I have ADHD, short term memory loss so my writing can be a little off I’m still getting use to writing but I really enjoy it! And I hope everyone does to!
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You and Pope have been going for just over two months now and you're head over heals for him. He's quiet and a little awkward but he fascinates you. He's sweet, tender and almost never sleeps. Smurf tells you not to worry about it, that's just how he is. Sometimes though, when he's had a rough day, he'll lay in your lap and doze off for an hour or so.
You never feel more special than in those brief moments.
The two of you have had moments where tensions are high, he kisses you when he drops you off at your place, sometimes he even blushes but he never makes the first move. He never comes inside or deepens your kiss. Which you've been okay with, you understand maybe he needs some warming up to you. Especially since he's only been out of prison a few months longer than you've been together.
You thought maybe he'd take you the night he came clean about his wrap sheet; you told him you didn't care and he was surprised, you kissed - a lot. And then he got called away for some family thing. You've just been patiently waiting for it.
Sometimes you wonder if he truly likes you or is interested in dating you. The one time you brought it up you were honest with Pope, you told him you weren't sure of his feelings for you and maybe you should see other people.
Pope simply said, "I'll kill him." with a straight face and twitching lips.
"Who?" You had asked, taken aback and a little startled.
"Whoever 'other people' is." He had stated with furrowed brows, "I won't see anyone else." He continued, standing extra close to you so you'd realize and pull him into a hug.
"So - you do like me?" You asked to clarify, blushing some as you reached for him.
"Of course, I do. You - You're my girlfriend." He had gotten a little unsure when he said the girlfriend part after hearing your suggestion. So, you wrapped him up in a tight hug and hesitated to bring it up again.
Until today.
Pope had just gotten back from a job this morning, a little banged up but nothing more than usual. He took you on one of the nicest dates you've ever been on. Everything had been perfect, the restaurant, the food, the necklace he gifted to you (which you didn't even bother asking where he got it from).
He holds your hand tight as he guides you up the few steps to your front door. When he pulls away to say goodbye you don't let him, squeezing his hand and pulling him to your chest as you lean back on the door.
"What?" Pope asks, looking a little startled at your quickness.
You yank him against you, slamming your lips to his for a heated, passionate kiss but he doesn't get there right away. You deepen it yourself, licking his bottom lip before sinking your teeth into it. He shudders and leans into you, his hands hovering tentatively over your waist.
He's nervous and unsure but he can't deny he enjoys the way you feel on him. He likes the way you smell and how gentle your eyes are on him - he's not used to that.
"Touch me." You plead, pulling him impossibly closer as you writhe into him. He's still so rigid and stiff in your hold.
"We're outside." He mutters, looking at you with that beautiful, plain face of his.
You huff, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt before spinning around to swing the door open. You drag him inside with you, pushing him against the door once it's closed. You practically pounce on him. He's still hesitant. You're throwing yourself at him and he just - stands there, letting it happen.
It pisses you off.
You let out an exasperated sigh, slamming your hands into his chest with a frustrated grunt. "What the hell is your problem, Pope?" You raise your voice, finally feeling worked up enough to say something.
"I-I don't have a problem." He stutters, grabbing your wrists to hold them between you two. "Please, don't do that again." He's quieter but you feel the request in his grip.
"Why don't you want to fuck me?" You ask, still animated but you change your tone when you see him flinch. You cover your mouth with your fingers for a second before trying a softer approach. "I-If sex isn't - you know - your thing, that's fine. Just tell me, please. So, I don't have to worry or wonder."
Pope steps closer to you now, a single hand reaching to encapsulate yours.
"It's not that I don't want to … I don't always know the best time for things." He's quiet, curt and honest.
"You've just been waiting for the right time?" You ask, incredulously. "It's not the right time when I change in front of you before we go swimming?"
"I assume you actually want to swim." He shrugs innocently, which is not a fitting expression for a man so gruff and criminal.
"Or the time I tried to go down on you at Daren's after hours?"
"It's dirty there." He cringes.
His answers make you giggle, your heart warming in your chest at how genuine he is. You rub your thumb over his palm affectionately. "I'm sorry I flipped out on you."
"It's okay." He nods firmly, squeezing your hand back.
"So, - Sex is your thing?" You ask sheepishly. "You don't just think I'm unattractive or something?"
Pope nods down to his pants where his length strains against the dark denim. "You are very attractive." He assures you.
You stifle a giggle at his gesture, taking both of his hands in yours and brushing your nose against his. "Does now feel like a good time?" You whisper, looking down to his lips with want. Pope nods his head 'yes' slowly, looking at your lips too.
You nod back as if to make sure, watching his puppy dog eyes as well as his lips. He nods again as your faces inch closer, noses brushing, eye lashes fluttering and hearts pounding. Both of you are still a tad stiff as your lips meet, it's slow to start but you feel each other out. You guide his hands to your sides before caressing his face to keep him close.
You hum happily as your lips meld together and you find a good rhythm. His hand don't move from their tight grip on your sides as you slowly step back. You make it all the way to the couch, trying to pull him on top of you but he doesn't go. Instead, you both sit down facing each other, your lips staying connected the whole time.
You try not to rush it but if you let Pope lead you worry you'll never get there. You dance your fingers down his neck, inside the tight collar of his shirt. You tempt him with your tongue again and this time he lets you in. You take this as your sign to go further, working open the buttons on his shirt.
A little moan escapes you when his tongue returns the gesture, warmth flooding your belly. He gets more stern with his kiss, encouraging you to shove his shirt off his shoulders so he's bare for you. Your hands drag down his chest, his large pecks filling your grasp happily.
His fingers slowly slide down your sides and then back up, the fabric bunching up as his palms engulf your skin. The both of you let out a whiny sound because of the impact, your body sliding closer to chase more. He's slow and methodical, kissing you deeply, enough to make you warm and needy.
You run your hand down his muscular belly, passing his belt to take a hold of the large bulge in his pants. Pope gasps and jolts, pressing his forehead to yours as he slides you closer with his hands on you.
"Can I?" He asks, distracting you from where your hand is to pull your blouse over your head and off.
"You don't have to ask, Andy." You whisper, lifting your arms up for him. He blushes, looking away from your face as he folds and sets your blouse aside. You bite your lip as you watch him, feeling so endeared.
When he's finished you lean back in for his mouth, guiding his hands to touch your breasts as you fumble with his belt and zipper. Pope is as stiff as ever, watching your nimble hands with tight lips and flushed cheeks. You pull his belt out of the loops, his jeans open wide as you start to tug them off his hips.
"I got it - Take your bra off." Pope interjects curtly, his chest heaving while he stands. You nod enthusiastically, smiling with your teeth because you love that he's speaking up. You reach around and unclasp your bra, throwing it at his head once its off.
You bite your lip and cover your chest, watching Pope pull your bra off his face, a tiny smirk gracing his face, you make sure to memorize it. He stands in just his boxers before you, the shadow on his leg looking much more intimidating with one less layer over it. You gulp.
Pope walks towards you, grabbing your arms to uncover you and make you stand with him. He leans in to kiss you, his need seeping into your mouth as you raise up on your toes to get closer. You shuffle your arms out of his hold, returning the kiss with all you have as you force his palms over your bare breasts.
Your heart pounds with excitement from his body heat, his touch. He slowly palms your breasts, groaning into your mouth at the feeling. Your entire body feels red hot, goosebumps all over your skin as he drags his rough hands over your taught nipples.
"Please." You whisper, practically panting after pulling back from the kiss to beg.
"What, doll?" Pope asks earnestly, his eyes heavy on your face, searching for your words before you even say them.
"Take me, Andy. Make me yours." You're quiet and sultry, pressing your tits into his hands and ghosting your lips over his.
"A-Are you sure?" He hesitates, unsure of his self control once he starts with you.
You've become incredibly impatient and needy, solidified by the whine that leaves your mouth. "Andreeewww." You coo, snatching his wrist and pushing his hand under your skirt, the fabric rides up over his arm as you press his flat fingers to your bare cunt.
He gasps on contact, your hot, slick cunt taking is breath away. He lays his forehead to yours, his eyes pinched shut as you hold his hand to you. "Fuck!" He hisses, his voice so rough, not like anything you've heard from him before. "Where are your panties?" Pope grunts out, pressing his fingers harder against you, enough that you feel you can let go of his hand and touch his face.
"I didn't wear any - been waiting for you to take me all night long, Andy." You speak to him softly, your voice raspy from the deep breaths you keep having to take. You caress Pope's cheeks, rubbing your nose back and forth on his as you try to resist the urge to buck your hips. He whines again, the sound giving you full body chills and this time you can't stop the way your hips rut towards him. The movement spreads your arousal over his fingers and he snaps from the sweet sensation.
He slams his mouth to yours, a free hand clamping down on your neck to make sure you can't pull away from his kiss. In the same moment he slides his middle finger into your eager, wet entrance. You're so slick he sinks all the way to his last knuckle in one movement. You cry out into his mouth, trying to pull back to breathe but Pope forces his mouth back on yours, swallowing every sound.
His finger dances around inside you, like he's exploring. He touches you at every depth and angle he can find, paying attention to how you react and making note of what's good and what's great. You cling to him for dear life, your hips feeling weak from the pressure built up there.
"Good? It's good?" He pants, pulling back just enough to see your eyes as he starts fucking a second finger inside you. All the sudden his hunger and want are on the outside of him, instead of hidden somewhere you couldn't reach. He's feral looking, like he's on the brink of snapping again and lord knows what'll happen then.
"Yeah, yeah." You nod frantically, pawing at his hips for balance.
"Yeah?" He asks, smiling at you like he's proud of himself. You love it. So, you nod again with enthusiasm, leaning in for more kisses as you turn him and shove him back onto the couch.
You're in his lap in an instant, guiding his hand back under your skirt to resume his work. As you straddle his lap you comb your fingers through his hair, kissing his forehead and cheeks while riding his fingers. His free hand gropes your ass and forces you to bounce at a quick, messy pace on him.
You grab a small handful of hair from the back of Pope's head, guiding his face down to your free hanging breasts. At first he just lays his face against one, rubbing his mouth and nose across you as he transitions to the other side. He practically mauls your tits while forcing you down on his fingers and you've never been wetter, never been more turned on.
Eventually, you coax Pope into latching his mouth around one of your nipples. He sucks gently, making you arch deeper into his touch. He laps you up with a wet tongue, you can see his spit glistening in the dim light. You start to lose your sanity when he blow on your sensitive bud, the sharp cooling sensation making you jump in his hold.
"A-Andrew, touch my clit too - you'll make me come." You tell him, sounding desperate but his eyes light up. He uses his free hand to rip your skirt up over your head, you help him to speed it up. Once you're fully naked he guides your other tit to his mouth as he starts circling your bundle of nerves.
It takes a couple of swirls for him to find the spot but once he does he touches you expertly. It took all of five minutes for him to discover your sweet spots, it's like he had a cheat sheet somewhere in his brain for your body.
"Please, come for me, doll. I wanna watch so bad." Pope whispers, begging you like it's a secret. All of the stimulation from him has your climax building deep in your core. Your hips buck into Pope's fingers and it doesn't faze him at all, he continues to pound into you unwavering. He kisses you so deeply you realize instantly that it's never been like that before. "Are you close?" He asks when you tense up in his hold.
"H-Harder, Andy, please." You beg, guiding his mouth back to one of your tits. He listens to your request, keeping a steady pattern on your clit while pounding his fingers into you with more force. His big doe eyes stare at your face so intently, waiting for you to crest.
You can barely get the words out when you try to tell him you're coming, he catches on regardless. Pope kisses you through it, not changing a thing about his movements until you're squirming and shoving his hands away. He doesn't give in at first, making you squeal before you truly get free.
He grabs you by the waist, spinning your bodies until you're laying on your back, long ways on the couch and he's hovering between your legs. He slowly grinds himself against you, hesitating to go further.
"Your boxers are still on." You whisper, tugging at the elastic.
"I know." Pope grunts, grinding himself harder when you wrap your legs around him. "Do you have a condom?"
"Don't need one." You rush out, yanking hard on his boxers to expose him. Immediately you wrap a firm hand around him, pumping slow but tight. Pope huffs out a few heavy breaths, his elbows and knees quivering from your touch.
"Y-You sure?" He stutters.
"Pope, I swear if you don't just fuck me - I'm gonna go crazy." You're stern but you might as well be begging. You just want to have sex with your boyfriend after a romantic date, is that so crazy?
He stares at your face for a few seconds, you can see the hunger returning to his exterior. In a singular moment - he snaps. He grabs your knees and pushes them up to get a better angle, spitting directly on your pussy before swirling his tip around in it to tease you.
The warm sensation make you whimper, your hands in fists by your head as your arch for him. Curse words fall from your lips, mixing with other whiny sounds. They turn loud and guttural when he slams into you, taking up a quick, harsh pace as soon as he feels you.
Pope can't help himself, you suck him in so tight - it makes him lose control. He leans down, pressing your shins to his chest, folding you up to reach your lips while still pounding into you. The angle is painful at first, not used to anyone reaching that deep inside of you. But you adjust quickly, soaking up the way his mouth feels on yours.
"Jesus christ, doll. Your cunt is- it's… fuck, perfect." Pope grunts out, his voice gravelly and rough as he slams himself into you over and over. He's knocked the wind out of you with the force, you gasp for air, looking up at his with glossy eyes and parted lips. "Look at you, begged for my cock just to go dumb as soon as you get it." He teases, nudging your nose and giving your thighs a good squeeze.
You gulp, trying to wet your throat and tongue. "M'fine!" You gasp out, digging your nails into his biceps for leverage. You're determined to stay aware and keep your eyes open, focused on his.
Pope chuckles a little, kissing your red hot cheeks before straightening his spine. He looks down at you with a menacing gaze, fingers burning into the skin of your thighs as he uses his leverage to rock your body into him.
"So, so pretty like this." He mumbles, "Gonna have you like this every night," His voice gives you chills, you blush all the way down your chest, smilling up at him as your brain slowly starts to fog over. You fight it off, blinking and biting your lip until it stings.
"You coulda had me like this all along, Andy - didn't have to wait so long." You whine, reaching up to caress his chest and stomach, your words being forced out of you because of his pace. He hasn't let up and ounce and you're starting to wander if you can keep taking it.
He growls, forcing your knees down and pulling out of you in a fast motion. His large hands clamp down on your sides, flipping you over onto your stomach before settling his knees on either side of yours.
You let out a few whimpery sounds as he man handles you, forcing a deep arch in your lower spine before sinking back into you. He's even deeper than before and it makes you scream. You hear Pope chuckle again, clearly satisfied with himself. His chest comes down over your back, his arm slipping under your chin until he's got you in a headlock.
"You were worth the wait, doll." He grunts, kissing your temple at the same time he tightens his bicep around your throat. "Now be quiet and take me, gonna make you mine, huh?" He taunts and you nod with enthusiasm, whispering 'yes' a few times over. "Yeah? Want me to fill you up?"
"Yes, yes, yes Andy, please,"
"The first time you ever get my cock and you already want it?" He continues his taunting, his voice makes you mind spin as he destroys your pussy. You can barely get air in your lung with his taught muscle pressed to your neck, you start to feel a little tingly.
"Please," You hiss, gasping for air.
Pope feels your pussy get slicker the more you struggle to breathe and he can't help that it riles him up. He tightens his arm more, pressing his cheek to the side of your head as he continues his violent, messy thrusts.
"Make me feel so special, doll. I'll give you what you want - gonna fuck this little cunt 'til I come, yeah? - You'll get all of me." He's definitely feral now, his voice raspy and deeper than you've ever heard it.
You're tingly all over, your brain fuzzy as you take what you boyfriend gives you. It's blissful, his painful thrusts throb through your limps until it feels like pleasure. You're so wet you feel the mess on your ass and thighs.
Pope doesn't mind, in fact it spurs him on.
"Cross your goddamn legs." He demands, growling in your ear. He lets up his hold around your neck enough for you to hear him and listen. You slide one of your knees under the other, feeling yourself tighten around him. The sound he makes gives you chills, you shiver as it reverberates through your skin. "That's it - fuck!" Pope grunts.
It only takes a few more thrusts before he's filling you full, he moans through it, close to your ear, nibbling at your sensitive skin. He groans and says sweet things but you can't hear him, you're still so fuzzy from all the brutal sensations you've just received.
Pope collapses on top of you, elbows by your temples as you let your head sink back into the pillows. He doesn't pull out right away, letting his cock get flaccid and slip out on it own as he cages you beneath his spent body.
You don't mind, his warmth and weight soothe you as you come back down to earth. You kiss the skin of his arms you can reach, his skin burning hot against you. You both struggle to catch your breath but he cocoons you underneath him until you do.
"Baby doll, - fuck, I-" He huffs, his voice barely there. He slides off your back and to the side, encouraging you to turn so you two are facing each other. His hefty arm drapes over you, keeping you cuddled close to his chest as he looks down at you. "Are you okay?" He asks, his deep eyes searching yours.
You nod your head vigorously, "M'never going two months without you again." You sigh, kissing his chin as you watch him smirk. It's small and subtle but adorable, you lean up to peck his lips. "Stay the night please, Pope." You mutter, tracing your fingers over his back to see him shiver when you hit his spine just right.
"I'm not going anywhere, doll." He promises, cuddling you close.
You're both quiet for a few moments, hugging each other tight. You nuzzle close and he welcomes you, his body still stiff while somehow drawing you in. Maybe it's because you're still hazy, or because you're cock-drunk but you can't help the way your heart pounds, even after catching your breath.
"Andy, I- I think,"
"What doll?" He softly encourages.
"I think I love you." You whisper, burying your face into his warm, bare chest. You nuzzle even closer when you realize how comfy his pecks are.
"You're just saying that because you're foggy from the sex." Pope chuckles, shaking his head above yours. It seems as if he thinks you're joking and you guess you can't blame him. He's not used this sort of thing - that's what makes it all so special.
"I love you too." He whispers a few moments later, kissing the top of your head, huffing a little when your messy hair tickles his nose.
Your mind comes back to you all the way and you realize just how lucky you are. Your boyfriend may not be the perfect guy but he's perfect for you. You never want to leave his arms - you never want to get off his cock either.
You have a feeling after tonight though, you won't have to worry about that anymore.
cw: 18+ MINORS DNI, givin pope a blowjob hehebrurbrhfnn, mentions of bruises/cuts + cage match violence (pictured below), short and sweet, listen to come to me by björk while reading 😋
there’s something about pope after a fight.
his adrenaline runs high, and he’s been watching you from the other side of the cage all night every second he got a chance. his girl. keeps him hungry, keeps him wanting, keeps him winning.
he stalks towards the foot of the bed, fresh out of the shower, a pair of sweatpants slung low on his hips. his eyes, piercing and hot, bore into you as he stares with unabashed desire, chin tipped low. it sends a shiver of heat up your spine from where you sit at the center of his bed.
a coy smile greets your lips once his knees hit the mattress, and you extend a leg to trace lightly on his thigh. his hand, thick and calloused, wraps around your ankle, tugging you closer.
you sit up, face to face with his carved abdomen as his other hand runs over the crown of your head, guiding your gaze up. his left brow is splotched in purple. a butterfly bandage holds a cut on his cheekbone closed.
his hand caresses the side of your head, as his thumb traces a gentle line from your hairline, down your nose, and along the profile of your lips. he watches the soft tissue give under his touch, the slight part of them revealing your lower teeth. he doesn’t miss the way your eyes’ve gone heavy as you stare up at him through your eyelashes. he replaces his thumb with his index and middle finger and presses him just past the seam of your lips to watch them wrap around the digits, your eyes not leaving his.
his brows knit, almost imperceptibly, a rasped fuck, leaving his parted lips. he’s obsessed.
his free hand reaches for the drawstring of his sweats, pulling the knot apart torturously slowly. you tuck your bottom lip between your teeth, waiting.
he tugs the garment just enough for his cock to spring free, thick and angry much like the rest of him, lightly smacking the tough muscle of his abdomen. he strokes it, once, twice. pulls his hand away when yours comes to wrap around the base, watching you swallow down your own salivation.
you wrap your lips around his tip, giving your tongue an introductory twirl around the nerved muscle. he groans, his hand coming to gather your hair at the nape of your neck.
hollowing your cheeks, you take in more of him, savoring the weight and taste and warmth. a soft moan leaves you, as your eyes flit upwards to meet his. his gaze is hot, unrelenting. like he’d rather die than look away. it eggs you on further, taking him as deep into your mouth as you can. he groans again, and you can feel the tension in his hand. as you begin to pull your head back you cover his hand with yours, encouraging him to push. he needs no other instruction.
he starts to move your head up and down the length of his dick, quiet grunts and moans leaving his lips. “fuck,” he mutters. “look at you,” he breathes, pushing your head as far along his cock as you can go. “so pretty.”
you moan at his words, at the feeling of his tip kissing the back of your throat, before continuing to bob your head along his length.
“‘s my reward,” he pants, a pitched sigh leaving him when you begin to massage his balls. “jesus—“ he grits. “won that fight for you,” he grunts. “win every fight for you.”
he starts rambling, now, as he feels himself come closer to completion, watching drool spill down your chin. at some point he takes over, moving your head for you along his cock, strained moans leaving him. “fuck—watchin’ you in the crowd,” he says through gritted teeth, “cheerin’ for me and shit,” he grunts again, “while i pinned a guy down—haah—fuck, baby—god—“
you moan around his length, feeling his dick twitch in your mouth. he’s close.
“yeah? y’like it?” he pants. “like watching your popey up in that cage?” you nod around his length. “like watchin’ him win a fuck-ton of money?” you moan again, nodding. he moans too—almost whimpers, as the push and pull on your hair quickens. “yeah, fuck. i like it too. god, baby, i love this mouth. i—yeah—fuckin’ love it—“
his head jerks back, veins in his neck pulsing when the first ropes of cum shoot into your mouth. he pulls you off of him with a lewd pop and lets the rest of his cum fall onto your waiting tongue. he groans, a dirty, primal, needy sound, his hand shaking as he pumps his cock dry.
you caress his hips as he comes down, his chest heaving, sweat dewing his skin. he gestures for you to climb up the bed and you follow, as he drops his body between your legs.
he murmurs a soft thank you as he catches his breath, pressing his face into your stomach, along with a few kisses here and there. he lowers his head until he’s met with the sight of your warm, waiting pussy underneath your panties, the damp spot caused by your own arousal. buries his face there, mouthing over the fabric almost desperately.
“‘na make you feel good,” he murmurs, voice muffled against your heat. “pretty fuckin’ girl.”
summary: You’ve always thought getting high with Andrew was harmless. Then tonight happens, and you realize you’ve been testing the limits of his self-control all along. andrew ‘pope’ cody x f!reader / cw: needy!pope my fav, smoking, weed, subbish!pope barely, he’s so nerdy in this i love it, ocd tendencies, SMUT!! (dubconish, protected piv, fem oral receiving, fingering), cute ending, lmk if im missing some. word count: 5.1k amalia’s love note: shoutout to @wench-hunter-gatherer for this amazing idea, i hope i did it justice <3
The joint passed between your fingers and Pope's, the ember glowing orange against the deepening purple of the sky. The ocean stretched out before you, endless and dark, waves rolling in with that rhythmic crash that made everything else fade away. You were perched on Pope's lap on the old wicker chair on your balcony, his chest warm against your back, and the weed was hitting just right, that floaty, melty feeling where your body felt both heavy and weightless at once.
The air was thick with salt and humidity, that particular heaviness that came with coastal evenings. Your skin felt sticky, and where your bare thighs pressed against Pope's jeans, you could feel the heat radiating between you. The sun had dipped below the horizon maybe twenty minutes ago, leaving behind streaks of pink and orange that were slowly fading to deep purple. A few early stars were beginning to prick through the darkening sky.
“This is perfect,” Pope murmured, his voice rumbling through his chest into your spine. His breath tickled your ear, warm and smelling faintly of weed and the mint gum he'd been chewing earlier. You felt him shift slightly beneath you, adjusting his position, and you became acutely aware of the solid warmth of his thighs, the way his body cradled yours.
“Mm-hmm.” You took another hit, held it, watching the smoke curl from your lips and dissipate into the salt air. Everything felt heightened, the sound of the waves was almost musical, each crash and retreat a perfect rhythm. The wicker chair creaked slightly as you both breathed, and you could hear the distant sound of someone's music playing down the beach, just a faint bass line carrying on the wind.
Pope's hands rested on the arms of the chair, his fingers drumming slightly to some internal beat. You noticed he was being very careful not to touch you, even though you were literally sitting in his lap. It was so Pope, respectful to the point of awkwardness, even in an intimate situation. You could feel the tension in his body, the way he was holding himself carefully still.
The weed was making you hyperaware of every sensation. The cotton of your tank top felt soft against your skin, and you weren't wearing a bra, hadn't bothered when Pope texted saying he was coming over. You could feel your nipples hardening slightly in the cooling evening air, and you wondered if he'd noticed. The thin fabric didn't hide much.
Your shorts were denim cutoffs, frayed at the edges, and they'd ridden up slightly when you'd settled into his lap. You could feel the rough texture of his jeans against the backs of your thighs, and the contrast between that roughness and the smooth warmth of his hands, even though he wasn't touching you, made you shiver slightly.
“You cold?” Pope asked immediately, his voice concerned.
“No,” you said, and your voice came out lower than you'd intended, almost husky. “Just... feeling good.”
“Yeah,” he agreed, and you felt him relax slightly behind you. “This is nice. I needed this. Been a crazy week.”
You hummed in agreement, taking another hit before passing the joint back to him. His fingers brushed yours as he took it, and even that small contact sent a little spark through you. The weed was definitely making you sensitive, making every touch feel more significant.
The ocean continued its endless rhythm, and you found yourself swaying slightly to it, your body moving in small circles. It was unconscious at first, just responding to the sound and the feeling of being high and relaxed. But then you became aware of it, aware of the way your ass was pressing against Pope's lap, the way the movement was creating friction between your bodies.
Pope's breath hitched slightly, and his hands tightened on the chair arms. You felt a little thrill run through you, he'd definitely noticed. You did it again, a little more deliberately this time, rolling your hips in a slow circle.
“You, uh...” Pope's voice cracked slightly, and he cleared his throat. “You good?”
“I'm great,” you said, and you let your head fall back against his shoulder, exposing the line of your throat. The movement pressed your body more firmly against his, and you felt him tense. “Really, really great.”
You could feel his heart beating faster against your back, could hear the slight change in his breathing. The joint had burned down to almost nothing, and he stubbed it out in the ashtray on the small table beside the chair. His hands returned immediately to the chair arms, gripping them like they were the only thing keeping him grounded.
You wiggled again, this time more obviously, grinding down slightly. The friction sent a pleasant tingle through your body, and you realized with a lazy, weed-hazed smile that you were getting turned on. The sensation was building slowly, a warm pressure between your legs that was becoming harder to ignore.
“Jesus,” Pope breathed, and you felt him shift beneath you, trying to adjust himself. That's when you felt it, the unmistakable hardness pressing against your ass. He was getting hard, and he was clearly embarrassed about it, trying to shift away without being obvious.
But there was nowhere for him to go, and every time he moved, it just created more friction, more awareness of his growing erection. You bit your lip, feeling a surge of arousal mixed with affection. He was trying so hard to be respectful, even as his body betrayed exactly what he was feeling.
“Andy.,” you said softly, turning your head so your lips were close to his ear. You could see his profile in the dim light, the strong line of his jaw, the way his throat worked as he swallowed hard. “It's okay.”
“What's okay?” he asked, his voice strained. “I'm not-I mean, I'm just-“
You wiggled again, deliberately this time, grinding down against the hardness you could feel pressing against you. He made a choked sound, somewhere between a gasp and a groan, and his hands finally left the chair arms, hovering uncertainly near your hips before returning to their safe position.
“You're so hard,” you murmured, and you felt him shudder. “I can feel you.”
“I'm sorry,” he said quickly. “I didn't mean to-you're just sitting there and you're so-and I can't help-fuck, I'm sorry.”
“Don't be sorry,” you said, and you pressed your nose against the side of his neck, inhaling the scent of him. He smelled like weed and ocean air and something distinctly Pope clean sweat and that expensive body wash he used, something woodsy and masculine. You let your lips brush against his skin, just barely, and felt him suck in a sharp breath.
His pulse was racing beneath your lips, and you could feel the heat of his skin. You kissed him again, a little more firmly this time, your lips pressing against the spot where his neck met his shoulder. His skin was slightly salty, and you let your tongue dart out, tasting him.
“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice rough and strained.
“Kissing you,” you said simply, doing it again. You dragged your lips up the column of his throat, feeling the vibration as he groaned. Your hands came up to rest on his thighs, and you felt the muscles tense beneath your palms.
“We're-we're high,” he said, like he was trying to convince himself of something. “And we're friends, and I don't want to-I don't want to take advantage or-“
“Andrew,” you interrupted, turning in his lap so you were straddling him, your knees on either side of his hips. The movement pressed your core directly against his erection, and you both gasped at the contact. His eyes were wide, pupils blown dark, and his lips were parted. He looked wrecked already, and you'd barely done anything. “I want this. Do you want this?”
“I-fuck-yes,” he admitted, his hands finally, finally coming to rest on your hips. His grip was tentative at first, like he was afraid you'd disappear if he held on too tight. “I've wanted this for so long, but I didn't think-I didn't know if you-“
You cut him off by rolling your hips against him, grinding down deliberately. The friction was delicious, the seam of your shorts pressing against your clit through your underwear, and you could feel how hard he was through his jeans. The layers of fabric between you were frustrating and arousing at the same time.
“Oh god,” Pope groaned, his head falling back against the chair. His hands tightened on your hips, and you could see him struggling with himself, wanting to pull you closer, wanting to maintain control. His neck was exposed, the tendons standing out, and you leaned forward to kiss along his throat.
You worked your way up to his jaw, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses, occasionally letting your teeth graze his skin. He was making these small sounds, almost whimpers, and each one sent a bolt of arousal straight through you. Your hands slid up his chest, feeling the warmth of him through his thin t-shirt, and you could feel his heart racing.
“You're killing me,” he breathed, and his hips jerked up involuntarily, seeking more friction. “You're actually killing me.”
“Good,” you murmured against his ear, then caught his earlobe between your teeth, tugging gently. He made a strangled sound, and his hands slid from your hips to your ass, gripping firmly. The touch sent electricity through you, and you ground down harder against him.
You could feel how wet you were getting, your underwear already damp, and the knowledge that he could probably feel it too through the layers of clothing made you even more aroused. You wanted him to know what he was doing to you, wanted him to feel how much you wanted this.
Your hands tangled in his hair, and you tugged slightly, angling his head so you could kiss along his jaw. He had a day or two of stubble, and the scratch of it against your lips was intoxicating. You kissed the corner of his mouth, teasing, and felt him turn his head, trying to capture your lips properly.
But you pulled back, smiling, and kissed down his neck instead. His hands were kneading your ass now, pulling you against him in a rhythm that matched the rolling of your hips. The friction was building, that pressure between your legs intensifying, and you knew if you kept this up you could probably come just from grinding against him.
“Please,” Pope groaned, and you weren't sure what he was begging for. “Please, I need-“
You kissed back up his neck, along his jaw, and finally pressed your lips to his. The kiss was immediately intense, all the pent-up tension exploding between you. His lips were soft and eager, if a little clumsy at first, but then he was kissing you back with increasing confidence, his tongue sliding against yours.
You moaned into his mouth, and he swallowed the sound, one hand coming up to cup the back of your head, holding you to him. The kiss was deep and hungry, all teeth and tongue and breathless gasps. You could taste the weed on his tongue, and underneath that, something distinctly him.
Your hips were still moving, grinding against him in a steady rhythm, and you could feel him getting harder, if that was even possible. His jeans had to be painfully tight, and part of you wanted to reach down and free him, to feel him properly. But another part of you was enjoying this, the teasing, the building tension, the way he was completely losing control.
You broke the kiss to gasp for air, and immediately started kissing down his neck again. This time you didn't hold back, sucking hard enough to leave marks, wanting to see evidence of this tomorrow. He groaned, his hips bucking up hard, and you felt a surge of power at the response.
“Fuck, that feels so good,” he panted, his hands sliding under the hem of your tank top, finally touching bare skin. His palms were warm and slightly rough, and the touch sent shivers through you. He explored cautiously at first, his fingers tracing the curve of your waist, then growing bolder, sliding up your ribcage.
When his thumbs brushed the undersides of your breasts, you both froze for a moment. You weren't wearing a bra, and he clearly just realized it. His hands stilled, and you could practically hear him thinking, trying to decide if he should continue.
You made the decision for him, arching your back and pressing your breasts more firmly into his hands. “Touch me,” you breathed against his neck. “Please, Andy, touch me.”
His hands cupped your breasts, and you both moaned at the contact. His thumbs found your nipples, already hard and sensitive, and when he brushed over them, you gasped, your hips jerking against him. The dual sensation, his hands on your breasts, the friction against your clit, was almost overwhelming.
