say the boys were instantly smitten was an understatement.

It took weeks of bumping into you to work up the courage to talk to you, and it was only when you came in to buy a rather dinky looking scarab plushie in the gift shop. It's this conversation where he finds out you're in school, trying to become an archaeologist and historian.

Steven's dream girl, and he had hearts in his eyes at every word you spoke.

He couldn't help but blubber out a request for a date, and you agreed.

The rest... History in the making.

You'd been dating for two months, but already he could feel the pull of urges he didn't necessarily indulge in often.

Sure, he, Marc and Jake could indulge in it themselves, trying to take the edge off. But sometimes it felt like the more he indulged in it, the more intense his fantasies got.

He simply couldn't keep tugging his cock for momentary relief anymore, imagining it was your soft hand, your mouth, your tits or something else wrapped around his cock that had him practically drooling: your sweet cunt.

But tonight? Tonight was the night. He was afraid to bring it up because he didn't want you to feel like he was moving too fast; and he could barely function when you admitted you were a little surprised he waited so long. (And teased him a little for how sometimes he just wasn't stealthy when trying to conceal a surprise boner.)

You'd told him that you thought about him too, and that you were more than willing to let him indulge.

But it was from there that you found out that Steven had never actually been intimate with anyone. Jake and Marc had, yes. But poor Steven has just never had the luck.

And that's how Steven found himself in this precarious situation, you on your knees, your pretty little mouth wrapped around his cock as you bobbed your head so sweetly, tongue laving around his length, hollowing and sucking your cheeks with every drag, tracing the vein that ran up the side of him.

He couldn't stop with the babbling praises, the sweet petting in your hair.

Honestly, if you knew he was this weak? You'd have jumped his bones a lot sooner. Probably after the fourth or fifth date. It was rare you found someone who was intellectually a joy to talk to (not excluding Marc and Jake) who was so handsome and sweet to you.

One hand was thrust down into your panties, playing with yourself, dress hiked up so you could have better access as you continue sucking him off, the lewd sounds coming from both of you more suited to a pornography than the quiet air of his flat.

You could feel your orgasm cresting already, but you knew that you didn't want to just cum on your fingers like you had so many times before, you wanted to feel Steven inside of you and god did you want to drain him for everything he had.

Steven made a whine, babbling your name again.

"L-luv, I'm--I'm gonna--ugh--"

He couldn't even get the sentence out before you felt him spill down your throat, his hips bucking suddenly you gagged, carefully adjusting so you didn't choke as he pumped his load into your greedy mouth.

Well... you weren't surprised he didn't last very long...

He immediately started rattling off apologies that had you giggling.

God damn, you were going to enjoy draining him. Maybe Marc and Jake, too.

The blush that spread up to his ears made him look absolutely adorable.

"I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to--" He stammered out, covering his face. "In--in your mouth, I--"

With the fluid grace of a cat you climb into his lap, straddling him.

You cup his cheeks and kiss him softly, before pulling away.

"You're alright." You assure him, peppering his adorable face with kisses.

It's when he squeezes your thighs and ruts up into you, his face buried in your neck that you realize he's still hard.

You bite your lip and kiss his ear.

"Steven, do you want me to ride you?"

"Ohgodsyesplease." He breathes out on a whimper.

You hastily line his cock up with your hole and sink down, taking him in inch by delicious inch until you're stretched beautifully around him.

You tip your head back with a groan. He certainly had girth for days, that was for sure.

"I'm... Already close. Can you help me?" You say, giving him a sweet pout that makes his heart jump up into his throat.

"Y-yes, I can--"

The way he keeps cutting himself off makes you want to cuddle him and cover him with kisses, but at the same time fuck him until his legs go numb.

Maybe you'd do the former later.

You pull his fingers into your mouth and he makes a soft moan when you suck his fingers, swirling your tongue around his calloused digits until you deemed them wet enough.

Then, you guide his hand down your body to your throbbing clit, and show him the rhythm that'd work for you best.

"Try to keep it in time with me, m'kay?" You groan, grinding down on him in one slow, languid movement.

His eyes roll back, but he nods and keeps his fingers over your clit, massaging the bundle of nerves in time with each downward stroke of your hips.

Every bit of him had you aching, from his electric touches to his fat cock spearing you open and fucking your weeping pussy in the best way possible, you kicked yourself mentally again for not bringing up sex sooner.

Steven's cock felt far better inside of you than your fingers or your toys at home. He felt hot, he felt real. And real is what you'd been lacking lately.

Whatever Steven would give you, you planned on taking happily. You would--

Your eyes flutter open when Steven suddenly arches his back and hits you deeper than you expected him to; opening your mouth in a quiet cry, no sound escapes as your orgasm hits you and Steven continues swiping at your clit, fucking you from below as you shudder and collapse on top of him as he continues breathing on the hot embers of your orgasm to keep it going for as long as possible.

"Please." He whines in your ear.

"Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease."

"In-inside--" You whimper, biting down on his shoulder, earning a toe-curling moan from him.

"You can do it inside."

He grits his teeth and let's out a hissing cry, veins popping in his neck and forehead as he fucks his spend up into you, his orgasm burning and flaying his nerves raw as he pumps you full.

He drops back onto the cushions of the couch and sofa, breathing hard, desperately trying to drag oxygen back into his lungs.

Reality however, is a cruel mistress and he looks down at where you two were connected.

"Oh, b-bloody hell. I--I didn't--"

"Relax, hon." You giggle, leaning back with one hand braced on one of his knees for support, your other hand trailing lazily down to where his cock still split you open, his cum leaking out around his length. The sight of you sent a dizzying spiral through him.

