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forzalando · 10 months ago

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Orange Theory

Charles Leclerc x best friend!reader (female reader)

summary: charles and his best friend do countless nice things for each other, but they're just behaving like any good friend would. right? wc: 2.5k author's note: ok guys so this is not the Charles fic i promised (she is still a WIP and i will finish her eventually. probably will have to be a multi-part fic with how long it's getting), but i hope you enjoy this one in the meantime! special thanks to @scuderiahoney for encouragement and inspiration. special thanks to @sof1shticated for reading and assuring me this doesn't suck. if you haven't read their fics, both Lee and Mel have some gems that i adore. HIGHLY recommend checking out their masterlists! warnings: none!

You loved summer break – Charles was home for at least a few weeks, days spent on a yacht, every afternoon and evening spent with friends either at dinner or out at some club until someone got too drunk to carry on.

Today was, in your humble opinion, the perfect day. All of your friends, courtesy of Charles, were sprawled out on the sun deck of a rented boat or splashing around in the water below. You could feel the heat radiating off of Lando as he laid next to you and whispered about how McLaren was making insane upgrades – according to him, they might just have a race-winning car in the second half of the season.

“Are you boring my best friend to tears, Norris?” The brutal sun disappeared behind Charles’ body as he stood above you – as if on instinct, he shifted slightly so that you could look up at him and not be blinded by its rays.

“She’s hanging on my every word, right, Y/N? In fact, she asked me how I’m feeling about Zandvoort and the rest of the season.”

“And?” Charles asked, a small smile on his face.

“Like I would tell you what’s going on with the car! I know Y/N can keep a secret, she would never betray me to a prancing horse. She bleeds papaya.”

You laughed along with Lando – the one point of contention that had always existed in your friendship with Charles. Of course, you became a Ferrari fan because of him, but you’d always been a McLaren and Mercedes loyalist. It was something that Lando, Oscar, and George relished in.

“Alright, alright, no need to rub it in, Norris,” you giggled. “What can I do for you, Charlie?”

“I just came to give you this.”

Within seconds, a perfectly peeled orange dropped in your lap. Lando’s eyes grew wide for a moment but a swift glare from Charles had his face back to normal in no time. You missed the interaction, jumping up from your seat in excitement.

“Aw, Charlie! You are the best friend a girl could ask for,” you chirped as you started separating the wedges of fruit.

“Ah, don’t mention it,” he sighed, waving his citrus-scented hand in the air. “There’s more in the cooler if you want! Freshly peeled!”

“Thank you, mon cher ami.” You quickly kissed his cheek, noticing as you pulled away just how red it was, along with his neck and the tips of his ears. “Charles! How many times do I have to tell you to put on sunscreen? Your face and neck are fried!”

“I don’t think it’s from the sun,” Lando mumbled, his eyes trained on the fruit in your hands. With Charles insisting he was fine, you could barely hear what he had said.

“What did you say, Lan?” You asked, turning your attention away from Charles for a moment.

Once again, Lando was met with a menacing glare and he laughed awkwardly before moving his gaze to the horizon.

“Nothing, nothing, Y/N. Just thinking out loud.”

Shrugging your shoulders, you turned back to Charles and handed him the orange he had just given to you. With your now free hands, you rifled through your beach bag until you found the SPF 50 face cream you had packed that morning with Charles in mind.

“Here, I packed this for you. Please put some on so I don’t have to worry about you getting sun poisoning,” you pleaded with your best puppy dog eyes.

Charles stared without answering for far too long – anything you wanted, all you had to do was ask him and he’d do it. Even without you gazing at him with your wide, siren eyes, he would give you the world if you so desired it.

He shook his head slightly, pulling himself out of the daze caused by your pleading eyes. “Oui, ma fleur, I will put on the sun cream. Je promets.”

You smiled in triumph, taking the orange back from Charles and bidding him a “see you later” before laying back down in your lounger. Popping an orange slice into your mouth, you let out a contented sigh. Somehow, whether Charles was magic or he had some serious connections in the produce world, the fruit he picked out and gave to you always tasted better than anything you bought yourself.

“He peels your oranges for you?”

You hummed and turned to Lando – “what, Lan?”

“Does Charles always peel your oranges for you?”

“Well, no, obviously not always. Why?”

Before Lando could answer, Lily plopped down next to you and stole an orange slice from your hand.

“I swear,” she huffed, “Alex and George are competitive to begin with, but when they get together, it’s unbearable. They’ve been having a “who can hold their breath the longest” contest for the past thirty minutes! Rematch after rematch after rematch, I called in my favor with Oscar to get out of judging their little competition.”

“As if either of them could beat me, they probably didn’t ask me to join because they’re scared,” Lando bragged. “I’ll leave you ladies to chat, go show them how it’s done.”

As Lando walked towards the edge of the boat, you and Lily turned towards one another.

“Men,” you scoffed in unison, following it up with belly laughs and lingering giggles.

As the laughter died down, Lily ate the orange slice she had stolen from you and practically moaned in delight. “Where did you get this orange? It might be the best I’ve ever had!”

“It’s from Charles! I was just thinking about this, I don’t know how he does it but he always has the best fruit. Every time he brings me any I am both ecstatic and pissed off – my fruit is never as good as his and we shop at the same grocery store!”

“Well, does he have any more oranges? I could eat 20 of these.”

“He said he left me more in his cooler, let me grab them.”

A few moments later, you walked back to Lily with a bag of peeled oranges in your right hand and two bottles of water in your left.

“Are you a professional orange peeler? You were only gone for two minutes.”

“Oh no,” you giggled, “Charles peeled them for me. He knows I don’t like peeling them so when he can, he always does it for me.”

“Y/N,” Lily looked at you suspiciously, “do you know what the orange peel theory is?”

You wracked your brain but came up empty. “No, what is it?”

Lily went into a brief explanation – something about how it became a viral tik tok challenge, people asking their partners if they would peel an orange for them and how it was an indicator of true love, soulmates, a healthy relationship, and everything in between. “Well, that’s just silly,” you mumbled through chews, orange juice dribbling down your chin. “I think it just means someone is a good person – Charlie and I aren’t anything more than friends and he peels my oranges, among other things, because he has a good heart.”

“Among other things?” Lily pressed you, her eyes gleaming with something you couldn’t quite place.

“He slices my apples because I have never been able to master the apple corer contraption! And he takes all my grapes off the stems when he’s at my place because I never do – it’s too tedious.”

“What else?”

“Oh, when we go out to breakfast, he always brings me a tea when he picks me up. He’s an early riser and I take forever to get ready. He knows I never have time to make it myself when we have plans before 10am.”

Lily was smirking at you, no, smiling at you. It was a little unnerving, the way she was entirely amused at the information you were giving her. However, the moment was briefly interrupted by the arrival of Alex.

“What are we talking about, ladies?” He spoke cheerfully, a broad smile on his face which meant that he was most likely declared the best breath holder of the 2019 rookies.

“Y/N was just telling me about all the sweet things Charles does for her,” Lily gushed.

“Oh god, when is he not doing things for her? Did you see him buttering her bread for her at dinner last week?”

Lily burst out laughing while you playfully punched Alex’s arm. “I’m indecisive! He butters it for me while I read the menu since it takes me so long to figure out what I want to order. It saves time!”

“He does that on a regular basis?” Alex asked incredulously, looking at Lily with wide eyes. “My god, that man is head over heels.”

“Alex,” you protested, “Charles is not in love with me. We’ve been friends for six years, I think I would know by now.”

“You’re both impossible,” Alex groaned. “Come on, Lily, I just came over to get you so we could play water polo with George and Carmen.”

Lily sighed in defeat, though she had a smile on her face at the thought of spending time with Alex even if it meant another competition. “I’ll see you, later, yeah?” She called over her shoulder, waving goodbye as you teased her by dramatically eating another slice of orange and settling back in your chair. At the front of the boat, Charles was laughing with Pierre and almost as if he felt you looking, he turned around and met your gaze.

Even though you had just wholly denied anything more than friendship between you and him, you couldn’t help but think about your interactions with Lily and Alex.

Sure, Charles sometimes did things that were out of the ordinary for ‘just friends’, but he had the sweetest soul of anyone you’d ever met. He always sacrificed his umbrella or jacket for you, made sure you had fresh tulips in your apartment when he was home in between races, had your favorite meal delivered to you when you were having a rough day while he was away and you missed him.

You did things for him too – cleaned his apartment when you knew he was on his way back to Monaco, left him plenty of sticky notes with words of encouragement if he was coming back from a bad race, stocked his fridge full of his favorite things. Recently, you’d been gifting him annotated books because he mentioned he wanted to read more and always enjoyed listening to you talk about your favorite novels. Since you spent most of the year apart, you decided he could at least read your thoughts.

When you could come to races, unfortunately a rare occurrence due to your graduate classes and work schedule, he made sure Ferrari hospitality had your favorite flavor of sparkling water on hand. Anytime you saw a cute dog video, you would send it to him because they always made him smile.

You’d do anything to make him smile, just as he would for you, which is what a good friend would do. A best friend, it’s what a best friend would do.

But best friends didn’t linger in doorways and stare at each other’s lips when bidding each other goodnight. They didn’t cuddle close and fall asleep in each other’s arms on a couch while watching whatever movie you had chosen because he always let you choose.

They didn’t look at one another the way Charles was looking at you now – his sunglasses pushed up on top of his head and a dopey smile on his face. He waved to you and dramatically blew you a kiss, something he always did when he caught your eye across a room, no matter who was around.

You practically launched yourself to your feet, the last remaining orange slices in your lap falling to the lounger and staining the seat with juice. It was only seconds until you were standing in front of Charles but the walk over felt like an eternity with the way the world around you disappeared and your heart pounded in your chest.

“Est-ce que tu maimes, Charles?”

The question came out in one breath, your chest heaving in anticipation for his response.

“Of course, I love you, ma fleur,” he laughed. “What’s gotten into you?”

“No,” you panted. “Do you love me, Charlie? Est-ce que tu maimes?”