“You feel so good,” he murmured, his voice rough with arousal. “So fucking good. I can't believe-I've thought about this so many times, but I never-“
“What did you think about?” you asked, genuinely curious. You rolled your hips in a particularly deliberate circle, and he groaned.
“This,” he said, his thumbs circling your nipples. “Touching you. Kissing you. I thought about, fuck, I thought about what you'd taste like, what sounds you'd make. I thought about making you come.”
His words sent a bolt of heat through you, and you kissed him again, hard and desperate. Your hands slid under his shirt, needing to feel his skin, and he helped you pull it up slightly.
His chest was muscular and tanned, muscles defined from physical work, and you ran your hands over him appreciatively. His skin was warm and smooth, and you could feel his heart racing beneath your palm. You dragged your nails lightly down his chest, and he shuddered, his hips bucking up hard.
“Inside,” you gasped against his mouth, the need becoming urgent. “We need to-bedroom-“
“Yeah, yeah okay,” he panted, and then you were both standing, stumbling, still kissing frantically. His hands were everywhere now, your waist, your ass, sliding up under your shirt to touch bare skin. You knocked into the doorframe, then the couch, giggling between kisses, drunk on him and the weed and the overwhelming need.
The journey to your bedroom felt like it took forever and no time at all. You were vaguely aware of moving through your apartment, of Pope's hands on you, of the way he kept stopping to press you against walls and kiss you deeper. At one point he lifted you, and you wrapped your legs around his waist, grinding against him as he carried you.
“Fuck, you're so hot,” he groaned against your neck, his hands gripping your ass to support you. “I can feel how wet you are, even through your shorts. Are you wet for me?”
“Yes,” you gasped, the dirty talk sending another surge of arousal through you. “So wet. I've been wet since I started grinding on you outside.”
He made a sound that was almost a growl, and then he was moving faster, carrying you the rest of the way to your bedroom. When you finally reached it, he set you down, and you started to pull away, intending to fall back onto the bed. But his hands tightened on your hips, stopping you.
“No, no, wait,” he said, slightly breathless, his lips swollen from kissing. “Don't-don't lay on the bed with those clothes.”
You blinked at him, confused and aroused and impatient. “What?”
“They smell like weed,” he explained, and his hands were already moving to the hem of your tank top, his fingers brushing against your skin. “Gonna get your bedsheets all dirty and smoky, and then you'll have to wash them, and-“
He pulled your shirt up and over your head, dropping it on the floor, still talking in that earnest, practical way that was so quintessentially Pope. Your breasts were exposed now, and you saw his eyes drop to them, his words faltering for a moment before he continued.
“-and that's a pain in the ass, you know? Better to just-“ His hands went to the button of your shorts, and you realized with a thrill that he was undressing you without even seeming to realize what he was doing. He was so focused on his explanation, on the logic of it, that he didn't notice the way your breath had quickened, the way you were watching him with heavy-lidded eyes.
“-take them off now, and then the sheets stay clean, and-“ He popped the button and slowly dragged down the zipper, his knuckles brushing against your lower belly. The touch made you shiver, and you saw him swallow hard, his throat working. “-you won't have to do laundry tomorrow, which is good because laundry sucks, and-“
He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of your shorts and started pulling them down, kneeling as he did so. The position put his face level with your hips, and you saw his eyes darken as more of your skin was revealed. You were wearing simple cotton underwear, nothing fancy, but they were damp with arousal, and you knew he could see it.
“-the detergent you use is expensive, I've seen it in your bathroom, so it's better to not waste it on sheets that don't really need washing, and-“ Your shorts hit the floor, and his hands skimmed up your thighs, thumbs brushing the edge of your underwear. His face was inches from your core, and you could feel his breath, warm against your skin.
He finally seemed to register what he was doing, his eyes traveling up your body, taking in your underwear, your bare breasts, the expanse of skin he'd just exposed. His hands were still on your thighs, and you could feel them trembling slightly.
“Oh,” he said, his voice rough and low. “Fuck.”
You reached behind you and hooked your thumbs into your underwear, slowly sliding them down. His eyes were locked on the movement, watching as you revealed yourself to him completely. When you stepped out of them, kicking them aside, you were completely naked, and he was still kneeling in front of you, fully dressed, staring at you like you were something holy.
“You were saying something about keeping the sheets clean?” you asked, your voice teasing.
His eyes snapped up to yours, and the heat in them made your breath catch. “I, uh... I forgot.”
“Andrew,” you said, reaching down to cup his face, your thumb brushing over his lower lip. “Your clothes smell like weed too.”
“That's-yeah, that's a good point,” he managed, and then you were pulling at his shirt, and he was helping you, yanking it over his head. You'd already seen his chest, but seeing it again in the better light of your bedroom made you appreciate it more, the muscle, the tan skin, the way his stomach tensed as you ran your hands over it.
You made quick work of his jeans, unbuttoning them and pushing them down along with his boxers. His cock sprang free, hard and flushed, and you wrapped your hand around it, stroking slowly. He made a choked sound, his hips jerking forward involuntarily, and his hands came up to grip your shoulders for balance.
He was hot and hard in your hand, and you could feel him throbbing, could see the bead of precum at the tip. You swiped your thumb over it, spreading it, and he groaned, his head falling forward to rest against your stomach.
“Fuck, that feels good,” he panted against your skin. “But if you keep doing that, I'm gonna come way too fast, and I want-I need to-“
“What do you need?” you asked, still stroking him slowly.
“I need to taste you,” he said, his voice muffled against your stomach. “I've thought about it so many times. Please, can I-“
“Yes,” you said immediately, and then he was guiding you backward to the bed, his hands on your hips. When the backs of your knees hit the mattress, you sat, then lay back, and he followed you down, settling between your legs.
For a moment, he just looked at you, his eyes roaming over your body with an intensity that made you feel exposed and desired at the same time. Then he leaned down and kissed your inner thigh, his lips soft and warm against your skin.
“You're so beautiful,” he murmured, kissing higher. “So fucking beautiful. I can't believe I get to do this.”
He kissed his way up your thigh, taking his time, and the anticipation was almost unbearable. When he finally reached your core, he paused, his breath hot against your wet flesh, and then he licked a long, slow stripe up your slit.
You gasped, your hips jerking, and he made a sound of satisfaction, his hands gripping your thighs to hold you in place. He licked again, more firmly this time, and then his tongue found your clit, circling it slowly.
“Oh god,” you moaned, your hands tangling in his hair. “Andy, that's-fuck-“
He was enthusiastic if a little inexperienced, but what he lacked in technique he made up for in eagerness. He experimented, paying attention to your reactions, learning what made you gasp and moan. When he sucked your clit into his mouth, your back arched off the bed, and he did it again, harder this time.
“Yes, like that,” you panted, your fingers tightening in his hair. “Just like that, don't stop-“
He didn't stop. He worked your clit with his mouth, alternating between sucking and licking, and then you felt his finger at your entrance, pressing in slowly. The stretch was delicious, and you moaned, your hips rolling against his face.
He added a second finger, curling them inside you, searching for that spot that would make you see stars. When he found it, you cried out, your whole body tensing, and he focused there, his fingers moving in a steady rhythm while his mouth continued its assault on your clit.
The pleasure built quickly, that familiar tension coiling in your lower belly. You were making sounds you'd be embarrassed about later, but right now you didn't care. All you cared about was the feeling of his mouth on you, his fingers inside you, the way he was completely focused on your pleasure.
“I'm close,” you gasped, and you felt him double his efforts, his fingers moving faster, his mouth more insistent. “Andy, I'm gonna-oh fuck, I'm-“
Your orgasm hit you like a wave, pleasure washing through you in pulses. Your inner walls clenched around his fingers, and you heard him groan against you, the vibration prolonging your climax. He worked you through it, only slowing when you started to squirm from oversensitivity.
When you could breathe again, you looked down at him. His face was flushed, his lips wet and swollen, and he looked at you with such satisfaction and desire that it made you want him all over again.
“Come here,” you said, pulling him up for a kiss. You could taste yourself on his lips, and it made you want him even more. “I need you inside me.”
“Condom,” he said, pulling back slightly. “Do you have-“
“Nightstand,” you gestured, and he reached over, fumbling in the drawer until he found one. You watched as he rolled it on, his hands slightly shaky, and then he was positioning himself between your legs, the head of his cock pressing against your entrance.
“Ready?” he asked, and you loved that he checked, even now, even when you were both desperate for it.
“Yes, fuck, yes-“
He pushed in slowly, and the stretch was perfect, filling you completely. You both groaned at the sensation, and he paused when he was fully seated inside you, his forehead dropping to yours. His arms were shaking slightly with the effort of holding still, and you could see the tension in his jaw.
“You feel so fucking good,” he breathed, his voice strained. “So tight and wet and perfect. I need a second or I'm gonna come right now.”
You clenched around him deliberately, and he made a choked sound, his hips jerking. “Don't-fuck-don't do that, I'm trying to-“
“Move,” you urged, wrapping your legs around his waist. “Andy, please move, I need-“
He pulled almost all the way out, then slid back in, and the friction was delicious. He started a slow rhythm, deep strokes that had you gasping, your nails digging into his shoulders. Each thrust hit something deep inside you, and you could feel the pleasure building again already.
“Harder,” you urged, and he obliged, his hips snapping forward with more force. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room along with your moans and his grunts. He shifted the angle slightly, and suddenly he was hitting that perfect spot inside you with every thrust.
“Oh god, right there, don't stop-“ You were babbling now, incoherent with pleasure, and he maintained that perfect angle, that perfect rhythm, driving you higher and higher.
“You feel so good,” he groaned, his face buried in your neck. “So fucking good. I've wanted this for so long. Wanted you for so long.”
His words sent a surge of emotion through you, mixing with the physical pleasure, and you pulled him down for a kiss. It was messy and desperate, all tongue and teeth, and you could feel him getting close, his rhythm starting to falter.
“Wait,” you said, pushing at his chest. “I want-can we-“
He pulled out, looking concerned. “What's wrong?”
“Nothing,” you assured him quickly. “I just want to be on top.”
His eyes darkened, and he rolled onto his back, pulling you with him. You straddled him, positioning yourself over his cock, and slowly sank down. From this angle, he went even deeper, and you both moaned at the sensation.
You started to move, rolling your hips in a slow grind, and his hands came up to grip your waist. From this position, he had a perfect view of your body, and you could see his eyes roaming over you, your breasts, your stomach, the place where your bodies were joined.
“Fuck, you're so hot,” he groaned, his hands sliding up to cup your breasts. “I love watching you ride me. I love seeing you take what you need.”
You increased your pace, bouncing on him now, and the pleasure was intense. You could feel him so deep, hitting all the right spots, and the friction against your clit was perfect. One of your hands came down to touch yourself, your fingers finding your clit, and Pope's eyes locked on the movement.
“That's so hot,” he panted, his hips thrusting up to meet yours. “Touch yourself. Make yourself come on my cock.”
The dirty talk was unexpected and incredibly arousing, and you rubbed your clit faster, chasing your orgasm. Pope's hands were on your hips now, helping you move, and you could feel him getting close, his cock throbbing inside you.
“I'm gonna come,” you gasped, your movements becoming erratic. “Andy, I'm-“
“Come for me,” he urged, his voice rough. “I want to feel you come. Want to feel you squeeze my cock.”
Your orgasm hit you hard, your whole body tensing, inner walls clenching around him rhythmically. The sensation triggered his own release, and he thrust up hard, groaning your name as he came. You could feel him pulsing inside you, and it prolonged your own pleasure, waves of sensation washing over you.
You collapsed forward onto his chest, both of you breathing hard, bodies slick with sweat. His arms came around you, holding you close, and you could feel his heart racing against your cheek.
For a long moment, you both just lay there, catching your breath, enjoying the afterglow. Then Pope carefully lifted you off him, disposing of the condom before pulling you back against his chest.
“That was...” he started, then trailed off, like he couldn't find the words.
“Yeah,” you agreed, pressing a kiss to his chest. “It really was.”
“I meant what I said,” he murmured, his fingers tracing patterns on your back. “About wanting you. This wasn't just... I mean, I really like you. Have for a while.”
You lifted your head to look at him, seeing the vulnerability in his eyes. “I really like you too,” you said softly. “This wasn't just a high hookup for me either.”
He smiled, that genuine, slightly awkward Pope smile that you loved, and pulled you in for a kiss. This one was slower, sweeter, full of promise.
“Stay,” you said when you broke apart. “Tonight. Stay with me.”
“Yeah,” he said, his arms tightening around you. “I'd like that.”
Outside, the ocean continued its endless rhythm, and inside, wrapped in Pope's arms, you felt perfectly, completely content. The high was starting to fade, but the feeling of rightness, of finally being where you were supposed to be, only grew stronger.
You dozed for a while, comfortable in the silence, but eventually you felt Pope stir beneath you. “Hey,” he said softly. “You awake?”
“Mmm,” you hummed, not quite ready to move.
“I was thinking...” he started, his hand sliding down your back to cup your ass. “We should probably shower. Get the weed smell off properly.”
You lifted your head, seeing the mischief in his eyes, and grinned. “Is that right?”
“Yeah,” he said, his hand squeezing gently. “Wouldn't want to smell like weed tomorrow. Very irresponsible.”
“So responsible of you,” you teased, sitting up. His eyes immediately dropped to your breasts, and you saw his cock twitch with interest. “Think you can go again?”
“With you?” he said, pulling you down for a kiss. “Definitely.”
The shower was long and steamy, full of soapy hands and slippery skin and Pope pressing you against the tile wall as he fucked you from behind, his hand over your mouth to muffle your moans. The water cascaded over you both, and when you came, it was with his name on your lips and his teeth on your shoulder.
Afterward, you dried off and climbed into bed properly, your sheets still clean just like Pope had wanted. He pulled you against him, your back to his chest, and you felt his lips press against your shoulder.
“This is perfect,” he murmured, echoing his words from earlier on the balcony.
Summary: When you let slip to Lena one night that you want the kind of love where someone would do anything for you, Pope sees his opportunity to give you exactly that. His obsession with you now perfect since...isn't that what you want?
Pairing: Pope Cody x Lena's babysitter!fem!reader
TW: 18+ MDNI, NSFW; Sex scene includes oral f recieving, fingering, p-in-v, slight breeding kink if you squint; Andrew is down bad for the reader; reader has a crush on Andrew; Andrew prevents her from leaving and makes the first move; Lena and the reader are really close; mentions of alcohol. I think that's it. I hope so.
Credit: GIF by @littlebatx
A/N: Can I be completely honest that I have no clue what this fic is anymore? I wrote the beginning and by the time I got to the smut, the story I was intending was gone and Pope was just...sweet and...perfect...so. I dunno know, guys. Hope you enjoy it!
Pope remembers when he met you for the first time, June 1st 2012. You were eighteen and bright-eyed, happy, smiling. Precious. Catherine needed time to herself, needed help with little Lena, two years old at the time and you were there. The babysitter.
He met you when he went over to talk to Baz about a job and found that Baz and Catherine were out and you were there, holding Lena on your hip.
“Hi,” you had said, your expression concerned, drawn together, suspicious, your body put between him and your charge, the door not entirely open. “Can I help you?”
“I’m looking for my brother, Baz,” he had replied and your eyes had narrowed in that analytical way you have, the one he didn’t know then, but he grew to know. Grew to love. “Where can I find him?”
“Mr. and Mrs. Blackwell have gone out. They won’t be back for a few hours. Should I take a message?” You were perfectly polite, but all he’d done was shaken his head, angry at the stone wall you’d put up, the impenetrableness of the force which you created.
“I’ll be back later,” is all he’d said, storming off, walk rigid like always. He’d been told by his brothers that he didn’t walk like a human and when he’d reached his car, he’d glanced back, noticing the door still open. You were watching him, making sure he left, protective of Lena. Of the girl you were tasked to look after.
That was the first time he met you, but it was not when he fell into deep, sickening love, a kind of love that others would call obsession, stalking. That time came later, after you’d been introduced to him by Catherine and Baz and he became Mr. Cody, someone okay to be around Lena.
You were always there, watching over Lena, your laugh always echoing, infectious. A college student, he’d been told. One studying science, but no one ever told him what science, only that you were quite good, quite skilled at what you did. What you were studying. He could sometimes see you doing complicated equations while Lena scribbled with crayons.
But he did not fall into his love (obsession) until October 27th 2012, a date seared into his memory. He’d been tasked with checking on Lena, a task from Smurf who didn’t like Catherine and he knew that you were watching her, most likely at the park.
He’d shown up, lurking in the trees, watching as you played with Lena in the sand, pushed her on the swings, looking for all the world like a young mother or older sister. There was just something about you that made him feel you truly cared for the girl. He watched and he felt something shift inside of him, like the compass in his chest that was always steered to Catherine now steered towards you.
You’d looked up at that moment, your body haloed by the sun, attention on him. You had noticed him and waved him over, calling out “Mr. Cody!” Lena had grown excited and he complied, standing there awkwardly, standing there unsure what to do, unsure what to say the way he always was.
He did not know intimacy. He did not know love. He knew what had paid for, had been purchased, bought, and expected of him. He did not know what it felt to have someone entirely his to be someone else’s entire. He knew what it was liked to be used, forced and hurt.
He knew heartbreak.
But you made him want more. You made him want love. Especially because as Lena fell asleep against you, the three of you sitting on a grassy knoll, watching the birds as you explained that Lena liked to do, you had been at peace. You had not been scared of him, ashamed. You had felt comfortable, safe.
And you read him like an open book.
“You’re in love with Cath,” you had whispered and he remembers that he looked at you with shock, surprise. You had smiled at him, the kind of smile that came from being used to people’s surprise. “You don’t hide it, Mr. Cody,” you continued, the smile turning sad. “I just wish more for both of you.”
“What do you mean?” he had asked and you sighed, your hand stilling on Lena’s head from where you had been smoothing down her ever-growing dark hair.
“I mean that Cath deserves someone who loves her wholly and you deserve to love someone capable of loving you back, Mr. Cody.” He had wished that you would call him Andrew, called him by his name, but it seemed like you were incapable of that, a line drawn between professional and personal. Except for Cath, it seemed.
“You call her Cath,” he had said, unsure of how to ask, unsure of what to say and you had looked at him with softened eyes and a smile, one nostalgic.
“Because she asked me too,” you’d whispered. “She said that I’m more like Lena’s older sister than her babysitter and that I should call her Cath.” He had wanted to ask you what would happen if he asked you to call him Andrew, but he understood then that he was not Cath. That Cath was Cath and he was Mr. Cody, a line forever drawn.
But he didn’t want that line there. He just wanted you. You as his and he as yours. A part of him thought you wanted that too.
And then he fell headfirst into loving you, learning your music preferences, your favourite colours and foods and days. It didn’t matter, what you loved he knew about. He just wished that he made it onto that list.
When he was arrested in 2013, you were the person he thought of, cared about. Worried for. You visited him once at Folsom, a backpack on your shoulders, your body tense and rigid as you stepped into the visiting room, putting the phone to your ear as he did the same on the other side.
“I heard Mr. Blackwell and Deran talking about you being here,” you had said and he’d swallowed hard at your words, at this admission that he mattered enough to you for you to do that. “I thought I’d come by.”
“Why?” he’d asked, watching as your face shifted, shuttered, eyes darting around, refusing to settle on him.
“Because I figured no one else was.” It was true, the truest truth he’d heard since…well, ever and it did not surprise him that it came from you. You seemed honest to a fault. “And Lena wanted me to tell you about her ballet recital.” You had pulled your phone out, putting the screen against the dividing wall so he could watch as his niece toddled around the stage in a glittery blue costume. “Made the costume myself,” you’d told him and he felt his heart pound and pound and pound harder and harder because you were so…perfect.
You came every so often for a visit, some update about Lena over the three years he was away, but you mainly wrote him letters, keeping him apprised of her daily life, but never you. It was still a line drawn between you and him and what you could be.
But in the walls of Folsom, he pretended that the wall did not exist, spoke of you to the inmates as his wife. His, his, his, his, his. He wanted you to be his. So badly.
When he got out, the first person he went to was you, your apartment number burned onto his mind and he stayed in the rental vehicle he’d gotten, watching you through your curtains, watching as you moved around. Alone.
Blissfully alone.
He knew then, that night, his first of freedom, that you would be his.
He just had to wait until the time was right.
“Are you crying?!” Lena cries, standing up from the couch, her little face twisted into an expression of shock and disgust, hands on her slim hips.
“No,” you lie, looking away, your hands pressing against your eyes, moving from in to out, wiping away your tears.
“You so are! Why? That movie’s just weird,” she says and you can hear her grab her glass from the coffee table, small feet making a surprising amount of noise as she stomps to the kitchen.
“The Notebook is not weird, you little gremlin!” you call out, your voice teasing despite the thickness still there. The movie reduces you to tears every time, the way that love wins and yet it doesn’t. The way they fight for their happy ending and yet lose it so quickly.
“He’s so obsessed with her!” Lena calls out and you roll your eyes, untangling your legs from one another and the fluffy blanket you’ve curled up under, planting your feet flat on the hardwood floor, pushing up to a stand, grabbing the popcorn bucket and your glass, walking through the living room, back towards the kitchen, the movie’s credits still rolling.
“And what?” you ask, stepping in, walking to the sink while Lena pulls a bottle of water from the fridge. “What’s wrong with him being obsessed with her like that? I think it’s romantic.”
“He never moves on,” Lena says, her spare hand held up, index finger of her right hand, the one currently wrapped around the bottle ticking down the reasons, folding each finger. “He, like, falls apart and is all unkempt because she’s gone—”
“He did survive war too, you know,” you interrupt, but she waves you away, silencing your protests with an enthusiastic wave of her hand.
“He builds the house for her,” she says. “And he fights to have her even when she’s marrying someone else!”
“That doesn’t count!” you exclaim, turning from her to the sink, running some water in your glass, the one that held you cream soda. “She wasn’t in love with him. She loved Noah the whole time too.”
“Yeah, but,” Lena continues, “she was moving on. And Noah ruined it! Besides! Lon’s way cuter!”
“You take that back!” you cry, spinning around, eyes wide as they settle on the child who has completely and totally destroyed your faith in humanity. “Ryan Gosling is way hotter than James Marsden! That rain scene, man!” Lena’s laughing so hard that it’s more a cackle, her seven, nearly eight year old body, convulsing with her laughter while you roll your eyes, leaning back against the kitchen counter, hands splayed flat on the cool, smooth granite.
“I just,” she says, now that she’s calmed down, “think it’s creepy how in love with her Noah was. You know.”
“I don’t know,” you muse. “I think it would be romantic to have someone…willing do to anything for you—like the house. I think…ah, man, I think I would want that.”
“You’re weird,” she says, tone flat and thick black brows drawn together, her expression so stern and serious that it’s now your turn to laugh, the kind of laugh that starts deep in your stomach, rumbling through you.
“Yeah,” you tell her, amidst the laughter. “Don’t listen to me, kiddo. Now, go get ready for bed.” She runs past you, up to the stairs, her feet padding on the carpet noisily despite the fact that it’s carpet and she’s no more than 60 pounds soaking wet.
You can’t help but laugh again, the sound more of an exhalation than any real laugh, as you run some water in the sink, adding soap, knowing that Mr. Cody prefers his house clean, obsessively so.
A part of you wonders what would happen if you didn’t bother to clean, what he would say, but you know there’s no use going down that path, even if you sometimes wish that he would speak to you. Look at you.
But that line of thinking leads nowhere.
It’s best to just close it down.
Pope’s heart is in his throat, pulsing and pounding erratically, his lungs tightening and clenching, constricting and burning. He heard you, those words I think it would romantic to have someone willing to do anything for you…I think I would want that still echoing around him, surrounding him, choking him.
He’s been waiting for the right time, the right way and here it is. He just has to show you that he’ll do anything for you.
And he can do that.
The club is loud, music pulsing in the air, almost in a way that you can see, the sound so loud, more noise than music. Your friends are laughing, yelling at each other just to be heard over the music, but you’re quiet, hand turning your glass in circles, a single shot of tequila downed. You’re not much of a drinker, never have been, preferring to stay present in your mind. Preferring to stay present.
“YOU OKAY?” Jonathan yells, his voice still just barely audible as you turn to him, shrugging.
“IT’S TOO LOUD,” you reply and he nods, looping his arm through yours, his touch gentle and kind, sweet in his way. Jonathan is sweet though and pretty, bright green eyes set in skin the colour of toffee, dark hair curling down his forehead and a smile even and pretty. Not crooked in the slightest. Not like…nope, you won’t go there, not even in your own mind.
“Better?” he asks, pushing out of the club, the autumn breeze cool and crisp, tinged with cigarette smoke and car exhaust, yet still better than the sweat and alcohol smell of the club that mingles with mildew and broken leather.
“Much,” you tell him, sighing and leaning against the brick wall of the club, your head falling back against it, a buzzing in your jacket pocket. “One sec,” you tell him, walking a ways away, pulling your phone out, noticing LENA in all caps on your screen. “Lena?! What’s wrong?”
“Uncle Deran fell asleep before he could help with the bedtime routine!” she cries, her voice thick and pained and you sigh, your eyes closing for a minute. The bedtime routine became sacred after Cath left, an open sore, her disappearance still a question of what? Where? Who? When? Lena needs to see her door close, needs to know someone is there, the way Cath isn’t.
You wanted a single Saturday night to yourself, with friends. You wanted to have fun, to return to a world that wasn’t full of the Cody’s and the Blackwell’s, but rather the life you could have had if you had never accepted the babysitting gig that your friend, Elizabeth, skipped out on seven years ago.
You wanted to forget and be someone young. You wanted to act your age. But you just can’t get that.
“Hey, I have to call it a night, Jonathan,” you say, tucking your phone into your pocket after assuring Lena that you’ll be there, just wait for a bit, you’ll be there, always.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, hands tucked into his jean pockets, cheeks darkening from the cold.
“My…Lena needs my help,” you tell him, your lips twisting into an apologetic smile, but he shrugs, eyebrows rising.
“I could give you a lift and then, you know, when you’ve helped her…maybe you and I could grab something to eat or…something,” he says and you can feel something inside of you, some kind of feeling that you don’t entirely know rise as you nod and he smiles, a bright kind of smile.
“That sounds good,” you tell him, mind only half here, the other part on Lena and who was supposed to be watching her.
Why wasn’t Mr. Cody there?
Where is he?
Did Lena lose another person again?
You fumble with the keys that Mr. Cody gave you, the ones needed for the days that you pick Lena up or for the occasional times that you have to take her somewhere and lock up and unlock it again to come back.
They’re slipping through your fingers, chiming and clinking against one another as you finally slot it into the door, unlocking first the deadbolt then the knob, twisting the handle and pushing the door open. You step into a quiet house, still except for the sound of snores coming from the couch.
Deran, the fucker.
“Deran!” you hiss, closing the door behind you with more force than necessary, delighting in the way he jumps on the couch, hissing shit in a startled voice, head swivelling until he sees you, standing, arms crossed, no doubt a seriously pissed off look on your face.
“What are you doing here?” he asks you, blinking, sleep still heavy in his eyes, in his voice.
“I’m here because Lena called me, fucking crying because you fell asleep before the bedtime routine could happen,” you hiss, watching as realization dawns on his face, his hand coming up, scrubbing down his face as he murmurs “shit” for a different reason now. “And where the fuck is Mr. Cody? He’s supposed to be here watching Lena.”
“He left real fast. Said he had to check on some girl,” he answers, his voice becoming more alert as he sits up and you grit your teeth together, turning to dart up the stairs, taking them two at a time, conscious of the fact that Lena’s up there, she’s sad and scared and her routine has been thrown out of order.
“Lena!” you call out when you reach the second floor landing, pushing open her partly closed door to see her sitting on her bed, face stained with tears. “Lena,” you whisper, “let’s do the routine, okay?”
“Okay,” she whispers, standing and walking over to you, her face brightening at your presence. “You look fancy,” she says, “were you out with a boy? And did he look like the love of your life Ryan Gosling.”
“Oh ha-ha, little one,” you say and she giggles, heading across the hall to the bathroom to rewash her face and brush her teeth, but in truth…Jonathan kinda does look like Ryan Gosling. But even as you think that, you swallow hard because that’s not exactly what you want. You want someone older, you want someone rougher around the edges who never looks at you and is awkward and someone you should never want, but do. Someone with dark auburn curls and hazel eyes…you blink, refocusing on the here and now and the nice boy waiting for you who has never seen the inside of a prison.
“Okay,” Lena says, bounding into her room, her face clean and words trailing minty breath. “I’m ready.” She runs across the room, leaping onto her twin bed, disturbing her piles of stuffies, tucking herself in as you cross the room towards her, kneeling down and smoothing the hair back from her face.
“I miss, Mommy,” she whispers and you can feel something crack inside of you. Something you’ve kept inside, locked up tight.
“She was a good woman,” you whisper, feeling tears in the back of your throat as you press a kiss to Lena’s forehead, tucking her blanket in tight all around her and rising, swallowing hard. Lena really does look like Cath, does carry that bit of her.
“She liked you,” Lena says and those words threaten to bring you to your knees.
“I liked her too. She was my friend.” Lena nods, satisfied with your answer before snuggling deeper into her blanket, eyes still open, watching as you click off her lamp and walk to the door, pulling it closed while you mouth good night. You know as the door clicks shut, the light flipped off that now she’ll fall asleep. Because she saw you leave.
You didn’t disappear in the dead of night.
You draw in a deep breath, shaking your head against the onslaught of tears that threaten you, bounding down the stairs preparing to rip Deran a new one, except…the living room is empty. You glance around, seeing nothing of Deran, instead just Mr. Cody standing there in the entrance way, his hazel eyes on you.
“Where’s Deran?” you call out, watching as Mr. Cody walks towards you, his presence making your mouth go dry and you swallow hard, his walk like that of a predator.
“I sent him home,” he says, his voice husky, rough. Dark, in a way that you like but wish you didn’t. You shouldn’t like him; you can’t like him. You are nothing if not professional.
“Well,” you say, nodding once and moving to step past him to the door. “I best let you get on with your night. Lena’s all tucked in, Mr. Cody.” You begin to walk, but he catches your wrist, his fingers calloused and warm against your skin in a way that feels good, feels nice, but no, stop that. You can’t think that way.
“It’s late,” he says.
“I know,” you answer, keeping your gaze trained straight ahead. “But I have a ride waiting for me outside.”
“The boy?” he asks, his voice darkening, deepening. Primal in a way, if a sound can really be primal, which, you think it can.
“Yeah, Jonathan…why?” you ask, feeling a small bit of fear like ice creeping up your spine, goosebumps spreading along your skin.
“I sent him home,” he says and you can feel his breath on the back of your neck and you know his body is far too close, but you also don’t want him to step away and god, you’ve always had that line of professionalism, but this man…since Cath disappeared, he’s been the best with Lena and you never expected to feel anything for him, but…you do.
“Why?” you whisper and then he’s tugging on your wrist, turning you around, pulling you against him, his broad chest against yours.
“Because it’s late,” he whispers, his words actually rumbling through his chest, echoing into your body. “Because you’re already home.” You swallow hard at his words, at the way he’s just said that this…his home…is yours too.
It’s not like you haven’t stayed here before on nights when you’ve been told that no one will be watching Lena and you’re needed for a few days, but calling it home…that’s different. That’s making it seem like he likes you, that he caresfor you.
“I’m not home,” you whisper, looking down at the ground where the toes of your shoes are against his. You forgot to take your shoes off in the rush to get to Lena and you never do, but he’s forgotten too.
“Eyes on me,” he says, two fingers under your chin, tipping your head up, your gaze landing on him because how could it not? Everyone else is afraid of him, but how can they be, when he’s kind and caring and sweet and he’s quiet. He doesn’t just speak what’s on his mind, he looks at a room and decides what to do from there and god, professionalism. Professionalism, you remind yourself even as his proximity is fraying the last of your control because his lips look reallysoft and kissable.
Oh god, it’s hot in here, isn’t it?
His stare is unrelenting, tracing every part of you as if he expects to find some damage on you, but you’ve been safe all night.
“Why were you gone, Mr. Cody?” you whisper, noticing the way his jaw tightens at your words, the way his eyes darken and the grip on your wrist tightens.
“Andrew,” he spits out, “call me Andrew.”
“Why were you gone, Andrew?” you ask and he drags his fingers from under your chin to trace your lips, the digits replaced by his thumb pressing down on your bottom lip, a pressure that has a fevered feeling growing beneath your skin.
“I was watching someone,” he whispers, his voice husky, watching every bit of your face for a reaction. For a response.
“Who?” you ask, the word just slightly muffled by his thumb digging into your lip.
“Who do you think?” he asks and Jesus Christ, has his voice always been this hot, this capable of getting a reaction out of you? And you really need to leave now, really need to get going, but with the way he’s looking at you, the closeness of your bodies, you press your thighs together, hoping he doesn’t notice.
But of course he does.
Because he’s Andrew fucking Cody. And he notices everything. And really, where does he get off on ruining your professionalism, on breaking that line you’ve built, a tentative wall? Where does he get his attitude? And what deity decided that making your boss look like that was fair?!
You hate your life right now, but also not because as he presses his body against yours, the hard lines of his body fitting against the soft lines of yours, you realize that everything you’ve imagined is not even close to reality.