"I'm safe, promise. I have an implant. Still good for another three years."

The thought that he could keep doing this for three years--

His mind went blank when you grind down on his lap, feeling his cock stir to life despite the fact he was now exhausted.

"L-luv, I... I don't think I can..." He panted desperately.

Your brace your hands on his chest and start bouncing on his lap, grinning wickedly the whole time.

"I'm gonna keep going until I drain you dry, sweetheart. Get comfortable."

The gulp he made was audible in the space you shared, as was the sinful slap of skin on skin.

[millerstolemyheart]

Pairing: Joel Miller x M!Reader

Warnings: Broken ankle, pure smut, blowjob (reader receiving), anal, gay gay gay gay

A/N: There’s absolutely not enough gay Joel Miller fanfics out there, so I guess I’ll add my own to the mix? Note- I do this for fun, so I don’t proofread a lot. I just wanna add more filth to the world ✨

Summary: Reader gets injured on patrol with Joel, and Joel refuses to leave his side.

Closer

Snow crunches under your boots as you trudge through the forest, the frigid winter air stinging your cheeks and making each breath feel like pins and needles are going down your trachea. The bitter wind howls through the barren landscape, carrying with it a cold that cuts straight to the bone. You tighten the pitiful excuse for a scarf around your neck, the woolen fabric offering little protection against the relentless Wyoming chill. Each breath is a reminder of the harsh reality of your world. Without thinking about it, you glance ahead at Joel, who trudges forward with the kind of grim determination that has kept you both alive many times before.

The trees, bare and skeletal, reach towards the heavy gray sky with gnarled branches, their bark coated in a thin layer of frost. It seems as if the woods themselves are frozen in time, awaiting the thaw of spring to come. Unfortunately, you have several more months before warmer weather approaches. It had been a long winter already, and the food stores were beginning to dwindle. You were lucky Tommy’s patrol brought down a few elk last week, enough to keep spirits going for at least a little while longer. Still, you couldn’t help but worry about the months to come.

“Eyes open,” Joel grunts ahead of you, as if sensing your wandering mind. His voice is almost lost in the wind, but you’re familiar enough at this point to understand what he says, or grunts… He’s a man of little words, playing his cards close to his chest. You’d practically begged Maria to send someone, anyone else these morning patrols. The idea of spending hours alone with the most reclusive man in Jackson wasn’t something you longed for. Plus, Joel seemed rather disinterested at the idea of having an unfamiliar body to take care of. Nevertheless, here you were, four months later- still trudging through the snowy underbrush, eyes peeled for movement.

“You keep your eyes open,” you grumble under your breath, confident the howling wind will disguise your quip.

You could swear you hear a snort of laughter from the man ahead of you, but it’s hard to tell with the wind howling so obnoxiously in your ears. Still, the possibility causes the corner of your mouth to tug upwards into a smirk. It had been a game of yours for a while, trying to force a laugh out of Joel. You’d seen it happen before on rare occasions. A chuckle here, a smirk there. It was a strange thing to watch Joel’s permanently-furrowed brow smooth itself out, the lines at the corners of his eyes crinkling deeply, mouth upturned. It suited him.

Without thinking, you find your eyes studying Joel. The way the softly falling flecks of snow stick to his salt-and-pepper curls. The broad muscles of his shoulders sway in time with his steady pace. He moves confidently and quickly, no doubt just as ready to return home as you are. You’re about two miles out from the gates at this point, passing the river that welcomes you into familiar territory once more. A sigh of relief escapes you, tinged with the strangest feeling of disappointment. It’s not that you enjoy freezing your asscheeks off in negative temperatures, though… There is a quiet familiarity to the routine. It’s easy to be around Joel. Less to think about. It’s as if his presence brings a calmness, something solid to hook your focus into. You were aware these feelings meant trouble, but at this point… what didn’t?

Joel slows his pace as you pass the river, no doubt feeling just as relieved to be in the home stretch. He reaches a comfortable pace a few feet from you, eyes cast forward. The steady clomp of his boots falls into time with your own.

“Almost there,” he comments, shooting a quick glance in your direction. He knits his brow together, eyes scanning your red cheeks. “Y’alright?”

I’m lucky the cold sting of the wind hides the blush that creeps into my face. “Yep. Nothing I love more than freezing my dick off in this beautiful Wyoming hellscape.”

Joel snorts under his breath, bringing a pleased smile to your lips. One point for Y/N…

“What about you, old man?” You suddenly tease, testing your luck. You watch as Joel turns a sharp amber gaze in your direction, jaw clenching. But he’s unable to hide the twinkle in his eyes. You arch a brow, waiting for his response.

Joel simply adjusts his rifle on his shoulder to a more comfortable position with a grunt. “Old man could still kick your ass…” He grumbles, eyes locked on the horizon, scanning from right to left.

You break into a genuine grin, falling silent once more as you both make your way step-by-step towards home. 1.8 miles. 1.6 miles. 1.5 miles. It’s a relatively quiet day besides the howling of wind and the crunch of snow under your feet. Not many people are crazy enough to brave the northern winter; though, you maintain your daily patrols, unwilling to take the chance and end up losing the first place you’ve found to be safe in a long time.

It’s almost too uneventful these days… You catch yourself thinking just as your foot hits a hidden patch of ice. You hear the snap before you feel it, a sharp pulse of pain shooting its way up your leg as you tumble down, hitting the ground with a hard thump. A soft cry makes its way from your throat, practically losing itself in the wind.