“Of course, I love you,” he answered again, his eyes shining and a small smile on his face that told you everything you needed to know. “Every time I think of you, I love you. Every time I breathe, I love you.”

“Every time you peel my oranges?” You whispered, holding up your orange juice-stained fingertips. He took your right hand in his and held it up to his face to kiss your palm, his eyelashes fluttering against you gently.

“Especially when I peel your oranges. Did you know that I hate doing it too? Like, really hate it. I don’t even peel them for myself.”

You gasped in shock, watching as he threw his head back and laughed jovially.

“I’d do anything for you, ma fleur. Mon soleil. Mon cœur.”

“Would you kiss me?”

“Maybe if Pierre would leave and stop gawking at us.”

This time you threw your head back to laugh, Charles soon joining you as Pierre protested the accusation.

“No, no,” he shouted, “you didn’t even give me a chance to leave. Just started declaring your love before I knew what was happening. Which, by the way, was so obvious it was starting to get annoying. We’ve all tried dropping hints to both of you so I don’t know who got through to you, Y/N, but – ”

“Pierre!” You shouted, eyes wide and arm gesturing him away from the two of you.

“Ah, désolé, I’m leaving,” he grumbled, almost tripping over his own feet to get away as quickly as possible.

You giggled again and Charles gripped your chin softly, pulling your eyes away from Pierre and back to face him.

He leaned in gently, as if he was afraid you would back away and regret taking the leap to go from friends to something so much more.

He tasted like salt water, smelled like sweet fruit and sunscreen – you smiled into the kiss knowing that he had listened to you and put it on, even though you knew he hated the way it felt on his skin.

His fingers gripped your waist and yours trailed up his chest – both of you slightly sticky from the citrus juices and sweat from the sun.

You pulled away and nudged his nose with yours, breathing him in and wishing that this moment would never end. Charles lowered you both to the sun deck, adjusting until you were sitting between his legs and his arms were wrapped firmly around you, the two of you facing the sunset and open sea.

After a few moments, you broke the shared silence. “You know, I would have happily peeled an orange for you if you had ever asked me,” you asserted.

Charles’ hold on you softened at your admission, the thinly veiled meaning not at all lost on him as he pressed his lips to your cheek.

“I love you too, Y/N.”

#charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc #formula 1 #formula one #formula one fanfic #formula 1 fanfic #f1 x reader #forzalando #f1 fanfic #f1 fic

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poisonf0rest · 4 months ago

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𝐎𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐜*𝐦𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫’𝐬 𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈, 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈𝐈, 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈𝐈𝐈

love and deepspace: zayne x fem!reader

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

word count: 9.3K what the fuck

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

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

art credit: @/kaito_aii

You’re screwed. Fucked. Utterly damned.

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

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

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

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

You doubt you ever will again.

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

Michaela - Boss Man

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

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

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

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

You - Little Star

Hey Micheala

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

You - Little Star

No I get it, thanks for trying though

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

residency-CS-alerts

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

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

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

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

Safe to say, you admire him just a little.

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

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

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

“Tell me what you see.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“More detail than that, please.”

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

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

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

_______

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You die a little inside.

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

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

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

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

"I accept!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_______

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

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

If that were all, then everything would be perfect.

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

But of course, the plot has to thicken.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You're late."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"We are."

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

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

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

You sit. Zayne follows.

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

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

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

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

You’ve really outdone yourself this time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You have."

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

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

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

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

"What do you mean by help, exactly?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nearly laugh.

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

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

“I’ve never come. Orgasmed.”

And he chokes. Again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What do you gain from this, Zayne?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It's a deal then.”

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

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

And with a wave, he's gone.

_______

You don’t know what you expected.

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

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

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

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

“Fancy seeing you here, stranger.”

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

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

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

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

"Would you like something to drink?"

Zayne shakes his head, "Not this time."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And with that, you lead him to your room.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m going to touch you now, okay?”

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

“Do not mistake my care for pity.”

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

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

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

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

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

All for the better, you remind yourself.

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

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

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

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

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

“No.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Let me see.”

You gape at him. “I– Doctor–”

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

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

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

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

You think you’d let him.

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

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

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

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

You can barely manage a nod.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The bastard.

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

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

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

"Slower. You're going too fast."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good. It feels really good.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Again. Deeper.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A promise he has every intention to keep.

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

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

“Not really,” you manage through clenched teeth.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My voice?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

The rhythm is comforting.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod.

"What else, darling? Are you close?"

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

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

"Come. Come for me, darling."

And you do.

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

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

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

"How are you feeling?"

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

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

Zayne stiffens. “Good.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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navramanan · 2 years ago

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This settles it. I have to go to bed immediately after returning from terawih at the mosque

#i'm so fortunate to live a 3 minute walk from the mosque 🥺🥺🥺#so i plan on going to terawih everyday. excluding the times i'm on my period #that means i won't procrastinate praying isha and there'd be no reason for me to stay up after terawih #i literally slept through my alarm today and i went to bed at midnight 💀💀💀#getting up for suhoor took away 1:30h if sleep away tho #but 6:30 hours of sleep wouldnt have been so bad regardless?? i guess my sleep deficit of this week is wearing me down #but yeah anyways it's get home by around 5pm. pray dhuhr & asr. then i have about an hour until iftar #after iftar it's isha & terawih very soon #but hm yeah luckily this plan is only for today & tomorrow bc next week day light saving takes effect #so i can get up for suhoor at 5 instead of 4 like i had to today and i probably won't go to sleep after #well that also means isha & terawih will start at 9pm instead of 8 and it takes about 1:30h. meaning it's finished at about 10:30pm #so i really NEED to be consequent with my sleep time #i will have to be running at 6h of sleep constantly then i guess #well as long as i sleep in on week ends i should be fine i think #good thing is so far i haven't had to do anything lab/project related when i got home. so maybe it won't be too stressful #i think i should be fine when i bring a laptop/tablet with me and do any work that might come up while waiting for experiments #nesi rants

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roosterforme · 15 days ago

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Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw Part 28 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: As your school year fades into summer break, your wedding day approaches. Before your fourth graders move to fifth grade, you and Bradley invite the pen pals along for the big day.

Warnings: fluff, adult language, smut, Bradley being husband material, 18+

Length: 3400 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female teacher!Reader

Check out my masterlist for more! Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw masterlist

That summer...

"The best part about our wedding venue is that it's free," you whispered. "The worst part is that we had to clean it ourselves."

"Agreed," Bradley replied with a groan.

You were exhausted, both physically and mentally, and now you were sprawled out mostly on top of Bradley on the living room couch which was too small even for him alone. His big hand was heavy where it rested on your back, and his voice was a deep rumble in his chest.

"But on Saturday, we'll be married. So it's worth it."

His words warmed you as you snuggled a little closer. Both of you could use a shower after the day you had, but you didn't even make it that far yet. As soon as you walked inside, this is where you ended up. You were expecting his stomach to start growling at any moment, and you were prepared to make some sandwiches when necessary.

"It was nice of Nat, Marty and Ruby to help us get things ready," you told him with a yawn.

In a shocking turn of events, Marty and Ruby got married over spring break in Las Vegas after going on just six dates. Actually, when you considered that they probably fell in love the day they met, it wasn't that shocking at all. People told you all the time they were surprised you were marrying Bradley a year after you blindly mailed a box to an unknown Naval aviator, but to you, it all felt exactly right.

"Marty was like a wizard with that scrub brush today. I don't think there's anything he can't do," Bradley said, mirroring your yawn with one of his own. "Are all of your kiddos coming on Saturday?"

"Mmm... most of them, yeah. And don't forget, you have to drive Edith up with you."

"I won't forget. She's a pretty integral part to our day, Gorgeous," he muttered, and sure enough his stomach began to rumble. "Damn, I was hoping I'd make it to the shower with you first." He gave your rear end a squeeze. "I haven't seen you naked since this morning."

You groaned and started to ease your body away from him and stood. "You'll see plenty of that when we're in Paris."

"I better," he replied, one eyebrow cocked as he examined you in your filthy old jeans and one of his ratty undershirts. "You look damn good, Mrs. Bradshaw. You'll need a new name tag for your classroom door when school starts in August."

Your fingers dragged through his wavy hair before tracing the scars on his cheek. "If I change my name." A little pout appeared on his lips, and you leaned down to kiss it away. "Come on and have a sandwich before we get cleaned up, Handsome."

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

Bradley had much less responsibility on Saturday than you did. He had to put on his dress whites, fix his hair, and drive Edith up to Mira Mesa with him. You on the other hand left with Natasha first thing in the morning after demanding Bradley not even look at you. Apparently that was bad luck, but he'd already been watching you sleep peacefully when he woke around dawn before falling asleep again.

He wasn't exactly nervous about the wedding, but he was a little anxious. He wanted to get married and settle into things before your school year started. And before he left again for deployment. You always seemed to have more patience for his career than he did, but he wanted to be selfish and have some time at home while he was still a newlywed. And that didn't even account for the upcoming week in Paris.

While he was in the bathroom, running his fingers through his damp hair, Bradley examined his freshly shaven cheeks. Sometimes he forgot about his facial scars. You always looked at him like he was flawless, and now it rarely occurred to him to be overly self conscious about it. But they were there, and you had kissed all over them last night before bed while you teased him about what you wrote for your wedding vows.

He didn't bother to write his down. What would be the point in that? He could hardly ever shut up about how much he loved you, so he would just say what was on his mind when the time came. The ceremony was going to be quick anyway since Marty was officiating. Bradley could tell the reserved, older man only agreed to do it for the sake of friendship, and you told him he could keep it very short.

As he pulled his white uniform on, Bradley smiled, knowing he'd have you back in bed this evening before leaving insanely early to go to the airport in the morning. When be was all set, he grabbed the wedding bands from the dresser, and headed over to get Edith.

She was wearing a purple dress and had her sheet music with her, and Bradley realized that other than Nat, she was the closest thing to a family member that he would have with him today. "Thanks for coming up to Mira Mesa, Edith," he said, opening the passenger door of his Bronco for her.