God did not make everyone equal because Andrew Cody might be the hottest man in the entire world and you are so fired if you don’t end this now.
“I have to go!” you blurt out, pulling back and sliding your wrist from his hold, running from him to the front door, but he’s faster than you, putting his body between you and the door.
“No,” he says.
“Why?” you ask him, swallowing hard feeling both serious lust and fear inside of you, the two warring together and yet working together at the same time too.
“Because you said you wanted this,” he whispers and you can feel confusion added to the choking mix of emotions, your throat tight, lungs burning and chest constricting, heart pounding, pounding, pounding almost as odd a beat as “Edge of Seventeen”’s drumbeat.
“Wanted what?” You don’t want the answer, you’re slightly afraid of it because you really don’t know what he’s talking about, only that he’s blocking an exit.
“Someone willing to do anything for you.” His words ring in the room where just yesterday, in the kitchen, you mentioned that to Lena, how you thought Noah was romantic and Jesus! He was there the entire time.
“That’s…that’s out of context,” you tell him, blinking fast, trying to see him while also not see him at the same time.
“What context did I need?” he whispers, stepping towards you, steps slow and quiet as if he’s afraid that you’re a doe he’s about to startle before he can get off the killing blow and should that idea really turn you on as much as it does? “Because I would do for you anything that Noah did for Allie? You want a house like he fixed for her because I’ll do it, sweetheart. I’ll do anything for you.”
“What?” you whisper, confusion winning out over fear because those aren’t the words of someone who only wants one thing. Those are the words of someone in love. Those are the words of someone who wants you for more than sex.
“Don’t you get it?” he asks and honestly, not really, because this is the most he’s ever spoken to you before. “I’m in love with you. Completely in love with you.”
“You don’t talk…to me,” you whisper, turning from him, from the words he’s saying that sound pretty and honest but at the same time like lies and you walk, your shoes dragging against the hardwood floor, your steps slightly off-beat towards the kitchen, the tile floor.
“What was it that Noah said?” you hear Andrew whisper behind you. “‘So it’s not gonna be easy. It’s going to be really hard; we’re gonna have to work at this every day, but I want to do that because I want you. I want all of you, forever, every day. You and me…every day.’”
“What did you memorize the movie?” you whisper-yell, spinning around, taking note of his relentless proximity to you.
“Maybe,” he whispers and the sheepish expression on his face has you laughing, but not a laugh built of humour, more of someone delirious and surprised and horny, yeah, horny too because he has no right to look that good.
You can feel your knees giving way, this night having been too much, too much and you slide down the counter, the handles of the cabinet digging into your spine as you sink down, your head landing in-between your knees.
“June first,” you hear him say, his body landing beside yours. “Twenty-twelve. The first day I met you.”
“What?” you whisper, your head pressing against your left knee as you tilt your head, looking at him.
“Yeah,” he says, “I was looking for Baz, but you were there, Lena on your hip, watching me until I disappeared.”
“No way you loved me then,” you whisper, your arms wrapped around your knees, body folded into a self-contained unit.
“No,” he agrees. “That came later. October 27th 2012. You invited me over when I was lurking and I fell in love with you because you were the first person not afraid of me and you talked to me. And I didn’t want to live without that. And then…you visited me in prison and wrote me letters…and…you love me too. I know you do.”
“Mr. Cody,” you whisper, but he shakes his head, eyes darkening again.
“Andrew,” he hisses, “call me Andrew.”
“You’re my boss,” you cry. “I can’t be with you. That breaks every moral and ethical code I have!”
“But do you love me?” And for once, you fall silent, the answer in you truth, the answer resting on your tongue a lie and you don’t like to lie.
“I knew it,” he whispers and then his lips are on yours, his hands pulling you, shifting you, your body coming to rest on his lap, straddling him as he kisses you relentlessly. He kisses like he stares, deep and dark and predatory. It’s not a battle or a conquest, but a claiming, his teeth sinking into your bottom lip, his tongue controlling yours, sliding along it and leaving you breathless, his hands everywhere, hips moving up into yours, the bulge pressing into you, telling you just how much he wants you.
“Andrew,” you whisper, pulling back from his lips as best you can, his hand on the back of your head, holding you close to him. “We can’t do this. Lena’s home.”
“I’m sick of people telling me what I can’t do,” he whispers, voice low and dangerous and so unfairly hot. “Aren’t you, sweetheart?”
“Andrew…” He’s kissing you again and you don’t want to fight this. You don’t want to stop, you want this closeness, you’ve wanted this for so long, but you need assurances. You need to know that this isn’t going to ruin the babysitting job. “Pause,” you murmur against his lips and he listens, his head falling against yours, forehead pressing against you, eyes on you.
“What?” he asks, his voice not curt, but concerned.
“What does this mean for me? You’re my boss, Andrew,” you whisper and then he’s shifting again, rising, pulling you with him and shoving your hips into the counter, the granite digging into the small of your back, his body pressing into you, caging you in.
“Be Mrs. Cody,” he whispers, one hand tracing your face with a feather-light touch. “Be Lena’s aunt…just,” he pauses, his head falling against your shoulder, “be mine. Please.”
“I don’t have a ring,” you whisper, “but alright.” And then he’s lifting his head and looking at you, deep and dark and now you understand that expression he’s been giving you for years: love. He does love you.
Then his lips are on yours again, tongue sliding along yours as he guides you up the stairs, his hands firm on your hips, guiding even as his lips trail from your mouth to your neck, to the sensitive spot just below your ear, teeth sinking down onto it, your gasp muffled as you bite your tongue, skin fevered.
He pushes you down the hall, to the very last door and inside, shutting the door with his foot, hand leaving you. You can hear the lock flip and then Andrew is walking you back to the bed, his hands drifting to the front of your hips, fingers pulling open the button of your cutoffs, undoing the zipper and they drop to the floor. You step out of them and you want him now, want this relentless ache and throb to end, but he’s someone who seems to savour, his mouth trailing over your neck, teeth sinking into the skin every few minutes, tongue lashing out to soothe the bite marks.
He pushes you back, your body landing on his bed and he’s rough, but at the same time gentle as he kneels on the ground, sliding your underwear from off your hips, down your legs, set aside. He pauses for a moment, folding your cutoffs and underwear, setting them aside, his room obsessively neat, something you appreciate.
“God,” he whispers when he turns back, lifting your legs onto his shoulders, “so pretty.”
“Andrew,” you whisper and he looks up at you, eyes black with desire. “You’re too dressed up.” He stands, taking his shirt off and god you wish you’d said nothing because who made him look like that? He’s too attractive for his own good. It’s highly unfair.
He unzips his jeans, folding them and his shirt, setting them in a pile beside yours, boxers still on, just like your baggy shirt is still on. He kneels again, a coil in your stomach tight, yet not tight enough, your legs on his broad freckled shoulders. He presses a kiss against each side of your arousal slicked inner thighs before, pulling you closer to him, his tongue darting out to lick a stripe from your entrance to your clit, the fucker locking eyes with you the whole time.
He knows exactly what he’s doing and where the fuck did he learn to do this? Because the way he circles your clit with his tongue, doing figure eights, his one hand sliding along your thigh, long fingers slipping along them, into the space between. He teases two fingers between your folds, scissoring them apart before plunging both of them inside of you, sinking them up to the knuckle and scissoring you open before pulling them out, knuckles dragging along your walls.
“Jesus—Christ!” you cry as he continues to finger you, tongue never stopping its ceaseless rhythm on your clit, little figure 8s which stop every time that he pulls his fingers out, rather his tongue pressing against your clit, against the swelling pearl. “Andrew! Fuck!”
You can feel his chuckle against your clit, your pussy and you want to hit him, but also not because that coil in your belly is winding tight, tight, tighter and it’s about to burst and his mouth and hands are really unfairly good at what they’re doing right now. You’d hate to mess up his—rhythm.
He has four fingers inside of you at this point, all his extremities pumping in and out of you at a faster and faster pace, knuckles dragging down your walls one by one, each finger leaving you at different times, his index finger the last to leave always, the slowest drag against your walls, stimulating every part of you that it touches.
It’s not long before he has you coming apart, your orgasm ripping through, that coil snapping as he pushes all four fingers in again, his tongue pressing against your clit. He holds his fingers still while your cunt trembles with aftershocks.
“I’ve got you, sweet girl,” he whispers against you, his breath causing you to hiss as he pulls the four fingers out of you, slipping them in his mouth, sucking them clean, eyes locked on yours as he steps out of his boxers, cock hard and the tip leaking, a bead of precum sitting on top, sliding down, a vein bulging.
“Andrew,” you whisper, “how’d you get so good?” He comes to sit beside you on the bed, pulling you up, holding you, his lips on yours for a moment and the kiss is sinful and oh so hot because you can taste yourself on his tongue.
“When they…” he looks down at his hands for a moment, “when they paid for women to sleep with me, I learned what they liked because I…I never liked anything.”
“Andy,” you whisper and his head jerks to yours, “what do you like?”
“You,” he whispers and then his lips are on yours again and your body is flat on the bed, his cock teasing between your folds, kissing against your entrance as his tongue slides along yours and he murmurs, you, you, you into your mouth.
He slides his cock from your entrance to your clit like he did his tongue, circling your clit with his tip once before sliding back down and pushing inside, sinking into the hilt with a single thrust. He moans at the feeling of you all around him, a kind of whimper that shouldn’t be as hot as it is, but it is.
“You’re okay,” you whisper when he pulls back from the kiss, his eyes closed. “Keep going, Andy. Use me.” And he does, pulling out and slamming himself back in over and over in a brutal rhythm that has your entire body moving with each thrust, his mouth hot on your neck.
“You’re so perfect, sweet girl,” he says, his words slightly unclear, but you know what he means, can hear it, the tip of his cock slamming against your cervix. “Gonna fuck a baby into you. Give Lena a cousin, maybe?” He’s hesitant in his words, but you nod and he looks up at you.
“Go ahead, Andy,” you whisper and his pace picks up, relentless and punishing and delicious, his one hand on your waist, the other resting on your mons, thumb circling your clit, drawing you to orgasm at the same time he does. His release is thick and hot inside of you, cock pulsing and then he’s collapsing beside you, his body pulling yours tight against him and you’re not aware of much, except that he pulls the covers over the two of you and you fall asleep to his kiss against your neck.
“Good night, Mrs. Cody.”
“I knew it!” Lena screams the next morning, taking in the sight of you and Andrew both in the kitchen, making breakfast, your body in his clothes, a ring on your finger that he went out and bought for you. “You’re gonna be my auntie!” And then her stick arms are around you and holding tight.
“Yeah, bug,” you whisper, your hand smoothing down her hair, the pancakes in the pan, “I am.”
“And hopefully,” Andrew chimes in, “you’ll have a cousin soon.”
“Andrew!”
Lena giggles when you hit him with the oven mitt and his response is to press a kiss against your cheek and you feel a contentment you’ve never felt before.
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So I’m wondering… Where is all the Max Cady 2026 Cape Fear Fanfics!? What’s taking so long!? Come on guys, I beg of you! I can’t be the only one craving it! 😭 Or am I alone? 😅
Should I write one? If so, let me know what exactly you’re wanting -that is if anyone wants a fanfic lol.
hypothetically speaking if you did, a d@ddy k1nk drabble, with Max Cady. That would be…fun 👀
hey, little devil!
“I wanna show you something.” purring, you climb up on to the massive bed where Max is sprawled out, hands behind his head. there’s a thin, white sheet that is draped over his abdomen, obscuring the rest of his nakedness from you, but his torso, etched with art, is on full display.
“Oh yeah?” a wicked grin worms its way into his countenance as he watches you sit on your knees in front of him. “Whattya wanna show me, darlin’? Somethin’ naughty, no doubt.” one of his hands flees to caress your cheek, thumb careening to trace the lower counterpart of your pouting couplet.
you mirror his grin with a coy one of your own, pressing a sugary peck to the calloused pad of his thumb before parting your tiers and grazing his nail with your teeth. giving him a little nibble before wrapping your lips around the digit entirely, you tilt your head. “It’s a.. little bit naughty.” you admit in a slurred voice, sheepish yet excited to share. you kiss his thumb once more, purging it from your cavern before you turn around. your fingers bunch up the fabric of your breezy skirt as you inch it upwards, exposing your panties, and you bend forward, poking your butt out on display towards Max. you stare at his countenance in the mirror, and to your relief, see undeniable hunger in his eyes.
“Well now, these must be new.” Max purrs, sitting up straight. placing one palm flush against your cheek, he uses the grip to keep it steady while the other hand toys with the fabric of the lingerie, thick digits slipping beneath it to ghost over your sensitive skin. “‘Daddy’s Angel’?” he reads the font sewn into the butt of the garment with bemusement and pride. “That’s what that says?”
giggling, you nod. “Do you like them?”
Max chortles, fingers curling around the fabric to draw most together. “‘Course I like ‘em, darlin’, but you’re definitely not daddy’s angel. You’re more like… daddy’s little devil.” his tongue darts over his bottom lip as he pulls the fabric taut and watches it slip between your globes. with the cotton of the panties forced so tight against your sex, you find yourself eliciting a sultry whimper, and your hips undulate against the sensation. “Yeah, that’s right. Daddy’s dirty, little devil. Always sittin’ on his shoulder, makin’ him think about doin’ all sorts of bad, bad things to her.”
“Like what?” you coo, in hopes that he’ll indulge you. “What does daddy want to do to his little devil right now?”
“Right now?” he repeats, and you can hear the arrogance in his voice; looking at his massive form looming over you in the mirror, you feel butterflies in your stomach. “Right now, seeing this pretty, little ass ain’t nearly marked up enough for my likin’, daddy wants to leave his John Hancock all over it.” his words are coupled with a brutal thwack to your supple cheek, that ripples at the contact of his palm.
whining, your hands scrape and grip fists in the sheet, body lurching forward at the force of his spank. “Mark me up, please, daddy!” you’re hardly able to plead before another smack lands in exactly the same spot, stinging much more than the first.
“Me, oh, my!” Max exclaims gleefully. “I bet that stung like fire, didn’t it, little devil? Don’tchu worry your little head, daddy’s gonna cover your pretty cheeks in black and blue, but he’ll kiss it better when he’s done.”
Summary: You are Kylo Ren's new second-in-command, appointed by Snoke. You share a tense, hostile relationship marked by constant power struggles and mutual disdain. After a failed mission, both your anger boils over into a heated confrontation that turns unexpectedly physical. Despite claiming to hate each other, your intense chemistry leads to a rough, passionate encounter, blurring the line between hatred and desire.
A/N: Just rewatched all 9 of the Star Wars movies in the last 3 days and holy shit I forgot how sexy Kylo is especially in force awakens. Defiantly looked the best in that movie omgggggg
“Oh great, it’s you,” he groans as he turns his gaze towards you, hatred in his gaze piercing through you even with his mask on.
“Yes, it is,” you said with an annoyed tone. You disliked him as much as he disliked you, mainly because you think you could do a better job leading than he could. He should be your second in command; however, he was always too rash and emotional. Kylo watches you closely, his expression unreadable behind his mask.
“What do you want?” He asks, still standing forward, overseeing everything as you stand next to him. His voice is cold, but there’s a slight edge to it, something that wasn’t there before.
“General Hux is curious about our plan for the rebel attack after we found their new base location.” Kylo’s demeanor changed for a brief second at the mention of General Hux.
“Tell Hux that our plans remain unchanged.” His voice is low. “We strike as planned.”
“As you wish,” you said, slight annoyance still in your tone. As you turn to leave, Kylo suddenly turns around and grabs your arm, his grip firm. You feel his fingers dig into your skin through the fabric of your top.
“And stay out of my way.” You rip your arm from his grasp.
“We both want the same thing: to see that rebel base destroyed. Why would I interfere with our plans?” You said with more frustration now. Kylo’s hand immediately moves to step closer, standing directly in front of you as he looks down at you. His voice is a dangerously low growl.
“Because you always find a way to complicate things.”
“And you always get in my way,” you say as you turn your back to him and walk out of the bridge. As you leave, you can feel Kylo’s gaze burning into your back. You shake off the feeling and head to find General Hux to deliver the message.
Once you finish briefing him, you return to the bridge to oversee command, and Kylo nowhere to be found. You take your place at the command station, overseeing the final preparations for the attack on the rebel base. The bridge is filled with tense energy as officers and crew members work efficiently under your watchful eye.
Suddenly, Kylo enters the bridge, his presence commanding immediate attention. He walks straight towards you; you don’t need to turn around to look behind you to know he’s walking towards you. He stops directly beside you, his presence looming next to you. His voice is low and controlled, meant only for your ears.
“Everything proceeding as planned?” He asked, his tone neutral but carrying an underlying tension.
“Yes,” you said bluntly and calmly. Kylo stands there for a moment longer than necessary before turning his head to the side to look down at you. You can sense his eyes lingering on you, but you refuse to turn to meet his gaze, staring forward.
“Ensure all squadrons are ready for launch on my mark.”
“As you say.” The bridge crew snaps back to their stations, calling out confirmations. Kylo watches his crew work efficiently, his eyes dart back to you, your expression focused, your body language professional. You stand next to him as everyone begins to prepare. “Prepare my ship!” You call out as you turn around to walk out to the hangar bay. Kylo watches you walk away, his expression inscrutable behind his mask. He turns back to the bridge crew, barking orders to ensure everything runs smoothly.
As you make your way to your ship, you can feel the anticipation in the air as the crew scrambles to prepare your bessel for launch. You walk towards your ship, preparing to board as your ship’s ramp lowers as you approach, your crew snapping to your attention. You climb aboard, donning your helmet and strapping into the pilot's seat. Your ship’s comms buzz with chatter as the other TIEs and bombers report readiness. You look out from your cockpit to see Kylo boarding his ship as well.
Kylo boards his ship, the black and red vessel standing out amidst the sea of TIEs. He climbs into the cockpit, his helmet already covering his face as he begins to run through pre-flight checks. Through comms, you can hear him giving final orders to his squadrons. You fly your ship out of the hangar bay down onto the planet where the rebels have their new base.
After the battle ensues, the rebels manage to escape, despite our destruction of their base. Our plan didn't carry out as well as we’d hoped. Yes, the base was destroyed, but most of the resistance managed to escape. As your ship landed back in the hangar bay of the lead Star Destroyer, you angrily left your ship, slamming your helmet onto your seat as you walked over to Kylo’s ship, which had just landed, walking up the ramp and angrily entering his ship. Kylo is sitting in his ship, helmet off, running his fingers through his hair in frustration. He looks up as you storm into his ship, his expression turning to annoyance.
“What do you want?” Kylo snaps, his voice loud in the cramped cockpit.
“What the fuck happened?” You asked angrily. “They got away!” Kylo’s frustration matches yours, his hands clenching into fists.
“I am aware of that!” He shoots back as he stands up. “Do you think I planned for them to escape?” His breathing is heavy, his anger palpable. You take a step closer into the already cramped ship off from where you were standing in the entryway, causing the door to close behind you. You stood directly in front of him, looking up at him.
“This cannot happen again,” you said angrily. Kylo’s anger equals your now. He towers over you, barely contained rage visible in his eyes.
“And who are you to tell me what cannot happen again?” He invades your personal space, speaking in a dangerous whisper. “You question my abilities? My command?”
“Maybe I do,” you challenge. His eyes narrow, and for a moment, you can see the storm of anger and darkness within him. Ren leans in even closer, his voice dropping to a low growl.
“You have no idea who you’re talking to.” He says, breath hot on your face.
“I think I do.”
“Do you?” Kylo asks softly, dangerously as he takes a step forward, forcing you to either back up or be pressed against him. “Because it seems like you need a reminder.” You take a small step back, your back hitting the door of the ship. There was no room in the cramped cockpit.
Kylo’s eyes flashed with something primal and intense. He places his hands on the wall beside your head, effectively trapping you. His voice drops to a low rumble. “You know what I am capable of,” he says softly, leaning in closer. You look up at him.
“And I know what I’m capable of.” A dangerous glint appears in his eyes as he studies your face. He’s close enough that you can feel his breath on your lips.
“Are you challenging me?” Kylo whispers, his voice sending shivers down your spine.
“Maybe I am,” you said firmly. Without warning, he closes the distance between your lips. The kiss is harsh, dominating, a claim and a challenge rolled into one. His hand comes to grip the back of your neck, holding you in place as he kisses you like he means to punish you. Your arms wrap around his neck immediately, desperately, as you kiss him back roughly.
The kiss deepens, becoming more aggressive as he presses his body against yours. His hands move from your neck to your waist, pulling you closer until there’s no space between you. The anger between you transforms into something else entirely. Kylo moves back to sit in his ship’s chair, pulling you on top of him as you straddle his lap, your kiss never breaking.
His hands grip your hips tightly as you straddle him, the kiss becoming even more intense. Kylo leans back in his chair, pulling you with him so that he can have better control. His tongue explores your mouth aggressively, matching the intensity of your actions. One of your hands threads into his hair while the other holds his shoulder.
Kylo’s hands slide from your hips to grab your thighs, spreading you slightly as he grinds up against you through your clothes. The kiss turns almost brutal, teeth clashing, tongues battling. One of his hands moves to grip your hair tightly while the other squeezes your thigh possessively.
“Fuck…” Kylo groans out. You grind down onto him as you continue to kiss him. A low growl escapes him at the friction, his eyes flashing with intense desire. His hand in your hair tightens slightly, and he tilts your head to kiss you even harder. The other hand moves from your thigh to grip your hip firmly, helping you grind against him as he matches your movements.
“Fuck,” you groan as you feel his hard, clothed cock beneath you. Kylo swallows your groan with another kiss, his hips lifting slightly to meet yours. His cock is rock hard and pressing against your core through the fabric of both your uniforms. He breaks the kiss briefly, only to trail open-mouthed kisses down your neck while he continues grinding against you desperately.
You move your hands down to your pants, unbuttoning and unzipping them before moving briefly to take them off. Kylo watches intensely as you quickly remove your pants, his breath hitching. Without hesitation, he unbuckled and unzipped his pants, freeing himself. He pulls you back onto his lap, your clothed pussy pressing against his hard cock.
“Lift up.” You spit on your hand, grabbing his cock to stroke it a few times before pulling your underwear to the side and lining him up with your entrance. Kylo’s eyes darken with lust as he watches you stroke him. When you lift slightly and position him at your entrance, he grips your hips tightly and pulls you down onto his cock in one swift motion.
He groans deeply as he fills you completely, his head falling back against the chair. You let out a moan as you sink onto his large cock, the stretch burning, but burning so good. His fingers dig into your hips as he holds you in place for a moment, allowing you to adjust. Then, he begins lifting his hips up to meet yours, setting a brutal pace from the start.
“Ride me…” He groans.
“Don’t tell me what to do,” you say as you start to match his movement and bounce on his cock, your hands stabilizing yourself on his shoulders. Kylo grips your hips harder, allowing you to set the pace but squeezing firmly enough to guide your movements. His thumbs press into your hip bones as you ride him aggressively.
“Then shut up and fuck yourself on my cock.”
“Fuck—shut up…” You groan. Kylo’s hands slide up to grip your waist tightly, fingers digging into your skin. He starts thrusting upwards harshly to meet your downward movements.
“Make me…” You kiss him aggressively.
“Fuck, I hate you…” You say against his lips. Kylo kisses you back just as roughly.
“I fucking hate you too.” His hands move to your ass, squeezing and lifting you up and down his cock with increasing force.
“You say that with your fucking dick inside of me.” He pulls your hair back sharply, exposing your neck. He bites there and then trails open-mouthed kisses back to your jaw.
“You hate me so much…Why are you riding my cock like it’s your favorite thing ever?”
“Fuck off,” you moan.
“No, you fuck off. Get off my cock if you hate it so much.” Kylo continues to thrust up into you aggressively despite his words, his face buried in your neck. “Go on, get off. I dare you.” You don’t reply, you just moan loudly as he fucks into you. “That’s what I thought.” One of his hands tangles in your hair while the other grabs your ass firmly. Kylos thrusts become even more forceful, filling the cockpit with the sound of flesh slapping against flesh. “So loud. Are you screaming because you hate me?”
“Kylo–” He cuts you off with a harsh thrust, his eyes locked onto yours.
“Or because my cock feels too fucking good?” He leans in, biting your lower lip roughly before fucking it into his mouth. Kylo’s hips move faster, the chair creaking loudly under the intense pressure.
“You’re infuriating,” you choke out as his hips never stop their relentless movement.
“And you’re fucking wet for it.” Kylo thrusts up harder, hitting a spot inside you that makes your eyes roll back slightly. “So tell me again how much you hate me.”
“I hate you,” you whine into his mouth as you kiss. Kylo kisses you aggressively, swallowing your whine.
“I hate you too.” He breaks the kiss to bite and suck marks on your neck roughly, his hips moving with punishing force. “Say it again.”
“No…Fuck off,” you moan as he kisses your neck. Kylo bites your neck harder, marking you.
“Say…you fucking hate me…” A brutal thrust punctuates each word, his hands gripping your hips so tightly it’ll leave bruises. The ship is filled with the sounds of your moans and his harsh breaths.
“I hate you.” Kylo’s eyes flash with something dark and hungry.
“Good girl.” He kisses you roughly again, his tongue invading your mouth as he fucks you mercilessly. His hands slide down to grab your thighs, pulling them apart wider.
“Fuck, I’m close…If you stop, I swear I’ll kill you,” you groan out. Kylo speeds up his pace at your threat slightly.
“Such violent words for someone about to cum all over my cock.” He tilts his hips slightly differently with each thrust, hitting your sweet spot every time and over.
“Fuck, Kylo…” You moan as you feel yourself nearing the edge. Kylo growls low in his throat, his grip on your thighs tightening.
“Come on then. Come all over my cock, show me how much you hate it.” His thrusts become even more brutal and erratic, his hips moving like a piston as he chases your orgasm. With that, you cum on his cock, his name falling from your lips. Kylo’s eyes roll back as you clench tightly around him, his name on your lips pushing him over the edge. He buries himself deep inside you, releasing hot streams of cum that fill you up. His grip on your thighs turns bruising as he holds you in place through his own intense climax.
“Fuck…” You breathe out, panting, as you come down from your high. Kylo’s still buried inside you, his face in the crook of your neck. His breathing is heave and ragged, his body covered in a thin sheen of sweat under his clothes. After a long moment, he pulls back slightly to look at you, his expression unreadable.
“You’re fucking annoying, you know that?”
“So are you.” Kylo grips your hips possessively.
“Shut up.” He leans in to kiss you again, this time slower and more deliberate, but still rough. His tongue explores your mouth lazily. “I hate you.” You break the kiss and look at him momentarily before slipping off his lap to put your pants back on and smooth out your appearance. Kylo watches you silently as you fix up your appearance. Once you’re done adjusting yours, he stands up and starts doing the same, tucking himself back into his pants. “Still hate me?”
“Of course,” you say as you turn to stand by the doorway of his ship. Kylo finished adjusting his clothes and walked towards you, stopping just short of closing the distance between you.
“Good.” He stands in front of you, peering down at you. “Because I fucking hate you too.”
“Good,” you retort back. Kylo’s eyes flash at your blunt response, and he takes a step closer, invading your personal space.
“You know what I hate most about you?” His hand comes up to grip your chin firmly. “Your fucking attitude.”
“And I hate yours,” you said, annoyed as you moved from his grasp and walked out of his ship, opening the door. Kylo watches you go as he follows you out of the ship. He doesn’t try to stop or argue further, instead letting the tension in the air hang between you.
“You’re infuriating,” he says as he walks next to you.
can you PLEASE make a second part of the "who did this to you" fic? maybe some smut if its okay like she's frustrated that he treats her too gently now?? only if ur okay with smut requests
Breaking Point
Kylo Ren x Fem!reader
Word Count: 10.79k
Warnings: SMUT! Talks of being hurt in the past, oral (male and female receiving), unprotected sex, rough sex, possesive!kylo, dirty talk, slow burn teasing, sexual frustration, kinda sorta bratty reader, some angst in there too.
Authors note: Alright, I didn't mean for this to be so long. I love this request, though. The reader might come off as desperate at first, but, personally, I think the pay off is worth it.
Continuation from this request, but can be read as a one shot!
Next Part
You were healed for almost a full week now. The last bruise had faded, the cuts were just small scars now. It had been over a month since your face was bruised and bloodied at the hands of some men who couldn’t stomach your rank. It had been over a month since you and Kylo realized what you had was more than just a surface level, physical relationship—and now you got to walk with him without being careful of the stares, or think of a way to explain away your time spent together.
But it had also been a month since he last touched you the way you needed him to. Not the way he used to.
With the kind of desperation that made it hard to breathe, the weight of the secrecy and adrenaline. Since that night that he saw you littered in bruises, he hadn’t laid a hand on you without care and caution. He hadn’t kissed you without pulling back. He hadn’t taken you, not even once, even when your mouth found him in the dark, hands pressed under his shirt, trying to coax something deeper out of him. You tried, you really did. Let your fingers act impolitely, soft moans into his mouth, shifting into his lap, whispering things that used to break him. He would only tell you that you needed to get some rest. Kissed you too gently, touched you like a feather.
You were going insane.
At first, it made sense. The bruises were fresh, you flinched so easily at every touch or when he shifted the wrong way. You couldn’t even sleep without sharp pains in your side.
But you were healed. Medical cleared you ten days ago and it didn’t hurt anymore. You wash your face with careless hands, stretch and eat without biting down on your teeth, you had been back in drills for weeks at this point. You never felt stronger. You were fine.
And he still wouldn't touch you .
Today was a big day for you. Busy with meetings, briefings, prep sessions. The halls were buzzing and boots were moving, orders barked faster than they could be acknowledged. You barely had time to breathe…
But you were leading your first mission team. Not just observing another officer, but leading. An official extraction op, leading troopers to retrieve an informant in the outer rim of a disputed system. Of course, Kylo was leading the entire mission, but you were in charge of your own unit. Your name was on the tactile file. Your orders would be followed. They didn’t hand this stuff out lightly. You worked hard for this and proved yourself.
But there was something else you wanted today. Something you hadn’t had since before the bruises and rumors. Before your relationship was something open for comment.
You had plans to meet Kylo before deployment, a short break in his quarters, just enough time to eat, check gear, maybe go over squad information for the last time… But you remembered what it used to be like before his missions. He used to grab you roughly, like the impending violence lit something in him, pushed you into a shadowy hallway and into a dark utility room. He’d take you like the galaxy was ending and he wanted to taste every inch of it before it did. He used to need you, remind you what all that power in his was good for, feral and focused. And you wanted that again.
It felt like a good place to get it, here in his quarters. A familiar ground you hoped he remembered.
Kylo walked in and he looked like a man. His cloak was slung low on his shoulders, sleeves unfastened, sweat still drying at the collar of his black undershirt from drills this morning. No helmet or gloves, hair pushed back into uneven curls, loose in his movements. You have to grip the edge of your chair to keep from standing too fast.
You watched his back rise and fall, staring down at a datapad. His discipline wasn’t present in his shoulders. And then he looked at you, like he just remembered you were there. Like he just realized what you were wearing. Your new uniform, layered and professional, but it hugged your waist tightly, the top four buttons undone to give you room to relax. The way you were already looking at him like you needed something…
God’s, you wanted him so bad.
And if he wouldn’t come to you, you’d go to him. You stood up quick and crossed the room with strides.
He raised a brow when you got close. “You’re early.” He noted.
“So are you.” You murmured.
He never had time to respond before your hands gripped his face and you kissed him. You tilted your head and pressed your mouth to his with hunger. Not too messy yet, but enough to show him what you meant. His mouth parted in surprise, hands lifting halfway, one hand just resting on your hips, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to.
You pulled back an inch and looked up at him. “You don’t wanna..?”
He blinked hard, “I never said that.”
You reached up and slid your fingers into the collar of his shirt, tugging at him a little. “So prove it.”
You kissed him again, deeper, tongue brushing his lip and pulling a breath from his throat. You let your body press to his chest, and he set down the datapad, finding your hips and gripping. His other hand curled at the nape of your neck with pressure. His kiss turned greedy as he stepped forward, walking you backward toward the table with forward pressure. He kissed you like he meant it. Hard and breathless and messy, like he hadn't tasted you in weeks. Because he hadn’t.
You missed this.
But right when your spine hit the table edge and you made a sound in your throat, needy and aching. He broke the kiss quickly, his hands falling away from your body.
“Shit,” he muttered, stepping back like he had just remembered something important.
“Ky?”
He looked at your waist and ribs, wherever the worst of your bruises used to be. “I didn’t mean to—”
“Kylo, I’m fine.” You reach for him, grazing his wrist. “You didn’t hurt me.”
He hesitated when he looked at your mouth, the flush of your chest and the desperation in your eyes. He swallowed hard and looked away.
“We should eat before the mission.” His voice was so controlled now.
You stared at the back of his head when he turned. “Is that what you’re thinking about right now?” You asked quietly.