Before you can figure out what happened, Joel is kneeling beside you, eyes scanning you diligently, hands hovering above your wounded leg. “Sh, sh sh…” He consoles. “Y’alright?” He checks your head for injury, and you swat him away, hissing through your teeth at the radiating pain in your ankle.

“Fine, Joel,” You grunt. “Didn’t hit my head, just slipped. I… I think it’s broken.” You attempt to move your leg, the pain causing your vision to go white for a split instant. “Shit!” You’re over a mile away from home with no horses, and the weather seems to be picking up. Wracking your brain, you clench your jaw. “Go to town, get help. I’ve got my rifle.” Staying here by yourself isn’t the most appealing of ideas, but you know you can’t walk.

You see Joel bristle as you suggest parting, and the man releases an annoyed puff of air in the form of a small cloud that dissipates above your heads. “Go to town, my ass. I’m not leavin’ you out here to freeze to death.” His eyes are locked onto yours, a warm coffee-color that reflects the dull glint of sunlight off the freshly fallen snow. You feel your body give an involuntary shudder and mentally blame it on the pain.

“Well unless you’re hiding a horse up your ass, you don’t have a choice,” I counter, tilting my head in a clear challenge.

This only seems to strengthen Joel’s resolve. He silently stands, towering over you for a moment. In this instant, it seems as though he may actually turn and leave you lying there. Why does the thought of that make your stomach hurt? However, his intentions make themselves clear when he steps behind you and locks his thick arms under your knees and behind your back. With a deep grunt, he straightens up, you locked tightly against his chest like a baby. The move is dizzying, and you unintentionally grip his shoulders in response. “Woah! Joel! What are you doing?”

“Deal with it,” he grunts as simply as that. He begins to take gentle steps back on our route towards town, paying attention to any unlevel areas of ground. You barely feel the motions of his stride, but you’re hyper aware of other things now. The warmth of his broad chest radiating out and thawing your aching muscles. His steady breathing, gentle puffs of air on the top of your head. The thump-thump-thump of your heartbeat. And most of all, the deep crimson shade that’s taken over your cheeks as you’re forced into an incredibly-humiliating position of vulnerability. You want to protest, to hit him, to force him to drop you and leave you on the frozen ground to avoid being spotted like this. However, you can’t deny the surge of warmth that spreads through your belly as the man carries you effortlessly over the landscape.

Joel purposely shoots you a glance, sensing your discomfort. “Y’alright?”

“Shut up.”

“Big words for someone gettin’ a free lift,” he shoots back, clearly enjoying the upper hand. There’s a hint of arrogance in his tone that makes you want to slap him and then kiss him. It sends a shiver down your spine, something not lost on the older man. You sense the vibration of a chuckle in his chest, but he stays silent, maintaining a clear and careful path back towards Jackson.

“This is humiliating,” You whine, throwing your head back and letting the snow fall directly onto your face.

“Quit your complainin’. Freezing to death ‘cause of pride would be humiliating.” Joel tightens his grip. “And for Christ’s sake, help me out here. Hold on or somethin’.”

You clench my teeth, biting back a groan while you throw a hesitant arm around his shoulders, other hand holding on to his jacket. It’s the least intimate position you could possibly contort yourself into, and yet it still feels like you’re playing “damsel-in-distress.” You should have seen the ice coming, should have been more careful. Now you were definitely off patrol for a while. A shadow falls over your face at the thought of someone else taking over your patrol slot with Joel.

“It hurtin’?” Joel asks softly, voice taking on a careful tone. When you glance up, he’s concerned, eyes flicking down to study your swelling ankle. “We’ll be there soon.”

“No, no, it’s fine.” You close your eyes, finding comfort in the darkness away from your present situation. “Thanks.”

A low rumble is all you receive in response, his chest humming an approving noise. The steady rocking of his pace sends your head falling back against his chest every few steps, colliding gently with the hard muscle. Being this close, you can smell his natural Joel smell. Like old sawdust and pine. It’s a comforting scent that you’ve grown used to on patrol, sneaking careful inhales without Joel noticing. You could only imagine the taunts you would receive if he ever suspected. He knows about your sexuality at this point, but he’s never made a case of it, electing instead to carry on as if nothing changed, which you appreciate. In return, you refrain from asking about his personal life, only engaging when he has something to share, which is rare.

“You fallin’ asleep on me?”

Joel’s drawling voice wakes you from your daydream, your eyes shooting open to find an amused, maybe even cocky smirk. You feel your cheeks redden again. “No, shut up.” You feel like a child in his arms, completely helpless. It’s a far cry from how you’ve worked hard to prove yourself, both to the community and to Joel.

Joel just chuckles and continues his trek. Within minutes you spot the familiar walls of Jackson on the horizon. Your body relaxes a bit knowing your ordeal will be over soon. With a sharp whistle, Joel has them opening the heavy wooden gates, carrying you inside. You begin to squirm, ready for Joel to release you, but he just lifts you higher into his grip and continues walking, ignoring the looks from the gate patrol. “I’m takin’ you to the infirmary,” he states, resolute.

You open your mouth to protest, but something about his steady determination feels… good. It has a warmth pooling in your core again, eyes careful as they scrutinize Joel’s rugged expression. Deciding it best not to argue, you just nod silently and look forward as he walks you both to the nearby infirmary. It’s a quiet day today, most people holed up inside their homes to wait out the falling snow. The infirmary only has a few people flitting in and out, and Joel is confident as he makes his way inside towards an available cot. “Slipped on ice out on patrol,” he explains calmly when the nurse makes his way over to you.