She looked delighted. "It's my pleasure. I'm just so pleased you asked me to be there. And you look so handsome, Bradley. And very happy."

He was happy. So fucking happy. And that was the bottom line. He was too busy being happy to think about his scars or worry about reading his wedding vows from a piece of paper. He fell in love with you through notes, emails and letters, but today he was going off script.

"I am happy, Edith. Happier than I ever expected to be."

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

"God, you look like a dream," Natasha gushed, fluffing out the bottom of your simple wedding dress before adjusting the straps along your shoulders. "Your makeup is beautiful, and your hair is perfect. Bradley is going to piss his pants when he sees you."

"Hopefully not while he's in his dress whites," you replied, making her crack up while she took a step back to inspect you one last time.

She planted her hands on her hips in her cute, green dress. "This is going to be the perfect wedding. A quick ceremony followed by spaghetti and meatballs catered from the best restaurant in San Diego. This is how everyone should get married."

"I told Marty the ceremony needs to be quick, because Bradley's stomach will growl the whole time otherwise. I don't like it when he has to go too long without eating," you murmured, looking down at the fabric that cascaded along your new shoes. When you looked up again, Natasha was leaning with one shoulder against the brick exterior of your elementary school and wiping tears from her eyes. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she whispered, shaking her head and sniffing. "It's just that you get him. You understand him." She took a deep breath and added, "Bradley seems big and boisterous, but he's actually really sensitive. And he needs someone to look after him and make sure he eats enough. That's the kind of shit he needs. Not someone who is always mad at him for having feelings. He needs you, because you love him back as much as he loves you."

"Natasha," you gasped, reaching for her as tears stung your eyes. She had known Bradley for so many years, and her words made your heart swell with even more happiness. "I do love him. So much," you whispered as she squeezed you tight.

Then you heard the sound of a piano playing in the distance and knew you needed to start walking toward the playground. "Take care of him. And let him take care of you," Natasha said.

She wiped her tears on her sleeve as she gently guided you across the asphalt and handed you a bouquet of flowers. Your wedding vows were folded up into a paper airplane amongst the blooms that came from the florist Bradley used for your surprise bouquet when he was last deployed. Your heart beat a little faster as Natasha headed away from you and turned at the corner of the building, and then it was your turn to start walking.

The first thing you saw was the parking lot where Bradley's Bronco sat next to the Salvatore's catering van. Then the small, outdoor lunch pavilion came into view, which Ruby spent the morning decorating with fresh flowers, paper airplanes, and the fanciest disposable tableware you could find. Then you saw all of the kids from your class last year, and you smiled as they all waved and shouted your name.

But when you finally saw the playground equipment, Bradley was standing there in his dress whites surrounded by his friends and your friends and Maverick and Ruby. And his smile was so bright as you ran to him while Edith played the piano in the auditorium with all the windows open. It was a medley of love songs, but none of them compared to the love you felt when you were in Bradley's arms.

"Hey, Gorgeous," he whispered, scooping you up when you reached him, crushing the flowers between your body and his. "You look so pretty."

His dress whites were a bit scratchy against your skin, and this was the only time you'd seen him wearing them other than that one night last month that turned into some role playing after he tried them on. He always took your breath away. Since the first moment he wrote back to your letter, you just wanted more of him. You couldn't help but kiss him.

"Oh no!" Violet gasped. "You're supposed to do that at the end!"

Bradley laughed against your lips, and you turned your head to really take a good look at all the kids. They were all there with parents, some of whom had been at Career Day. And they were dressed up and looked adorable. You were going to miss them next year when they were in fifth grade.

"I promise we'll do it again at the end," Bradley laughed, his voice a deep rumble against your palm.

Then the piano music came to a stop, and Edith came shuffling outside as Marty introduced himself to everyone.

"I'm sure the kids all remember you, Marty," you assured him. "You were the coolest adult at Career Day."

"Hey," Bradley complained as he tried to straighten out your flowers.

"I meant second coolest adult at Career Day," you amended, and now both Marty and Bradley were smiling.

"Well, regardless, you told me to keep this quick," Marty said. You could already smell the spaghetti and knew for sure Bradley was hungry. "So quick it shall be." He cleared his throat and said, "I'm pretty sure I knew Lieutenant Bradshaw was in love before he knew it himself. I've overlapped with him on several deployments over the past eight years, and he always seemed a little bit lonely." You laced your fingers with Bradley's and leaned against his shoulder as Marty continued. "Until last year when he asked for my permission to take some photos and videos of me working on an engine rebuild. I told him I didn't mind, and then he divulged that it was for a fourth grade class back in California. My immediate assumption was that he was dating a teacher, but he told me he was just writing to some new pen pals. By the end of that long deployment, he told me he'd fallen for their teacher and couldn't wait to meet her."

"That's the absolute truth," Bradley murmured, his lips pressed to your forehead.

"We helped though," called Jayden, and you started laughing.

"That's also very true," Bradley confirmed. "Couldn't have pulled this off without all eighteen of you."

Marty shrugged. "That's pretty much all I have to say. It's so obvious that the two of you are made for each other. And I'm happy my friend isn't lonely anymore. Oh, and thanks for introducing me to Ruby." He blushed as he looked at his wife who then blew him a kiss. "Uh, so you can probably say some vows if you want to."

"Right," you agreed, handing your flowers to Bradley as you pulled the paper airplane from between two roses.

"Nice touch," he told you as you unfolded it, and he was all smiles when you looked up into his brown eyes.

"I learned from the best." You smoothed the page out in your hands. Your handwriting looked a little blurry as you realized there were tears in your eyes. After you read the few words you'd written from your heart, Bradley would do the same. And then you'd be married. You were almost dizzy with anticipation as you grinned up at him in his white hat which was slightly crooked now. "Bradley. You give me these butterflies in my tummy. All the time. From the very start. At first, I thought it was just a novelty. An extremely attractive man was taking time out of his day to humor me and my students? Butterflies galore." Bradley ducked his head and blushed, and when you reached up to touch his name tag, he met your gaze again. "But then I noticed a pattern. I felt them anytime I shamelessly thought about you. Whenever I reread your letters. When I refreshed my inbox hoping for a little note. When a box arrived for my class. Butterflies."

"Gorgeous," he whispered, cheeks still pink. "Baby, I was falling in love with you."

You laughed when he kissed your forehead again. "I was falling in love with you, too. But imagine my surprise when your deployment was ending and you asked me out. And then you made my students and I a priority the very first day you were back. And you've made me a priority ever since. Bradley, the butterflies don't stop, and I don't want them to."

He nodded. "I want you to have them forever. I promise I'll try to make that happen."

"I know you will," you whispered. "And I promise to dispose of all the spiders for you." He barked out a laugh. "And I will always say your name just to watch you melt a little bit. And I promise to talk aviation to you and always make sure you eat and always say I love you."

"Well, shit," he grunted, then his eyes went wide as he glanced at the kids and back to your face. "I mean, shoot. All of that sounds like everything I want." He cleared his throat, and you took your flowers back from his big hand. "I didn't actually write my vows down, because they are simple. They are never going to change. Sure, we got to know each other by writing and typing out our thoughts and feelings. And yeah, I still love getting a notification on my phone and reading what you sent to me. But nothing compares to hearing your voice. Nothing compares to how good I feel when I can tell you how much I love you in person."

"Bradley," you whispered, eyes and nose burning with unshed tears.

"I know, Gorgeous. It overwhelms me, too. You already have my heart. You own it. Everything I have to offer is yours. I just ask for three things in return." You pressed your lips together to keep from sobbing. "First, I'm so serious about the spiders, okay? If you see one, don't even tell me about it, just make it go away, alright?" You nodded and laughed through your tears. "Second, I need you onboard with movie nights on the little couch forever. I like that you end up laying on me because there's not enough room. I like staying in for the night with you."

"It's my favorite," you whispered. "Let's do it forever. What's number three?"

Bradley smiled and leaned a little closer. "Number three. I just need you to talk to me. However you can. Let me hear your voice. Email me. Text me or call me. Write me a letter or fill up a journal. Anything. All of it. I just need you to talk to me no matter where I am. I'm pretty sure that will get me through anything."

You were nodding in agreement as you thrust your bouquet at Marty and threw your arms around Bradley's neck. When your lips met his, you felt the butterflies. "I can do that," you promised before he kissed you harder.

You could hear your former fourth graders all cheering, and then Marty said, "I guess as far as I'm concerned, you're married."

You were wrapped up in Bradley's warm grasp as he kissed you until Natasha had to say, "There are children present!" When he finally pulled away, you watched his eyes grow wide.

"We forgot the wedding bands." He dug around in his pocket and pulled them out, slipping yours into place right away. "I want mine on, too. Been looking forward to wearing it for weeks."

"I know you have," you told him, lingering on the feel of his rough hand against yours as you slide it on. "It looks good on you. Now, I think it's time for you to have some spaghetti."

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

Bradley moaned as he bit into a chocolate pastry that melted in his mouth. It was buttery and delicious, and about to be topped off by the cup of coffee in front of him. "I was wrong," he grunted.

You looked at him across the cafe table, tucked under the awning and out of the rain that landed on the cobblestone street ten feet away. "Wrong about what?" you asked, brow creased in concern.

He held out the pastry for you to nibble on as he said, "Paris isn't just the city of love and the city of sex. It's also the city of food."

You laughed and covered your mouth as you chewed. "You've had plenty of all three since we got here, Bradley."

"I sure have," he agreed, thinking about all the frilly French lingerie inside the shopping bag at your feet. "And I would really like to have some more of each."

"And here I was concerned you'd miss Thai dinners on the beach and the food at Salvatore's."

"Oh! I should talk to them about putting chocolate pastries on their menu."

"You would bug to go there every day."