He shuffled around the drawers, pulling out two ration packs. “You need to be prepared for your first mission.” He handed it to you, performatively casual as his eyes didn’t reach up to your face, and you took it, pretending his answer was reasonable. Like you didn’t feel rejected, even if it really was just restraint. But your body was left hot, untouched, your mind spinning with things you didn’t have time to say right now.
Your uniform clung in too many places, sweat dried beneath your collar, lungs working through adrenaline when you took your seat at the round table. You had scanned for heat signatures, finding cloaked transmitters in the rocky canyons successfully. It was a dry and steep region, much more difficult to navigate than you expected, the comms interference was worse than you had been warned about. But you did it. No missed signals, no casualties, just an efficient extraction.
It was over, and now came the official recount for the sake of formality. An Admiral had given you a clipped nod of approval on your way into the debrief, and that meant something, even if no one else had caught it. The briefing room flickered red and blue display monitors and lines of intel updated data that scrolled against glass. Kylo sat near you, just in your line of sight.
You felt him staring when he looked away. You always felt it, even through his black mask.
You answered questions, reviewed your squads movements. You had clearly done better than most officers expected. But you were so warm underneath your uniform. The adrenaline hadn’t cooled, your collar sweaty against the collar of your shirt.
From across the room, Kylo’s eyes carved into you unapologetically. He tracked every inch of visible skin, gaze lingering at the stretch of your neck where your collar had dipped, sweeping down the line of your jaw as you spoke. He was cataloging you in hunger, like he was remembering the feel of your body. The exact weight of you beneath his hands and is trying to burn the memory back into his mind. You licked your bottom lip, and for a second, his lips parted under his helmet, jaw flexing and forcing his eyes away, like he had to physically rip himself away from the thought of you before he crossed the room and did something about it.
When the briefing cleared, officers filtered out until no one was left except you and him. Kylo didn’t move from his seat, legs wide as he leaned back a little. The tension in his shoulders gave him away. You didn’t say anything at first. Just looked at him. Let him look at you.
The air between you two thickened as the silence went on. He wasn’t pretending not to stare, he wasn’t even trying to be subtle anymore. You couldn’t pretend not to like it.
You stood slowly, knees brushing the edge of the table, arms loose at your sides, a heat crawling under your skin that had nothing to do with the afterglow of a mission.
His gaze followed you like a gravity field.
You tilted your head slightly as you approached him, leaning back slightly on the table in front of him, slotting just between his legs. His chest was riding slightly faster than it should have. His hands rested loosely on his thighs, fingers flexing now and then under the gloves, like he was fighting the urge to do something with them.
“Your sweep formation,” he said suddenly, low voice, “It was clean. You handled the canyon coverage better than most officers would have.”
“Wow,” a grin tugging at your mouth. “Thank you, Commander.” Light and airy.
You let the air thicken between you before you leaned in just a touch more, reaching for the sides of his helmet and took it off. It was almost ceremonial the way your movements slowed, fingers finding the release points like muscle memory, practiced, deliberate. You watched his face appear. A tense jaw, a parted mouth, a ridge between his eyebrows, endearing helmet hair. You set it down beside you.
His eyes were dark, still burning, absolutely lost in whatever was going on behind them.
You leaned in, voice like velvet and low. “It’s so hot in here.” You murmured. “My uniform’s clinging everywhere.” He blinked once. His throat bobbed with a swallow. You let the words drip from your lips like lava. “I’m dying to take it off.” You watched his eyes flicker everywhere. Down your throat, tracking the line of your collar. “Might need a hand.”
You stood from where you leaned, bracing your arms on the back of his chair. He fell back in his chair, face so close you could feel how ragged his breath was.
“I’m impatient, Ky. I’d let you take all this off. Right here.” You added, letting your fingertips trace the edge of his tunic. “Right now.” He looked like he might say something, but it was stuck in his throat. His lips parted again, but closed with another gulp. When the silence stretched so tightly it nearly snapped, you leaned in, brushing your mouth over his ear with an exhale. “You gonna do something about it?”
Finally, he did. He stood suddenly, so fast the table behind you rattled. He loomed, tall and sharp right in front of you, heat rolling off of him with intensity. His chest pressed against yours, hand finding your waist, flexing, but still all too gentle. You could tell though, he was close to snapping.
His eyes dropped again to your lips, huffing through his nose, completely in your space, nose brushing as you balanced yourself with a hand on the back of his neck. You saw the moment he caved into the thought of it, saw the hunger flash across his face.
His mouth opened—
Then a sharp blare of a comm echoes down the hallway.
He flinched, taking half a step back, but it felt like a mile of space opened up between you.
He cleared his throat, still where his hands hovered where they were about to grab you. His eyes flickered toward the door.
“I should go check that.” He finally spoke, voice annoyed at the interruption. He knew it could be nothing, but he couldn’t ignore his work duties. But still, he didn’t move. Not for a few seconds. His body remains right in front of yours, breathing slow and deep. He hadn’t quite pulled back his restraint. You could see the battle in his blown out eyes, the sheer effort it took to choose the door over you. “You can’t…” He started, then stopped. “You can’t just look at me like that before I have to leave.”
You just smirked, feeling like you had just won a small battle. “I’m not doing anything.”
His eyes dropped to your lips again as you bit them.
“I’ll see you later.” He muttered, grabbing his helmet off the table and tearing himself away from your space, turning before he couldn’t help himself again.
You didn’t see him later. He got caught up, pulled away into a meeting that went on too late.
But the training room was empty the next day, just like you’d both planned. Tucked away in a soundproof chamber near the edge of the starboard wing. Quiet, reserved for higher ranking officers, meant for privacy.
There he was. Waiting on a mat, turned slightly away from you. No cloak, no helmet, not even his tunic. Just a fitted black sparring shirt that clung so tightly on his shoulders, low slung combat pants, the kind he only wore in these rare, pared-down moments. He was adjusting the wraps around his wrists with focused precision. It made his arms flex just enough to make your breath catch in your throat.
You stopped just short of the mat, eyes dragging down the line of his back, the way his shoulders tapered to his waist. You swallowed, and he turned to you. There was no smile, no softness, just an expression that told you he was trying very very hard not to look at you.
“So,” you stepped on the mat, dropping your bag somewhere to the side, “you said you’d help me with my defensive stance.”
He nodded once. Brisk. “Your pivot leaves your back open. You’re relying on predictability. It works against most people, but you need to be ready when it doesn’t.”
You hummed. “Teach me.”
And he did for a while. He was all business, methodical and precise. He corrected your stance with a brush of his fingers at your elbow, adjusting your arms by lifting one and guiding the other, demonstrating a step, a dodge, a pivot with sharpness that told you he wasn’t thinking about your body the way you were thinking about his.
You tried to focus. You really did. You told yourself to remember his instruction, watch the movements of his feet and the lines of his hips… but the more committed he became to instruction, the worse it got. Because all you could think about was how his palm fit flat between your shoulderblades when he nudged your posture straighter. How the heat of his body was radiating every time he stepped behind you to guide your feet. How his voice was low, toneless, professional. It only made you remember the way he groaned into your neck when he wasn’t holding back.
A memory rushes to you mid-pivot. Just how many times he’s had you here before. He wouldn’t talk during those moments, just grunted against your throat, cursed low and deep as your fingernails clung to his back. It was ruthless then. Hungry. Rough. The kind of rough that made your thighs quake after. You used to walk out of this room hiding smirks and fresh marks under your collar.
He fucked you against this mat once. A fast, brutal thing where your hands fumbled for leverage and his grip never gave you the chance. You would be dripping in sweat and whispering his name. He would be growling into your ear like he was trying to keep it to himself.
He never used to hold back.
“You’re not grounded.” His voice behind you, too close.
You jolt slightly. “What?”
He circled, face tugged in a serious expression. “You’re distracted.”
“No, I’m—”
“If your weight’s uneven, you’ll fall.”
You simmered in frustration at the way he moved around you again without touching you. His eyes were only focused on your stance, his hands careful, his touch clinical, you wonder where that other version of him went. You hated it.
You want it back. You need it back.
You wanted to show him that you weren’t broken, and you were going to.
“Fight me, then.” You spoke.
He stared, almost like he didn't believe you. “Are you serious?”
“Very.” Your socked feet barely made a sound as you shifted out of position, putting your hands on your hips. “You want my full attention? Earn it.”
His mouth almost curled up… barely. But you saw it. He stepped forward. “This isn’t what this session was for. I’m not here to spar you.”
You toed closer, shrugging off your jacket in one smooth motion, letting it fall to the floor like it meant nothing. Your fingers skimmed lightly across your own hips, a casual flirtation disguised as a thoughtless movement. “I’m a hands-on learner.”
He gave you a sharp breath. “Don’t test me.”
“Why not?” You smiled. “Afraid I’ll win?”
He turned fully to face you, stepping into a position opposite of you. “No. Just don’t want you to get comfortable losing.” He nodded his head in guidance. “Get into position.”
You obeyed, walking back to the other end of the mat. When you looked over your shoulder, he was watching how your hips moved.
The air between you hummed. The heat was rising. You shook your wrists as you dropped into stance.
He lunged first, just to test you. You dodged left, ducked, turned your hips and caught his side with the flat of your hand.
“You’re slow.” You taunted.
His brow ticked up. “You’re cocky.”
Another sweep, this one higher. You ducked under it, letting your hand graze his thigh as you passed, maybe a touch longer than necessary. He noticed, you knew he did.
You smiled and kept yourself moving. His footwork was sharp and aggressive, but not dangerous. He was still holding back and you were done with all of that.
You pivoted, dropped low and tried to take his legs.
He stepped over you easily. “You’re too predictable.”
“And you’re too restrained.” You snapped back, using your momentum to pop back up. “Aren’t you supposed to make me work for it?”
He just circled you, eyes narrowing. You jabbed at his side, more of a test than a hit. He caught your wrist mid-swing and twisted. He used your arm as momentum to spin you into his chest. You hit him with a grunt, bracing your palms against the flat of his stomach, feeling tension ripple in his muscles.
For a moment, you both just stayed there, looking into each other. His eyes were darker now, jaw locked. You could feel his heartbeat in between your bodies.
And just like that, he pushed you back. Not hard, just enough to reset.
But you stepped in again immediately, forceful, and threw a real punch that he blocked easily. He caught your wrist again but you twisted out faster this time, countering with a jab to his ribs that he didn’t see coming.
A smirk pulled at his mouth, sharp and dark. Promising. “You’re really trying to get me to snap, aren't you?” His voice showed he was slightly impressed.
“It’s working.”
You circled and he moved with you. One step, two, then faster. Arms sweeping low, trying to catch your legs. You hopped, rolled, came up behind him. He turned and your eyes locked.
He grabbed your wrist again, spinning you and you swept his leg, foot hooking around his in a blur. He let it happen, yanking you down with him.
You yelped as the world tipped, body tumbling on to his with a startled squeal. You landed clumsily, limbs tangled, chest to chest, palms planted on the mat, breath caught between a laugh and a gasp.
He let out a low grunt like he hadn’t expected you to come down on top of him, but he was smiling. “That’s an illegal move.” His voice said, amused, the wrinkles in his eyes squeezing together.
“No such thing,” You grinned, shifting your weight to try and pin his hips. “Besides, you started it.”
He huffed, almost a laugh before suddenly rolling, twisting his torso and sending you both into another tumble.
This time, you landed on your side and he wrestled your wrist into his grip again, pushing you onto your back. You wiggled, giggling, trying to get out of his grip, but he dragged you right back under him by your hips.
“Asshole!” You accuse breathlessly.
“You’re terrible at sweeps,” he points out, grabbing both your hands with just one of his, “you always overcommit.”
He smirks, bracing both your wrists above your head, pinning you by your hip with the weight of his thigh. You bucked your hips, but he didn’t move an inch. You tried to squirm free, but all it did was shift the friction between your bodies until you stilled. Breathing deep, a flush rising in his neck to match yours.
You stared up at him, his body heavy on yours, arms bracketing either side of your head, breath ghosting hot across your face. The playfulness lingered in the grin on his lips, but his eyes told you something different.
“I win.” He declared.
Your mouth parted, voice dropping to a murmur. “Time to claim your prize, then.”
His breath stutters, his eyes dilate and flicker over your face, throat, any part he could land on. Everywhere he’s been looking even when you don’t notice. Even when you do. He feels your pulse in your wrists, keeping you beneath him, helpless and ready to be taken. You swear he’s about to devour you right there on the mat. Like you’re a reward he’s been denied for too long.
You arch into him, letting your body deliberately move against his. And for a moment, it works. He stays hovering, wanting to do something.
But…
Here we go again.
His fingers twitch. There’s a shift. A memory of your limp gait the week after, your hands trembling when you tried to hold up your form. The sound you made when he would help you lower yourself to the bed. It was locked into his brain. Rewired him into thinking of you as a frail bird that he needed to touch delicately.
His eyes shut, clenches his teeth together hard, lets out an agonizing breath. Then he peels himself away from you. The weight of him disappears inch by inch.
You reach for him, almost whining with frustration. “Wait—”
“We need to worry about your counterbalance.” He mutters, now crossing the mat swiftly, like the movement is the only way to keep himself controlled. His hands are in fists and he doesn’t look at you. “That’s where you’re losing your footing.”
You don’t answer. Just stare up at the ceiling before you push yourself up, breathing in the tension that was left hanging in the air. You don’t look at him. You don’t say anything. You just return to position, arms raised in form, feet squared.
Fine.
If he wants you to train, you’ll train.
He’s already touched you and pulled away. He won’t even look at you now, you won’t either. You bury it, swallow it. Let your stance harden.
His quarters were always cold. But it was warmer tonight. Not uncomfortably, but you felt it on your skin after the fresher. You’d leaned your forehead against the cool wall once you shut the water off, hoping the steam would wash off more than just sweat.
You wished he had followed you in there. There was tension when you walked away, disappearing behind the door, ready to wash up before bed. He insisted you stay over tonight, and maybe agreeing wasn’t going to do you any good.
You emerged from the fresher dripping, wrapped in a towel. And he only walked past you with his eyes on the floor, stripped down to his pants as he disappeared into the fresher. Not even a fucking glance.
You’re done making the first move. You weren’t gonna pout, or joke, or give him a cheeky touch across his back the way you sometimes did when he passed. If he wanted to keep you at arms length, fine. You weren’t going to beg him. Not to anymore.
That didn’t mean you didn’t pick that shirt deliberately, the one that hung off the back of his chair, sleeves worn at the edges, collar stretched from how often he tugged it over his head after he got back here. The one he put on after missions when he was tired, limbs loose and sluggish. You remembered the way he looked at you the first time you wore it, like you were some sort of dream… So, no. You didn’t put it on without thought. You let it hang loose over your bare skin. No pants, just bare legs stretched across his sheets, one bent at the knee, hips tilted just enough to tease, some book rested lazily in your hand, words only skimmed more than understood.
You heard him come out of the fresher, emerging with soaked hair and black pants that hung low on his hips. He moved around like he hadn’t had enough time to decompress, a tension living in his body, between every vertebra. That was all just from a glance, because you didn’t want to stare. You just turned the page, shifted slightly so your leg arched lighter against the bed, letting the shirt slide up your thigh with the movement.
If this didn’t work… if he didn’t do something about this… you were out of luck.
Kylo froze. You saw it in your peripheral. But you felt how his eyes dragged across your legs, helplessly, from the exposed bend of your knee, to the flash of your thigh, all the way up to where his shirt bunched around your hip. His gaze crawled higher, tracking your bare collarbone and the slope of your neck.
He didn't mean to let go of the small sound from his throat, one that sounded almost like he was scolding himself. He turned his head, trying to regain control, but it was already too late. His eyes snapped back to you.
“Think your humidifier’s broken.” You mentioned, flipping the page and not bothering to look up. “You should call maintenance tomorrow.” All too casual.
He didn’t speak, he just stared.
You stretch, arms overhead, pretending not to notice the way his eyes followed the movement. The hem of the shirt rose a little higher and you rolled to your back, continuing to ‘read’ whatever book this is.
Then, you heard him move in measure footsteps, each one closer and closer. You finally moved the book away from your face a little as he approached the bed, and you looked up at him. His chest rose and fell, eyes blown wide.
Kylo plucked the book from your grasp, tossing it on the nightstand. He didn’t say anything, just knelt on the bed, leaning down, and kissing you.
It was so deliberate. Gentle. Intentional. It felt like an apology, but you could taste the hunger beneath it. His hands found your waist, fingers brushing warm through the thick fabric around your ribs. Careful like always.
You kissed him back, tilting into it, adding pressure, hoping he’d match it.
He did, but only just. Still soft.
So, you slid your hand up the back of his neck, tangling in the damp hair at his nape, pulling him closer with a breathy murmur against his mouth. He let himself sink into the kiss, but his hands were still just hovering. Still, not enough.
You tried to lead him there, let your body arch against his, your leg curling behind his back, your mouth parted and pulled, desperate for something without restraint. He held his weight too high on top of you. He didn’t want to crush you, but you wanted him to let go of his inhibitions.
Your hands flattened against his sternum, and with one swift, practiced motion—one he taught you months ago—you flipped him. He grunted in surprise, back hitting the mattress like you’d punched the breath out of him.
You straddle him, the hem of the shirt now high over your hips, baring your thigh against his waist. You settled your weight over him, pressed your palms to the skin on his chest, harder, feeling the ripple of his muscles under your touch. And when you kissed him, you kissed him good. Desperate. Letting every sharp-edged ache in your chest pour into him.
His hands flew to your legs, gripping tight and sliding up slowly, but when they reached your waist, they slowed. Floated again. Ghosted like he didn’t trust the pressure. His thumbs only brushed your ribs like they were still bruised.
You took his wrist and dragged them down, over your hips until they landed on your ass, pressing them into the soft curve with permission. But his grip stayed light.
“Come on, Ky…” You spoke into the kiss.
He still hesitated. You broke the kiss and leaned back slowly, looking down at him, bare chest rising under yours.
That’s it.
All the frustration you’ve been feeling burned under your skin. You’d been set on fire. He looked up at you, flushed and stunned, blinking like he didn’t understand what had just happened.
“Okay—Is this how you fuck someone you want?” You breathed, voice horse. “It never used to be like this.”
His brows pull together. “What? I just—I didn’t want to do something wrong—”
“Wrong?” You echoed, a threat of a bitter laugh being held back. “You think touching me like you actually want me would be wrong?”
He sat up on his elbows and you were still straddling him.
“I’m trying to be careful.”
You gave him a huff and shook your head. “Yeah. I noticed.”
“I don’t want to hurt you.” He repeated, firmer in his voice now.
“You’re not going to hurt me, Kylo. I’m fine.”
“You say that but last time I stopped thinking, you ended up in the medbay."
“You didn’t do that.”
He looked away and that was worse. The silence, the swallowed guilt.
You climbed off of him, feet slapping the cold floor before he could even try to reach for you. You stood with your arms crossed, pacing a small line by the edge of the room. Your face was flushed for all the wrong reasons; in shame, anger, embarrassment.
“Yes, I was scared. I was hurt, I was injured. But I’m fine now.” You turned on your heel. “I’m here—I’ve been here. I’ve been trying, begging you to show me you don’t see me differently now… but all you do is look. Like you still want me, just not enough.”
He was sitting on the bed still, back hunched forward, elbows on his knees, eyes on the floor. He shook his head.
You weren’t done.
“You treat me like my bones are gonna shatter if you breathe too hard around me. I want you, Kylo. I want you so bad, I’m going crazy. I’m fantasizing about how it used to be.” You scoff at yourself, not at all amused. “Do you know how pathetic that feels? Laying on your bed, wearing your shirt like some damn signal flare, hoping I don’t have to beg you to fuck me? I don’t want to feel like I’m chasing someone who doesn’t want me back.” He looked up, finally, his face contorted in a way that told you he wanted to interject, to call bullshit. “It’s like the second you saw me with a black eye, you couldn’t unsee it. Now… Now, I don’t know if it's pity or fear or guilt or what, but it sure as hell doesn’t feel like you want me.”
His jaw was locked so tight you swear you could see a pulse in his temple.
“You think I don’t want you?” His voice was quiet, but he was holding back. His eyes were dark as they looked at you. “You think I’m holding back because I stopped seeing you?” And he stood, his frame feeling larger, more brooding than you remember. “I’ve spent the last couple weeks trying not to tear you apart. I get to wake up next to you now and it’s so hard. I don’t let myself touch you. I wasn’t the one who hurt you, but if I let myself loose control like I wanted to, I could’ve been.” He stepped closer, just one step at a time. “I carried you, sat there watching you try not to scream when you lifted a fork, and the whole time, I wanted to kill something. Anything. Do you know what it took not to drag those men to the center of the ship and kill them in front of everyone? Do you know how close I came?
You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.
His voice grew darker, his shadow engulfed you entirely. “I never stopped wanting to touch you. Not for one second.” His voice dipped along with his eyes. Lower than a whisper. “You want honesty? Hm? After that mission yesterday, I wanted to bend you over the command desk. I wanted to rip off your new uniform. I wanted you to have to tell them why you needed another one so quickly.”
You blinked, feeling yourself shrinking and your pulse going crazy. You could smell the soap off of him, feel his minty breath fan over your face with every word he spoke.
“When I had you pinned today, Gods, I almost fucking lost it. I could’ve done whatever I wanted to you. They would’ve been able to hear you two floors down.” He sucked in a breath. “I had to walk away. If I didn’t, you wouldn’t have been able to walk back to my quarters.”
Your back hit the wall before you even noticed you had been taking steps. He was still just inches away.
“I’ve been trying,” He said, teeth clenched, voice almost growling. “Trying to be patient. Trying to give you time. Trying to be what you need.” His eyes dropped down your body. “But you keep looking at me like that. Moving like that. Wearing that.”
Your breath was hitched. His eyes dragged down your body like he was already inside you, like the shirt you wore was just a formality. It was like he was trying to decide where to start. You felt the heat in your neck, the tips of your ears, your cheeks. He was caving. You can tell.
And you got him there. You had him. The restraint was gone. You should've thanked him for his honesty, he just told you exactly what you’d been dying to hear.
But instead, you tilted your head, raked your own eyes up and down his body with a slightly quirked brow.
“Go ahead, then.” Your voice like syrup, sultry, dropped to a whisper. You tutted your frame forward as much as you could without touching. “Keep pretending you're so composed if you want to. Like you don’t want me screaming your name. On my knees. Like you don’t want to mark me yourself, pin me down and fuck me until I forget my name. Keep pretending you don’t want me to fall apart under you.” You brushed your mouth against his cheek, biting back a grin in victory. “Unless…” You let it hang there, smug, lips brushing his earlobe just slightly, “you really don’t think you can do that anymore…”
In one movement, you were against the wall. Hard. His hands are already under your thighs, hoisting you up so fast the air punched out of your lungs. Your hands barely got around his neck before he crushed his mouth to yours, kissing you like he hated how much he needed you. His hips slammed against yours, caging you there, his breath already ragged. You yelped into his mouth from the force of it all, head thudding back against the wall, hands scrambling at his shoulders as he grinded against you.
“Say that shit again.” He growled, voice shredded. “See what happens.”
You couldn’t. You were too busy gasping as his mouth dropped to your jaw, your neck, biting, dragging teeth along skin like he’s gone blind with it. Your legs locked tighter around his waist and he groaned at how your middles pressed together. He gripped your ass like he meant to leave prints, slamming you against the wall with every roll of his hips. The shirt you wore—his shirt— rode up fast, bunched between your bodies. He shoved it up higher, exposing your hips, stomach, everything he wanted.
“You want to be ruined?” He snarled into your neck. “Then quit squirming and take it.”
His hands were everywhere now, possessive, grabbing fistfuls of your thighs, your waist. When you writhed against him, he fucking laughed, sharp and wicked against your mouth. The kind of sound that warned you.
“I can’t fucking stand you.” He panted and shoved his hips forward again.
You moaned, louder than you meant to, feeling the outline of his member against your core, hard and telling. And that was it. He dragged you off the wall, never letting your feet touch the ground before he tossed you back into the bed. You bounced, hair messy wherever you landed.
He was already over you before you could blink, tearing off your shirt in one rough pull. You felt it stretch at the collar, the sound of seams popping, but his eyes were devouring every inch of skin.
Your nipples pebbled, you were covered in goosebumps as he pressed you down. His mouth found your chest, worshiping a breast with his mouth while the other one was squeezed in his hand. He nipped, groaned into it before moving lower. He left his own marks on your stomach, sucking bruises just below your ribs. You were gasping, twisting beneath him, clenching the sheets around you as your eyes rolled back, arching into him.
He gripped your thighs hard, spreading them apart with a low growl in his chest. He settles between them like it was his rightful place, one hand sliding down under your panties, long fingers sinking into your clit with no politeness at all.
“Fuck…” Your eyes roll back and squeeze shut, fingernails digging deep into his biceps.
He let out a breath through his nose, lower lip completely taken between his teeth as he rubbed a harsh circle, dipping down and up.
He bit your jaw, sucking in a breath as he continued to listen to the little whimpers you gave him. “You think I don’t want this?” And he ripped his hand away. You take in a sharp breath at the loss, bucking your hips up. But he sat up on his knees, tearing off your underwear so fast you didn’t have time to complain. His palms slid under your knees, pushing until they bent wide open, fully on display. He locked in on you, breath ragged. “Look at you.”
His hands squeezed once and he was dragging you down the bed with a rough tug until your hips met his tented ones. You gasped, arms scrambling for the sheets.
“I’ve been dying to taste you.” He grumbled. “Dying.”
And he lowered, mouth on your inner thigh first. Kissing and biting. You yelped when he sunk his teeth in just enough to sting, then soothed it with his tongue. He didn’t pause or hesitate, just mouthed up your thigh, trailing heat as he went.
When his mouth reached the center of you, you choked on a breath, leg twitching. His hand pinned it back open, unforgiving.
“Keep them open.” He demanded, hot breath glossing over you. “I meant it.”
And then… Oh…
He buried his face in you. Not slowly, not gentle licks. Absolute desperation. His tongue slid against you with force, like he needed to make up for every second he’s denied himself. Every moment he left you aching.
You cursed, moaned loudly, wrecked, hips trying to buck, but his arms looped over your thighs to pin you down.
“Don’t you fucking move.” His voice low, mouth still on you. “You wanted this. Take it.”
And you did.
Your hands flew to his hair, clutching damp strands as he devoured you, tongue relentless, lips dragging, sucking and licking like he’d been starving for you.
You were already so close, and he knew. He heard it in the way you stumbled through his name, how your breath stuttered, how the valley of your breasts moved quicker and quicker. His grip tightened on your thighs, angling his mouth just right until your entire body locked up.
“Yeah…” He whispered into you. “That’s it… fall apart for me…”
You gasped his name as you shattered. A moan louder than you could register heaved out of your chest and you trembled in his grip, thighs quaking, vision white hot behind your eyes.
But he didn’t stop. He didn’t even slow down. Not even after you came and tugged at the roots of his hair. Your thighs forcefully kept on the mattress as he continued with closed eyes and low moans, seemingly lost in the moment he had been denying himself. Lapping up everything you gave him, fingers and palms leaving indents on your skin. You were so sensitive, wrecked as he spread you wider, locked you down as your hips tried to twist away.
And he liked it. A deep rumble vibrated straight through your core. “Don’t pull away from me.” Words muddled in your clit. “Don’t act all shy now.” He taunted, dragging his tongue through your slick with deliberate pressure.
His fingers, two of them, thick and rough, sliding in like he owned you with no warning. Your whole body bucked, but his free hand pressed down hard on your hip to keep you in place.”
You cried out as his fingers curled.
A grin brushed your skin as his fingers moved deeper, harder, pumping in rhythm with his tongue. “Can’t even think now, can you?” He taunted.
You hands scrambled for his shoulders, his hair, the sheets—anything to ground yourself for a second. But you were gone, completely undone, stretched wide and full and throbbing as he did whatever he wanted like a man possessed.
He wasn’t letting up. He even groaned when you clenched around his fingers, even when he tried to twist away again. “Oh, no,” he tutted. “You’re not going anywhere.”
You legs began to tremble again, a knot in your stomach building. Your whole body burned. “Kylo—”
“You’ll cum again.” He demanded, mixing his thumb in with his tongue until you cried out. “And you’ll thank me for it.” He slowed just a little, pulling back an inch. “Beg.”
You gasped. “Please.”
“Louder.”
He pressed his thumb into you, putting his mouth back on you.
“Oh—fuck—please. Kylo, please!”
“Mhm,” He murmured, fingers curling just right, mouth locking on the spot that made your spine arch off the bed. “That’s more like it.”
You were gone, you couldn’t stop it as he pushed you over the edge again, this time harder. So hard that your thighs clamped around his head and your whole body convulsed beneath him. You came with a scream, messy, helpless, trembling with the weight of it all, sobbing his name into the air of his room.
Only then did he lift his head, lips slick, eyes dark, chest rising like he hadn’t breathed that whole time. And he smiled. Wicked. Victorious.
“You’re not going anywhere tonight.”
You twitched as his fingers dragged mindlessly over your core one more time, a grunt of overstimulation coming from your mouth. You’re too sensitive now, your hips jolting off the mattress.
“Fuck—Kylo…”
He grunted in satisfaction, watching you squirm. His lips curled up sadistically as you panted, completely ruined beneath him, legs still spread for him. Your body was limp, but his eyes never left yours.
He saw the flicker in your expression. The heat hadn’t dimmed, not even after everything he just pulled from you. His thumb traced the curve of your lips, slow now, like he was savoring the sight of what he’s done to you. You caught his thumb in your mouth, letting your teeth graze it just enough before releasing it with a little pop.
“You’re still not done?” He asked with a darkly amused tone. “After all that?”
You smirked despite yourself. “I thought you wanted me begging. You think you earned it yet?”
His entire presence shifted, stiffening like a cord as his jaw twitched.
“Get on your knees.” He growled, threaded with heat. “Now.”
You didn’t move. Just blinked up at him through heavy lashes, dragging your palms slowly down your own stomach. “You sure?” You teased, breathy, eyes flickering down to the tent he has been sporting in his pants. “You look like you might finish just watching me.”
His nostrils flared. And then, he was on you again. In one rough movement, he grabbed your jaw in one hand and hauled you upright with the other, dragging you to the edge of the bed before your feet could really find the floor. You yelped at the sudden movement as you found your balance before he spun you and pressed you down.
“Knees,” He repeated. “Don’t make me tell you again.”
This time you obeyed, letting your hands trail over the planes of his stomach, his hips, as you dropped to the floor in front of him. Your knees hit the cold floor, legs already shaking but steady as you looked up at him.
His eyes were hooded, half lidded as he breathed through an open mouth. His jaw tensed as you reached for his waistband.
“Show me, baby.” He said. “Show me how much you missed me.” He watches your every move.
Your fingers hooked under the fabric, dragging it down until his cock sprung free, slapping his stomach. It was flushed, heavy, tip wet from how badly he’d been wanting this. How long he’s waited.
You tilted your chin up, expression so smug, even from this angle. “You like giving orders, don’t you?” You whispered, licking your lips. “You like making me listen.”
He wrapped a hand in your hair, far from gentle. His eyes were molten.
“You don’t listen,” He dragged you closer. “That’s the fucking problem.”
You gripped his bare thighs, biting your lip with a teasing expression meant to get under his skin.
“Open.” The word dropped like a command. You did, but his grip in your hair twisted slightly. “Wider.” And you even stuck out your tongue a little for him.
He dragged his tip across it, slow at first, just for the sake of savoring the sight of you… your lips parted, your breath hot. His hand was wrapped around the base of his cock, guiding himself inside your offering hole deeper, inch by inch, until your lips stretched around him and your throat constricted with the depth.
He muttered a curse you couldn't quite make out, your fingernails curling around the back of his thighs. His head tilted back for just a second before his eyes dropped back down to you. “...so good…”
He didn’t let you set the rhythm, he just started to move. Firmly fucking into your mouth like it was his right to. And it was. You choked once and he hissed, but didn’t pull back.
“Too much?” His voice mocking. “Didn’t think so.”
You whimpered around him, tears already lining your eyes with how deep he pressed. You prayed he didn’t stop. Not when he sounded like that. Not when he finally gave in.
“You missed this, didn’t you?” He grunted, pulling back just enough for you to breathe, then shoving forward again, deeper. “Missed the way I use you. Mouth open. Just taking it.”
You moaned around him, trying to get some leverage on his legs, your knees scuffing the floor as he guided your head back and forth, using your mouth like it was his. His hand had never loosened in your hair, not even a little.
“Should’ve been doing this for weeks.” He picked up the pace, grunting between sentences. “Should’ve kept you on your knees so you didn’t forget who you belong to.”
You gagged as he thrusts deeper, rougher now, groaning low as your throat tightens.
“Can’t answer me, huh?” His voice was breathless, wrecked, lips parted as he watched his cock disappear into your mouth. “Nothing smart to say now, huh, baby?” He laughed at you. “Fucking perfect like this.”
Your eyes had fallen shut, jaw beginning to sore from how you stretched around him, throat working to take him all the way in. Every groan, every thrust, every stutter of his breath drove you deeper into a haze.
His grip in your hair suddenly tightened and he pulled you off of him with a wet gasp.