“We’re gonna have to cut these pants off,” the nurse explains apologetically, eyes flitting to your swelling ankle. “I hope you have more.”

You roll your eyes, unable to help yourself. “Great. Just great.” You sigh and nod, giving silent permission for the scissors to be brought out. Joel backs up, giving the staff room to work, though his eyes remain fixed. They study your calm diligence as your favorite pair of pants is hacked away, your ankle red and inflamed. His cheeks appear almost tinged pink when he realizes he’s gazing, and he quickly averts his gaze to give you some privacy.

You, meanwhile, are too busy mourning the pants to notice how Joel’s eyes flicker across the hem of your underwear before shooting down to the tile floor. If you had noticed, you may have also seen the way his breath catches in his throat, or how his pupils dilate. But no, you’re busy watching as the staff treat your ankle, setting and wrapping it, and giving you a small amount of pain medication to take on your way. They don’t have any extra pants around, so they wrap you as best they can in a thick fleece blanket, making you look like the world’s most insane upper-midwestern mermaid. You don’t miss the twinkle in Joel’s eyes when he sees your new outfit.

“Well that sure is somethin’ ya don’t see every day…” Joel muses, one side of his mouth curling up into an amused smirk.

“I swear to god, Joel,” you groan. “Can you just help me get home?”

Joel raises his hands in mock defense. “Alright, alright. But you’re coming with me.” His voice carries with it a sternness that dares you to challenge him.

“With you?” You squeak out, surprised.

“Ya can’t walk. Not at least for a few days.” He scratches the back of his head, and if you didn’t know any better, you would think he appeared sheepish. “You got hurt on my watch, and that makes you my responsibility.”

Your face falls slightly. So that’s it? I’m a responsibility? I feel my jaw clench. “I can’t take care of myself, Joel.” The statement is pure bullshit. He and you both know you’d be frozen into a human popsicle if it weren’t for Joel’s stubbornness. “I’m not anyone’s burden.”

Joel’s eyes narrow as he takes in your reaction, the defensive hurt evident on your face. It doesn’t take him a second to kneel down next to your cot, eyes serious. “Hey now…” His gaze is a magnetic force, pulling your focus up to those eyes of his. Those damn eyes…

“You’re no burden,” he declares matter-of-factly. “I’m just lookin’ out for ya. We’re… we’re buds, right?”

Buds? You blink. Since when does Joel consider you a friend? You must have worn your surprise on your face, because Joel continues on.

“Yeah, buds. Whatever. Shut up. Just let me bring you home with me for a couple days, alright? I could use the company. Ellie’s out on a supply run for the week anyways.” His eyes soften, seeming to implore me. But his mouth is still drawn in that classic Joel expression.

“I…” You feel your suspicion begin to dissipate, replaced with surprised confusion. “Fine.” Your voice is soft, careful even. Of all the times you’ve fantasized about Joel bringing you home, this was never one of the scenarios.

Joel nods silently, but his body hums with a pleased glow. He stands, takes the medication and pockets it before glancing back down at you.. “Ready?” His arms twitch to take you up again, but this time he refrains from doing so until he’s sure you’re expecting it. “Promise I’m just a short walk away this time.” He shoots you an uncharacteristically cheeky grin.

You feel yourself nodding before you even consider his words. Joel takes you up to cradle you once more, this time making sure the blanket around your lower half is wrapped securely and won’t be lost in the increasingly-strong winds outside. You barely notice the frigid temperatures this time. Between the adrenaline from your ankle and the warmth flooding your body from Joel’s arms, it could be springtime. Luckily, there’s nobody wandering outside to spot this display of vulnerability, and Joel is able to bring you to his home within the next few minutes.

The air inside is warmer, but still chilly, as he sets you on the couch. He wordlessly moves to the fireplace and gets a good blaze started. The heat from the flames fills the room with a comforting warm and steady glow, already making you forget about the storm outside. You find yourself holding the small bottle of pain pills from the infirmary. “Take your meds,” Joel commands, eyes studying you for a moment before he turns and disappears into the kitchen.

“Aye, aye, Cap’n…” You mutter, twisting off the top and popping one. At least we have medication now. The town supplies were steadily growing, but this winter was bound to be harsh. It was a good thing the reserves could last you for weeks… Your mind wanders while Joel fusses about in the kitchen, returning with two cups of coffee. The aroma fills your nose, making you almost forget about the dull throb in your ankle for just a moment.

Joel wordlessly hands you a steaming mug and takes a seat in the chair across from you. His gaze is steady as he takes in the sight of you laid up on his couch. His expression is hard to read, but it seems as though he’s pleased about something.

Narrowing your eyes, you interrupt the silence. “What?”

Joel shakes his head with a low chuckle. “You’re cute when you’re all indignant.”

The words hang in the air like balloons. It’s as close to a flirt as you’ve ever heard from Joel, and directed at you??? You feel heat rise to your cheeks, and you swallow thickly. “I- er… I-”

“See?” Joel shakes his head, releasing an amused puff of breath. “You can’t stand being taken care of, can you?”

Your cheeks burn, embarrassed. That’s not entirely the truth. To be perfectly honest, you wanted nothing more than to sit back and let Joel take care of you. To protect you. To provide for you. But that isn’t the way the world works. People don’t just take care of others without expecting something in return. You knew Joel wasn’t the type, not anymore… but the bias remained firm. “I… This isn’t a place where you can rely on someone else,” You finally choke out.

Joel studies you carefully, considering your words, before responding.