"Nah," he said, taking a sip of the best coffee he'd ever had. "Not every day. Nothing beats hanging out on our couch. Now, how many of these should we take back to the hotel?" he asked, holding up the last bit of the snack before popping it into his mouth. He moaned as it melted away on his tongue. "I'm just going to go inside and have them pack up whatever they have left."

"We can come back tomorrow!" you said with a laugh. "We're in Paris for three more days, Bradley."

"I love the way you think, Baby," he replied with a nod. "We'll take a bunch back now, and then we'll come back tomorrow."

When you and he headed out into the rain, he kept you tucked against his side along with the box of pastries and the bag of lingerie while he held the umbrella.

"Looks like there's nothing much to do for the rest of the afternoon," you said casually. "Seems like a pretty good time for you to have more love and sex and food."

"Let's go, Mrs. Bradshaw. I think you have some things to try on for me."Thirty minutes later, all the lingerie you tried on was already removed again, but only after he'd taken some pictures. And now you and he were doing the same thing you'd done at least once per day since you checked into the hotel room which overlooked the Champs-Élysées and the Eiffel Tower beyond.

"Oh god," you moaned, on your hands and knees, naked on the bed. Bradley had his hands on your hips, holding you still so you could enjoy the view of the rainy city while he fucked you from behind. "It's so pretty here," you whined.

"Look at me, Baby," he coaxed, running his left hand complete with wedding band up along your back. He stroked your neck as you turned your head to show him your beautiful face and fucked out expression over your shoulder. "It's Gorgeous."

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

He's such a dream. And he's living his best life! Please stay tuned for a poll and then the epilogue which will complete this series! Thanks for reading! And thank you @beyondthesefourwalls

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thebluester2020 · 26 days ago

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[RE4] Kinktober Day 11: "In Heat"

Summary: Livestock guardians were rare enough, and training them was no easy feat either. But...being in a bind, you decided to take your chances and adopt one! Only, you weren't warned that his heats would be so...intense.

Warning(s): Perv!Reader (She watches Leon fuck his pillow), Yearning(Leon wishes to fuck the reader but doesn't), Dog!Hyrbid Leon, Whiny! Leon, Begging, Masturbation (Both on the reader's and Leon's side obv), Thigh-fucking, Leon low-key being a horn dog.

Side Note(s): Lol I was going to do Lycaon (again) from ZZZ but— the fact I haven't dedicated any Kinktober days to my favorite baddie Leon Kennedy yet is blasphemous, so here I am <33

Searching for a good livestock guardian dog was hard.

Costs aside, training them and getting them used to the farm animals was no easy task. It took a lot of patience and practice over the years and even then? The dog wasn't promised to be absolutely perfect! In hindsight though, you knew you should've been on the lookout the second you had begun buying the necessary resources for your farm. After all, it seemed like just yesterday when you were still waiting for your house to be built, and now? You were only a month away from moving!

The clock was ticking, you needed a guardian dog and you needed one now. No training required.

Which was how you ended up where you are today, at a dog hybrid adoption center, located in the center of your small town. It was a homey place, plenty of space for the hybrids to wander around, and even a dedicated meeting area for them and their potential owners to get to know one another. At first, you felt almost...strange, for considering a hybrid for your farm.

They were called "hybrids" for a reason. They were human but...with animal features and some tendencies here and there, you probably wouldn't even have been here today if your friend hadn't convinced you to at least check it out and so far? You were having no more luck than you were shopping the market for a traditional dog.

"Do you have any hybrids that are good with livestock? Guarding, maybe?" You asked the front desk worker after another conversation with a hybrid cut short.

You weren't searching for a puppy, they had too much energy and you were certain that wouldn't bode well with the animals! An older dog would have been preferable. "Still no luck?" The woman said with an apologetic smile as she searched through the system.

You shook your head with a sigh. "I'm moving in a month, I want to hopefully find a dog today and bring him home soon so I can get him or her used to me."

The woman didn't respond for a beat or two, her eyes narrowed in focus as she searched and searched...until her eyes brightened and she turned the computer screen towards you. "Leon may be a good fit for you! His background is in government, very calm and dependable." As you looked at the picture, you were shocked that no one had picked him yet. good traits aside, he was handsome and you knew that there was a market for people who preferred to use their hybrids for lovers rather than pets.

Not that you planned to use him in that way of course.

"Is he available to talk now?" You asked.

"He will be tomorrow! We try to give our shyer residents more time to know when they want to be spoken to."

You nodded your head in understanding as the worker passed you a few documents to sign as well as choosing a time when you wanted to talk. You suddenly felt nervous, intimidated even! When you looked at Leon Kennedy's profile, he appeared dangerous and you weren't just talking about the deadly scowl on his face nor the fact that he was a Malinois hybrid. His eyes were a deep baby blue, combined with his dirty blonde hair and his hardened features as well as his muscular frame.

You weren't able to deny that he was handsome.

But...you could worry about keeping your mind out of the gutter once you talked with him.

. . .

The next day came by quick. The second you woke up, you were already getting ready to meet with your potential hybrid and you wanted to make a good first impression! You donned a cute but professional style and even took the time to bring gifts as well as had photos of your current apartment and new home already saved to your phone. You wanted to make sure all your cards lined up to having Leon accept you as his owner.

And...you thought you were doing good so far, hopefully. As you currently sat in front of him, his expression was unreadable as his eyes flicked from the photos of your home that you had given him as well as the treat basket you brought along with you.

"You want me as a livestock guardian?" He questioned.

"Yes!" You chirped. "The animals aren't there yet but they will be pretty soon, about a week or two after I move in."

When he didn't respond, you added on a question. "Are you...good with livestock?"

He slowly nodded his head. "I can learn, it can't be any harder than guarding people."

"Your profile mentioned you were in the government. What did you do?"

"Classified missions." He curtly responded.

"...Like?"

He scoffed at your pushiness. "The word classified is there for a reason."

"Seeing as you're still so loyal, you must've been a good one." You complimented. You tried to withhold a chuckle at the sound of Leon's tail thumping against his chair. "Why did you leave?"

"I—" You tilted your head when he paused, the sight of his cheeks beginning to tint pink a little also making your suspicions go up before his shoulders eventually slumped and he sighed. "It's not important, I was simply no longer fit for the missions they were assigning me." His ears flattened at the memory of him being dismissed. For the last few years since that day, he tried to convince himself that it was for the best but...he was used to being active, constantly on the move and doing things. Trading that lifestyle for a quiet and inactive one here in the shelter?

Although the place was nice, it wasn't for him!

Life on a farm could give him some movement, some purpose again.

"Well, I think you'll be a perfect fit for my farm! If you want to actually come with me that is."

Leon looked you up and down, you appeared hard-working and stern. But kind and gentle, it also helped that you were a pretty thing to look at. After being in the government for so long, so many missions where he'd seen the most unimaginable horrors that no normal person should ever see...it was nice to know that he'd be able to look at you all day, working for you.

So, he nodded his head, his tail once again beginning to wag at the sight of your smile.

You grinned. "We'll get along just fine, you and me!"

. . .

And get along fine, the both of you did.

It turns out that there was a reason why Leon wasn't adopted. His ruts were insatiable.

A week after adopting him, you and he had spent the entire time decorating the room you had dedicated to him! You had learned that before he worked for the government, he used to be a guard cop (the puppy photos he had shown you were absolutely adorable might you add) and he was a fan of old-school music groups. You had struck gold with him, you thought. He was a hard worker and was relatively quiet! Although his jokes were a little dry and he had so many cop one-liners that you couldn't even begin to count them all.

You liked Leon.

And that like towards him...you wouldn't deny that it began to inch towards a more romantic direction, especially after what you were currently witnessing tonight.

"F-Fuck..." Through the crack of Leon's door, he was currently rutting against his pillow feverishly. It was bunched up underneath him, his claws threatening to tear the sheets underneath him with how hard he was rutting his dick back and forth on the pillow.

You should've turned away, you should've ignored that ache that started to build up in the pit of your stomach. It was inappropriate of you to watch him like some type of pervert! And you almost did until...you heard your name. "Y-Y/N..." Leon panted out, you could see the light of the moon shine on the hint of drool that began to dribble out the side of his mouth. He sucked in his bottom lip as he threw his head back with a low growl. "Fucking cute owner..." He whined. "I-If only you would help me..." His words were so whispered that you almost missed it.

The ache in your panties was growing near unbearable, and even as every rational part of your brain told you to keep your hand away from your throbbing clit, to go back to bed and act like you hadn't seen or heard anything. You continued to stay, soon clasping a hand around your mouth in order to withhold the moan that threatened to escape from your lips. Especially as your fingers began to circle around your clit, the aching growing more and more by the second as you continued to listen in on Leon's moans.

"Fucking hell—" Suddenly Leon pushed the pillow away from him before he sat on the bed, his hand quickly rushing to his cock as he started to fist his length, the slick sounds of his hand moving along his cock aiding in your own masturbation as you began to finger yourself to the pace of his hand movements.

And in the process, you imagined what his cock would feel like inside your sex. You imagined the veins along his cock rubbing against your inner walls, the sound of his rough growls against your ear whilst the lewd sounds of his pelvis meeting your ass rang throughout the air. "Y' like that owner?" You heard Leon mutter to himself before his curses steadily turned into moans.

You could tell he was close by the way he began to buck into his own hand, causing you to speed up your own ministrations as it quickly became a struggle to withhold your moans. Until a squeak accidentally escaped your lips, and Leon's ear flicked to the door before his pants began to slowly come to a stop.

Yet his hand didn't. "Naughty girl..." Leon said in your direction.

You quickly tore your hand from your underwear with a gasp, but before you could walk away. Leon stopped you with a sharp growl. "Leaving so soon after watching me fuck my own hand? And while you were flicking your clit." He snapped. "Get in here and help me out!" He ordered.

You hesitated for another moment or two before you slowly inched the door open with an embarrassed blush on your face. However, your hybrid had little concern for your embarrassment at the moment before he suddenly rose to his feet and grabbed ahold of your arm, and forced you to sit on the bed. His eyes were trained on you as he then pushed you gently to lay on your back whilst he lifted your legs.