“Hey,” he called, leaning down to your level. “Look at me.” His voice was sharp, commanding.
You blinked your eyes open, tears at the corner, lips swollen, chin wet. You looked up… and the moment your eyes met his, something snapped again.
“Fuck,” he breathed and yanked you up by your jaw, fast and hard. You stumbled up onto shaky legs only to feel his hands catch your ass and lift, hoisting you up effortlessly. Your legs wrapped around him instinctively as he pushed forward.
You gasp as your back is slammed against the wall. The frame rattled. His mouth crushed into yours, so sloppy and hungry and breathless. One hand gripped the back on your thigh tightly while the other roamed freely on your tits. His cock just pressed against your center, hard and leaking, rutting desperately through the soaked mess between your thighs.
“You’re fucking mine.” He growled into your mouth, biting your bottom lip before devouring it again. “Say it.” You only moaned, too dazed to speak. He rolled his hips again, dragging a filthy sound from your throat. “Need you to say it.” He barked, biting down on your shoulder, rutting against you like he couldn't take it anymore. “Tell me.”
You barley managed a gasp, but you did it. “I’m yours, Kylo.”
“Good girl.”
You didn’t even feel him reach down until the drag of his cock prodded at your entrance. He slammed into you. He buried himself in one hard and brutal thrust. It was so deep and sudden it knocked a breath clean out of your lungs. Your head hit the wall again, a cry from your throat that he swallowed instantly with his mouth on yours, hips already dragging back only to drive in harder. It all echoed through your body.
You whimpered against his lips, clinging to him with your arms wrapped around his neck, fingernails digging into his back so harshly you’re sure to leave marks. He never slowed down or hesitated. His rhythm was relentless, frenzied, filthy.
You moaned out something that sounded like his name, but you were so out of it he couldn’t be sure.
“Yeah?” He mocked, growling, biting down on your jaw as your head tipped back against th cool metal. “This is what you wanted? This is what you’ve been begging for?”
You couldn’t make out a coherent sentence. Just gasps and moans, your legs shaking where they were locked together behind him.
He rolled his hips harder, deeper, your whole body felt it.
“That shut you up quick.” He sneered against your neck, every work vibrating across your skin. “Can’t even talk now, huh?”
You let out a wrecked noise, your forehead pressed to his as he fucked you against the wall, as you clawed at his shoulder and held on for dear life. You didn't notice how loud you were being anymore. He was slamming into you like he wanted the whole ship to know.
“Touch yourself.” He snarled suddenly. “Right now.”
It took you a second to process, but you reached between your sweaty bodies with a shaking hand, fingers sliding into your own soaked heat just to feel where he stretched you open, where he was ruining you. He looked down and groaned at the sight of it—at the feel of your hand brushing his cock with every circle you made on your clit.
“Oh, fuck,” he bit out, then cooed. “That’s it. Fuck, that’s it. You gonna cum on my cock like this, baby? Squeezing me so tight I can’t fucking think?”
You lazily nodded, a tear spilling as you gasped against his cheek, thighs trembling. You were so close again, and he could feel it.
He slammed into you harder, faster, moaning and grunting as his hand wrapped around the back of your neck, holding you still and forcing eye contact.
“Don’t look away.” He kissed you sloppily. “I want to see it.”
It was right there. Your brows pinched, a whiny moan exploding slowly from your mouth before the knot snapped. You came hard around him with a strangled dry, your whole body shaking. He groaned, the tight wet clench of you nearly dragging him under too.
But he didn’t finish.
He groaned deep in his chest, and when your fingers stilled he pulled out. It was too sudden for your liking, but your mind was so cloudy with the after shocks. He let you collapse back against the wall, legs trembling too hard to hold your own weight, but he caught you before you could fall.
He turned, still holding you, dragging you back to the bed with a look in his eyes that told you he wasn’t done with you just yet. He dropped you onto the bed very unceremoniously—face down, limp, gasping to catch your breath. Your body was slick with sweat and barely able to move. You felt boneless as you shook, but, fuck, you could care less.
You felt the weight of his body climb over you, and he nudged your knees apart with his own.
“Stay just like that.” He murmured, voice rough from strain, pleasure, command. “Don’t move.”
You would've laughed if you had it in you. You couldn't move if you tried.
His hand gripped your hip, pulling you back against him. He didn’t waste a moment.
The sound he made when he slid back inside of you was nothing short of guttural. You gasped at the stretch, the angle, the ache. It was almost too much.
Almost.
He didn’t give you time to adjust.
He was slow at first, for his own sake. Just deep, dragging thrusts that pushed you forward on the bed… Then faster. More urgent. Bordering brutal. He leaned over you, chest pressed to your back, his weight caging you there as your fingers curled into the sheets and your eyes squeezed shut.
“Fuck,” he breathed, lips near your ear. “You’re still so tight, sweetheart. After everything I’ve done to you…” He pressed a kiss against your damp temple.
You whine. It’s all you could manage.
He laughed, low and hoarse, fucking into you like he couldn’t help it anymore.
“You look so fucking good like this.” He mentioned, thrusts unrelenting, moaning before he continued. “Face down on my bed. You’re fucking brainless. You’re just taking what I give you. You were made for this, weren't you?”
You let out a sob into the sheet, too far gone to care how desperate you sounded.
“Shh,” He soothed, a hand brushing your hair back from your face so he could kiss your cheekbone. “I know. I know, you’re tired, baby. But you can give me one more.”
You shook your head, or tried to, your breath stuttering broken moans to the rhythm of his hips.
“Oh, but you can.” He crooned, pressing his hands over yours, threading your fingers together as he drove into you. “You’re gonna give me one more. You’re gonna let me have that. Just like this.”
Your body jolted with every thrust now, legs shaking, thighs clenching as your whole body fought to hold onto something.
“You’re doing so good for me,” he murmured against your shoulder. “Taking it so well. Almost there, aren't you? I can feel it.”
You were. Gods, you were.
He let go of your hands and reached between you and the mattress, between your legs again. He found your clit quickly and you gasped, the sound ragged and broken. His hips stuttered for a second at how your body clenched down around him.
His fingers didn’t let up. He pressed firm circles over your clit with the same rhythm as his thrusts, grounding you to the bed like he wanted you to melt into it. He was so deep, so close, louder now. Each breath punching out of him was with a ragged and desperate edge. His composure had shattered and all that was left was primal need.
He hissed through clenched teeth, lips dragging over your shoulder. You whimpered, mouth open, head tilted and cheek flat against the crumpled sheets.
“Come on,” he urged, rushed, gasping between thrusts. “I know that look. You’re almost there—let me have it, baby. Please, just one more.”
His hips jolted harder, but his rhythm was stumbling now like his control was starting to slip, but his fingers didn’t stop. His forehead pressed to the back of your neck, hot and damp.
“I need it. I need to feel you again.”
Your back arched despite your body trembling, and he let out the most broken sound yet. Almost a cry of the pending relief. He felt the way you clenched, the way your breath caught and your whisper pitched higher.
“Fuck, yes, just like that. That’s it. Good girl. You’re right there.” His voice cracked. “Let me have you. Please—please, just let go for me.”
It happened so fast. It rushed through you and you rambled something incoherent into the sheets just before the wire snapped. Your full body was trembling, muscles tensing and twitching against your will, only contained by the weight of his body.
He came undone with you, but you barely heard the sharp curse he groaned against your spine. The way his hands clutched you tight as he spilled into you in hot spurts, every muscle in his drawn taut as a bowstring. His hips stuttered before they slowed, grinding deep as he rode it out with a sound that could only be described as animalistic.
He stayed pressed to your back, chest heaving, one arm curled under your body, the other still tangled loosely with yours on the mattress. He didn’t move. He didn’t pull out. He didn’t say a word.
He was heavy on top of you, but it felt so comforting. Slowly, you regained some sort of consciousness of your surroundings. His breath on your back, the quiet hum of the ship, the feeling of his hand on yours.
He finally muttered against you. “...You happy now?”
It came out rough and barely coherent. As if he wasn’t sure if it was a joke or surrender, but his tone broke a quiet laugh that you muffled into the mattress, despite how your muscles trembled. He chuckled too, mouth brushing against the side of your neck. You could feel him smiling against your skin, the way his heart stammered quickly behind his ribs.
The laughter gave away to silence as your collective heaving stilled, muscles slowly unlocking. Your bodies are still stuck together, damp and shaking, still tangled in each other. But slowly, reluctantly, he slipped out of you.
The emptiness was instant. A space left behind made you whine without meaning to. He felt it too because he didn’t go far. Just enough to roll to your side and shift you gently with him until your back was curled into his chest and his arm was slung tight around your waist. His legs tangled with yours, his nose pressed behind your ear.
You were limp against him, completely spent. “Can’t move.” You whispered in a raspy voice.
He dragged a hand up your naked side, slow and possessive. “I’d be impressed if you could.”
You were defiant at heart, so you shifted. You tried to lift a leg and roll forward to prove him wrong.
But his arm tightened instantly, dragging you back into him with strength and he held you tighter.
“So fucking stubborn,” his voice thick with satisfaction. He kissed just below your ear with a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. “Brat.”
Your smile was small, but real. Relieved. You let yourself relax against him. “I win.” You sing. “I got you to break.”
“And now you can’t walk.” He said smugly, nuzzling into your shoulder. “Congratulations.”
You exhale a breathy laugh and his arms fully engulfed you.
You stayed there for a long moment, just laying with each other. Bones fusing with one another in a relaxed position that you could have laid in all night.
But he shifted.
“We should probably hit the fresher again.” He said so casually, sitting up.
You groaned into the sheets. “I already told you. I can’t move.”
“Mm.” He leaned in, brushed your messy hair back from your temple and pressed a kiss to your bare shoulder. Slow, sweet, like maybe he was letting you settle again. Your eyelids fluttered shut.
Then, without warning, his arms slid under you and yanked you straight off the bed.
You yelped. “Kylo!”
He stood, your body dangling against his chest, your back pressed to him like a harness.
“This is a rescue mission.” He grunted, staggering a bit as he adjusted his hold. “You’re my hostage.”
“Oh my god,” you laughed, breathlessly clutching his forearm. “You’re delirious.”
“I’m serious,” he said, deadpan, marching toward the fresher. “You’re being detained for… sedition. Against my self control.”
You barked out another sharp laugh. “That is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard you say.”
“I’ll add it to your record.”
“Oh yeah? What else is on there?”
“Indecent conduct in the field. Insubordination during active sparring. Unauthorized use of my training shirt.”
He kicked the door open and carried you in. “You are unwell.”
He set you down on the cool tile of the sink counter, leaning forward, arms braced on either side of you. “And I blame you entirely.”
You stared at him with a grossly genuine smile on your face, and he stared right back.
In that moment, you saw him, really. So honest and unfiltered. The look he gave you made your heart feel like it was swelling.
Your arms lifted, curling round his neck, drawing him in a little. You tilted your chin and brushed your nose slightly along his. He closed the gap first this time, meeting you in the middle. The kiss was soft, on purpose, like you both finally agreed at the same time.
You weren't teasing, or trying to prove anything. This one was for you. For him. Gentle and lasting. When you pulled back, a small satisfied hum left you.
A thought bloomed quietly inside your chest, curling deep beneath your ribs.
You really, really liked him.
All of him.
The one who could devour you like an animal and the one who made stupid jokes afterwards and the one who took care of you with so much intention it pissed you off. No one else got these versions of him… but you did.
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Hello , i hope you are doing good , i was wondering if you still write for herbert west ? , if yes then i wish to request something a little specefic :p but i hope that's alright , a smutty fanfic with herbert X Fem!reader who is his camarade student and his assistant, they are roomates ;)))) , and for some reason they have a very very heated argument started at university in a dissection course ,he was being his cocky bratty self and he said something really mean in front of everyone (you can be creative about that lol you pick the argument idc) ,the argument continued in the car and once home they have angry sex heehee :3 , the "make up sex" is always so full of passion and wild and rough i thought it would be original to see such composed charachter losing it lol and being brat tamed ;))))
thanks for your time <3 <3 <3
The beauty of hate
Herbert West x Reader
Warnings: SMUT, hate fucking, some spit kink, he calls you bitch, insulting each other while you fuck
Herberts eyes gleam with a maniacal intensity as he slams his lab notes onto the table. "No one understands the power of the human soul like I do."
"oh really? Because I've been assisting you this entire time Professor. I think we have the same amount of knowledge." You argue.
His expression darkens, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth "You assist me, yes. But you lack my vision, my understanding of the true potential of reanimation." He taps his temple with a gloved finger. "I alone possess the intellect to wield this power responsibly."
"your full of shit." His hand suddenly moves to grab your collar, pulling you closer with surprising strength "Watch your tongue," he hisses through clenched teeth. "I may need your assistance in the lab, but don't mistake that for equality. You're merely a tool to me."
You spit in his face breathing heavily. His grip on your collar tightens as he wipes the spit from his face with his sleeve.
Instead of getting angry, a twisted excitement gleams in his eyes. He presses his lips forcefully against yours, kissing you with a hunger that borders on violence.
"You defiant little thing," he murmurs against your mouth.
You moan and kiss him back. He pushes you back against the lab table, sending vials clattering to the floor. His hands slide up your sides possessively, lips never leaving yours as he deepens the kiss with a desperation that speaks of years of repressed desire and obsession. The scent of chemicals and formaldehyde hangs heavy in the air. "Mine," he growls possessively. "You're mine."
"god I fucking hate you." You say in-between kisses. He chuckles darkly, his hands moving to your waist and lifting you onto the table. He steps between your legs, pressing his body against yours as he continues to kiss you brutally. "And I hate you too," he pants against your mouth. "I hate how you challenge me..."
"I despise you Herbert West." You say undoing his pants. "The feeling is mutual," he breathes, his own hands already working at your clothes. "I despise your insolence, your inability to stay in your place..." He pushes his pants down just enough, his arousal pressing urgently against you. "But right now, I think we both know what we really want." His voice drops to a dangerous whisper. "To destroy each other."
You pull your pants and panties down "your a pompous asshole.... Fucking overbearing brat of a man..." "And you're a reckless, insolent child who can't keep her hands to herself," he counters, positioning himself at your entrance. "your a selfish, mean, irritating.... Fuck...." Without warning, he thrusts forward, burying himself deep inside you with a single violent motion. "There's nothing pompous about knowing one's superiority." He begins to move, each stroke punishing and deep. "You exist to serve my work..."
"Fucking asshole..." You gasp. "Keep talking," he grunts, driving into you harder, the lab table shaking beneath you. "Every insult you throw at me just proves how much you need me to shut you up." He leans down, capturing your lips again in a brutal kiss. "You're so tight when you're angry... it's quite intoxicating." His thrusts grow more erratic, less controlled.
"I... Fuck... Hate you..." You moan. "And I loathe you," he growls back, his pace relentless. "Your stubbornness is infuriating." He breaks the kiss to bite down hard on your neck, marking you. "But goddamn, you take this cock like a queen."
"you still irritate me...." "Good," he snarls, his movements becoming purely primal now. "I want to irritate you. I want to be the thorn in your side, the itch you can never scratch, the man who fucks you raw while you curse his name." He wraps a hand in your hair, yanking your head back. "Tell me you hate me again. Scream it."
"I fucking hate you Herbert West." You spit in his face again. He doesn't even flinch, his thrusts barely faltering. Instead, he wipes his cheek and smirks down at you, the wet smear glistening on his skin. "Do it again." He demands, pounding into you relentlessly. "Spit on me again. Hate me more." His grip tightens in your hair, his hips snapping forward with brutal force.
You spit on him again. "You fucking sick fuck." His smile widens manically at the fresh spit on his face. He leans down, pressing his forehead against yours, his breath ragged and hot against your lips. "Fucking bitch," he whispers venomously before crashing his lips back onto yours in a fierce, dominating kiss.
You moan you nails scratching his back "fuck... I'm close..." You pant. "Come for me," he commands, his voice hoarse with lust. "Come while you hate me. Scream my name like you fucking despise it." He reaches between your bodies, his fingers finding your clit and rubbing it mercilessly in time with his thrusts. "Do it."
"Herbert!" You moan as you cum you nails digging deeper. He groans deeply at the sound of his name on your lips, his body tensing as he continues to ride you through your orgasm. With a few final, brutal thrusts, he reaches his own release, filling you with his hot cum.
"asshole." You pant wiping your spit from his face. He watches you wipe his face with a satisfied smirk, his chest heaving as he catches his breath. "Bitch," he counters, his hand coming up to roughly push your hair back from your face. "You're fucking gorgeous when you hate me."
summary: You live in Gotham City and are a waitress at a little hole-in-the-wall Italian restaurant. Oz is a regular and you've developed quite the crush on him.
word count & w a r n i n g s: 6.4K | older man/younger woman, semi-established history, making out, cockwarming, semi-public sex, unprotected sex, fingering (female receiving, dirty talk, smut with a teensy bit of plot (but not really).
a/n: to the 99.9999% of my followers... I'm so sorry but I am begging you guys to hear me out about him!!!! I thoroughly expect this to flop, but I needed to write it for my own sanity. absolutely massive thank you to @redravenblogs for beta-reading! banner by @/strangergraphics!
↓ full fic under cut! ↓ / playlist here / ao3 link here! / I don’t have a taglist anymore, but please turn on post notifications if you’d like to be notified of future fics!
Ah, Tuesday night.
In Gotham City, every night is a good night for an Italian restaurant. Especially one that’s been in business since 1964 and acquired a hefty lot of aging locals that know the food is good, and a possibly even longer list of trendy, younger foodies that have heard that food is good because of the aging locals.
There’s also the… criminal side of the patrons. Have a place with delicious food and wine, and Gotham’s elite underground is sure to follow. You’ve seen your fair share of men who look like they’re here to discuss a deal over a good meal, and a number of elected officials with them. You know better than to meddle, though. You just do your job, and hope for a good tip. Usually, you get one.
Tonight, it’s raining. Heavily. Surprise, surprise. People flock in from the street as an escape from the deluge outside and the restaurant is filling up quickly. Your section is about three quarters of the way full, and you’re busy. You hear the door open again, followed by the momentary rush of the sound of tires on wet pavement outside. You straighten up, throwing your glance in the way of the entrance.
There he is. A warm smile spreads across your face as you watch him amble in, shaking the rain from his leather coat. Though his appearances aren’t regular, his habits are. He always sits at the same table in your section, towards the back and next to the corner window. Once he figured out it was in an area you attended to, he never sat anywhere else.
You only know him as Oz, the big sweetheart of a man who comes in and always orders the chicken parmigiana. Says it’s the best in town. After seeing him a few times, and sneakily taking note of his last name, you took it upon yourself to do a little digging and found out that he’s known for running with Falcone’s gang and that he’s also the owner of the elite Iceberg Lounge. You never bring those things up to him in fear of starting a conversation he doesn’t want to finish. It’s really none of your business, anyway. You give him a moment to settle into the booth, but once he does – you’re immediately headed that way.
“There she is,” he starts with a smile, watching you as you make your way over to the table, pulling your order notebook from your apron pocket. “There’s my girl.”
A blush hits your cheek – it does every time. From day one, he flirted with you, harmlessly and has continued it ever since. You’re used to patrons being a little flirtatious, but something about the way Oz does it makes your stomach tighten.
“Buonasera, Oz…” you say, your lips curling into a warm smile. In the year you’ve worked here, you’ve picked up a little Italian, but the appropriate greetings are mandated by management. “How you doin’?”
“Better now.”
You smile again and dip your chin to your chest shyly. He’s always so affectionate, so warm. For being a guy who meddles in Gotham’s seedy underbelly, he’s one of the nicest guys you’ve ever met.
“The usual?”
He nods. “The usual, sweetheart. But gimme’ a side of fettuccine tonight, huh?”
You scribble the order down, and snap your book shut. “You got it.”
“What time you off tonight, doll?”
“Same as every night, Oz. In about an hour.”
“They keepin’ you late every night, huh?”
“Yeah, but a girl’s gotta’ eat.”
He scoffs, shaking his head and shifts in the booth before looking up at you. “I keep tellin’ ya, I could take care uh ya, baby.”
The running joke, but sometimes you wonder if he’s serious. He always tips you generously, alarmingly so, and it’s always put directly in your hand, as though he doesn’t want anyone else knowing that he takes care of your groceries for the week.
“And I keep sayin’ I couldn’t do that to you.”
“Ahh–!” He jerks his head to the side, dismissing those words.
You reach forward to touch his broad shoulder, giving it a little squeeze. “Let me put your order in, honey. I’ll be right back with your wine.”
With that, you walk proudly off towards the back, swaying your hips. You can feel Oz’s eyes on you as you go and maybe the way you move is intentional, because you know he’s watching. So, what if it was? Can you really blame a girl for liking the attention?
As you round the corner to the kitchen, you clear your throat and call out to the cooks. Angelo is working tonight, and he’s one of the few guys who knows about your little affinity for Oz. As soon as you pin the ticket, Angelo spins the wheel around, looking at the order. He recognizes it, and gives you a knowing smile.
“Oh, look who’s back, eh?”
“Quiet,” you hush, looking back towards the table. You can’t see it from this angle, but you know he’s there, sitting, probably on his phone, or tapping his big knuckles on the wood of the table.
He looks at the sheet again, noticing the addition, and raises an eyebrow. “Boyfriend’s hungry tonight.”
“Angelo, will you quit it? He’s not my boyfriend.”
“Sugar daddy then, eh?”
You scoff, giving him the finger before reaching for one of the bottles of wine – Oz’s favorite.
You return to his table with a skip in your step. It’s been about a week since you’ve seen him, and you can’t help the giddiness in your gait. As you bump your plush hip into the corner of the table, Oz grins crookedly at you, his gold teeth glinting in the low lighting of the restaurant. You reach into your apron, pulling out a corkscrew.
“So, whatcha’ been up to, Oz?” You say, as you twist the prong into the cork. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”
“Ah, y’know… business as usual.”
He usually gives you an answer like that – something that doesn’t reveal too much about what he does. You wonder if he knows that you’ve looked into him. You suddenly furrow your brow at the cork – it’s being stubborn – and quickly situate the bottle between your legs, squeezing it tight between your thighs. This action isn’t lost on Oz, who watches you with a deeply interested grin, watching how your skirt rides up just slightly at the front, not enough to reveal anything aside from some of your creamy soft thigh flesh. Everything you do is done with such innocence, but there’s no way you don’t know what you’re doing to him, he thinks. After a moment of yanking, the cork finally gives way with a hollow POP and you grip the bottle, bringing it up to the table. You mutter a quiet apology and fill the glass, pulling the bottle back to wipe the edge on your apron.
“Well, it’s good to see you. Always is.”
Someone calls your name from behind you, and it’s one of the other tables, looking for refills. You offer Oz an apologetic smile, and head in that direction. Sadly, you don’t return until his food is ready. He’s extra present tonight; your eyes meet every time you look in his direction, giving him a timid smile and going about your tasks, but your heart flutters with an adoration for the older man. You’re attentive too, and go over to his table a million and a half times to ask how the food is, if he needs anything else.
“Only you, doll.”
You swat playfully at his shoulder, though the little quip has heat pooling in your core. You’d be lying if you hadn’t thought about him taking you over the table a handful of times; lustfully imagining what his hips would feel like rutting against your ass as he sunk himself inside of you. You constantly wondered what his cock looked like. He was a big man, and you assumed that rang true for all parts of him – but the hunger to find out was terrible.
He’s one of the last ones to leave, lingering as long as he can before it’s considered rude. Tonight, something’s different about him, like something is on his mind, something he wants to say. Each time you’re at his table, he looks like he’s about to ask, but never does. Finally, as you return to clear his table, reaching for the empty plates on his table, he downs the rest of his wine and clears his throat.
“Listen, sweetheart,” he says, pivoting slightly in the booth with some effort. “You uh, you busy after work?”
“N-no.” Your heart is pounding in your chest. You straighten up, holding the stacked plates with one flattened palm.
“Why don’t you come down to the Iceberg Lounge? Unwind a little.”
“Oh, Oz, I’m not much of a clubbing girl.”
There’s a glimmer of disappointment in those dark eyes of his, but he sets his jaw, and gets to his feet. This puts him in your proximity, and you can feel the heat rolling off his large body. Your stomach aches to lean into him, press yourself into his gut, and lace your arms around his neck.
“Just think ‘bout it.” He reaches in his pocket.
The tip he gives you tonight almost makes your knees give way. It feels thicker than usual in your left hand and when your fingers close around the bills, you swallow down the protests. You don’t dare count it, not in front of him or anyone else. You’ve stopped telling him no, or that he doesn’t have to, because it’s almost like it offends him. He always hushes you, and acts like it’s the most normal thing in the world. You tuck it in the pocket of your apron, and swallow hard again.
He smiles and steps around you. Your eyes are glued to the visual of him leaving, watching him through the windows as he limps down the sidewalk. God, you want him. It’s a lethal hunger, something that claws and rips at your insides.
Once the restaurant is empty, you and the rest of the crew make quick work of cleaning up and closing up shop. It’s about forty-five minutes later when you’re slipping your arms into the sleeves of your black, wool overcoat and heading through the door. The rain hasn’t stopped. If anything, it’s gotten worse. You heave a sigh. You’ve got a walk ahead of you, but it’s something you’re used to.
“Doll!”
You stop walking, poised just at the end of the sidewalk. You hoist your bag up on your shoulder and pull your jacket right around your neck, squinting into the rain.
“Oz? That you?” You take a step in that direction, knowing full well it is. Your casual act is embarrassing to you, but you persist, pretending you’re surprised to see him getting out of his car. It’s a nice one, too… a Maserati. Was he… waiting for you?
“Yeah,” he grumbles. “You ain’t walkin’ home in this, are ya?”
“Just to the station,” You defend.
“Nah. C’mon.” He limps around the front of his car, rain splattering against his leather coat.
“Lemme’ give ya’ a ride.”
He doesn’t have to ask you twice. What’s the worst thing that could happen? Really. The rain is brutal and you’re cold, a chill settling into your bones. You hurry towards the plum-coloured car, your high heels clacking against the wet pavement as you do. Oz opens and holds the door for you, waiting patiently for you to make your way over. You get in the car gracefully, making sure not to flash him, though, you doubt he’d mind if you did. It’s warm inside, the heat is on, and the leather interior has absorbed some of that heat. You snuggle into the seat, watching in the rearview as Oz makes his way back around the car, and for a moment you’re surrounded by nothing but the sound of rain on the roof and the shlick of the wiper blades as they whisk the droplets off the windshield. The driver’s side door opens, and he tucks himself in. Droplets of rain decorate his shoulders, and he smears his hand over his hair.
“Where to, sweetheart?” He asks, a familiarity in his voice. He’s used to driving people around, but he’d drive you around the whole city if you asked.
“The complex on the corner of 7th and Onyx…” you say, almost sheepishly. Sure, it’s not the best part of town, but your little apartment is cozy, overlooking the city. You imagine he’s used to much nicer, and is probably silently judging the location.
“Oz,” you start, looking at the girth of his fingers as they wrap around the steering wheel. Your mind starts to wander, but you quickly reign it in with a hard blink and an inhalation of breath. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure, doll. Anything you want.”
“Were you waiting for me to get off work?”
“Gotta’ look out for my favorite girl, y’know?”
It’s an indirect answer, but an answer all the same. You smile to yourself as he eases his foot into the gas pedal, the car moving forward. His right hand departs from the steering wheel to turn on the radio. Frank Sinatra’s crooning voice fills the inside, and for the rest of the drive, you’re silent, occasionally stealing looks at Oz as he drives. He handles the car beautifully, and you wonder if he handles a woman as well.
Oz is sweet. You know this. Despite his constant heavy flirting at the restaurant, he’s sweet, charming and at times, awkward. Endearingly so. But you aren’t taking pity on him. Your interest in him is purely selfish, driven by your lust for older, dangerous men. You inhale a deep breath and turn your attention to the road. You’re close to home. A few minutes later, he pulls up next to your building and puts the car in park.
You reposition yourself to face him, shifting your feet underneath you. He’s watching you, those smoldering, dark eyes following your every move. Carefully, you lean over the center console, enough to close in the distance between you two and press your lips against his warm, scarred cheek. His aftershave wafts into your nose, and you take a deep breath of it, remembering it. You think you hear his breath hitching.
“That’s for the ride, Oz.”
“Shit, I oughta’ drive you ‘round more often if that’s what it gets me, huh?”
You hesitate a moment, looking into his eyes. There’s that look again – like he wants to ask something. You fill the void with another question.
“Is our chicken parm really the best, or do you just come for me?”
Oz’s thick brows flick up on his forehead and he lets out a throaty chuckle. “Sweetheart...”
“Do you come for me?”
Now he’s really looking at you, squinting at you. Hearing that question repeated has him twitching in his goddamn slacks. He looks out to the rain, then back to you and you’re still staring at him, waiting for an answer.
“If you only fuckin’ knew,” he chokes out.
“Well.. what if I wanna’ know?”
“Doll,” he grins and laughs, almost nervously. It’s loveable and you can’t help but smile, your gaze fixated on his scarred mouth as he speaks. You aren’t staring negatively, quite the contrary. Like everything else unusual about him, you find his scars sexy.
“You don’t gotta’... y’know, do that.”
You smile again, letting your lids close slightly. He thinks you’re doing this because you’re what? Paying him back for all the tips? Treating him like a charity case? Hysterical. If he only knew.
“Answer my question, Oz. What if I wanna’ know?”
He shifts in his seat. Uncomfortable? You can’t tell.
“Then uh… I ain’t gonna’ deny you that. Find out.”
You lean back over, and instead of kissing his cheek, you tilt your head and go for his mouth, your soft, plush lips pressing against his. He doesn’t respond… not right away, at least. He’s stunned, but also trying not to devour you like some goddamned hungry animal. Finally, his lips twitch to life, pressing back against yours.
He ain’t used to this. But, fuck, it feels good.
As his mouth opens, his large hand comes up to the side of your face, holding you where you’re at. The cool chill of the band of his ring is a stark contrast against the warmth of his digits. His fingertips graze the edge of your hairline, massaging gently. The taste of his tongue in your mouth is intoxicating, the wine lingering on his breath mingles with his own personal notes. You let an open-mouthed moan fall from your throat, into his, and he reciprocates, moving his body slightly towards you. Your tongue slips along his bottom lip, pausing to nibble at it softly. He groans deep, his eyes rolling back in his head. You’re getting him stiff, worked up and all you’re fuckin’ doin’ is kissin’ him.
This is getting heavy. You feel your own arousal burning between your legs, a fiery, throbbing heartbeat that gets more incessant the longer his tongue is in your mouth, tasting you. Oz is practically taking you in mouthfuls, and your hand crawls over the center console, just far enough that your fingernails scrape against the fabric of his slacks, over his thigh. A desperate attempt to get closer to him without just straddling him in his front seat.
A deep rumble of thunder and a crack of lightning pulls you two from each other. You lurch away, panting, and look out through the front windshield. The rain comes down harder, and you can hardly make out the outlines of the buildings in front of you.
“I should… probably go inside before this gets any worse.”
You aren’t sure if you’re talking about the rain or the mutual arousal. Maybe both. He clears his throat in response; he wants to tell you that you’re a cruel woman, leaving him like this, but with the taste of you still on his tongue, he ain’t about to push his luck and get greedy. He unlocks the doors from the panel on his left. You open the door and get out, dragging your bag with you. You lean back inside, looking at him with dreamy, half-lidded eyes.
“I’ll see you, Oz. Thanks for the ride.”
But not the kiss? You cringe at your words. There’s that look again – but this time, you know he wants to ask you if you’re coming down to the Lounge later. You know it, and you’ve already made up your mind.
Instead, he shrugs with both of his shoulders. “Sure, sweetheart. Any time. I mean that.”
With butterflies in your stomach, you exit the car, and shut the door, careful not to slam it. You hold your purse above your head as you run to the front door and you hear the roar of Oz’s engine as he speeds off. The second you’re inside, you kick off your heels at the door and hurry to the back of the apartment. You flip the lightswitch, illuminating the modest bedroom. You pull the dress from the back of your closet, half expecting a cloud of dust to come with it.
Thank god it still fits.
You catch a cab downtown, which is much less luxurious than your previous ride. It drops you off in front, and the line to get in stretches down the length of the building. You knew it was a popular place, but you hadn’t expected this. The rain, nor the fact that it’s a Tuesday evening, deters these patrons – whatever’s inside must really be something. You pull your dress down your thighs, and walk carefully up onto the sidewalk. Deciding to try your luck with the bouncers, you bypass the line, trying not to look at anyone to your right. If you stand in line, you won’t be inside for hours.
Two men – identical twins – stand in front of the door.
“Can we help you?” One of them asks, sternly. You don’t take offense, they’re only doing their job.
“Um…” You blurt out your name, adding, “Oz asked me to come.”
One of the men speaks into a small mic attached to the lapel of his jacket, covering it with his hand. It’s only a moment before one of them opens the door and the music goes from muffled to booming, vibrating your bones. You mutter a quick thanks, and step inside, feeling like you’ve just cheated the system. The visual that meets you truly overwhelms you at first, and you hesitate.