“This place? With me?” He grows serious, expression softening. “You ain’t gotta worry about that, hot shot.” His teasing term of endearment makes my shoulders soften, a familiarity amidst all this new territory and the rearranging of boundaries that comes with it. Joel points to my ankle. “That. That’s no joke. You could make it worse. Hurt yourself. I still need you on patrol when you get better.” His mouth twitches up into a tiny smile. “Next time you can carry me. I promise.”

The joke prompts a laugh out of you, the mental image of you struggling to lift Joel into your arms a sight to behold. As your body shakes with laughter, you spot Joel with a pleased grin, his plan to break down your walls already working. It was a strange game you played. Each with your own walls and defenses, each with your own strategy of navigating the other’s. Here, in Joel’s home, you felt those walls attempt to erect themselves again, your body’s way of protecting itself against threats. And your developing crush on Joel was the biggest threat of all.

***

One day turned into two days, and two days turned into two weeks. Your ankle was slower to heal than you would have liked, and crutches would have been no help on the icy terrain around town. Joel demanded you remain at his home, long after Ellie returned. The teen regarded you laid up on the couch with an amused smirk. “It’s about time,” she remarks, a teasing grin playing on her lips.

Joel shoots her a dark glower, and she backs off, hands raised in defense. “I’ll be upstairs.” She shoots a final smirk directly at me before turning on her heel and bounding upstairs to go do whatever it is that teenagers do. Joel sighs, shaking his head and grumbling something about kids. You, however, are still stuck on Ellie’s comment.

“What did she mean by ‘about time?’” You ask.

Joel looks up from his hands, brow shooting up. “Er, who knows? Have you met Ellie? Who knows what she’s sayin’ half the time?” He tries to play it off, but you’ve spent enough time around Joel to know when he’s bullshitting. Still, though, you don’t care to dig too much, so you try and change the subject. “Joel? Would you mind grabbing the ice pack?” The request is simple. Usually, giving Joel something to make him feel helpful is the quickest way to dissolve any lingering tension.

Like clockwork, Joel rises and moves to the kitchen with a silent but relieved nod. When he returns, he makes his way to the couch and takes a seat, pausing to move your legs into his lap. He’s gentle as he moves you, taking care to support your weight evenly. Even the ice pack feels feather light when he presses it to your ankle. This had been your nightly routine for the past week, as Joel argued that you weren’t “icin’ it proper.” This had also led to more indignant protesting and a lot of red cheeks before you finally gave in.

You let out a tiny, relieved sigh as the ice pack soothes your injury, eyes falling closed. “Thanks, Joel…”

Joel grunts in response. “See? Feels nice to let someone finally take care of ya.”

You chuckle, butterflies fluttering about in your belly at his words. “Yeah, yeah… You know, you seem to like this more than you should.” Your tone is teasing. “Maybe you shoulda been a doctor.”

Joel hums in amusement. “Hmph. Nah, not for everyone, just… just you.”

The words are like an atomic bomb set off between you. Your eyes flutter open, finding Joel staring at the fire like he can’t believe what he’s just said. His muscles are rigid, the kind of frozen that appears when you’re hiding from something out on patrol. All you hear is the crackling of the fire and the steady beating of your heart in your ears. “Me?” You finally manage to gasp out.

It’s the reddest you’ve ever seen Joel. His eyes shoot from the flames to your face, and he releases a long, steady stream of air. He seems to be accepting his fate. “You.” With an awkward clearing of his throat, he focuses back on your ankle, adjusting the ice pack. There’s a tension in the air now, thick enough to cut. For a moment, you worry you’re misinterpreting things, but when Joel glances up at you, the truth is evident. He has something deeper on his mind.

“Y/N, I…” Joel treads cautiously, appearing hesitant to say the wrong thing. One of his hands cups your other ankle, lightly enough to be felt but not strong enough to keep you still. “I’m tired.” He clenches his jaw, determined. “I’m tired of dancin’ around this shit. I’m gettin’ too old for this.” He finally twists his head, gaze locking onto yours, challenging. “I care about you. More than I thought I would. More than I should. More than you probably know.” Those puppy dog eyes of his are relentless. “I like ya.”

Talk about atomic bombs.

You can’t suppress the sudden trembles that crop up across your body. All the feelings you’d been fighting with for so long are making their way out of the floodgates. All these months of patrol with Joel, of sneaking secret looks and dreaming of moments like this. The time spent in his home has only driven you closer and intensified those feelings. You’ve been growing to enjoy feeling taken care of, and Joel does it oh-so-well. “Joel…” You breathe, heart racing.

The man pauses his doctor routine to meet your eyes, and for the first time since you’ve met him, you see fear. It’s almost disconcerting. His hands remain close, ready to remove themselves at your word. He worries he’s gone past the point of no return now.

“I want you.”

The words send a shudder through Joel’s body. His breath comes out quicker, and his eyes take on a gleam of desire. It’s as if a weight has been loosened from his shoulders. Gently… tenderly… he leans closer, arm coming to steady your head in his giant paw of a hand. He pauses inches away, warm brown eyes searching yours earnestly. You feel his breath on your face, the heat of his body both heavy and comforting. The scent of his soap and that natural Joel smell that you crave so deeply.

“Please…” You breathe, afraid to blink lest the moment end.

“Gladly…” Joel closes the distance between you, capturing your mouth in a sweet, tender kiss. He’s surprisingly gentle, but you can feel the raw power in his body, barely kept at bay from sheer resolve. His scruff tickles your face, and it makes you shiver with delight. Emboldened, you take your hands and cup his cheeks, running your thumbs over the short, prickly follicles. Without meaning to, you release a low whine into his mouth.