You softly moaned at the feeling of his hard cock pressing against your ass briefly before he took your chin into his hand. "...Can I?"

You heard the desperation in his voice and how hard he was trying to reel it in. "I just wanna fuck your thighs, promise. Nothing else, just that." He assured you, his hips unconsciously bucking against the back of your thighs. And the second you nodded your head "yes", he let out a deep moan when he finally pushed himself between your plush thighs. "Been thinkin' 'bout this for a week..." He began to babble.

"You and this sexy body," He moaned. "Made my rut come early..." You whined when his hand began to feel up and down your body, all before his hand began to rub at your clit. "Clearly you've been thinkin' about me too, huh?"

You nodded shamelessly. "T-Tried not to..." You admitted with a whisper. "Didn't—oh...—want to make you uncomfortable..."

"With having a slutty owner who likes the idea of her personal dog fucking her needy cunt? Oh no baby, quite the opposite..." Then he leaned down to press his soft lips against your own, the feeling of your lips on his own after so many previous nights of imagining them on his cock...he couldn't help but begin to fuck your thighs with more fervor. "Couldn't get you out of my mind." He mumbled against your lips.

Leon's other large hand then left your waist to begin fondling your breasts, taking more care to give one of them more attention than the other as he began to flick your nipple. Leon's body was practically molding with your own body as he continued to kiss you, his technique becoming more sloppy along with his thrusts. "C-Close..." He whispered, tearing his lips from your own when you lightly smacked him for air.

You moaned. "M-Me too." You responded, a needy whine leaving your lips when he began to speed up his rapid flicking of your clit. Your increased moans and whines were going straight to his cock, nothing but lust and adoration for you as both his owner and the woman he now wanted to breed coursing through his veins as he felt your pussy twitch as his cock rubbed against it. "Cumming!" You just barely managed to get out before your eyes slammed shut and your mouth opened in a silent scream.

Leon wasn't too far behind as a string of curses fell from his lips, his hips bucking against your ass a few more times before he stilled and you felt strings of his hot cum shoot out and onto your stomach and chest. The two of you breathed heavily, the lust in the air hot and unignorable as you both came down from your highs. With a shakey moan, however, Leon slipped from your thighs as he looked over you.

Already he could feel himself getting hard. Something that you quickly took notice of. "A-Already...?" You said tiredly.

He nodded his head, his tail beginning to wag eagerly as he gently began to part your legs. "You're the reason why my rut started early...take responsibility."

It seemed you were in for an even longer night further taking care of your new hybrid...

#smut #leon kennedy #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x reader smut #leon x reader #resident evil 4 #hybrid! leon kennedy #resident evil smut #leon kennedy fanfic #leon s kennedy x reader #resident evil x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x y/n #kinktober 2024 #kinktober

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redcherrykook · 2 months ago

Text

── .˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗ TENSION DEGREE 04

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College roomate!Jungkook x college roomate!reader- fwb 2 Lovers

Text messages of this chapter!

You find yourself having to share your room with a very sexually active medical science major who so happens to fancy you. Good thing he´s as charming and spontaneous as you, leading to many crazy parties and places you probably should not be hooking up at. When Jungkook started ignoring all his booty calls after accidentally calling someone by your name, unable to fuck away the thought of you, he knew he was cooked. Would he really leave his playboy antics for that sweet company of yours?

series- four!

content: mild slow burn- fwb2l, roomates, mutual pining, player jungkook that falls devoted to reader, cocky!JK, Confident!reader, psychology major reader, banter, parties, lots of smut (duh), only one bed trope, skinny dipping, roadtrip vibes

episode- warnings: sexual content (blowjob, making out, grabbing/groping, dirty talk), weed

Taglist: @khadeeeeej @ot7stansthings @whoa-jo @smoljjks @stvrlighytt @nono13bnd @jungshaking @junniesoleilkth @deepikhaprakash @rockstryoon @tatamicc @jjeonjjk7 @kookieandjoonberries @jcrl99 @httpjeonlicious @wnteraezz @aphrodyteeth @miniesjams32 @emojkoo @katie-tibo @user-190811 @massivebearharmony @hoseokteardrop @hoseoksluv89 @hoseoksluv90 @kooksdreamer

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"you sure you don´t wanna come?" Jungkook begs for the millionth time today,

He most definitely has a thing for pursuading you into his adventures,

Not that you mind anyways

Three days after the trip, 11:45 o'clock at night.

It felt like a delicious secret, knowing that you had him all to you,

.. you and his other girls.

To be fair, in these three days, there had only been the two of you

Not even chae knew, not yet

You'd tell her, tonight, for sure tonight.

Finally admitting that yes, the sexy roomate you wanna fuck maybe is worth it

To rewind, the last day spent at the beach house was fairly normal, that is, according to your standards

Packing, BBQing and acting like you haven't fucked your best friend and roomie which had been, surprisingly, easy.

No awkward waking up, no weird looks or air,

Just sexual tension that was easily resolved by quick make outs in the kitchen, right around the corner of your friends,

After the whole group had to hear yoongi getting his soul sucked out, even hoseok dropped trying to get in your pants.

Eunwoo was the only one that noticed something going on,

Giving you his number, for what ?

"Incase you wanna talk about that sexcapade you got going on, he can be annoying"

You accepted it, confused.

Right now, you're back in your little dorm, already having removed the smudged day make up and changed into comfy pjamas,

Hello kitty, obviously

"God you're lame" he sighs, rolling up a second blunt,

You join him by scoffing, pinching his cheek while walking by.

"Fine fine, okay"

He slips it into his cigarette case once he's done, grabbing a lighter from the microwave while you jiggle the car keys in your hands,

"Where is it exactly?" a simple question leaves your lips, still, it makes him chuckle.

His brilliant idea of the day was to go stargazing, then getting faded while talking about everything that came to mind.

You'd have to stay a long time, just to make the drive back.

He didn't mind, he said.

"I think its like a 25 min drive? Wanna get a snack too?"

Your head shakes, already stepping out the door with one foot,

"Would loveeee to be in the passenger seat though" you shout back, knowing that this battle has been your win from the start

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

"I should be studying the attachment theories of bowlby right now" you laugh, rolling down the warm grass,

Another gentle push finds your shoulder, Jungkook's firm body crashing right next to you,

"Nerd" he chuckles

The scenery above is something straight out of a movie, thumping noises of the bustling city, far, far removed

So faint, even the car engines are being overshadowed by rustling branches of huge trees,

Stood tall around the patches of grass, like the one you're resting on.

The sky is clear, deep ocean blue with hundreds of smaller and bigger, shining stars illuminating the atmosphere, making up for the suns absence

Jungkook's head turns sideways, his eyes scanning over your sharp side profile, wide eyes twinkling from the beautiful sight

He smiles, reaching into his cigarette case to take out the two blunts, along with his lighter

Once the smoke clouds your vision so does the herby smell,

"Give me a puff kook" you say, scooting closer to him

He takes another drag, exhaling the smoke into the air,

You rest your under arm propped up on the grass, head and lower body now sat up, while your legs still lay close,

Sticking out the blunt qnd lifting it to your lips, you lean in, placing them around the calming sensation of finally smoking weed again

"Feels good huh? Better than bowlby?" his slender fingers stretch to tuck a strand behind your ear,

"Mhm" you hum, puffing the smoke out once more, making him grin with yet another idea

"C'mere baby"

You scoff, leaning in nonetheless

He takes a long, deep drag, swallowing the thickened smoke to be locked in his throat,

His hands pulling your face by your jaw, making you lean over him

Getting the message, your lips collide with his, opening your plump lips slightly to recieve the smoke from his mouth into yours

You accept it, gladly inhaling the sweet herby calmness

"Good girl" he winks, smiling cockily while rubbing his thumb on your bottom lip

You push him by his chest, pressing him deeper into the grass

He pushes back, making you lay down next to him with a small groan

"You're so annoying" you grin anyways, unable to hide how you truly feel

It always feels like the world is a little quieter when you're with him,

Calmer, while also being a whole lot more exciting

"Want me to light the second one?"

Your head tilts to his, now it being your turn to watch his side profile while he gazes up to the hopeful stars,

"Nah, one is enough"

His head turns too, leaving a couple centimeteres between your heads,

Almost crashing when he does so,

The softness of his face is so evident up close, erasing him from the shackles of his obnoxious personality

In the best way imaginable, of course

"Hmm you're right, im already high and really horny" he says, a proud look going down your body, even in your hello kitty pyjama pants and the white tank top you're wearing,

Jungkook is going crazy, the burning desire under his skin to run his hands all over you is becoming harder and harder to ignore

Finding it entertaining, you climb on his hips, which makes his hands immediately occupy the softness of your comfy pants, feeling the impact of his palms on your hips through them

You'd never pass up an oppurtunity to touch him

"hm, you are? really?" you say innocently, the sound of your voice so alluring, so inviting

He sucks in a breath when your hands find their way creeping under his shirt, slowly tracing up his hardend ab muscles

"Fuck yeah i am" he mutters under his breath, increasingly getting worked up by your little teases, gesturing down his body with your eyes

Hands following suit by playing with his belt, his palms press inward on your hips, firmly caressing them while his growing bulge pushes into your hips from below,

The pressure feels so good, having him grow thick and heavy below your touches

All he can look at is you, your tits in perfect, squished view, your face all concentrated,

The mesmerizing scenery you drove for is getting outshined by two horny college students

"Wanna get your dick sucked jeon?"

the groan he lets out combined with the way his hand moves to wrap around your throat, pulling you down, should be answer enough,

However, the sparks only increase when his deep, teasing tone of voice turns slightly whiny,

"If you talk like that i'll cum baby, please" he says, biting the corner of his lip,

You moan, capturing him in a deep, messy kiss that leaves a string of saliva connecting you, tongues poking out slightly

"Sit up then, knees apart"

He follows suit immediately, barely regsitering what's going on around him

The throbbing of is hard cock is enough to do anything for a sweet release,

Besides, you could always make him forget where the two of you are, none of that mattered