It’s a staggeringly massive venue, filled with undulating bodies. The building itself is industrial in nature, all steel and flashing red lights. The dance floor stretches as far as your eyes can see, a literal sea of human beings, all grinding against each other, feeling the music in their veins. You stand, stunned at the start of the crowd, unsure of where to go.
After a moment, you lift your gaze and your eyes meet for the hundredth time that night. Oz stands on the second floor, on almost a catwalk above the crowds. He looks like he did at the restaurant, save for the leather jacket which was replaced by a white suit jacket; he’s wearing the same purple shirt and black slacks. Your shoulders relax, knowing that whatever happens next will be something you remember for the rest of your life.
He doesn’t make it a secret of how he’s checking you out, a devilish sneer on his face. He’s only ever seen you in your waitress outfit, which let it be known, is sexy enough on its own, but this plunging number that gives him a peek at your cleavage, and hugs your hips in ways he could only dream of… He deepens his grin and jerks his head to the side, urging you up. You follow his gaze and clock the staircase to your left. You make a beeline for it, holding the chain of your purse in a fist and climb the steel staircase carefully, until you get to the platform that Oz is standing on.
“Hi!” You shout over the pulsing music. You’re giddy, like a schoolgirl. It’s embarrassing, really.
“I gotta’ be honest, doll, I didn’t think I’d see you.” he confesses, leaning into your ear. His voice is rough, but enticing. He pulls back, gauging your reaction. You stare at him for a moment, saying nothing, prolonging the moment and torturing him. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, and your eyes flick down to watch. Something he does a lot, you notice.
“What?” you ask, leaning into him. “After what happened in the car?”
When you pull back to look at him, there’s a bemused smile on your face. Confident. Cocky. Like there was an unspoken contest of who would mention it first and you won. He shrugs lightly, huffing out a laugh. You reach for his cheek, palming it softly. Oz keeps his composure, even though inside, he wants to lean into it and whimper like a dog. He’s glad he doesn’t though.
“I’m the one who kissed you, remember? It’s not like you did anything to offend me, Oz.” you coo.
“I ‘spose not, huh?”
You nod, slowly, coyly.
“The chicken parm,” he says suddenly, shrugging with his hands. “It ain’t bad. But I guess you’ve figured out the real reason why I come there, huh?”
You laugh brightly, looking over the railing at the throngs of people below you, neon red lights washing over them in time with the music. You smile softly, feeling special. It’s not every day that you get private access to an elite club in Gotham City and get to schmooze with the owner.
“Come upstairs with me.” Feeling like your attention is drifting from him, Oz takes your hand, guiding you in the direction of yet another flight of stairs. Your eyes trail up the steps; they lead to a loft, glass windows on every side.
You’re stone cold sober, so you can’t blame the alcohol, but the second you’re in his office, above the crowds, above it all, you’re on him like a bear on honey. Your hands smear over his chest, fingers grazing through the hair that peeks out from his open shirt. He smells like cigars and an expensive cologne that you take lungfuls of.
“You're an eager girl, aren’t ya?”
“Yeah, Oz… I am.” You reply breathlessly, kissing a path along his bottom lip and chin.
“How long have you felt this way, huh?”
You finally pull back, and lick your lips, watching him intently. You knew he was a talker from the restaurant, always chatting. But right now, you wanted nothing more than to kiss him. “Uhm…” Your chest heaves visibly, and Oz has to fight to keep his eyes on yours. “The first or second time you came into Bellini…”
“Ah, c’moooon!” he says, incredulously.
“No, I’m serious!” You laugh a little, moving your head to try and keep Oz’s gaze. He looks off behind you for a moment, and when he returns his attention to you, his expression is serious.
“Chicks like you don’t go after guys like me –”
You bristle and take his face in your hands. “Chicks like me? What do you know about chicks like me, Oz? You think you’ve got it all figured out, huh?”
He sidesteps that with another question. “What, you like older guys or somethin’?”
“They’re better…” You say in between tiny kisses. “They know better. They’re more experienced. Guys my age…” You pause to run a finger along his lip. “They don’t know how to take care of women.”
Oz smiles. It’s a dirty, devious smile, and it sends a pulse to your core. There’s a mischievous glimmer in his eyes, and he brings his hand up to the curve of your shoulder. “You want me to take care of ya, baby? Is that what you’re sayin’?”
You nod. A little too enthusiastically, maybe.
“It’s a busy club, sweetheart.” He says, almost nonchalantly, as though his slacks aren’t tenting in between both of you.
But… he has a point. You hum quietly.
“Later, then? Give me a tour of the club and – “ Your voice trails off because Oz looks like he’s just gotten an idea. He smirks, and his hand grips your hip, pulling you close to his gut. “What?”
“How’s about you sit on it, huh?”
Your head turns, gaze heavily resting on the room across the way. You assume it’s for the dancers of the club. Whatever it is – it’s right there. You glance at it nervously, and your expression reads strong, apparently, because Oz chuckles next to you, and brings his hand to your jaw, forcing it back in his direction.
“Hey, hey, hey. Look at me. It’s okay. They ain’t gonna’ know a thing.”
His hand drops from your jaw to your waist, where his thumb swipes circles over your dress. His hand sweeps around to the back, where your skin is exposed, and begins stroking patterns over the skin, igniting tiny fires wherever he touches. You lean forward, pressing your mouth against his again, hungry for his taste again. After a few minutes, Oz pulls away, ending the foreplay. He turns and ambles to the leather sofa angled in front of the window and you follow, taking slow, careful steps. One foot in front of the other.
Once he’s seated, you lift your dress just enough to grip the delicately stretchy lace of your panties on either side, and carefully pull them down the curve of your ass. Oz is watching, his brown eyes locked on the tantalizing visual in front of him. You discard them on the sofa cushion, not thinking about where they land. Oz watches though, and his large hand snakes out, fisting them and discreetly tucking them into the pocket of his slacks. If you asked, he would’ve told you that he didn’t want anyone fuckin’ seein’ ‘em. The reality was that his perversions were too loud, and he was going to take a token of this dream he was experiencing.
Oz reaches down, unlatching his slacks, and pulling the zip down just enough to reach in and pull his aching cock free. As you lower yourself, he lines it up, watching intently. You whimper his name, feeling the cockhead nudge your entrance.
“Easy, sweetheart, easy. That’s it, nice n’ slow.” He licks his lips.
At first, you nestle yourself down onto his thick cock gradually. The fat, leaking head pops in first, sending a shockwave through your core. Your breath hitches in your throat, and instead of sliding yourself down his shaft slowly, with a huff, you slam your ass down hard. You’re sitting all the way down on Oz’s wide lap, stuffing the rest of him in. He’s thicker than he is long, but god, it’s everything you thought it would be. He vocalizes, surprised at your determination. You still, letting your walls accommodate the girth of the man beneath you.
“Hoo, baby...”
The tiniest little movements have him clenching his jaw, hissing through his teeth. And then… with his hand casually holding onto your hip, Oz starts to rut his hips up into you. It’s just enough to rock your body up and down and move his cock inside you.
He grunts underneath you, his grasp tightening on the satin of your dress. He craves skin, and his hand slides into the space between your dress and your back. You can’t help but let out the tiniest of whimpers at the feeling of being so full – you don’t remember the last time you were stretched like that. Your dress pools, hanging heavy between your legs and concealing your leaking core.
Abruptly, the collective sound of high heels approaches, and your eyes snap up to the glass windows. A group of girls crowds the room parallel, and the second one of them spots you two, they’re heading your way. Oz stops moving.
“Alright… quiet, doll.” He slaps your hip a few times. It’s a warning, and one you immediately heed, straightening up, tucking your hips into a more natural sitting position. His cock twitches inside you, and you swallow back the noise that bubbles up your throat.
“Ozzy,” the girls coo in unison. One of them has a martini in her hand and asks who you are. God, they’re all so beautiful, you think. Insecurity threatens, but the stretching between your legs calms it.
Leaning to the side to meet their gaze, he tells them your name, proudly – the bastard – and you wave, sheepishly, trying not to allude to the fact that Oz’s girthy cock is buried inside you. Maybe they know. Maybe he’s done this before. You swallow hard, reaching up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear.
“We was just havin’ a meeting. She’s thinkin’ of workin’ here.” A bold faced lie, but it distracts the women from looking too hard at the scene in front of them. They all titter excitedly, delighted by the prospect of having another friend to play with.
“Oz takes real good care of us,” one of them chimes in, earnestly. “You’d love it here.”
You clench around his cock as hard as you can, your internal muscles squeezing him in a vice. You smile as naturally as you can at the girls as Oz continues speaking casually. The man’s poker face must be insane because he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t give away a single thing.
“Alright, alright. Girls, what am I payin’ ya for, huh? Get down there.”
In a flurry of nods and apologies, the women disperse, heading back down to the throbbing club below them. The sound of their high heels clicking down the stairs fades away, replaced by the dull, muffled thrumming of the music below. As soon as you two are alone again, Oz bucks his hips up into you hard, almost painfully, pulling a low groan from your throat.
“Tell me how good that feels, sweetheart. Tell me.” The roughness of his voice, the harshness of his accent makes everything sound intense, but the desperation in which he asks that isn’t lost on you. He’s practically begging you to tell him, revealing a deep-rooted hunger for praise. You wet your throat, and lean your head back onto his shoulder, bringing your hand up around to the back of his wide neck; the flesh is warm and damp with sweat.
“It feels so good.”
“Yeah?”
“Y-yeah…” You close your eyes, wincing slightly at the way his cock bullies you and stretches you open. “So good, Oz. I’ve thought about this… so many times.”
His hips rut up into you, finding a hungry, incessant rhythm and your slick walls clench around him. The action brings a choking grunt from his mouth, and your ego swells with the control. An idea blossoms. You straighten up; setting your hips and grinding them back and forth on his lap. Beneath you, Oz moans, his grip on you tightening. You feel his large body shudder, and a cocky smile curls its way around your lips.
“You like that, Oz? You like me fucking you like that?”
He nods, breathlessly, reaching up to palm the sweat that drips into his brow.
“Tell me,” you whisper, arching your body against his.
“I l-like the way you’re fuckin’ me. It feels real fuckin’ good… ” He grumbles, pleased. “Feelin’ that tight pussy uh yours… like heaven, doll.”
You whine at that, loving the way it sounds coming from his mouth. Your hips gyrate, continuing their ruthless pattern on his cock. His hand strays from your hip and juts between your legs, finding your cunt. His thick fingers slip between your folds, stroking you just enough to drive your orgasm closer to the edge. You whimper, tossing your head back.
Oz’s gaze drops from your back to your ass, watching as the flesh swells when you push back against him. God damn. It’s a perfect fuckin’ view, and he sucks in a deep breath. Every muscle in his body tightens, even if he ain’t ready for that.
“Aw, fuck–” he grunts, low. Deep in his stomach, his muscles clench, trying hard to stave off the oncoming orgasm. His eyes open, focusing on the ceiling, the sound of the music, anything except for the way you’re ridin’ him. It ain’t workin’, because he feels his whole body tense up. Fuck.
His hand goes slack between your legs and you grit your teeth, bringing your brows together in a pained expression. The dual stimulation was nice, but the way his cock massages your walls, stretching them out and filling you in a way that has you gasping is enough to drive you mad. You’re thankful that the music is so loud beneath you, because your desperate mewls and whines are getting higher and higher in pitch. Oz mutters something, something filthy about filling you and you drive your hips back against him. And with that, he loses it. He thrusts his hips up into you a few times, with a frenzied sort of desperation. You feel the heat painting your insides, coating your walls in his ecstasy. Underneath you, Oz’s thrusts have turned languid and lazy. He’s silently justifying the too-quick orgasm with the fact that he had to; anyone could’ve walked in at any time. It had nothing to do with the fact that he’s been like a slobbering dog for you for months.
Chest heaving, your hips continue rutting back and forth, and Oz shifts underneath you, still panting heavily. It’s tender, but he doesn’t complain. His thrusts continue to slow and you desperately reach between your legs, tapping his hand back to life. “D-don’t stop Oz, please… don’t stop…”
Behind you, Oz chuckles under his breath and straightens up, having sunk back into the sofa a little too far when he lost it. His thick index finger strokes your clit upwards, and a shiver rips through your body. The coil in your stomach winds tighter as you settle into the oncoming feeling. Still full of him, your slick walls shudder around his cock as the first wave hits. The coil snaps, your thighs clamp shut around his hand, and you look down, sighing loud as he continues flicking between your folds. One of your hands is situated on his thigh, and the other comes to grip his wrist, feeling the cuban link chain beneath your palm.
“That’s it, sweetheart… that’s it…” As you ride it out, bucking your hips against his groin, he coaxes you through your orgasm, both vocally and with the way he massages your clit, the pad of his index finger pressing into it. You can hear the pride in his voice, it’s absolutely dripping with it. “Atta’ girl. Feels fuckin’ good, don’t it?”
You try to speak, but nothing comes out. You furiously nod your head as your legs begin to tremble. He doesn’t stop, and your immediate reaction is to dig your nails into the flesh of his hand, silently begging.
“You good, doll?”
“Y-yeah. I’m… wow.”
Oz removes his hand from between your legs, and strokes the side of your thigh, gently. Tenderly. For a moment, you stay like that, just enjoying all of the post-coital sensations. Eventually, you get to your feet, curious about how the patrons downstairs are faring. Speaking of dripping… You swallow hard, and press your thighs together.
While still in front of Oz, you straighten yourself out, pulling your dress back down over your hips. Now, you’re suddenly aware of the throbbing beat beneath your feet and make your way over to the window.
“How about that tour?” You ask, running a nail along the glass that overlooks the dancefloor below you. After a few moments, you feel Oz’s presence behind you, his stomach pressing into the curve of your back.
“I thought you weren’t a clubbin’ girl…” he murmurs throatily, in between kisses to your neck. You tilt your head, allowing more space for him to smother.
“Well,” you confess, honesty tinging your voice. “I’m not. But it’s not every day you get invited to the most elite nightclub in Gotham City.” You shrug. “Might as well.”
➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies | ➥ divider by @whimsicalrogers
summary: Your boyfriend's boss comes between your relationship in more ways than one.
⭑
“Oz…”
No more words needed to be said, your tone saying it all, and your boyfriend turned to you with that look he knew you hated. He shrugged his shoulders at you, brows furrowed in a way as if to ask what he did, and you couldn’t hold back your sigh. There was a brief stretch of silence between you as you both were surrounded by the noise that was Gotham’s nightlife.
“You said you just needed to drop something off with the twins,” you reminded him, crossing your arms over your chest.
Your boyfriend let out a sigh of his own at the look on your face, and you stood your ground. It was his first night off in almost two months, the restaurant reservations were only going to hold for so long, and you weren’t exactly dressed for the likes of the Iceberg Lounge. You watched the heavyset man move towards you, reaching for an arm but you jerked away from his touch. He didn’t need to say what you knew he was going to say; you could see it all over his face.
“We’ll just be ten minutes, alright?”
“Oz!”
“You know I can’t just swing by without showing my face to Carmine. I’ll pop in, update him on a few things, drop off the stuff and we’ll be on our way.”
He made it sound so simple, but you knew better.
Carmine Falcone was not a simple man. What little you knew of him came from Oz and whispers on the street, but you knew enough. When he wasn’t treating your boyfriend like some lap dog, the kingpin was making money from mysterious sources and running the kind of club you never had the taste for. Funnily enough, the one night you decided to go to said club, you met Oz.
It was simultaneously the best and worst thing to happen to you.
“...and what am I supposed to do while you’re rubbing elbows with your asshole of a boss?”
The question was barely past your lips when Oz was harshly shushing you, frowning at you like you’d lost your mind, but you didn’t care. Carmine Falcone—and anyone listening for him—didn’t scare you. You recognized how stupid that probably was, but it was the truth. He was just another big man with money who threw it at people to feel important.
“What are you? Crazy?” Oz wondered, leaning in and lowering his voice. “You can talk like that around me, but we’re not in my apartment, sweetheart. You show the proper respect around here.”
You bit your tongue at that, narrowing your eyes at the man before you and thinking to yourself that of all the reasons to dislike Mr. Falcone, this was at the top of your list.
You really cared about Oz for a whole lot of reasons independent of his money. You’d always had a thing for the underdogs, and Oz was certainly that, but he was also driven. In this city that chewed people up and spat them out for fun, Oz was always determined to make something out of nothing and refused to let this city break him. It was admirable, really, and it made you have so much respect for him.
…but when he got around Mr. Falcone…
You really resisted the urge to roll your eyes, hating how much of a bitch he became in the presence of the other man. You got it to an extent. The man was his boss and he needed to be listened to, you understood that perfectly well, but your boyfriend’s entire demeanor seemed to change in his presence. He always turned into someone you hardly recognized—a pathetic ass-kissing excuse of a man just yearning for Mr. Falcone’s approval—and if you didn’t love him so much, you would’ve left a long time ago by how much it disgusted you.
“I’ll sit you in my office,” he finally answered with a shrug. “You can hang out for a while and overlook the club in my absence.”
There was a hint of amusement in his voice, but it didn’t latch itself onto you, and Oz waved you off.
“Lighten up,” he added, tone much softer now as he pressed a kiss to your forehead before guiding you both towards the door.
Only one of the twins was at the door tonight, and you threw him a tight smile as he greeted you both. Since that night you’d met Oz, you’d only been inside of the club two other times and both times had you sitting in Oz’s space while he discussed whatever with Mr. Falcone and Kenzie. There were worse spaces to be, you supposed—Oz’s office being all windows with a bar that allowed you to watch the dancers below—but he knew how much you detested this entire scene.
Tonight was no different.
He gave countless apologies and fixed you up a drink before disappearing with a kiss. You sipped on it while looking down at the club goers below you, once again having the same mental conversation with yourself that you had every other month. Oz was determined to secure better for himself, sure, but he didn’t seem keen on securing it outside of this lifestyle. He loved this lifestyle, and you were once again seriously contemplating if this was how you saw the rest of your life playing out.
As you waited for your boyfriend, ten minutes turned into twenty which then turned into thirty. You shouldn’t have been surprised when an entire hour passed, and by then, you were too upset to even produce frustrated tears. You’d long finished your first drink and was currently on number whatever when Oz finally showed his face. A scathing remark was on your tongue when he opened his mouth before you could.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he apologized, the rushed words making his accent pop. “...but I gotta reschedule.”
You blinked with a shake of your head, hand tightening on the glass in your hand.
“What?”
That was the last thing you’d been expecting.
Oz placed a hand on your arm just as you stood.
“I gotta do something for Carmine and–.”
“Are you kidding me? Oz!”
“It’s important–!”
“It’s always important! This is the first night off you’ve had in weeks. This night was supposed to be about us, and you let me get all dressed up just to sit up here for an hour and now you tell me–.”
“Look,” Oz harshly cut you off, nostrils flaring as he stared you down. “I don’t like it, but I got no choice, alright?”
You looked away from him, finally feeling like you could cry.
“Something came up, and I gotta do this for him…”
You finished your drink, slamming it down and searching for your purse.
“It shouldn’t take too long, but I gotta leave, now, so Carmine’s driver is going to take you home…”
“Excuse me?” you quietly said, slowly turning to face him. “Carmine’s driver is going to take me home–y-you can’t even take me home?”
You wildly gestured to him, and Oz dismissed you.
“I don’t got time for this. Grab your things and let me walk you outside. He’s waiting…”
Oz’s words died in the air as you hurried past him, not sticking around to hear anymore excuses or reasons as to why he couldn’t take you on your date or at the very least drive you home. You were sure your boyfriend had a few choice words for you, but the loud music drowned him out and it’s not like you were sticking by him to actually hear what he had to say. Your heels stomped against the floor as you hurried to the door, and a bitter taste filled your mouth as you remembered that this was the first time you’d worn them.
You had imagined Oz taking them off at the end of the night.
Now the thought made you laugh.
“I’m sorry, alright? I’ll make it up to you, I promise…”
The words that reached your ears were familiar—and empty—and you only nodded and evenly hummed at every one.
“Yeah…sure, yeah…no I get it, I understand…”
You did understand, but that didn’t mean you had to like it. Your boyfriend apologized a few more times before telling you to give him a kiss. You didn’t deny him, but if he noticed how robotic it was, he didn’t comment on it. You’d met Mr. Falcone’s driver a handful of times, and you gave the familiar man a tight smile as he opened the backseat door for you. Oz was peeling out of the parking lot before you could even get in, and as you stared after his car, you had the strangest urge to look up.
You did.
The windows of the Shoreline Lofts above the club were lit up, and you could see a couple of men moving around inside. You briefly wondered if that was where Oz always had to go when he needed to see Mr. Falcone. The moving figures didn’t hold your interest but instead the still figure standing just on the other side of one of the windows did. It wasn’t hard to guess that he was staring down into the parking lot, and something in you told you that the seemingly tall man was the very same who ruined your night.
With a huff, you slid into the expensive car, taking off your painful heels the moment the door was shut.
Things between you and Oz were a little icy.
Both of you held some blame but you stood by the opinion that Oz held most of it. More apologies came in the form of flowers and jewelry, but you were learning in real time that the allure and grandeur of those things start to lose their luster after a while. You loved him, but every day you wondered if it was enough. There was no telling when Oz’s next day off would be to properly make it up to you, but if the way things were going was any indication, you surmised that it was going to be a while.
Mr. Falcone had Oz running up and down the streets of Gotham like your boyfriend was the one actually running the city. On the days where you even saw him—which were becoming far and few in between—the interactions felt like they lasted only minutes. He always needed to go, always had something to drop off or pick up, or something to handle.
“Just come with me tonight,” he said to you one day. “We barely see each other, and I know you think I haven’t noticed or don’t care, but I promise you I do.”
“I don’t know…”
He knew how you felt about that place, and it’s not like he was asking you to sit in his office this time—Oz was talking about the 44 Below. You’d heard whispers of a club within the club that was the Iceberg Lounge, but you had never given the validity of it much thought. After all, it wasn’t your crowd nor something you concerned yourself with. One of your friends had referred to it as a mob hangout, and you’d laughed in her face then.
Since meeting Oz though, the idea became less funny to you.
While you may not have known what Mr. Falcone did exactly, the last few years certainly made you less naive about how Gotham really worked and how men like him really stayed above water. There were days when you struggled not to linger on Oz’s part in that food chain.
The man in question sat beside you on his bed, taking your hand.
“You’re still pissed about the other week, I ain’t stupid, but until I can really make it up to you, let me do what I can,” he offered, and you sighed. “I miss you, and you miss me…yeah?”
You reluctantly nodded, and Oz bent his head, trying to catch your eye.
“Whadaya say?”
You threw your hands up with a slow smile, and Oz let out that haughty laugh of his you’d grown to love. He was doing what he could to spend more time with you, and even if you didn’t completely agree with the way he was going about it, it mattered to you that he was trying. Besides, it wasn’t like you were opposed to the idea of becoming more familiar with exactly what Oz did for a living.
That was how you found yourself in the 44 Below for the first time, lips pressed together and eyes taking it all in as you observed the kind of men you never expected to find in a place like this. Oz’s talk with you on the way here was helpful, yes, but it still hadn’t fully prepared you for the full scale of corruption in this city.
“People do what they gotta do to make a living here. You understand?” he’d said, glancing at you. “Don’t stare too long or make a big deal about whoever you might see down there.”
That was what he’d said to you, but it was still quite the shock. Police officers were one thing, but the politicians that ran this city were something else entirely. Your hand was tight in your boyfriend’s as he led you through the dimly lit club, this atmosphere much quieter and more intimate than what was going on upstairs.
Oz got you a drink and sat you down in a corner and told you he’d be right back.
You were used to being seen as “Oz’s girl”, and if you were being completely honest with yourself, you didn’t hate it, but the weight it seemed to hold in the 44 Below was different from the Iceberg Lounge. Most of the people upstairs were casual party goers who just knew Oz as someone managing the club and you as his girlfriend. Down here though…
You were the girlfriend of the man next to Carmine Falcone, and it was the first time that it felt like it carried a significant amount of weight. Most people didn’t even make eye contact with you, and if they did, it either didn’t last for long or was accompanied with a nervous smile...as if they didn’t want to get on your bad side. Strangely enough, it didn’t make you feel powerful or anything of the sort but instead…lonely—isolated. You didn’t think you liked it, but before you could linger on that feeling for a few moments more, your isolation was breached.
“What was Oz thinking sticking you in this corner by yourself?”
The familiar voice made your skin grow cold.
Carmine Falcone was a face you hadn’t stared directly into for a few months, now, and truthfully, you could’ve gone a few more. He didn’t scare you, but that didn’t change the fact that something about him was not only intimidating but constantly reminded you that he wasn’t some warm and fuzzy kind of guy. When you tore your eyes away from the bar, you weren’t surprised to find those dark shades covering his eyes even in this lighting.
You were sure you’d never seen him without them.
He towered over you as he stood at your table, and you almost wanted to stand too just to make this interaction feel more equal. The few times you’d been in Mr. Falcone’s presence, you’d never felt quite equal, and you didn’t know if it was the huge gap in income or authority or just the way he coolly stared at you from behind those shades. In this moment, you reminded yourself to stop being so hard on Oz. You didn’t even work for the man, and he could easily make you feel so small, so you didn’t like to imagine the headspace he put Oz in when his money was on the line.
Reminding yourself that he spoke to you, you cleared your throat.
“He said he’d be right back,” you replied.
You swore that Mr. Falcone wore the hint of a smile on his lips, and you liked it less than the stony expression that was almost always on his face. For a few seconds, it felt like he was privy to some joke you weren’t in on, and you glanced around, feeling more isolated than ever as everyone in the club absolutely refused to look in your direction now.
“He’s upstairs handling something for me,” he told you. “You shouldn’t be waiting for him down here.”
When Mr. Falcone gestured to someone, you shouldn’t have been surprised when Kenzie seemingly appeared out of nowhere.
“Get her up to the loft,” the other man told him, a frown on his face behind those shades. “She doesn’t need to be down here with the rest of these people.”
The way he said those last two words made you feel like he looked down on the very men and women working for him and supplying him with business, and that made you frown too. However, once you realized what he’d said to Kenzie before that, it clicked for you that you weren’t going to the club upstairs but instead the Shoreline Lofts, a place you figured was always off limits for you.
You felt it was best not to question it as Kenzie gestured for you to join him, and as you neared him with your drink in hand, you didn’t miss the way Mr. Falcone refused to move, forcing your shoulder to brush against his chest.
“Don’t be a stranger,” your boyfriend’s boss said from behind your back.
You couldn’t even find it in yourself to throw him a fake smile in response.
You stared out over Gotham as your boyfriend hit another billiard ball, the sound drowning out the low conversation he and Mr. Falcone were having. You didn’t particularly care to know what they were talking about, but you had to admit that your curiosity had long been piqued along with your frustration at how long this conversation seemed to last.
One errand turned into an entirely separate dropoff which then turned into a conversation about the details of said dropoff that had long shifted into something else entirely. You reminded yourself that you were here because Oz wanted to try and be around you more, and you accepted that you would much rather be here than at his place wondering where he was at three o’clock in the morning and if he was safe.
He was trying, and that’s what mattered.
When you glanced over, you saw that Oz had his back to you while his boss stood on the other side of the pool table. Like always, those dark shades hid his eyes from view, and while he was engaged in a conversation with Oz, you couldn’t shake the feeling that his gaze was on you. It was a strange thought to have—at least, it was a strange thought to have.
You’d never been around Mr. Falcone as much as you had lately, and you’d found yourself questioning if he’d always been so inquisitive and hovering. Maybe those words were too strong because it wasn’t as if the other man was grilling you every time you were in his presence, but every now and then a question about your relationship with Oz was thrown at you or he’d ask about your job and how you liked it there. You and Mr. Falcone were only a step away from strangers, and he didn’t strike you as the type of man to engage in friendly chats.
“He don’t mean nothing by it, sweetheart,” Oz told you one night. “You’re around a lot more, and he’s just trying to feel you out, you know.”
You had hummed, not quite understanding that, and that was what you’d told him.
“I mean we’ve been together for what? A few years now? I’ve been to his home, I’ve had casual chats with his daughter, you don’t think it’s a little late to start wondering if I can be trusted?”
“It’s different now,” was all your boyfriend said. “You’re around the business more. It’s not the same.”
His words had silenced you that night, your mind instead going to what ‘the business’ entailed and why your sudden presence around it would change things. It once again sparked questions about your relationship with Oz, and what you wanted for your future. You liked the perks that came with his line of work just fine, but you knew better than anyone that the novelty wouldn’t last. A day would come where you’d question if it was truly worth it, and you didn’t want to be in too deep when you finally had that conversation.
Your name was already associated with Oz in certain circles, and your frequent appearances at the 44 Below these days didn’t help. When you came and left with Oz, it was fine. You loved him and always felt safe with him, so you learned to remain unbothered by the way people looked at you when you were next to him. Mr. Falcone was a whole other story…
You detested the nights when Oz got held up, Kenzie being the one to greet you and escort you out or in. Kenzie you didn’t mind all that much, but sometimes it was your boyfriend’s boss instead, and you couldn’t ignore the way you were treated when you were next to him even if you wanted to. You didn’t like the way people eyed you whenever Mr. Falcone guided you to that elevator, his footsteps mirroring your own in a way that made you feel like you were being stalked.
They looked like they didn’t know whether to suck up to you or avoid you at all costs, your proximity to the kingpin bringing out conflicting feelings of fear and possible opportunities.
“You’ll get used to it.”
That was what Mr. Falcone had said to you one night in that elevator, and you hadn’t known what he meant at first, but it clicked somehow with one look at his face. You remembered how unnerved you’d felt that he’d been able to read your thoughts on your face so clearly that night. You hadn’t liked it, at all, looking ahead just as he spoke again.
“The nice jewelry and fancy purses…” you’d tightened your hold on your handbag at that. “...aren’t the only perks that come with this line of work.”
You’d kept your gaze on the elevator doors.
“People start to fear you, respect you, and while you don’t seem like the kind of woman who’d be into that, you’d be surprised at what people will do for you solely for some proximity to you in some way. Anything to get ahead…”
He’d moved closer to you while he said this, and you couldn’t step away fast enough as the elevator stopped, Mr. Falcone’s arm reaching out to make sure the doors stayed open. Fighting to settle your mind, you quietly thanked him, thinking to yourself that you couldn’t get to Oz’s side fast enough.
You’d never cared for Mr. Falcone before, but getting to be around him more had the opposite effect one would think it’d have. The more you got to know him, the less you wanted to be around him, and you told yourself that it was for the obvious reasons. His business was shady and he treated Oz like crap and there was probably even a small element of danger in his presence, but no matter how much you tried to ignore it, he didn’t feel dangerous like Oz was dangerous.
Whenever you were alone with him, it felt painfully obvious that you were a woman and he was a man, and you knew deep down that it stood out to him too.
“Carmine says hello.”
You barely glanced up from the magazine in your lap as Oz’s words reached you, your boyfriend hanging up the phone. You only swallowed, flipping the page and listening as Oz limped towards the kitchen. You tried not to linger on what he said, but pretty soon the words and pictures before you began to go out of focus and you closed the flimsy book.
Oz’s attempts to spend more time with you by whatever means necessary unfortunately resulted in you spending more time with his boss. Granted, it wasn’t like you were around the man for hours, but you were seeing him more often than you ever had before. If he wasn’t there in the loft with Oz then he was greeting you in the 44 Below before making Kenzie escort you upstairs while he and Oz discussed business. You shuddered to think of his attempts at small talk and pleasantries, thinking to yourself how Oz couldn’t see how strange it was that Carmine Falcone was sending his regards to you through Oz.
Your gaze traveled to the vase of flowers on the dining room table, a gift of apology from Oz’s boss to you for keeping your boyfriend so late one night. You’d eyed it for what felt like hours when it was delivered to your door, and Oz’s answer to your question that night hadn’t satisfied you.
“His driver took you home, sweetheart, and you’re with me. Why wouldn’t he know where you live?”
The man may not have scared you, but that didn’t mean you relished the thought of being so comfortable and casual with him. Had you known that tagging along with Oz more would birth whatever this new development was, you would’ve never agreed to it, but as it were, you felt like it was too late to do anything about it. You feared that seeing Oz less wouldn’t change this new trajectory.
Of course, had you known how things would eventually end up, you would’ve long resigned yourself to never seeing Oz again, at all.
You should’ve known that something was off when Oz came by completely quiet one day. He never hesitated to jump right into whatever happened at the club that you just had to hear about. The change was noticeable, and when you’d asked him if he was alright, he’d given you a solid ‘yeah’. You’d tried to ignore the look on his face and his strange demeanor, but you knew the truth.
Oz was lying.
“Sweetheart…”
His voice was softer than normal from over your shoulder as you cleaned off your bed, and when you looked at him, he didn’t look like his normal cocky self. He looked almost…defeated. It was a strange thing to witness because Oz was never defeated even when he ‘lost’. You loved that about him, but at the moment, he seemed so unrecognizable.
“We gotta talk.”