Joel’s grip tightens, and he deepens the kiss, his tongue exploring the seam of your lips. When you part them to grant him access, you can feel his grin. Joel’s hands move down your torso, settling at your waist. His lips are soft and warm against yours, tasting slightly of whisky. It gives you a heady rush, your own hands fumbling at his chest to undo his top shirt buttons. You find his hand gripping your wrists, eyes on fire with utter desire.

“Are you sure?” His voice is calm, but it's tinged with a slight tremor, as if he’s on the verge of something.

“Joel…” You gaze up at him. “I’ve wanted you for so long…” The admission makes your cheeks burn, but you can see the pleased look on Joel’s face. Without another word, he scoops you up just as he had on the way back from patrol, heading to the stairs. He wordlessly strides up to the second floor, turning down the dark hall and entering his bedroom. As he gently sets you down on the mattress, he presses a gentle kiss to your ear. “I’m gonna take good care of you tonight, Darlin’,” he purrs.

You shiver, the anticipation spreading throughout your limbs. You cast a glance up at Joel, your expression one of hunger and desire, but also of vulnerability and trust. Joel seems pleased by this, and he rises once more to begin removing his shirt. You watch intensely as the worn fabric shrugs its way off of broad shoulders, sliding over python-like biceps and hitting the floor with a muted thump. Joel stands bare chested in front of you. Your eyes rake over his thick, strong neck, leading into a broad, muscular chest that dissipates into a softer tummy. Flecks of salt-and-pepper chest hair dot his torso, the heaviest concentration gathering in a condensed line heading from his navel and disappearing into his jeans. You swallow thickly, eyes locked on his belt. Your fingers itch to remove it yourself, but you force stillness while Joel continues his show.

His thick fingers have his belt out in no time at all, dropping his pants to the floor. Arousal floods you at the sight of his (presumably) heavy cock straining against the black fabric of his underwear. Even restrained, it was impressive. You felt your mouth fall open as you directed your gaze back up to his eyes. They were diligently trained on you, studying your body language like he was out on patrol. He steps free of his pants and approaches carefully, swinging a leg up on the bed to prowl up your body.

His heat blankets you in warmth, his weight a comforting feeling. Boxing you in with his forearms, he settles lower and kisses you softly. “This okay?”

You nod wordlessly, fingers already moving to your shirt buttons. Joel catches you and chuckles low, sitting up on his knees to help you out. Between the two of you, your shirt is off quickly. Opened up like plaid angel wings underneath your trembling frame.

“So beautiful…” Joel murmurs, settling back down and pressing soft, aching kisses to your chest. His beard pricks your skin, sending fire rushing down to your already straining member. He feels so warm and solid atop your body. The sensation is an unfamiliar but welcome one. Hesitantly, you clutch Joel’s rippling shoulder blades, admiring the tautness of the skin underneath your fingertips.

Joel’s lips find a particularly sensitive spot on your neck, making you buck softly, a low whine crawling its way out of your throat. “Oh!”

Joel grins wolfishly against your neck. “Oh?” His lips attack once more, teeth grazing the soft, supple flesh. “Does someone like that?” He nuzzles against the sensitive spot, breath hot and ready. His callused hands clutch and grip you tightly in place. “Sensitive, aren’t we?”

His teasing tone makes your heart flutter. It feels so good to give into this side of yourself, one that isn’t afraid to moan and squirm and show vulnerability. Something about Joel’s presence makes you feel it’s okay to let go and come fully undone. It’s a primal urge, a desire for truth. For something raw and exposed.

Joel’s hands pause on your sweatpants, teeth nibbling at my earlobe. “May I?” He growls.

You whimper once more, and Joel gives a low grunt of approval before undoing the drawstring and slipping them down over your hips. “You’re beyond beautiful like this…” He coos in praise, fingers trailing lightly over your exposed flesh. “I’ve wanted this for so long…” He leans down to press a tender kiss to your lips, leaving you dizzy.

Joel begins making his way down to help y fully shimmy out of my sweats before returning to hook his fingers into the waistband of your underwear. He shoots you one final look for consent, refusing to budge unless you give him an answer. You give him a nod, raising your hips to make it easier. Within an instant, your underwear is gathered around your ankles, and Joel is admiring you, fully exposed, beneath him.

His eyes lock onto your erection, currently bobbing and twitching, aching for any kind of contact. His tongue flits out and licks his lips before he shoots you a cheeky look. “Big boy…” He grins.The comment sends you blushing yet again, to which Joel responds with a hungry chuckle. He softly takes his hand, wrapping around your base, eyes meeting yours with a look of pure lust. The pressure makes you moan involuntarily, and your eyes squeeze themselves shut.

“Eyes on me,” Joel growls. “I wanna see you when I make you scream my name…”

Your eyes fly open, heart pounding so loudly you worry that Joel himself can hear it with his deaf ear. The commanding tone comes out of nowhere, sounding similar to how Joel presented himself to you during your first few patrols together. This time, however, it makes you even needier. “Joel…” You whimper.

Joel’s response is to grin and then wrap his lips around the head of your cock, sinking down and enveloping your arousal in his warm, velvety mouth. The sensation is like fireworks going off inside of your groin, and you can’t contain the moan that rips its way out, reverberating through the home. Thank god Ellie was out for the day.