"You look so sexy like this bunny" he mumbles, keeping the whiny desperation laced within his voice,

Eyes wandering over the way your back arches, how your forearms are pressed into the ground, that sweet look of anticipation making him lose his mind

One of your small, delicate hands wrapping around the base of his dick

You can't help but slap it against your lips and cheek a couple times, the reaction of his,

The way his eyes tense and his jaw clenches,

It's too good to pass up

A gobble of spit lands on his cock, you let it run down slowly, pumping him firmly until your thumb hits his tip,

"Mmh fuck" he moans, head already threatening to fall back, he's so enticed with the way you move, the way you look so innocent peering up at him though your lashes,

His moans intensify, turning into lower pitched groans once your tongue and lips wrap around his tip, focusing on building up the pressure,

"Please bunny, take it like the pretty girl you are, i need to feel you so bad" he mutters, reaching to stroke your cheek with one of his tattooed fingers,

You hum against his skin, letting yourself down on him,

He's big, so big you struggle to take him in with an open throat, gagging once all of him is stuffed inside your sweet mouth,

He moans loudly, gathering some of your hair in order to support the movements of your head, bumping up and down on his cock,

"That's it, good girl, you feel so good"

By now you're begining to notice his head had fallen back, eyes squeezed shut tightly from the overwhelming pleasure,

Feeling your tongue swirl around his dick, the way you gag and moan when his pushes become rougher,

He's never been like this before, so into it and lost in the feeling of being on the recieving end,

"Fuck - oh my god, that's it, mhmm, gag on my dick pretty, doin' so well"

The way his praises keep flowing out has your own slick running down your folds, complentary to the way drool is leaking from the corner of your mouth

From the way he twitches in your mouth, the rapidly approaching orgasm was undeniable,

"Gonna cum baby, want you to swallow every drop, understood?" he pants, opening his eyes to gaze down at your pretty face, fully occupied with his cock

You moan, letting him know you will

And when he does, with a couple last curses and pushes of your tangled hair in between his fingers,

Your eyes meet his, watching his face fall beautifully while simultaneously feeling hot ropes of cum spurting down your throat

You swallow, of course, showing him your empty mouth afterwards

"Mhm.. god.." he's still trying to catch his breath, "c'mere bunny"

You're on top of his thigh, practically in his lap, his hand having found the comfortability on your face once again,

Pecking your lips a few times, which makes you smile in return

"You give the best head, no joke"

You can´t help but laugh, thinking that his casual comment made you swell with pride, it´s comofrting, knowing that from the many girls,

maybe you are different,

maybe you could be?

A soft kiss is placed on his nose, you ruffle his hair too, almost as in taking revenge for how messed up you look because of him

"Well i sure hope so now that i have a birds nest in my hair" you giggle,

He rolls his eyes, hands tightening around the soft skin of your waist, sneakily having found their way under your clothes

"You're beautiful, shut up" he says, capturing you in a kiss once more,

It's becoming increasingly more difficult to pretend the heartbeat in your chest is regular, like the blush on your cheeks is as well

He doesn't make it any easier, not in the slightest

"Wanna know what im craving so bad right now"

"What?" You ask, playing with a few strands of his hair,

"Fast food, like a crazy bacon burger or somethin' " he replies, licking his lips to portray the severity of the situation,

a slight look of disappointment hitting your face,

he coos,

"Awhh what? wanted me to say your name?"

his exaggerated pout stirrs up annoyance in you,

"Well I gave you the best blowjob and get met with a burger craving"

Jungkook kisses you swiftly, lacing his fingers in your hair,

"I´ll make it up to you at home, i promise"

your lips curve into a small smile, now that you think about it, a burger does sound really good,

maybe that´s the weed in your system talking

"Let's go get it then, i'd kill for a burger"

He seems happy with your agreement, hoisting you up bridal style while talking,

"On it pretty" his hand moves down, quickly squeezing your ass, which makes you hit his back with another airy gasp,

The thought of being uncomfortable never crossing your mind,

Even if some other, pressing thoughts are developing far too loudly for your liking.

#redcherrykook #jungkook fanfic #jeon jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook x y/n #jungkook x you #bts fanfic #bts jungkook #jungkook smut #jungkook fluff

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covetyou · 5 months ago

Text

ghosted

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist ⋆ series masterlist

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader rating: Explicit (18+ only!) warnings: sex toys (satisfyer "glowing ghost"), unprotected P in V, creampie, oral (f receiving), reader loves floor time (so does Joel), angst (but we fix it), some anxiety/depression adjacent things. word count: 5751 summary: As spring moves into summer, the only thing you're wishing for is to be so far from the events of Easter, and Valentine's and Christmas before it, that you could forget and move on. But, by the time the end of May is on the horizon, the time between still isn't enough - You haven't forgotten, and you haven't moved on.

A/N: thank you to everyone still sticking with this sporadic-installment-series-that-was-never-meant-to-be-a-series. our next visit to these two will be 4th July in stars and stripes, but until then, enjoy 💛

(and yes I know I am technically later than planned with this for non Americas folk - I couldn't get the ending to my liking until suddenly I could, and now its gone midnight. whoops!)

follow @covetedfics and turn notifications on for updates on future fics

If it was true that time flies when you're having fun, it was safe to say the opposite was true too.

You weren't having fun, and time was well and truly crawling by at a snails pace.

That wasn't for lack of trying. In recent weeks you'd spent more time out of the house than you ever had - lunch with friends, drinks with colleagues, solo trips to bookstores and farmers markets. There was barely a moment of time you hadn't filled with something.

It was probably a shitty coping mechanism, all things considered, but it was the best you had. You couldn't quite bring yourself to confide in anyone your secret shame of letting a stranger into your house and touch you like he belonged there. The even bigger shame of living in a place for so very long and not knowing how the door worked, not knowing the stranger was your neighbor, being so very consumed in your own life - woe is you - that you didn't bother paying attention to the lives of the people around you. So, you kept on willing the passage of time, and filling every moment you could with distractions.

It wasn't that you were usually one for wishing time away. A slow, warm spring before the blazing heat of summer consumed everything would usually be a good thing - even better now that you'd lived and experienced your first Texas summer and were soon to have your second.

What you were really wishing for was to be so far from the events of Easter, and Valentine's and Christmas before it, that you could forget and move on.

As it was, by the time the end of May was on the horizon, the time between still wasn't enough. Almost two months to the day, and it still ached and burned in you just as much as it always had, if not more. The embarrassment and shame of not knowing how to work a fucking lock was one thing, the fear of the danger you'd put yourself in was another. Then there was the sadness, the loss, the unexpected emptiness at losing something you weren't even sure you had to begin with. And then, in more recent weeks, was the longing.

And you didn't want to feel any of it.

When Memorial Day Weekend eventually rolls around, the blossoming heat of summer keeping you indoors, you lie there on your living room floor, a fan blowing not quite cool enough air across your sweaty body until a knock at the door disturbs the patterns your eyes were tracing on the ceiling.

The dimness in your vision doesn't go away, even as you blink away the dust and try to get your eyes to adjust. The sun had set, apparently. It wasn't completely dark just yet, but dark enough to cast the lower level of your home in shadow, and you hadn't even noticed. You technically had plans today - plans that had now gone to shit, much like everything else.

Hauling yourself from the ground, you unlock your door, no thought or care of who could be on the other side of it, because one thing was certain - it wouldn't be Joel. You'd lost hope of that weeks ago. Each time you opened it with a fools hope in your mind, you were instead handed a delivery and told to have a good day as you stared out into the street, disappointed that it was only a clitty-blaster-3000, or a new blender, and not Joel.

You mindlessly pull open the door, expecting to be handed a package you hadn't ordered, or to even see a friendly face coming to pull you out for plans you agreed to but didn't really want to do.

But there he is. Two months later - but not too late, you don't think - and entirely out of the blue. Nervous hands are thrust into his pockets with his thumbs twitching on the outside of his jeans, standing there like he didn't belong here at all, when everything in your body was screaming he's home.

This was far from the first time you'd seen him since March. The first time was barely three days after you pushed him away. April Fools' Day, of all days. Fitting, you thought, given how much of a fucking fool you felt whenever you remembered everything you'd done, and said, and felt. It turns out he was the owner of the truck you'd seen parked in a drive a little way down the street, father to the little girl you'd seen bounding out of that house so many times before. Neither thing made the hurt in your chest any less, and you'd driven past with a lump in your throat and tears in your eyes.

The same happens now, but you fight them back so you can see more clearly as his mouth twitches into a small smile, making you freeze on the spot. Your mind was already blank, but that freezes too, and you stare at him dumbstruck for a moment so long you're certain a flicker of concern dances across his eyes.

And you could close the door in his face, push him out and away just like you did on that day over two months ago, but you don't. As you come back around, finally letting your brain reconnect with the rest of your body, the only thing you can feel is relief and total utter joy at getting to see him up close again.

There's still shame too. That's been simmering low and mellow in you for so long now that it's fused with your bones - you're not sure you'll ever shake it - but it's the least important thing right now as you stand and look at him, more awkward and uncertain than you've ever seen him.

"Hi."

You're surprised it's you who speaks first, given how dry your mouth is all of a sudden, seeing him up close again and looking as good as, if not better, than he ever has.

"Hey," he says, before clearing his throat. "S'good to see you."

It's a voice you didn't want to forget, but apparently damn near almost had, given the way your body reacts to it. Deep and rumbling, with the slow southern drawl trickling down your spine like honey and settling between your thighs - though in all honesty that might just be sweat. It really is hot in here, worse now that you're standing, and the fan is doing absolutely nothing to help. You look a mess too - your hair, your clothes, your life - but he doesn't seem to mind, and you're grateful, because right now this is as good as you've got.

"Wanted to see how you were doin'. Figured we should talk," he says with another soft smile.

Stepping aside, you give him a small nod as you silently invite him into your home for the first time. Which should be funny, given the unknown number of times he's been through this door, but you're not ready to laugh about any of it just yet.