He jerked his head, and although a little unsure and nervous, you sat down on the edge of your bed. Your boyfriend stood in the doorway for what felt like too long before eventually limping towards you, hesitating a bit and then sitting down too. The length of the silence made you more uneasy, and although you and Oz had been having a few problems lately, you were suddenly hit with the possibility of him breaking up with you.
You swallowed, voicing your thoughts.
“Are you breaking up with me?”
Oz frowned almost as soon as you said it, and that relieved you.
“No, no, doll, never that,” he hurried to reassure you, and you let out a sigh of relief.
However, you wondered if that was premature because nothing about Oz’s demeanor was comforting.
“Look…Carmine is offering me a chance to move up…”
His words made you blink, and you eventually nodded.
“...okay. That’s good, right? That’s what you want…?”
Oz let out a sharp laugh.
“Hell, yeah, it’s what I want,” he told you. “More money, more authority, and I’ll officially be his right hand man. Hell, the way he’s painting it, there’s a chance I might take over things eventually instead of that lazy son of his…”
You wanted to give Oz a small and encouraging smile, but a heavy ‘but’ lingered in the air. This sounded like everything Oz ever wanted, and you wanted to be happy for him, but at the moment, he didn’t even seem happy for himself. You reached for his arm, gently squeezing it.
“Do you think I don’t approve or…?”
Your boyfriend shook his head, and you only grew more confused.
“I don’t got the position yet.”
You stared at him, and you watched as Oz rubbed his forehead, and you were sure you could never recall a time you’d seen him so…antsy. You felt safe around Oz because he was always so sure, so confident, and now he was none of those things, and it was a strange place to be in for you.
“...but that’s where you come in.”
“Me?”
Those words threw you all the way off, and a feeling of dread settled in your stomach as Oz took your hand.
“Carmine…”
You studied Oz’s face, trying to decipher what he was going to say before he said it.
“He likes you, sweetheart.”
You stared at him and he stared at you.
“I…don’t follow. What does that have to do with–?”
“Do you want me to get this job?”
You sighed, choosing to be truthful while being careful with your words.
“I want what you want, and I know you really want this, so…yeah,” you honestly told him.
Your boyfriend slowly nodded at your answer, and you watched him swipe his tongue between his lips.
“Look, I’m not saying how far you have to go, but…Carmine likes you, and if you just make yourself available to–.”
Oz cut himself off as you jumped to your feet, your eyes comically wide and lips parted as you stared at him in shock. Understanding finally dawned on you, and you looked at Oz as if he’d lost his mind. That dreaded feeling in your stomach had morphed into full blown nausea, and you were positive you were going to be sick.
When he said that Carmine liked you, you didn’t think… You’d thought it was his way of saying the man was no longer suspicious of you, that you were trusted now and he’d stop asking so many questions and paying so much attention to you. Not once had it ever been a possibility to you that he meant…
You opened and closed your mouth.
“Is this a joke? Oz, tell me you’re not serious,” you whispered.
Your boyfriend’s face twisted into a deep frown, that scary frown that you hated.
“You think this is easy for me? Huh?” he threw at you, joining you and standing too.
“Oh my God, you’re serious,” you breathed, feeling like you’d gotten the wind knocked out of you as you looked away.
“This is a big deal for me,” Oz told you. “Do you know how much this could change things? I’m not asking you to…sleep with the guy…”
You faced him again, expression twisted into disbelief at what you were hearing.
“Just get dolled up like you do and let ‘em treat you. Make him feel real special, you know,” he waved his hands, and you blinked back tears.
“Oz,” you hissed, disgusted. “I am your girlfriend. Not some girl at the club who charges half a grand per person to get passed around. I am your girlfriend!”
“You don’t think I know that? Huh? Wh-what you wanted me to tell Carmine no? Huh?”
You couldn’t believe what you were hearing, and you tearfully looked away.
“I told him I’d think about it…”
“I can’t believe this,” you choked out, rushing out of your bedroom.
You could hear your boyfriend’s footsteps behind you.
“Carmine Falcone is not the kind of guy you just say no to, sweetheart. You think this is something I’d ask you to do all willy nilly?”
You paced around your apartment, actually feeling like you were going to be sick as Oz continued to talk, as he continued to plead his case for why you should basically whore yourself out to his boss.
“...and Carmine could have any girl he wants. If he wanted some easy piece of ass, there’s girls at the club for that,” you heard him say, his voice sounding muffled by the loud ringing in your ear. “...but he expressed interest in you.”
“...because he’s sick! How do you not see that, Oz?”
Your boyfriend shook his head at you, a sneer on his lips and a scathing remark on his tongue no doubt when you beat him to it.
“He’s dangling this position in front of your face and telling you it can be yours so long as you let him humiliate you and treat me like I'm not even human!”
“Doll–.”
“It doesn’t matter what I agree to because he already won,” you choked out, shaking your head at him. “He tells you that he wants your girlfriend, and you didn’t tell him no.”
You stared at Oz with tears in your eyes, unable to believe this was happening.
“You didn’t tell him no, Oz, he…” you scoffed. “You’ve shown him that you would do anything for his approval, anything to be where he is.”
Your chest and throat were so tight, and you wondered if this was what heartbreak felt like. The silence in your apartment was loud, and you could barely stand to look at Oz, in shock that he would even come to you with this. You sniffed, and when Oz stepped towards you, you moved back, wrapping your arms around yourself.
“...and what happens if I refuse? You can kiss this promotion goodbye?”
His silence was deafening, and you let out a humorless chuckle.
Your eyes passed over the dying flowers on your table, and you felt goosebumps rise on your skin. You stared at them for what felt like the longest time, reminding yourself that Mr. Falcone never seemed the type for small talk and genuine pleasantries. There was always something ulterior with him, and you felt sick to your stomach as you thought about every time you were alone with him.
“Get out,” you whispered to Oz.
It seemed like he didn’t hear you at first, but with a quickness, you stomped towards your table and almost immediately after, the vase of flowers was airborne. Oz ducked just in time, and you only screamed for him to get out two more times before he finally accepted that you were serious. You were right behind him as he left your apartment, taking off every piece of jewelry he’d given you that you were currently wearing.
“In case it needs to be said… We’re done,” you spat. “Find some other way to get your promotion.”
You slammed your door shut behind him, unconcerned with how it may have disturbed your neighbors.
Your breakup with Oz hit you much harder than you thought it would. After all, he did a shitty thing, and in that moment, you were positive that you hated him. However, once the dust cleared and everything had settled, you realized that hate and love did indeed require the same level of passion, and you’d cried yourself to sleep two weeks in a row.
Oz was so far from perfect, but you loved him, and while he was capable of so many things, you’d never considered he’d be capable of even the things you didn’t want him to be capable of. You thought that he loved you too, and maybe on some level he did—choosing to give him some credit—but it was plain as day that he would never love you more than he loved the future where he wasn’t the underdog anymore.
You’d foolishly thought that you took priority over power.
Every phone call of his went ignored, and the only time you texted him was with a date and time when he could come get the rest of his things. You, on the other hand, didn’t want anything you’d left behind at his place. You wanted his shit gone, and nothing returned to you that would make you think of him in his absence. In the span of a month, your life as you knew it had turned completely upside down.
You’d been on edge all day when that knock finally sounded at your door. You weren’t concerned with falling into old habits, but just how painful it’d be to face Oz again after that night. Some days you still found it hard to believe that he’d been so willing to sell you out so easily. You’d never forget the way he’d talked to you, like it was just assumed you’d go along with it because you wanted better for him.
It ate you up inside to think that he didn’t know you, at all.
You’d rehearsed how this would go probably a million times since he’d agreed on the date and time, but everything—every word—you’d practiced was in vain because it wasn’t your ex-boyfriend standing on the other side of the door once you’d opened it. If you’d been holding something, you would’ve for sure dropped it as you stared at the face of Carmine Falcone.
Funnily enough, you hadn’t given the man much thought since the breakup. After all, Oz was the one who’d betrayed you, hurt you so deeply. Mr. Falcone hadn’t done anything surprising, only being the man you knew him to be—a man who always wanted more and used his money and power to get it. You’d never pegged him as a man with morals—with a code—so as much as it disgusted you to realize what he’d been plotting this whole time, you weren’t blindsided by the knowledge that he wanted to fuck his subordinate’s girlfriend and was willing to play dirty to make it happen.
“Where is Oz?” you finally breathed.
“May I come in?” he responded, completely ignoring your question.
Your lips parted, an immediate no on your lips when you only just noticed the figures behind him. You narrowed your eyes at the sight of Kenzie and some other man you didn’t recognize in the hall, and the nausea you felt that night with Oz was almost nothing in comparison to how you felt at the sight before you. Oz was supposed to get his things, but instead his boss showed up at your door—the same boss who was the catalyst for your disastrous breakup in the first place.
You licked your lips.
“I feel like if I say no…you’re going to do what you want, anyway.”
Mr. Falcone didn’t respond to that, but the corner of his lips curved upwards so subtly that if you weren’t so used to his stony countenance, you would’ve missed it. His only response was to move towards you, and against what you wanted, you moved out of his way. You stood at the door as he brushed by you, and your gaze darted between Kenzie and the other man. You were sure there was an almost pleading look in your eyes as you gazed at the familiar man, but Kenzie stared right through you.
“You can close the door.”
Pulling your lip between your teeth, you did just that, staring at the wood for a while before turning around.
“Oz…?” you repeated.
“He’s handling something for me.”
“Of course, he is,” you sighed. “I take it you came all this way just to get his things for him?”
When you looked at him, his back was to you, and you didn’t like the way he was taking in the layout of your apartment. Your eyes darted towards the kitchen, weighing your options if you actually managed to kill this man. Of course, that was assuming you even made it to the kitchen. When you looked at Mr. Falcone again, his gaze was on you, now, and you knew you’d been caught.
He chuckled to himself, so low that it barely reached your ears.
“Let’s talk…”
You frowned when he gestured for you to sit down, and his lips twitched again when you refused to move. He made the decision to sit down first, and you reluctantly followed his lead. That feeling that you always felt whenever you were alone with him washed over you, and you couldn’t stop yourself from fidgeting.
“I know that Oz hurt you.”
You gave him a look at how he chose to start this conversation, the elephant in the room just casually lingering between you.
“...he didn’t do it by himself,” you replied.
Mr. Falcone seemed to weigh that in his mind, tilting his head from side to side.
“That’s debatable.”
“How do you figure that?”
“He could’ve told me no.”
Your heart skipped a beat as he acknowledged it outloud, and you chuckled.
“We both know that’s not true,” you whispered. “No one denies Carmine Falcone.”
You said the words mockingly, and you didn’t miss the way all humor drained from his face.
“You know how badly Oz wants to make a name for himself. An actual legitimate name for himself where he’s respected and revered and not seen as some joke, and you took advantage of that,” you spat. “You saw an opportunity to kill several birds with one stone, and you took it.”
The man before you didn’t respond right away, and you watched him stand, making you nervous. You only started to relax when he made his way towards the bar Oz had given you as a gift one year, the damned thing installed into the wall so you couldn’t even give it back. You said nothing as Mr. Falcone fixed himself a drink in your apartment with your stuff.
“Would you like one?”
“No,” you immediately answered, somehow still shocked at his audacity.
He ignored the malice in your tone and took his time, and the whole time you just kept wondering why he was here. You watched him take a sip of his creation, and it wasn’t lost on you that he was standing while you were sitting, and he was making you feel small once again.
“You said I saw an opportunity to kill several birds with one stone…”
You rolled your eyes.
“You own this city, everyone knows it, and you saw an opportunity to get what you want just because you wanted it all the while humiliating both Oz and myself and making him prove his loyalty to you,” you slowly told him. “I’m sure the breakup that gave him more time to devote himself to your business was just a bonus.”
Mr. Falcone responded by taking a sip of the drink he’d made, humming.
“You didn’t consider any other motives…?”
You watched him make his way across the room to sit back down in the seat across from you, eyeing you behind those dark shades as you frowned at his question. No. You hadn’t, and truthfully why would you? You couldn’t think of any other reason for why he did what he did. Part of you even considered that he didn’t even really want you so much as he wanted something Oz had.
“Hmm?” he wondered at your silence, and you only shook your head.
You watched him finish his drink.
“I didn’t expect Oz to say yes–.”
“I don’t believe that,” you cut him off, and the look he fixed you with didn’t scare you one bit.
You stared at each other for a few moments before he continued.
“I do want you, that much is true,” he told you, making you uncomfortable under his unwavering stare. “You’re beautiful and you take no shit and I see why Oz pursued you so hard.”
You didn’t like that he knew the details of how you and Oz began.
“I can have anything I want, you’re right, but even still…I didn’t expect Oz to say yes.”
Oddly enough, you were sure you believed him now, and you didn’t know how to feel about the fact that Mr. Falcone had been testing him…and Oz hadn’t passed.
“...but now we both know what you mean to him.”
His words forced tears to your eyes, but his next words made them spill over altogether.
“If I were in Oz’s position, I would’ve told me to go to hell.”
Your blood ran cold as you stared at him, your brows pulling together at his interesting choice of words. Mr. Falcone wasn’t in Oz’s position and never would be, but the more you stared at him and the longer the silence dragged on…you realized that he wanted to be. You looked away from him, standing on shaky legs.
“Whatever Oz gifted you, whatever he did for you, I can make it all look like child’s play,” he offered, and you felt your stomach churn.
There was no telling what Mr. Falcone would’ve done had Oz just said no, but because Oz was Oz, he hadn’t said no, and that had produced a lose-lose situation for him. Oz said yes, and that meant that either Mr. Falcone would get what he wanted—even if only for a night—or you would leave Oz, and an opportunity would present itself for him to still get what he wanted.
“I wasn’t with Oz for his money,” you sneered, tears kissing your eyes as you glared at the other man.
“...but I’m sure it didn’t hurt.”
You actually laughed at that, the sound lacking humor and filled with so much bitterness and frustration. Of all the things to take from this situation, what stood out the most was how absolutely misunderstood you were. Oz actually thought you were the kind of woman who would sacrifice her dignity and morals just to help him get ahead, and Mr. Falcone actually thought you were the kind of woman who could be bought.
It was an upsetting mix of maddening and frustrating.
“Get out,” you heard yourself whispering, feeling a sense of deja vu. “Take Oz’s things, and get out of my house.”
You watched Mr. Falcone straighten in his seat, reaching up to undo the buttons of his suit jacket.
“No.”
You blinked at him, not expecting that but also not surprised by his response either.
“Fine,” you breathed, making your way towards the hook on the wall where your purse hung.
You didn’t care if he had a hundred men outside of your door, you weren’t staying in this apartment with a man who basically offered to buy access to you for a night. As if that wasn’t bad enough, he used your breakup as an opportunity to buy permanent access to you. You were reminded that Mr. Falcone felt dangerous to you in a way Oz didn’t, and just when your hand landed on the doorknob, he showed you why.
You didn’t even have a chance to scream, a choked gasp getting caught in your throat at the feel of silk material pulling against your neck. He tightened it the more you pulled on it, and the soles of your feet kicked against the door, the shoes you’d just slid in falling off. Every attempt to dig your feet into the floor was in vain, and when your legs started to fail you, only then did Mr. Falcone let you go.
It all happened so fast that when you finally registered the dangerous position you found yourself in, it was too late.
“You’re really going to make me do this, huh,” he casually mused, his deep voice reaching your ears as he caged you in his arms between him and the floor.
Your vision was blurry, but you took note of the way he’d slipped out of his suit jacket, the first few buttons of his shirt undone and his tie…missing. The tips of your fingers grazed against that silk material that was still around your neck, and you tried so hard not to linger on how seamlessly he’d done that, like it was second nature to him.
His warm body was on top of yours, nestled between your legs, and you mustered up enough strength to dig your nails into his face. The scream he let out satisfied you, and when your knee came up between you both, it allowed for you to slide out from under him. Your throat felt sore as you crawled away, struggling to get to your feet when the tie still around your neck was yanked on once again. He tightened it around his hand, pulling you against him, and a winded squeak left your lips as he forced you to bend over the bar.
You pulled and clawed at the silk material, fighting to breathe, all the while he fumbled between you both with his free hand.
One of your hands let the tie go to drag your nails along the wood of the bar when Carmine Falcone forced his cock into you. His hips slammed against your backside as he fucked you, and you were caught between trying to loosen the material around your neck, and fighting to find something to hang onto and ground yourself with.
You could feel his face pressed into your hair, breathing you in with every thrust. The bar beneath you trembled from the force of his movements, and your vision started to blur again from the lack of oxygen. You clawed at your throat with one hand and at the bar with the other. The man behind you seemed to be in his own world, lost in the feel of you wrapped around him.
When dark spots started to appear in your vision—almost as if he knew that—Carmine loosened his hold on the tie around your neck. The rush of air into your lungs had you gasping, and to your horror, he replaced the tie with his arm. His arm hooked around your neck and forced you back against him as he leaned back a bit.
The only sound in the apartment was heavy breathing—yours from trying to suck in as much oxygen as possible and him from pushing himself into you over and over again.
“Oz felt like such a big man with you on his arm,” he said against your skin. “It almost made me feel sorry for you.”
You hit your hand against the bar.
“I don’t need you on my arm to feel like a big man. That’s the difference between us…”
He pushed you back down against the bar again, a hand harshly pressing into the small of your back to keep you in place. You couldn’t stop crying no matter how much you tried to, distraught at the harsh lesson on why you should fear Carmine Falcone. It’s just that this never occurred to you…or maybe it did on some level, and you were too afraid to acknowledge what it was.
Oz would never do this. There was a softness to him that Carmine lacked, and maybe that was what you’d sensed all this time, that Carmine was the kind of man without any limits. That he was the type to hurt anyone—man or woman—but just in whatever way he knew would hurt the most…no matter how depraved.
When he came inside of you, you didn’t even try to hold back the disgusted sob that left your lips. You almost collapsed to the floor when he pulled away from you, your shirt—one that Oz had left behind, you realized—fell back into place as you heard him righting himself. Your heart was still beating wildly in your chest, and you almost didn’t want to believe what’d just happened.
Funnily enough, Carmine was gentle in sliding his tie from around your neck, the fabric whispering against your skin as he did so, and you shuddered when his fingers grazed your throat in the process. You didn’t doubt that a nasty ring would color your skin in the morning. When his lips found your hair again, you shrunk away from him, still trembling from his assault.
His parting words finally made you throw up what you’d been pushing down for weeks.
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synopsis - after discovering your heightened sex sensitivity following the Vitamin T shot, the doctor whips out some toys to further his assessments
includes - Victor Gideon x f!reader, smut, doctor/patient relationship, vaginal fingering, come eating, clit stimulation, multiple orgasms, talking you through it, kinda cnc?, praise kink, vibrators, choking, pet names, medical experiments (no gore), and potential medical inaccuracies
words - 3.2k
a/n - getting smuttier by the chapter 🙂↕️ I haven’t written much smut before, so if it’s a little clunky, that’s why lol. I got wayyyy too into this scene and lowk had to separate it into two chapters soooo, yeah.
AO3 link Ch. 1 Ch. 2 Ch. 4
You had plenty of time to nap after Dr. Victor Gideon’s morning visit. But you couldn’t relax with your brain and body running 100 mph. Each sultry thought sent a wave of electric buzz straight to your core.
What could he be planning? What could we possibly need to measure…..especially after he felt me up? Why did he of all people, feel so good?
You glanced down at the emergency button still grasped in your right hand, it sliding in your palm’s pool of sweat. There wasn’t a second of that assessment where you felt the need to press the button. The thought never even crossed your mind. But you still felt shaken. Your heightened senses had to be a temporary side effect of Vitamin T, right?
But nobody has ever made you feel this good. Side effect or not, you weren’t sure if you wanted it to wear off.
———
After taking a break to shower in between assessments, you returned to the examination room. A cold shower couldn’t shake the heat that Victor stirred in you, but it was worth a shot. Nevertheless, in some way you couldn’t make sense of, you wanted to make yourself presentable for the doctor. Hopefully regaining some dignity after the scene you stirred this morning.
Creaking open the door, the still dim lights casted warm shapes onto the awaiting doctor. He lounged in a rolly chair aside the patient bed, as if he didn’t have you writhing under his touch earlier. His arms were draped over the backrest and legs spread far enough to see the inseam on his pants. Your sudden entrance didn’t startle him. He just flashed you a smile.
“Do come in, darling. I hope I didn’t scare you off during our assessment this morning. I expect that you had a decent shower?” He nods to your still damp hair. Or at least, you hope that’s how he made his deduction.
A metal cart sits on the side opposite of him, displaying a careful arrangement of wires, ropes, and silicone instruments. They catch your eye as you make your way to the examination bed. You bump into a bulky arm that blocks you from sitting down, and you meet the eyes of your sitting doctor.
“Rest assured, darling, I don’t intend to hurt you.” His fingers trill on your hip, gently pulling you closer to him. “I can see your pulse quicken in those dark veins of yours. I promise, I only intend to keep you comfortable.” Victor pats your hip, signaling for you to sit in his lap. His legs still spread wide.
“I can walk you through each procedure, if you’d like. It does take a special little mouse to get me to open up about my….passions.” You feel stiff sitting on his leg. Even with both of you sitting down, his towering height forces him to look down at you.
Victor’s hand trails up from your hip, briefly rubbing the small of your back, and traces up your spine to fiddle with the straps on your hospital gown.
Feeling your weight pressed against his leg….his hand hovering over your back…..your clothes pulling from his tugs? Your body is on FIRE. He’s barely anywhere and yet, your mind is ricocheting EVERYWHERE.
It doesn’t help that his goggles are pushed back again. Those midnight eyes glimmering at you like you’ve hung the stars. You make eye contact when you can, but you can’t help visually tracing the inseam of his pantleg up, up, up….
“Tell you what, darling.” You snap out of your trance. One ribbon falls out of its bow. “I’ll have you undress for me, then we can get started, hm?” His cracked palm rests on the skin he uncovered by untying the ribbon. He’s so warm, but even his slightest shift scratches you with the scaly edges of his fingers. Delicate like paper cuts, but it burns so good.
The doctor offers his alternate hand to help you off his lap, pivoting to collect his clipboard before leaving you the room.
Hope he has good peripherals.
Your gown is ripped off before Victor even reaches the medical tray. The fabric now draped over your crossed arms at waist height, bare chest on display.
He freezes, taking a slow, shuddered inhale to keep himself from staring. He won’t even grant you a side eye.
“My, my. I haven’t even told you what to change into yet? Or where you must be?” He pulls his pen out of his breast pocket to set back down on the tray.
You give him a shrug. Honestly, the less friction on your skin the better. Even though the gown was oversized, the swishing of your sleeves along your arm was enough to bring back that annoying buzzing sensation. The cool air felt pleasantly sterile, your nipples already flushing purple and taught.
God, why won’t he just look at how perky you are? You vulnerable and ready for him?
Dr. Gideon rests an arm on the medical cart, leaning his weight into it as he drinks up your figure. You were too easy. His eyes flicker as he clicks his tongue in disbelief.
“You’re being such a good patient for me, y’know that?” He shakes his head and pulls his goggles down over his eyes. You don’t mind his masked look. If anything, it just emphasizes how expressive his mouth gets.
“Sit back on the table for me, darling. We’ll start slow, don’t worry.” He takes your gown to hang on the wall and slides the emergency button into your right palm, patting your hand closed.
You’re too busy hoisting your bare body onto the examination bed, that you nearly miss watching Victor removing his coat. His tight slacks and leather vest remain, his broad shoulders bursting out of the armholes. The dim lights dance around his muscles, emphasizing his bulky arms. He’s a big guy, but not in a bodybuilder type of way. Almost as if his skeleton was built broadly, born with muscle and heavy weight solely for an intimidating look. Even the veins in his forearms bulge as he reaches to unhook the latches on his vest. Thick fingers moving so delicately so he doesn’t damage his expensive vest. He leaves the vest on, but your eyes can help but trail down the scar stretched down his sternum. It must’ve been hell to endure the injury that left such a lasting wound. But? Oh, would it feel nice to lick a thick stripe down it just to hear him grunt.
You’ve been staring for too long. You snap out of your trance, and he’s staring right at you.
“Little mouse, do you need something to drink before we get started? Your mouth is hanging open and you look like you need something.” He’s entirely messing with you. He knows exactly why you’re staring with your mouth agape. Maybe this is part of the experiment……or maybe he just wants to toy with you for fun……
“It will get hot in here after all. I can’t have my sweat ruining my expensive clothes.” He tauntingly makes his way over to you, reaching out a hand to grace your chin. “I just hate to see my pretty things get ruined…” like a wolf, he flashes his teeth with a sneer.
Now standing at your side, Victor’s hand trails down the side of your neck to feel your blemished veins. You already know that he felt your heart rate pick up. You’re surprised it hasn’t burst out of your chest yet.
“It’s best if you lay down, sweetheart. Things are going to get vigorous, and I don’t want you to fall and hurt yourself.” He moves his hand round the back of your neck to support your head, touching the other to your sternum to push your upper body down against the bed. For such a burly, intimidating man, he moves you as if you were a porcelain doll.
“Thaaaaat’s it, stay right there for me while I record your starting heart rate.” The hand on your neck circles around the front of your throat. There’s no hard pressure, just stability and pressed fingers against the pulsing veins on the side of your neck.
He gently nods his head in rhythm with your heartbeat, vision spaced out in thought. A smile spreads back across his face right before jotting down notes on his clipboard. “Good girl, such a good girl. I know we checked your heart this morning, but it’s nice to see that you’re still doing well.”
You struggle to hold back a smirk. “T-thank you, sir.” You squeak out, knowing he’d love some attention in return. He scoffs in admiration, removing his hand to reach for his tray of instruments. It could be that his touch distracts you from your full-body aches, but it almost feels harder to breathe without him holding you down.
He turns back to face you with a silicone wand in hand. “Now, as you recall, we already tested your…marvelous torso this morning” Victor brushes across your nipples with his spare hand, cupping your right breast and rubbing soothing circles into its side. “So now we can pivot to examine the reflexes and sensitivity in your lower half.”
His gaze is so fixated on your pussy, the reflection in his goggles show nothing but wetness oozing out of your folds. Dr. Gideon darts his tongue across his lower lip, moving to speak but still locking his gaze down below.
“Since your gorgeous veins are so reactive, I won’t need to hook you up to machinery for now. I’ll keep a spare hand to feel your pulse, instead.” His thick fingers wrap back around your throat with minimal pressure. “I know you have your emergency button, but are you ready to get started?” The wand clicks and you hear a faint buzzing fill the room. The hand on your throat is so wide that it locks your head in place, restricting your gaze to the ceiling.
“Yep. do whatever you need, sir.” Your head is a bit too stuck to nod. Nevertheless, you use your words to stay on the doctor’s good side. You hear the buzzing noise begin to lower towards your ankles.
Dr. Gideon can barely contain his excitement as he bumps the wand against your ankle. Although you can’t see behind the lenses, his eyes continuously flicker between your thighs, cunt, face, and occasionally your swollen tits. He’s not planning on touching your chest again, but he just can’t help but admire you.
“Little mouse, I need you to tell me what this sensation feels like.” He starts circling the wand around your ankle bone.
“Umm, no different than I’d imagine it would before the vitamin shot?” He nods to each sentence you speak. “I still kind of ache all over….maybe a little less in my pecks after this morning…” He removes the hand from your neck to scribble down some quick notes. “Veeeery good, darling. So insightful for me.” Heat flashes across your face as his hand engulfs your neck again.
“I’m going to move this wand around your leg, and I need you to tell me if the sensation changes. understand?” The wand returns to your ankle bone. It still vibrates on a low setting, but the restlessness in your legs intensifies in anticipation.
“Mmh-hmm….of course, sir.” Your nerves already fighting you to maintain focus.
Victor slowly trails the wand up along your shin bone, drawing circles around your calf muscles as he continues upward. Moving a centimeter at a time, he reaches the back of your knee. Your legs spread a little further for him, hoping to give him better access. His hand tightens around your throat. Your cunt still glistening in the reflection of his goggles.
“I don’t want you moving an inch for me, little mouse. I just need you to stay still for me while I feel you. I will position you how I need you.” You can’t help but squirm at his words, feeling some slick slide down your vulva. Victor scoffs, cracking another grin.
After jotting down a quick note, he rotates the wand around the circumference of your thigh. It only moves upwards to dig into sensitive areas that makes you tremble.
“Sweetheart…..I need you to tell me how I make you feel….” His hushed voice barely reaches your ears as you’re overwhelmed by the sound of blood shooting through your body.
“I-it’s umm-m-m….” You stutter through an inhale. “Tin-gly b-but…..it f-feels g-good.” God, you wish you could see how his facial expressions shift from your whining.
The vibrating wand reaches your upper thigh, and you feel your wetness seep through the sheets under your butt.
“Good, good. But tell me this, little mouse. If that’s all it was…why are you shaking and stuttering?” He lets go of your throat to make notes, and you lean up to lock eyes with him.
Those slacks fit him sooooo tight.
“Even now, your cunt clenched around thin air. I’m dying to know, my records depend on your insight.” His mouth scrunches as if struggling to keep up an act. Gently, he presses your neck backwards, a whimper escaping your lips as your head touches the bed.
“V-v-very w-w-warm….i j-just n-n-n-need-“ Victor runs the vibrating wand up to your hip crease, beginning to trace your bikini line. “Aghh- need n-n-need you t-t-there. So……turned….o-o-on.”
Borderline begging to the man at this point, tears start to swell in your eyes. “There’s my good girl, giving me just want I want to hear.” He scribbles more notes, the vibe now drawing a line to your clit. Not before he lets go of your neck to wipe away your tears.
“Shhhhh, sh sh sh sh. Atta girl, I know. I know. I’ll give you some love, I just need you to finish this test for me. Can you do that for me, babygirl?”
Your cunt grips the air again, making a squelching noise from the abnormal amount of slick you’ve been producing.
Frantically bobbing your head in small movements, you whimper out a scattered ‘yes sir’.
You’re practically whimpering as he hovers the wand right above your clit, legs shaking uncontrollably and heat stirring in your stomach. When he finally grants your clit the attention you’ve been craving, you’re crashing into an orgasm immediately. And Victor is shocked at how fast you came. Mouth agape in a smile, he only takes two seconds to write notes so he can put his hand back on you.
Losing breath like you’ve run a marathon, and riding the last few pleasurable waves, you manage to prop up your torso on your elbows to take in the sight. Hopefully no other patients are arriving today, because they’d hear your moans through the walls for SURE.
Victor glances at your right hand, pushing the emergency button back into your palm before making a rash decision.
“I absolutely HAVE to feel your insides.” Before you can take a deep breath and prepare, he’s stuffed your hole to the hilt with his bulky middle finger that’s twice the size of yours. Your eyes roll back at the stretch he gifts you. If, that is, your cunt stops spasming from the vibe long enough to open up for him.
Body covered in sweat, you feel nothing but ecstasy as you’re panting out his name. And Dr. Gideon could not give less of a fuck.
You’re fighting for your LIFE in his hands. And his reaction? Mumbling measurements to himself of the strength, grip, and depth of your pussy. Still casually rolling the wand around your clit to gage how your hole reacts. Gently, he hooks his finger against your g spot, dying to see how far he can push you. Not that you can see it beneath his goggles, but he is absolutely enamored by watching your face twist and contort.
“Such a good girl, giving me exactly what I’m looking for.” Your open mouth stretches into a smile as you keep panting, head rolled back against your shoulders.
“Ah, ah, ah” he tuts. “Eyes on me, pretty girl. I need to see how those pupils blown wide just for me.” Are we sure that he’s running an experiment anymore? His hands are so overwhelmingly pleasurable that you don’t even notice one’s removal to take more notes.
Your vision starts to white as you feel your stomach twist into another knot. You’re locking eyes with him, ever so often glancing at the sweat dripping down his chunky biceps. You’d do anything to bite down on them, running your tongue across his scaly shoulder as you come for the second time today. Padding up his arm, and accidentally thrusting his finger deeper into you, you’re losing balance. fast.
“What do you need, little mouse, tell me what you need.” “I-I-I want to f-f-feel y-y-your-“ white clouds your peripherals and you can’t sit still any longer. You yank his hand out of your cunt to grab on his forearm as you crash into your high.
The vibe ups in power and Victor chuckles.
Your back is arching and concaving, stomach clenching with all you’ve got. The doctor moves to stand, but you can barely keep your eyes open.
He needs to see you squirm under him for a few seconds. His notes are long forgotten.
The vibe switches off and you gasp for fresh air.
“My, my, little mouse. Your reactions are absolutely incredible. I’ve never seen anything like you before. I’m so proud of what you’re turning into.” He pushes the goggles onto his forehead. You squint through your tears to lock in and focus.
“While this was not the intended side effect of Vitamin T, I absolutely am dying to see exactly how sensitive you are.” He centers the finger he fucked you with between his split tongue, skin pruned from how long it was kept inside you. Slick coating the corner of his mouth, his eyes roll back in ecstasy. You swear his throat bulges from how far he shoves his finger into his mouth. He writes some notes while mumbling about your taste.
“Remind me to get a sample of that for the labs later.” He winks at you.