Joel brings his mouth off long enough to shoot you a smirk. “Good boy…”

You shiver uncontrollably, lost in the throes of desire. You need more, and you need it now. Joel seems all-too-happy to comply as he envelops your cock in his mouth once more, this time taking you all the way to the base. He swirls his tongue around your shaft while one hand massages your inner thighs, fingers working their way lower and lower. It’s an overwhelming feeling, and your eyes practically roll back in your head. “Fuck!”

Joel moans his approval around your cock, the vibration sending even more pleasure rushing through you. He bobs his head up and down, intent on making this about you first and foremost. And oh, did he want you to come undone for him…

You cry out, overwhelmed by the sensations, tangling your fingers in his curls. He only increases his efforts, spurned on by your responses. You can feel the heat in your belly coiling and tensing, bringing you closer and closer to the edge of white hot bliss. You struggle to come up with the words to warn Joel. “J-Joel! I… I’m gonna… I-”

Joel brings his head off your dick, swiping his tongue down the side of your shaft. “What are you gonna do, Baby?” He purrs.

I whimper, bucking softly, arching my back into his touch. “Please… I wanna cum…”

The burning request makes Joel shiver, and a dark glint twinkles in his eye. “Oh, don’t worry, Darlin’...” He ignores your weeping cock and prowls over you like a panther until his eyes are locked right above your own. “I’m gonna get you there.” He gently grasps your hands and brings them to the waistband of his boxers. Sensing the intention, you eagerly hook your fingers in and lower them, freeing his cock. It swings down like a battle ax, heavy and swollen with desire. The sight makes your breath catch in your throat, already anticipating the feeling of him stretching you out.

“You want this, Darlin’?” Joel murmurs, hand brushing your cheek delicately. The motion causes you to turn your eyes back to his, fervent with lust.

“Y-yes…” You nod, hand reaching down to softly wrap around his hilt. The action makes Joel stiffen and gasp, sending a thrill through you. You hold him for a moment, eyes heavy through thick lashes. “Do you have… do you have any lube?”

Joel chuckles and reaches over into his nightstand drawer. “The perks of being on scavenge teams.” He withdraws a small bottle of something and returns to hover over you, slathering his fingers in the substance. “You ready?”

You nod breathlessly. “Please, Joel.” The request is simple but laced with need. The anticipation was killing you. You watch with careful eyes as Joel lowers his fingers, teasing his first digit near your entrance. His eyes lock onto your own, a silent command. You obediently hold his gaze and bite your lip when he begins to probe his way inside of you. You can’t help the shaking, nor can you help the soft moans. Joel fucking loves it, eyes shining with pride at each sound he coerces from your body. It’s been a while since he’s been with a guy, but it’s good to know he still has it. And this wasn’t just any guy… This was “Y/N.”

The sensation of Joel’s finger inside of you is soon joined by two, both working in tandem to stretch you out. It’s been a long time since you’ve done this, but Joel is patient and careful. He wants this to feel good for you. Nothing makes him more aroused than knowing he has that effect. And it’s been a long time for him as well.

“Joel… more!” You cry, bucking your hips. The feeling is too good now, and it’s all you can do to keep from thrusting yourself down on his fingers yourself.

“That’s it, Darlin’... Doin’ so good for me…” Joel purrs, introducing his middle finger to your hole. “So fuckin’ tight…”

His words have you gasping for air, clearly their intended effect, as Joel gives a pleased smile and presses a kiss to your lips. You kiss him back hungrily, teeth clashing, tongues fighting for dominance. Joel wins out, and you succumb to his touch willingly. It’s an easy thing to let go and pass him the reins at this point. He’s shown enough evidence at this point that he knows exactly what you need, even if you didn’t know yourself.

“That’s right, angel… let yourself go…” He encourages, shifting his hips to bring himself up close to your entrance. “Gonna make you feel so good…” He gently removes his fingers and aligns the head of his pulsing cock with your hole. He lets out a low hiss, his eyes squeezing shut. “Fuck… gonna make me feel so good…” His eyes open once- more long enough to lock gazes with you- before he grasps your thighs in both hands and gently pushes inside.

You cry out at the sensation of being stretched out by something larger than his fingers. “Fuck, Joel!” He feels massive, and it’s just the head. It really has been a minute.

Joel shushes you softly, leaning forward to pepper your face with kisses. “Doin’ so good, Darlin’...” He buries his face in your neck. “We’ll stay right here… long as you need.” His voice is steady and patient, but his body trembles with the effort of keeping himself only just inserted in you. The restraint is perhaps one of the hottest displays of affection you’ve seen in a long time.

You bite your lip, forcing yourself to relax more. “Just… kiss me… and take me…” You beg softly, willing Joel to look back. When he does, his expression is of amusement and arousal. He brings his face closer, lips finally meeting yours with a tenderness you’d come to expect. “Gladly…” He moans, and then he begins pushing the rest of the way inside of you. You gasp into his mouth, feeling his tongue swipe at your teeth in a carnal display of possession. He bottoms out and continues to kiss you, hands cradling the back of your head, hips locked into place. “You… feel so… good…” He groans. “Fucking hell…”

You whimper, allowing yourself to get used to the feeling of having Joel buried inside of you, stretching you out and filling you up. “Oh… Joel…”

Joel growls as you moan out his name, lips claiming yours once more in a passionate display of affection. “Fuckin’ love hearing you say my name like that…” He snarls. “Might have to keep ya around.” His hand grips the side of your ass roughly, but his eyes still carry that same tenderness underneath the arousal. You can feel your blood roaring in your ears at this point, carrying with it the pressure of wanting your release.

“Joel…” You whimper again, testing out the waters.