When the door closes behind him, it's soft and gentle, barely audible over the fan blasting warm air at you, and you wonder if it's always like that. If he's always quiet as a mouse, and you always too oblivious to notice - between the two of you, you didn't stand a hope in hell in figuring it all out until it was too late and blew up in your face. Now, here you are, egg on your face, the heat in the room not helping the heat in your cheeks, trying desperately not to send him away when you've just invited him in.

It would be easier if it all still felt like a dream, but it didn't. That had changed.

Joel had never been much of a normal man in your mind. He was more of a fantasy come to life. A fantasy that was slowly building into something more and more real with each encounter. Even now, stood in normal shoes, wearing a normal t-shirt, and even more normal jeans - just Some Guy by anybodies standard - he looks as beautiful and fantastic as ever.

"Wanted to talk to you sooner. Wanted to leave it up to you given - y'know. Everythin'. Didn't want you to think I was just bargin' in all the time when it was convenient for me," he says, this very normal man already making you feel both silly and elated that he was waiting for you as much as you were waiting for him. Obviously you could have gone to him first. You just couldn't do it. You almost had so many times, but the twist of your key in the door would twist something in the pit of your stomach too, and you'd stop before you even made it out the house.

You knew why. It was always the same thing. You didn't want to talk - not ever. You just wanted things to be okay, or not, and go on with your life. It was one of those childish things you had your mom to thank for - she wasn't great at talking about the important thing either.

The difference now was Joel. You wanted to talk to him, you wanted to work out everything with him rather than alone in your head. But prior to the door incident, that wasn't what this was and after - well, fuck - after, it seemed that it could have been like that all along but you were too damn late to do anything about it.

"Know you were angry with me - maybe still are - and I -"

"I wasn't angry with you," you blurt out, already aware of the lie the moment it leaves your lips. Joel is too, and he raises an eyebrow at you. "Okay. Yes. It pissed me off - you pissed me off. Happy?"

"No. Never wanted to piss you off, darlin'," he murmurs in return, and you can see that he means it by the way all of him softens, drooping in defeat at your admission.

"I... You embarrassed me, Joel. I feel embarrassed, okay? I feel like a stupid idiot, and I -"

You can already feel it all coming back. The swirling in your head, and the heat creeping up your chest and down your arms, not helped by this sweltering fucking house. It's like fainting, but instead of blacking out, a white hot rage is ready to ignite in you. And of everything, it's the thing you most never want to feel again. You'd take all the sadness, loss, emptiness, and longing of the last two months a million times over if it means you never have to feel this again.

" - and it makes me angry. And I hate feeling like that, like this, and I just couldn't come talk to you because I feel so stupid."

"Woah, darlin', c'mon now, we both know you ain't stupid."

"I don't know how to work a fucking door, Joel. Do you know how long people have had doors?"

Taking a deep breath, you close your eyes before starting up again, hoping Joel will take the lead and talk for you first, but he doesn't.

"And I thought we were on the same page. That we were both doing the same silly thing, and it was okay that it was silly and fun, because we were both in on the joke. And... I liked seeing you. I liked it when you were here and it just - it just feels like it was a lie, and what I got out of it isn't what you got out of it. And that's okay, but it still feels stupid. I feel like an idiot, and an asshole, and knowing that you knew so much more about me than I knew about you, I just-"

"Do you want to?" he asks. "Do you wanna get to know me? Just gotta say, and it's done. I want you to know about me - I never meant to hide anythin' from you like that. And I don't want you to be mad, and I don't want you to feel embarrassed, cause the way I see it, we both got shit to be embarrassed about. I was breakin' into your house for months, thinkin' I was invited."

You wince a little, and he just smiles, shrugging his broad shoulders that what's done is done, nonchalance easing your anxiety for the first time ever rather than making it worse.

"I used to stand out there in front of your door and talk to your doorbell like you'd talk back to me any minute," Joel says with a laugh. "Course, now I get that you probably ain't got it hooked up. Never did hear the fuckin' thing ring."

Fuck. Right. Yeah, he's got you there. You'd bought it when you moved in, at your mom's insistence, and never got around to connecting it to anything. You figured it just being there would be deterrent enough and, other than visits from Joel, it had been.

He laughs again at your poorly masked grimace, and any other time you'd maybe be infuriated by him finding humor in something you'd been hurting over for weeks. It's not until you meet his eye and see the silliness in it all too - neither of you really did have any hope.

"Right? It's dumb. Not you, not me, it's just dumb. I even used to tell you when I'd be over next, let you know when to expect me. Leave out a key or put the door on the latch if it's okay for me to come by. I thought I was bein' invited in, but I was breakin' in. Shit. You're embarrassed, and I'm a criminal, I guess we're both losers."

Any anger you had is gone in a flash as laughter ripples through your belly and out your throat. In a way, it's all true. Joel was just as fucked as you, had just as much to be embarrassed and fearful about as you. Unknowingly leaving your home vulnerable to intruders is one thing, but being an accidental criminal for months is another.

"I liked it. I... I never knew when you were coming."

"Hey, if that's what gets your rocks off," he says with a wink, and you laugh again. "I ain't one to judge, but we can explore that in safer ways than keepin' a door unlocked day and night."

You both realize what he said the second the word left his lips.

We.

As in us.

As in together.

And you think he might take it back as quick as he said it, but he doesn't. He just looks at you, half fearful that he said the wrong thing, half hopeful that he said the right thing.

"Okay."

With one word he brightens, and you can feel it in you too. Whatever it is is mutual. Has been since the red velvet coat, since the wings, since the bunny ears, and all the spaces in between.

"Yeah? Cause I'd like to start over, if that's okay with you."

"Well, that sounds like a terrible idea," you say bluntly, because honestly you cannot think of anything worse. Joel's slow steps towards you falter for a second as he tries not to let the disappointment in his face show, but you're already smiling. "You can pry Santa, Cupid, and Flopsy from my cold, dead hands."

And his laugh is glorious, cracking open the remnants of the walls you'd put around yourself and letting your bones soak in the warmth of him, just as his arms come to wrap around you, pulling you against his chest. He smells so familiar - that's one thing you know about him. You might not know about his favorite color, or what he likes to eat, or even his daughters name just yet. But you know what he smells like, how his smile lights up his eyes, and how his hands feel on you, anchoring you in place even as you send yourself dizzy breathing him in.

He's going to kiss you too. You know that, and you welcome it, but before he can, you pull back.

"There's so much I want to know, I don't know how I missed so much."

"You get one question before I'm kissin' you."

You think for just a second before looking down to where your fingers curl into his shirt - an old Fleetwood Mac tee, so washed and worn it's like butter beneath your fingers.

With a wry smile, you look up at him from beneath your lashes, unable to hold back the laughter in your voice. "What are you dressed as today? Don't think I know this one, you're usually on theme."

"This? I'm just your plain ol' friendly neighborhood Joel Miller."

His lips are on yours then, pressing a soft kiss into the curve of your mouth, eyes searching yours for one, two, three seconds, before he dives back in, kissing you in earnest, making up for all the in betweens you'd been wishing away.

You wrap yourself around him, clinging to him, damn near wanting to climb up him, as you make out like teenagers in the middle of your living room. His hands wander across your shoulders, down your spine, grasping at any softness he can find along the way until his hands settle - one on your ass, and one gently cupping the back of your neck.

And as you kiss, holding each other close like you were long lost lovers and not whatever this thing between you was, you can't help but think that Joel Miller may just be your favorite Joel yet.

"Now, I got a question for you," he mumbles into your mouth, each word chased by your kisses. You've never wanted to seem desperate before, but right now you don't care, and by the way he's holding you, Joel doesn't mind either.

"Why the fuck do you have a nightlight?"

Shooting him an inquisitive look, you follow his gaze over your shoulder.

There on your counter, little light blinking away, is your very own clitty-blaster-3000, a luminous ghost with its mouth set in a permanent O, glowing brightly in the darkness. Shit. You'd brought it down this morning to charge, needing to keep a watchful eye on it and its janky magnetic charger to make sure it charged fully. You'd totally forgotten about it, and now here it was, glowing like a beacon after being out in the sun all day.

You try to pull away from Joel, but with his arms locked around your body, and his mouth pressing soft whiskered kisses to your neck, you don't have the strength, or the inclination, to move.

"It's not a nightlight, I can go put it away, if you just gimme-"

He tucks you behind him, swatting away your arms as you feebly try to reach around and grab it from him. Truthfully, you quite like the idea of him holding it, using it, but you feel bad that he might not know what it is.

"Not a nightlight, huh?" He says, grabbing the toy from the counter, said charger immediately popping off and clattering to the ground. He inspects it, turning it over in his hands, bringing it so close to his face it casts shadows across his features with its glow. "Oh, I know what this is."

"What is it then, smartass."

"Other than Pac-Man's worst nightmare? It's one of them clitty-blaster-3000 things."

Eyes wide, you double over, cackling and holding desperately onto yourself so you don't totally fall apart in front of him. He laughs with you, though maybe it's a little bit at you too, but you don't mind.

"What?!" he says smiling as he watches you fight to right yourself, gripping his forearm with laugh weakened fingers.

"That's what I call it!"

"Yeah? It good?"

His eyes are burning into yours. You know where this is going, and there's a brief thought that maybe you should stop it, slow things down. But you don't. Instead, you bite your lip and nod, making a noise of confirmation as Joel fiddles with the buttons on the toy.

A second later, it whirrs to life, a gentle throbbing buzz meeting your ears.

Joel puts his thumb over the hole, the suction gently hammering away at his finger tip as he clicks up and up through the intensity until he's well past a level you can use it at.

"Shit, yeah. Can see how that'd feel good."

"I, uhm, like to tease myself with it."

"Yeah?" he says as it clicks back down through the settings and rests on the softest one again. "Is that how you use it? Just to tease yourself?"

"No," you say, gasping a little when he raises the toy to your neck, pressing the mouth of the ghost to you as if pressing a kiss to your skin. "I - I just kinda stick it on there, to be honest. But I go slow with the - with the settings."