“As informative as it is that you can’t keep your hands off me, I’m afraid we can’t have you influencing my….mmmm…calculated movements.” He starts a new tangent, almost teasing you. “What happened to my good little mouse? You’ve been so obedient for me up until now. Following my instructions, speaking loud and clear, putting on such a beautiful, messy scene.”He shifts to pick up some ropes and arm bands from the tray.
Victor’s face drops as he locks eyes with you, dead serious, as if he suddenly dropped a mask.
“If you’ve reached maximum capacity, now is the time to stop me.” Veins ripple and pop out of his forearm as he grips the ropes tighter. “Because if we continue…” A smirk slowly returns to his face and his eyes glimmer. “your body will never be the same.”
I have begun to long for you (I, who have no greed)
Pairing: Dr. Victor Gideon x fem!Reader
Summary: It's spring at the Rhodes Hill chronic care center, which seems to be affecting your boss Dr. Victor Gideon in many weird ways...
Wordcount: 7.3k
Warnings/tags: Porn with plot, smut, breeding, impregnation, heat/mating cycles, breeding season, unprotected Sex, multiple creampies, crying, begging, oral, pussy eating, vaginal fingering, biting, multiple orgasms, squirting, multiple positions, wall sex, missionary, doggy style, riding, mating press, spanking, overstimulation, body worship, slight aftercare, damn I ain't proof reading all dat
☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆
You opened the window of one of the patients room, inhaling the crisp but warm air deeply and taking in the view of the garden behind the care center, which begun to bloom in pretty pastels.
It was spring, and the sun carried through the clinic, which always made the place feel a little more alive. It was a stark contrast to how dark and grey the sanatorium was in winter, though you never had to fear being cold when the snow piled up outside. Your boss, Dr. Victor Gideon, personally made sure that the whole building was throughouly heated every day.
It amused you. You knew Gideon had an obsession with snakes, but sometimes he even reminded you of one from the way he acted.
But even with spring lifting your persistent winter depression, work didn't let you catch a break. Most patients came in for seasonal allergies, parents brought their little kids who got sick in daycare, or because they ate the early blooming flowers on a field, which caused the children to get some bad tummy aches and nausea.
Yes, it wasn't pleasent to have a child puke over your scrubs, but you rather worked like this instead of dealing with the monsters that lurked deep within the restricted parts of the sanatorium- you liked to just check vitals, draw blood, sooth frightened kids before their talk with a doctor. Because, unfortunately, you weren't one. Not yet, at least.
You were dreaming of the day you would finally trade the title 'Nurse' on your nametag to 'Doctor', which is why you applied for a position at the Rhodes Hill Chronic Care Center to further your education and highten your chances of reaching your goal. You had only heard good things about this establishment, and that it's owner was a very intelligent and brilliant virologist. Maybe a bit...scary looking, but that was the least of your concerns.
You had been working here for nearly a full year now, under Gideons wing. You learned from the best, and from the most charming practicioner you had ever come across.
You feared it wouldn't take long for him to completely wrap you around his finger to the point you were helplessly in love with him, damned to suffer from your unrequited feelings towards him for all eternity. Sigh..., who were you kidding? You had fallen for him long ago, his sophisticated and soft way of speaking, the way his snake coat stretched over his broad shoulders, how you could see the soft skin of his stomach through his leather vest that wasn't closed all the way and led down to the bulge in his pants...
You snapped out of your daydreaming as a loud bang echoed outside in the hall, almost making you drop the vial of blood you were supposed to test.
A flash of snake skin brushed past your door in a hurry. You swallowed, your neck hairs standing up in fear. You peeked around the corner out of the laboratory, watching him pace. "Dr. Gideon? Is everything okay?" you asked and he jumped, making you frown. That was odd, he never jumped at anything, and much less did he stride around the clinic like this. His steps were always slow and calculated, calm, not skittish.
He grunted. You couldn't see his eyes through his visors, but you knew he was looking at you. His tongue darted out between his cracked lips and he hissed, as if the action hurt him, his nose pulled into a snarl.
"Has Marie...gotten out again?" you whispered the last part, looking behind you into the dimly lit corridor, your hands growing clamy. Victor shook his head.
"No, she is safely contained. Do not worry about a thing" he assured you, his gentle voice returning for a split moment, his hand coming up to brush your hair behind your ear. The touch sent a shiver down your spine, both of you sharing a heated and desperate look. He almost seemed to pant as your skin bloomed warm under his fingertips, but he pulled away as if it had burned him, quickly stepping aside to bolt down the hallway. "I want the detailed records of all 35 blood samples on my desk at the end of the week" was the last thing you heard from him before he vanished around a corner.
It took a while for you to regain your composure. Victor had never touched you like that. He'd have his hand on your back sometimes when guiding you around the halls, and while it always made butterflies churn in your stomach, that was the most physical contact you had with him. It always remained professional, even when you wished it wouldn't, but whatever happened right now- that was anything but professional.
Something was wrong with him, or with the clinic. Or maybe the man who was a dressed in white and frequently visiting the centre was stressing him out.
The next days weren't much different, and his uncanny behavior was making you worry even more. Gideon seemed agitated, more active. It was rare to see him just sit and loom quitely somewhere. He was hunting through the building as if searching for something without even knowing what it was.
Another thing you noticed was that he had stopped eating. Usually, you would bring either take-out, meals from the canteen or food you cooked at home to share with him in his office.
These moments were your favourite thing every day, even when you only sat in silence. Most of the time he would read reports out loud to you while you lounged on his leather couch, chewing happily on your food, giggling when he would make a critical remark on how badly it was written.
Now he straight up refused it, every time, even going as far as to send you out of his office. He craved your presence, not that you would know, but at the same time he couldn't handle having you near for more than a few minutes. Your scent was just so strong he couldn't grasp a single thought!
His tongue desperately wanted to dart out and smell you properly, gather informations as to wether you were fertile and ready to have a mate, or if you maybe even had one already. The last thought made his chest ache, and his control was freying at the edges every time he saw you around the sanatorium.
God, he hated mating season. His work was his number one priority, but he couldn't even focus on that with you around. All he could think about was sinking into your warm, tight and fertile pussy, your body plush in all the right places to nuture a baby- your baby. He shook his head, taking off his goggles to pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration. It would pass. He just had to hold out until spring ended. He would manage, barely.
While he worried he wouldn't be able to keep himself from bending you over the nearest table, you feared you were annoying him. What if you were the reason he seemed to be so stressed? You were, but not because of what you thought- maybe you had messed up a task and this was his way of trying to make you realise your mistake? Would he fire you if you didn't figure it out fast enough?
That thought kept you awake the whole night and you almost didn't want to return the next day, too scared to come home with your termination papers Victor himself had signed.
You decided to work extra hard, you just couldn’t lose your job, couldn't lose the progress you had made, and you couldn't bear to lose the moments you had with Victor that were so dear to you.
You started by stocking up the supply room, something no one liked to do, and judging by the way dust and cowebs had gathered in the empty drawers, it was about time someone did this. You made your way all the way down to the delivery point for the clinic, where supplies, food, bedding, equipment and something even donated organs were brought by large trucks.
You gathered four boxes filled with gauze, band aids, sterile needles, latex gloves and disinfectant, and you hauled them up the stairs all on your own. You caught weird stares from your colleagues when you did, though no one offered their help.
When you reached the top of the stairs, your knees were already starting to buckle, but you pulled through until you could throw the boxes onto a table in the supply room.
You straightened up with a painful pop in your back, wiping the sweat from your brow and trying to catch your breath. With how rich Gideon was, one might think the hospital would have more elevators except the one in the east wing that was so ancient it broke down most of the time.
Then you went to stand on a small stool to stock up the highest shelves, neatly organizing everything so it had it's own designated section in the shelf.
It wasn't long until something, no, someone loomed behind you in the doorway. Soon you felt Gideons presence behind you, but you tried not to let his cologne and the fact he was standing so close the heat he radiated soaked into your back distract you from your assigned task, which you had ultimately given yourself to prove you weren't a failure.
His breath was fanning over your neck, it made you weak in the knees. Now that you stood on that little stool, you were pretty much as tall as his 8 foot self, and it was the perfect opportunity to do what the primal side of him had craved for the whole week.
You expected him to comment on you filling up the supplies, or that he needed you elsewhere- or that you were fired, but none of that ever came. Instead, you heard him shuffle closer, then he was rubbing his chin on you.
You froze up immediately, your breath stuck in your throat while he rubbed his chin along your neck, a little down your back and up to your shoulder. Your cheeks burned- what was he doing? But by the time the question even came up in your head and your brain pushed it's function to ask him just that, he was gone as if he never had been there in the first place.
It only escalated more from there, to the point you couldn't possibly ignore it anymore. Gideon would practically growl at any male doctor that came too close to you while taking reports or documents out of your hands.
One new male nurse had asked you for a patients file, Dr. Richardson had requested him to deliver it somewhere, but the poor boy got snapped at by Victor rather harshly, almost pissing his pants to put it frankly.
Gideon muttered brutal threats to any male-presenting living being in the entire sanatorium, going even so far as to reduce the amount of pain medication some patients recieved just because to him, they looked ar you a little too lustfully when you drew their blood.
You saw Gideon lurking at the end of the hall, arms crossed over his broad chest. He was guarding you, you realized with unease. It was your last straw, so at the end of the week, when you had to bring him the blood sample reports anyway, you decided you would finally confront him about his behavior.
That evening, you went to his office as the end of your shift approached, knocking on the heavy wooden doors that seemed to loom over you. "Come in" came his voice muffled from the other side. He sounded on edge.
You pushed the door open with your ellbow as you carried in the pile of reports. The smell of aged leather, whiskey and Victors musk hit your nose instantly, the combination making your legs feel like jelly. "I bring the blood sample reports you requested, sir" you said, your voice strained from the weight in your hands, and you let the papers land on his desk with a thud.
He wasn't wearing his mask, he usually didn't in his office, which meant you could see his beautiful yellow eyes, though he wasn't looking at you. He was fidgeting with a letter opener knife, his jaw set tightly. His tongue darted out briefly before he dismissed you with the flick of a hand "Thank you. You may go now" he merely rumbled, brushing a hand through his hair, still not looking at you.
At first you stepped away, but you stopped yourself from following his order like you usually did. You stood in front of his desk and pulled on your fingers in a nervous manner. "Dr. Gideon..." you started the question, your chest aching as he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose "Yes...?" he asked you then, though you couldn't place the tone of his voice. Annoyance? Tiredness? Barely contained restraint?
"...am I fired?"
That made him stop twisting the letter opener between his fingers, the sharp tip scratching across his desk. "What? Where did you get that impression from?" he questioned, wondering if Zeno had mouthed off sometime, even though he held no power in this establishment.
Well, from you!" you blurted out, stepping closer to his desk "You've been acting weird lately. You seem restless and agitated, you snap at people more than usual and I can't help but think I'm the one stressing you out because I don't meet your standards" you explained desperately, waving your hands around to get your point across. "Please, Dr. Gideon, I need this job. If my work isn't to your satisfaction, I promise I will work harder. I just need to know what I'm doing wrong"
You practically pleaded, your eyes wide and he knew if he told you, you'd drop to your knees to beg. You looked genuinely scared, and that made even him feel bad.
He shook his head and something in you lightened, though that tight feeling in your chest remained. "No, I am not firing you. I never...I never thought of you as a failure." Victor admitted, gnawing at his cracked bottom lip ever so slightly "You are a brilliant nurse, and you would make an even better doctor. All in good time"
He just wanted you to leave as soon as possible. Your scent, especially when you were this emotional, was stinging in his nose unbearably. He was fighting the urge to pace through his office like he did the last few days, but if he were to stand up right now, you would see the raging hard-on pressing against his pants.
But it seemed like you weren't happy with his explaination, so you stayed, much to his suffering. "Then why are you acting this way? Is something bothering you? Do you feel sick-" you were always so caring to others, so sweet, it threatened to make his teeth rot. He held his hand up to silence you "This is none of your concern" he assured you calmly.
"But it is concerning me!" you raised your voice slightly, you had never shouted at him like this, and that turned Gideon on even more. "If you're sick, I can help you. I want to help you"
He leaned back, a low hiss escaping him as you got too close. His gaze dropped to your body, your curves filling out your uniform in all the right places, hips wide and soft and full...something darkened in his serpent like eyes. "Help" he echoed, sounding a bit amused, as if you didn't know what that implied. Victor stood slowly, unfolding to his full height, making you feel ten times smaller. "You have no idea what you are offering, darling" The tone of his voice made a shiver run down your spine, and the fact that he had called you darling made your thighs clench together helplessly.
"Tell me" you pressed, craning your neck up to meet his eyes with your heart pounding in your chest. "I can handle it, whatever it is. I just want you to feel better" you promised almost too eagerly. A bitter chuckle rumbled from his chest. He circled his desk, closing the distance until his whole body drowned yours in shadows. For a moment, he only stared down at you without saying a word, a frown etching onto his face. "What's wrong, Victor?" you let yourself whisper, his name on your tongue enough to bring him to his knees.
He huffed, he never planned on telling you this. Ever. But your gaze was so unraveling. Well, he had already acted so out of line you grew suspicious and approached him about it- he might as well just say it.
"It's spring" he said simply, as if this was the explaination to everything. "You do realise what that means for most animals, correct?"
The heat between your legs exploded, filling every inch of your body, your cheeks starting to glow bright red. "Spring is, uhm, m-mating season" you spoke carefully and hoped you understood what he was implying. Otherwise you just made a total fool out of yourself.
His answering nod put your mind at ease but shocked you just as much. Was he...? Oh my god, your boss was affected by the mating season!"I
t makes me...restless. It drives me crazy every year. I'm driven by the primal urge to find a suited mate" Gideon admitted, stepping even closer to you, his hand ghosting over your arm- not yet touching you as he leaned down to your face " I tracked your scent especially" he whispered into your ear, his forked tongue darting out again to taste the air near your neck. He groaned deeply at that, trying not to sink his teeth into your shoulder "And you smell...so fertile, delectable. Perfect."
You almost whined in disappointment when he straightened back up and you almost followed him by falling forward into his chest. But you stayed put, even when your knees felt like jelly.
Your lips parted gently as the hand hovering over your arm brushed your hair from your face, his touch so light you barely even felt it. "I've been craving you. Only you. I do not wish for anyone to have you except for me" Victor confessed and you leaned into his cool touch that sizzled against your warm cheek.
"The way you handle those children, patient and gentle. Forgive me, but seeing you like that makes me lust so shamelessly over you." His hand wandered from your face to your waist, softly squeezing the flesh in revelation. "Your body is just made for carrying life. So beautiful" he muttered to himself, eyes dipping lower, his large thumb pressing into the plush of your stomach.
Then, he was gone, stepping away from you until the back of his thighs hit his desk, bracing himself on the wood with his head hanging low "I understand if this is... disturbing to you, disgusting even. I would never lay my hand on you if you voiced your discomfort. It'll pass on it's own when spring ends." But you could tell how much this killed him to say. And it killed you that he hadn't bent you over already.
You had touched yourself countless nights to thoughts of him- his massive frame pinning you into the mattress, that forked tongue exploring your pussy until he knew it like the back of his hand, his cum flooding you until you swelled with it. And now you didn't know if this was real or if you were experiencing a very convincing wet dream.
Your legs shook as you approached him with desperate steps, practically throwing yourself around his neck and pulling him into a needy kiss. His eyes widened before they closed in hunger, wrapping his arms around you to press you close against him. He picked you up to spin you around, placing you on top of his desk, documents and papers flying to the floor in his haste.
"I want your baby, Victor" you breathed against his cracked lips, successfully making him groan out a curse, his mouth crashing back onto yours, demanding entrance you gladly gave him, his tongue slipping past the seam of your lips to tease your own, the split ends flicking against the roof of your mouth as he tasted you.
You moaned into the kiss, your hands clutching his coat, the snake skin texture rough under your palms.
"Say you're mine" he murmured against your lips, nipping the bottom one with his golden teeth. "Please, I need to hear it from you" his hands roamed your body, large palms cupping your breasts through your uniform. You arched into him, gasping as he unbuttoned your top with deft fingers, exposing your bra that held your beautiful tits which would soon fill with milk and ripping it off your body easily.
"Fuck" you whined as you suddenly felt so bare, your fingers fumbling with his thick belt, the snake buckle cold and confusing in your hands as your arousal clouded your mind "Yes, I'm yours. All yours. Want your cock inside me" you whimpered, eager to get his pants off.
He chuckled, shrugging off his coat before he ripped apart your pants next. And you didn’t even care, the scrubs were provided by the hospital anyway. He could tear them up as often as he wanted. "Spread your legs for me, sweet girl" he ordered and you did so quickly, revealing your panties that were damp against your plush pussy. His eyes locked onto the wet spot, tongue flicking out. "So this is what I've been smelling the whole time. Utterly soaked, gorgeous" he whispered and lowered himself onto his knees, his broad shoulders pushing your thighs apart.
Gideons breath ghosted over your clothed cunt, then he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties and yanked them down, the fabric tearing slightly.
"Oh god!" you shrieked as his split tongue lapped at your folds, the forked tip hooking under your clit to flick it, the sensation was nothing you had ever felt before and you moaned in surprise. He dipped to your entrance, licking and sucking.
Slick sounds filled the office, wet and obscene as he ate you out like a starved man. His tongue dove as deeply as he could, curling inside you, tasting your arousal while his nose bumped your clit. You gripped his hair, thick salt and pepper strands slipping through your fingers, your hips desperately bucking against his face hips 'Victor- fuck, your tongue! feels so good...m'so close" you almost cried "Wanna cum on your cock, please" you begged him, but you couldn't bear to push him away.
He hummed, vibrations shooting through you, one thick finger joining his tongue suddenly. Allthough he pushed in slow, you yelped, your thighs squeezing his shoulders at the stretch "Patience, my dear" he rasped, pulling back to watch his digit disappear inside you, coated in your juices "I need to open you up for my cock first, mama. It's big, and I don't want to hurt my precious girl" he didn't sound smug, just genuine, and it was so, so hot.
He added a second finger, scissoring them, his thumb rubbing your clit in firm circles. Sweat beaded on your skin, the room growing stuffy and your breaths coming in pants as you clawed at his forearm to ground yourself.
Tears pricked your eyes from the building pressure. "O-oh, I'm- fuck, I'm cumming" you gasped and his thumb pressed on your clit just right, fingers curling to hit that spot inside and you shattered, your first orgasm of the evening crashing over you, slick gushing onto his hand, down his forearm and making the dark wood of his desk shine like it had been freshly waxed.
"Good girl" he praised, rising to his full height again and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His pants strained against his thick bulge and you instantly went to reach for it, unzipping him with trembling hands. His cock sprang free, heavy and veined red like the rest of his body, the head flushed and leaking pre cum. It was huge, matching his size, easily as thick as your wrist and your mouth watered at the sight.
You stroked him softly, your pussy clenching in anticipation. He threw you a look as if to ask if you were still okay with this, but you just yanked him forward by his leather vest, your legs falling open and wrapping around his hips, the head of his cock slapping lewdly against your clit.
His thumb circled your entrance, nudging his cock between your folds to coat it in your wetness before lining himself up with your pussy. He thrusted in slowly, his cock quickly breaching the tight ring of muscle, making you hiss in discomfort. 'Shh...Just breathe" he murmured, gently stroking your neck and shoulder as the stretch burned in your core, your walls yielding to his thickness. "You're so big" you mewled, gasping as he finally bottomed out, the sting fading instantly as he was nestled right where he was supposed to be.
Gideons head fell to your shoulder with a moan, one that came from the very depths of his soul, like your warm pussy had been the cure for all the pain he was experiencing- and my god it was. It was salvation, utterly blissful.
Your arms snaked around his neck to pull him closer, your lips latching onto his neck, kissing and sucking the scarred skin there. A rumble formed in his chest and he pulled out to push back in, both of you keening at the sensation. It wasn't long before his thrusts became rough and desperate, the desk scraping across the floor from the force. You cried out, nails digging into his shoulders and adding new red lines across his back.
Your body jolted with every thrust, your skin slicking with sweat that made you slide back and forth on the smooth surface of the desk, though Victor kept you caged safely and securely in his arms.
Your pussy squelched and drooled around the size of his cock, hot and messy, your walls snugly dragging over his whole length.
"Harder! you begged, your voice breaking. 'Fuck me- oh god, you want to breed this pussy, don't you?" you mewled, your eyesbrows scrunched up in pleasure. Your words made him lift his head from your neck, and the expression on his face was the most neediest, most desperate you had ever seen on any person before.
He nodde urgently, the gesture accompanied by- was that a whimper? Fuck, you almost creamped all over him at the sound. You grasped his face with shaking hands "Y'wanna knock me up?" you slurred and that made him buck his hips faster, the curve of his cock perfectly hitting your sweet spot and making you throw your head back.
"Yeah, you wan' it?" you whined, trying to look into his eyes. His were glazed over, his mouth opened in a pant while he watched your tits jiggle, the coil in his groin twisting. "I want it, I want it" he rasped, his brow furrowing. He looked like he was about to cry while he pressed open mouth kisses to your face, his harsh pounding faltering as he approached his climax. Your words emptied his head, all function reduced to the desire to watch you swell with the child he'd plant into your womb.
He craddled your head between his big arms, mindlessly drooling onto your face, slamming home against your cervix again and again- all while you whispered the most perfect things into his ear. Even if he tried to hold off his orgasm, it would have been futile with the filthly words you squealed. "Tell me you're gonna fill me up, say it" you pleaded, his cock dragging against your walls, hitting as deeply as he could, subconciously carving out a space for a baby with his cock.
He moaned, the sound almost throwing you over the edge "Yes, yes, I will. I'm going to...pump you so full" his words ended with a small whine, so needy. You knew if he kept going like this, just a few more thrusts would throw you over.
Just the thought of his thick, creamy cum forcing itself into your awaiting eggs had you crossing your ankles behind his back, arching into him while hugging his face close to your shoulder. "Get me pregnant, Victor" you whispered into his ear, and that did it.
Your orgasm ripped through you, your pussy fluttering and tightening around him. The sensation made him choke on a groan, grabbing your hips to push you down to the base of his cock when he errupted. You could feel the force and the amount of his release exploding against your cervix, a pathetic sob leaving your lips.
You milked him for all he was worth, your pussy so tight he could barely pull out- not that he wanted to. He kept rocking his hips, opening you up, ensuring your body welcomed every single drop.
When your climax faded, you fell boneless against the table, your legs slipping from his hips to dangle over the edge of the desk, trying to catch your breath somehow. You were done, fucked out, your body buzzing with warmth and exhaustion. Victor on the other hand seemed far from done. He pulled out with a hiss, letting you rest for a quarter of a second before your world tilted and you were hauled up by him and being moved over to his leather couch.
He dropped down into the soft cushions, his cock, which was shining with slick, still stood hard and proud between you. "Ride me, darling" he panted, shrugging off his vest that was stuck to him from the sweat, finally letting you see him bare.
His soft pecs and stomach made your mouth water, making you push aside the fact how tired you were. You straddled him, parting your thighs, a bit of his cum leaking from your gaping hole back onto his cock. His dick gave a throb at that and you sunk down slowly, his hands on your hips guiding.
It was deeper this way, his cock spearing you, his soft belly pressing against your plush one. You mewled at the stretch, though it wasn't nearly as bad as before.
Like it was the only thing your body knew how to do, you started rocking on him, your trembling legs lifting you in a soft bouncing movement, your tits jiggling from the effort. "Look at you- bouncing on me like you were made for it. Gorgeous" Gideon praised you breathlessly, leaning down to capture a stiff nipple in his mouth, sucking hard. You moaned as he bit it, riding him faster, sweat dripping between you.
It felt like he was splitting you in two as he grasped a handful of the fat on your thigh to buck up into your sopping cunt, you wondered how you even fit everything of him inside you. But did it really matter when it felt this good, when you were just about to cum again? Your second orgasm crashed over you, squirting heavily over his thighs with a yell, the force of it making his cock slip out of you. You fell forward against his chest, shaking helplessy.
He shushed your cries with a firm hand on your back as he slipped back inside you, nudging you to keep moving. But you only shook your head against his neck "I-I can't...my legs" you sniffled, clinging to his broad frame. Indeed your legs were trembling like leaves, so weak and aching, you'd probably collaps if you tried to stand.
Victor cooed, kissing your temple as you tried to apologize, you just couldn’t keep up with him. "Do not worry, darling. Let me do all the work, you just have to focus on feeling good. Can you do that for me?" he whispered in your ear to which you nodded.
He lifted you then, his cock still nestled inside and you shrieked with every step that drove him deeper into you. He pressed you up against the wall, the wallpaper scratchy against your back, but you forgot the uncomfortable sensation the second he pulled back to thrust back in, pounding you against his office wall to find his release.
He had hooked his arms under your thighs, nearly folding you in half, your legs squishing your breasts to your chest, making it hard for you to breathe. You yelped his name, your arms hanging losely around his neck as he fucked you like a doll, as if you didn't even weigh more than one.
The door wasn't locked, anyone could just walk in now, especially because of an emergency, and they'd see you get brutally pouned by your boss. You had overheard that the man dressed in crisp white sometimes liked to show up annanounced when he felt like it. And somehow the thought of him bursting through that door any second was turning you on so much.
It wasn't just the feeling of being owned, but for others to see it, too. To make the world know how desirable you were through Victors eyes, who would move mountains to grant you any wish.
Love swelled up in your chest and you tried to hug him tighter to you, but you felt so lighthearted that you could only lean your head on his shoulders, tears streaming down your face "Fill me up, I want your babies" you sobbed with your voice fading, nuzzling closer to his neck in search of comfort, your shared arousal dripping from your pussy onto the hardwood floor.
He turned his head to kiss you softly, a stark contrast to his fast pace. "I have to make you cum before I do, my dear. I will not allow myself release before then" he panted against your lips, his hand disappearing between you to rub your clit. The pressure made you lose it quickly, and you bit into his neck with a pathetic yell. Only then did you feel him swell inside you, spraying his load, his hot cum completely flooding you. It was so much that it bubbled out around him, wetly squelching as he tried to shove it back in where it belonged.
You felt like dead weight in his arms, sweating, hair a mess- you weren't even sure if the lower part of your body was still attatched to you.
He gently slid you down the wall, but he hadn't gone soft yet. He was still throbbing against his stomach when he pulled out with a lewd pop, his hot cum leaking out of you and making you cringe. Victor carefully placed you on his plush rug on all fours and you whined in protest. You didn't even try to hold yourself up on your arms, just folding them beneath your head to lay on them. "V-victor, I can't...too much" you sniffled, your knees burning from the texture of the carpet.
He shushed you lovingly, his large hand rubbing up and down your back, smoothing over the rolls and dipping into the curve of your spine to try and comfort you "I know, sweet girl. I know" he cooed, grasping one of your ass cheeks, giving the tender flesh a squeeze. "But I need to assure proper insemination, I need to make sure it takes" he reasoned with a hint of desperation in his voice. Even now, he couldn't lay off the medical terms, and it annoyed you as much as it turned you on. That was just how Victor was, and you loved it. You loved him.
After a few minutes of him just running his hands along your body, softly massaging, mapping and memorizing, you nodded for him to continue.
You couldn't see him, but you knew he was smiling crookedly. What you didn't expect was his hand, which had been gentle moments ago, coming down on one of your ass cheeks with a loud crack, pain blooming underneath his palm. You yelped out in surpise, arching your back, presenting your pussy to him- just like he wanted you to.
Your lips parted wetly, sticking from his loads, your hole gaping and just perfectly shaped for his cock. He smacked you a few more times to make you open up. When he deemed you ready, he slid back home with a groan, the sound mixing with a pitiful whine from you.
Gideon started thrusting again, his balls slapping against your clit from behind. Every time they did, you twitched from the overstimulation of it all.
Everything was aching, but in a good way. Your body felt warm, hot even, as if someone had wrapped you up in a soft blanket. Your head was in a place far, far away, only pleasure and satisfaction seeping through the cracks of your mindless haze, turning you into complete putty under his ministration.
Never had sex felt this good, so meaningful and right, like your body and soul were cherished in every sense. Yes, you were exhausted, more than you ever had been in your life, but you never wanted to miss his touch after this again.
His stomach was molding perfectly into the arch of your back while he pounded into you relentlessly, his hair sticking to the back of his neck from how much he was sweating. He loved humid weather, but even he felt like overheating. "You are...outstanding." he breathed out in awe, making you turn your head over your shoulder, tears streaming down your face.
"I have never...seen such a brilliant mind alike my own. So intelligent and sharp" he continued to praise your intellect, his hand snaking around to rest over the jiggling pouch of your stomach "I am aware my behavior might not have...t-translated my thoughts about you very well" he rasped, faltering for a moment as your pussy squeezed him tightly when he pressed on your abdomen.
"But oh, you are truly unique. I cannot let you go now, my heart wouldn't take it" then he leaned down over you, his weight pressing you into the carpet. You mewled as his breath ghosted over your neck, his fingers slipping from your tummy to your clit. When he found it, you writhered beneath him, biting into your arm before you came apart at the seams.
"But my cum is gonna take in that beautiful warm womb of yours, isn't that right? Until you're carrying our baby" his voice was sickly sweet in your ear, making you shudder even harder through your orgasm. He didn't say my baby, didn't say a baby- no, he said our baby, and that damn near brought you to tears all over again. You spread your legs as far apart as you could, making him slip impossibly deeper "Yes victor" you whimpered quietly, craving his cum. He brushed your hair away and bit right into your neck, his teeth sinking into your salty skin. Not enough to break, but to keep you in place when he emptied himself one last time into you. You could feel his groan vibrate into your head, releasing you after his cock had stopped throbbing inside you.
He helped you turn on your back. He slipped out and elevated your hips by pulling your legs up around his waist. You whined at that, your eyes closed as your body drowned in bliss, and deep exhaustion. He rubbed your thighs with a smile "I know my sweet girl doesn't want to move, but I can't let anything go to waste"
You laid there for minutes, maybe even an hour. There really wasn't any strength in you left after this, though you wouldn’t change a thing.
You didn't even register that he scooped you up into his arms after he had noticed you shivering, the sweat on your body cooling you down a bit too much. Gideon wrapped you up in a blanket that was slung over the back of the leather couch, but not before cleaning you up with a napkin. He made sure to cover you up all the way so you didn't feel exposed once your brain regained it's focus on where you were and what you had just done.
Before he even thought about dressing himself, he poured you a refreshing glass of water, making sure you drank it half way before he left you to change.
He seemed to have a wardrobe in his office you didn't know about, because when he came back, he was dressed in a plain black shirt that was just a bit too tight over his stomach and arms, paired with dark checkered pyjama pants. Fuck, if you hadn't been so tired, you would have jumped him again that second.
Victor provided you with some snacks he had laying around just for when you would visit his office for a rant. He knew you liked to munch on some chips or fruits when you shittalked some of your incompetent colleagues or mouthed off about rude patients.
A TV was revealed in the wall across from you as he pressed a button. Huh, you didn't know about that either. There had been a lot of surpises for you today.
He put on your favourite show, one you had talked to him about ages ago even though you thought he hadn't listened to you at all. Truth be told, the listened to and remembered every word you said to him. Ever.
The lights were dimmed, the windows closed to keep out the wind, soft rain tapping against the glass. It was perfect.
You were warm, hydrated and so tired that you knew tonight you would get the best and deepest sleep. The only thing missing was Victor himself, who sat away from you on his desk, mindlessly scribbling his signature over documents that were probably important enough to actually read, though he wasn't going to.
You played with the glass in your hand as you watched him, chewing on your bottom lip. You set it down next to the bowl of grapes on the coffee table before turning to him "Victor?" you asked into the quietness of his office.
His head snapped up, his yellow eyes glowing in the darkness. You didn't say anything else, just held both arms out to him in a silent plea. And oh, how could he say no to that? He ditched the papers and went back over to you with calm steps, just like the Victor you knew, before plopping down beside you on the sofa and pulling you into his arms.
"Are you okay?" he murmured finally, voice soft, thumb stroking through your hair. You nodded against his chest, sighing "More than okay" you whispered, nuzzling against him even more, wrapping your blanket around him too, your naked form molding to his dressed one.
He kissed your forehead then, not paying attention to what played on TV, only paying attention to the way you breathed in his scent "I wasn't too rough with you, was I?" he asked after a moment, delighted to feel you shake your head "No...no, you were perfect" you reassured him, kissing his neck before settling again.
It wasn't long until you sagged away in his hold, completely out cold in his arms and clinging to him like he was the safest place on earth, even when he was anything but.
And as he looked down at your sleeping form in that moment, he realised one very important thing- He would do anything for you.
He would kill for you, he would die for you.
Either way, what bliss.
☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆
Yes, I googled how male snakes act during mating season😭
So everything Victor does here- being agitated and active, not eating, fighting off other males, tracking scents, rubbing his chin along your back, biting your neck to keep you in place and spanking you to make you open up- male snakes do that in the wild too!
The more you know ig💔
Lmk how you liked it in the comments <3 (bc I am going to sleep its 2am help)
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