Joel groans, hips moving forward and pushing him impossibly deep inside of your walls. “Fuck, Darlin’... You don’t know what you do to me…”

You force back a pleased smile long enough to find his warm toffee gaze once more. “Please, Joel… I need you.”

Joel’s breath catches in his throat, a bead of sweat dripping from his temple. “Well, shit, sweetheart. That’s all you had to say.” He begins to pull out softly, stopping before he’s fully extricated, then pumping himself back into you with a resounding smack of skin against skin. The sound is absolutely obscene, and it makes Joel pick up the speed. His hips move quickly, back and forth, finding a rhythm that has the bed creaking and headboard knocking against the wall. You find your nails digging into Joel’s back, leaving small angry crescents across his back. The sensation makes him hiss and bury his face in your neck with a muffled howl of delight.

“Let me hear my name, Darlin’,” he pants, rhythm building, wanting to hear the delight he’s giving you.

Your good leg wraps around him, pulling him deeper. “Joel!” You mewl, vision obscured by heavy lids. With your legs around him, Joel is deeper than ever, the pressure of your tight walls around him almost too much to bear.

“Fuck…” He swears, his thrusts becoming more urgent, the sound of skin-against-skin filling the room. His lips seek yours, hungry and desperate as he guides you both to the brink. His chest is slick with sweat, a testament to the intensity of his actions. “Cum for me, Angel… Cum with my cock inside you…” He murmurs against your lips, his movements erratic, his own climax impending.

You feel yourself teetering over into that blissful oblivion as he shifts his hips one final time and begins hitting your sweet spot. The pleasure is blinding, and even though you’re sure you’re practically screaming his name, you can barely hear yourself as you reach orgasm. You’re sure you’ve never cum so hard in your life. As you do, you tighten around Joel’s pistoning cock, and he’s unable to prevent from filling you with his seed. You gasp at the sensation of load after load of Joel’s cum filling you, hot and thick. Joel shakes with the tremors of pleasure as he pumps out the last of his load, finally collapsing on top of you in one big sweaty mess.

“Goddamn…” he breathes, still impaling you with his cock.

You’re at a loss for words, reality slowly setting in as you realize you and Joel have just crossed into uncharted territory. But with the man’s comforting weight on you, arms wrapped protectively around your torso, you find it hard to be anxious. That’s a first. You find yourself speaking first after several moments of introspection.

“Did you mean what you said?”

Joel pauses at your sudden interjection, finding his eyes making their way over your bare torso and up to your gaze. “Did I mean what?” He asks. “Specifically?”

You feel a familiar tinge of embarrassment. “That you care for me…” You look away.

Joel hums a disapproving tone and reaches out to gently tilt your chin back to face him. “Of course, Darlin’. I’m not just trying to get my rocks off here, though…” He glances down at himself, still fully embedded inside of you. “Mission accomplished,” he grins cheekily.

The relief floods your body, easing tension you didn’t realize you were carrying. “Oh… good.” A faint smile crosses your lips. “I meant it, too.”

Joel gives you a small smile, hand reaching to caress your cheek softly. You lean into his touch, craving the gentle contact in such an intimate moment. “Good.”

You lay there for a while before Joel shifts, slowly removing himself from you. The sensation makes you hiss, and Joel himself groans until he’s finally extricated from you. “Sorry,” he apologizes. “Gonna get a shower goin’. I’ll come help you up when it’s ready.” And with that, he gives you a tender kiss on the lips and rises to pad off into the bathroom.

You remain on your back, gazing up at the ceiling and marveling at the turn of events. What does this make you? What will Ellie think? What will Tommy think? Hell, what will the town think? Anxieties plague your mind until Joel returns, and he can sense your discomfort.

“Hey now… what’s the matter?” He rushes over, sitting on the side of the bed and checking you over. “I didn’t hurt ya, did I?”

The comment brings a smirk to your face. “Only in the best way,” you chuckle. The joke relaxes Joel, but his eyes still carry concern, so you continue. “I guess… just wondering what people are gonna think, ya know? I know it’s stupid, but…” You trail off, looking down.

Joel’s hand takes yours, giving it a reaffirming squeeze. “For starters, I think people got bigger problems than whatever we do with ourselves.” He smirks. “God knows Ellie will have lots to say, but she’s the one that’s been ridin’ my ass about asking you out for the past three months.”

Suddenly, her comment (“It’s about time…”) makes sense to you. “Oh…” Then a blush crosses your face. “Months???”

Joel grins unexpectedly, ducking his head and running a hand through his curls. “Guess it took me a while to work up the nerve…” He looks sheepish.

“I broke my goddamn ankle!” You find yourself laughing suddenly, amused at the stupidity of it all. “We fight monsters out there almost every day, but we couldn’t even bring ourselves to just get a damn drink?”

Joel’s eye catches yours, the wrinkles at the corner growing deeper as his grin widens. “Well, how about it?” He asks, hand clutching your own and turning it over to inspect it with gentle eyes.

“How about what?” You tilt your head.

“That drink?” Joel’s gaze flicks up once more. “I’d say I owe you a few.”

You bite back a pleased smile, your heart swelling. “It’s a date.”

Joel grins, pleased, before ducking down and crushing his lips to yours in a passionate kiss. His delight is palpable, and it may be the first time you’ve seen him this way. It seems he has as much opening up to do as you. But… as you feel his warmth and steadiness around you, you know that it’s only inevitable. Your ankle will eventually heal, and you’ll return to patrols with Joel. Things will go back to the way they were except for in the one way that matters most. Joel is never, ever, taking his eye off you again. And that’s a promise.