Joel clicks up one setting, the gentle thrumming at your neck intensifying a little.

"Yeah? You take your time? Give her what she deserves?"

You forgot what this was like - how easy and good it was to give in to wanting him, and how easy it was to let yourself have him too.

"Mhm."

"Good. Can't say I ain't jealous though. Missed comin' here. Seein' you. Thought about you, thought about comin' to see you but -"

"Thought about you too."

"When you were usin' this?"

You nod, tilting your head to the side and sighing as he glides the tip of the toy across your pulse point, behind your ear, down the column of your throat.

"Can I use it on you?"

You damn near want to tell him he can do whatever the fuck he wants with you, but the words are lost when you nod again and he captures your mouth in another kiss, brutal in its softness as he guides you back to your couch and all the plush cushions you have stacked there. Since Christmas, your home décor skills have definitely improved. Things look a little less bare, the place looks a little more lived in. There's still pictures to hang and empty spaces on shelves to fill, but you know those things will come in time. For now, you're grateful for the comfy place you've made on your sofa as Joel sits you down, guiding you down with strong hands.

Your shorts are quickly pulled off, the toy pulled from your neck so Joel can kiss his own better trail across your flesh. You hold him to you, anchor him into your bosom like he might drift off like a spectre in the night if you don't, but he's as latched to you as you are to him.

And then he's on his knees for you, jeans straining as his cock swells, hands gripping your thighs then pushing your shirt up, exposing you for him. Panties soon follow your shorts, yanked down your legs in a joint effort by your left hand and his right as he can't resist lapping at your mouth, tangling his tongue with yours.

He's everything you tried to forget, and some of the things you did. He's strong, and broad. He's gentle too, and soft - his eyes, mostly, but some other parts of him too. He's silly, and playful, smiling into your mouth and nipping at you, the hand by your thigh teasing the buzzing toy over the delicate skin there and delighting in your shudder.

As he moves it closer, the sounds of the suction against your skin making you both giggle, he moves down, burying his face into your neck and breathing in. You already know that it's never been like this before - that this is something new, just like every other time before had been something new.

"So you just stick it on, huh?"

"Lube. With lube."

His face is between your legs in an instant, licking messily around your clit, not really trying to get you off, just aiming to get you wet. When he pulls back, toy in hand, he raises the glowing toy mouth to his own and licks, smiling at the sound of it suctioning to his tongue.

"That good enough?"

And you nod, giving in to his kisses again before he breathlessly spreads you apart with both hands, looking at your cunt like if he blinks it'll all fade away.

"You know I ain't seen this for three months?"

"You been counting?"

"I missed you," he repeats with a breathless kiss to your thigh. "Missed this."

He lights his way with the glow of the toy rumbling in his hand, pulling back your clit for just one second, barely holding in a groan, before he gently holds the mouth of the ghost to you, pressing until the obscene slurp is muffled by full suction on your clit.

And it's divine, just like it always is, but somehow made even better by the man doing it to you. Fascinated eyes don't stop watching as it hammers air lightly at your clit in a constant rhythm, and the sight alone makes you drip. You're grateful for the heat now, and the sheet you'd covered your velvet sofa with, saving you an undoubtedly messy clean up later.

The toy slips when Joel climbs back off his knees to press his mouth to yours, and the air splutters and ripples past your skin again, as Joel laughs into your mouth.

"The sound of this thing, jesus fuckin' christ. Sounds like you're -"

"Don't. Don't make me laugh, you'll distract me."

"I like it when you laugh," but he's already pressing it flush to your skin again, stopping the sound and sending the ripples directly back to your clit.

"Ohh, f- "

"That's it," he says, watching as your hips rock ever so slightly into the throbbing toy sucking away on your clit. "Fuck, that's it. Lettin' me get you off with this thing."

"Think I can get some fingers in and keep this right where you need it?"

"Mm."

"Yeah?" he says, swiping at your entrance with his middle fingers, carefully holding the toy in place with his palm. "Just like that. There we go. Right in there. Fuck, I missed this. Missed bein' in here."

"Fuck."

"That's it. You come on 'em. Wanna feel it."

"Joel, down. Move it down. Ple- ah."

"There?"

"Right there," you sigh, panting and barely making it through the words before your eyes snap shut.

And then Joel is in your ear, his breath fanning against you, cooling you for a second even as his fingers stoke the fire raging in your core.

"You're fuckin' beautiful," he murmurs, and you just know he's looking down at you, the picture of a perfect mess. A sheen of sweat on your skin, lips swollen and parted as you gasp, thighs spread wide, hips rocking into Joel's illuminated palm, t-shirt rucked high over your hips, hands on your tits, nipples pinched between your own fingers, moaning, panting, coming.

You twitch in his arms, burying your head in his neck and breathing deep. Something about the position you're in can keep it going longer, can keep that thrumming pressure on your clit right where it is, past your usual limit, dragging your orgasm on and on until you're gasping Joel's name.

He gingerly pulls the glowing toy off of you - its brightness dimmed only slightly since you lost sight of it between your legs - fiddling with buttons until he gives in and throws it to the side to run his hands over you.

With a light kisses to your parted lips, he apologizes, giving you softly muttered sorrys for ever upsetting you, for taking so long to come talk to you, and before you can return the sentiment, he sends you laughing again.

"And I'm sorry for breakin' into your house. Accidentally."

Your laughter makes him shift, and his face contorts as he gasps in discomfort.

"Fuckin' jeans. Pinchin'," is all he says, as he tries to adjust himself. You can see his zipper strain with the weight of his cock, stiff and unattended, behind the thick fabric.

"Take 'em off."

"Came here for you, not me."

"And if I want you to come for me?"

Joel blinks.

"Then I'm takin' my damn pants off," he says, taking his pants off. He sighs in relief when the pressure on his cock is released, groans when your hand palms him over the damp fabric, gasps into your mouth when you slip your fingers beneath his waistband, finding his cock slick and wet with precum, curses into your hair when you lick the salty taste of him from your fingers.

Tugging his boxers down a little more, his cock springs free, slapping his wet tip against his belly. In a blink you're on him, pulling off his shirt as you go to suck wet kisses into his neck, his chest, and letting your fingers toy with his nipples and the other feel down past his boxers, cupping his balls and rolling your thumb across the sensitive flesh before he pushes up into you.

He's solid. You're surprised he didn't come in his pants with how firm he feels slipping against your cunt. You meet his thrust, grinding down into his solid length, trying to hold your own shirt up so you can see the tip of his cock as he ruts against you.

"Does that feel good?"

"Fu - yeah. Y'always feel good."

"Y'know what would feel better," you whisper, scratching gently down his chest and watching goosebumps prickle his skin. With a shift of your hips, his next thrust pushes in, just slightly, before popping out and grinding into your clit again. His next thrust - slower, firmer - notches against your entrance and pushes in, Joel's hands on your ass dragging you down, until you're seated to the root of him.

It's a stretch. It always was. But over three months, and a decline in solo sessions, made it even more so.

Still, even through the stretch, you rock against him, looking into the eyes of Joel Miller, the normal, every day guy who lives down your street, and smile at it all, and the look on his face that says he couldn't be luckier.

"Said I wanted you to come, didn't I?"

And you meant it. You show him how much you mean it as you start to ride him, lifting higher and higher off of him before pushing back down. Your thighs clap against his, wet with sweat and slipping together with each movement, echoing around your living room.

It doesn't last long. It can't. It's too fucking hot, and you're woefully out of practice as the stretch in your pussy turns into a burn in your legs. You can see Joel's face start to pinch and contort, looking between your face, your bouncing tits, and the slip of his cock in and out of you, barely visible in the shadows.

But you can't keep going. You'll pass out if you do. Joel's hands register what you're doing before his face does, gripping tighter and holding you down on him, before his mouth opens in a gasp, his head falling back after losing something he was so close to getting.

You barely pull in a breath of warm air before Joel is dragging you down, flipping you unceremoniously onto your back on the floor.

It's cooler down here, even with Joel's body over yours. It's why you were on the floor to begin with, before he came back, before you let him back in. Joel fumbles against you, the sweat on your body acting more like a full body lube at this point, before he slides back in, knocking the air out of you as he fills you all over again.

Even though his knees will be bruised in the morning and your back will ache, he pounds into you, gripping your shirt and pulling you down with each thrust.

And it's just so fucking good you can't help but practically scream as he fucks you, moaning loudly into his ear as he groans and pants and swears into yours. Your fingers can't find purchase against his back, even as you desperately claw at him. There's too much sweat - it's too fucking hot in here - but you wouldn't change any of the desperate mess that you find yourselves in here on the floor.

He's growling, balls slapping against you, fucking you so hard you have to throw a hand out to hold onto the couch.

"I'm gonna - fuck - look at me. Look. Fuck. Fuck."

He presses in then, spurting deep in you, stealing the air from your mouth, and you from his, as you gasp and groan with each shallow thrust of his hips.

When he pulls out, hands going from bruising grip to gentle strokes, he rolls off of you, his back slapping wetly against the ground just as your pussy makes its own equally wet sound. And you laugh, because it's silly, just like it always has been, with or without a costume or a name that's not quite his own to go with it. Joel chuckles along with you, content and dozy from his orgasm, the evidence of it trickling out of you and making a mess of your floor as your stomach contracts with laughter.

The house cools down in the darkness - not much, but enough. Your hands find each other again too, and you each dance small patterns across each others skin until words come back to you.

You talk there on the floor, sweat drying on your skin, until the rumble of your stomach becomes too distracting to continue. You learn his favorite color, what he does for a living, his daughters name. You even learn the exact make and model of his truck, something you immediately forget.

And when he tries to excuse himself, too frightened of overstaying his welcome, you invite him to stay, and Joel Miller, the best Joel you've ever met, says yes.

next part

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#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #pedro pascal characters #coveted fics #big bawl jawl #never forget the balls #fic: dress up joel

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