What if Andrew Cody actually doesn’t like it rough?
In nearly every Pope Cody fan fiction, he comes home from a job — mad, red with anger — and in need of someone to take it out on. Reader is there, and is always being used to make him better. He’ll pull their hair, jackhammer, slap and bite and tug. And there’s nothing wrong with that! I love those fics down.
But I’ve been thinking after I saw a Tumblr post saying Andrew would not want to be dominant. He wouldn’t want to be called 'daddy' and wouldn’t want to be rough. Especially after being in positions where girls have asked him to 'use them.'
So what if Andrew Cody actually comes home, furious and heaving, but instead of pushing reader onto the bed and fucking out his anger, he’ll ask for them to be soft with him? He would enter the room they share, gently grab their face with trembling hands, and ask them to ride him. Maybe he’d want them to tug his hair, or paw at his chest. But he wouldn’t flip them over and have his way, or pounding into them. His way in these scenarios is whining, begging reader to fuck him. He likes it when they’re either on top, or when they’re tucked into his chest and he’s pushing into them from the back. In this spooning position, he’ll probably cradle their face in his hot hands and just maybe have them suck his thumb.
And he’ll probably enjoy it if they call him "Andrew" in a soothing tone.
Correct me if this sounds off. But I definitely agree that he’s like this.
i think it’s more canon for (at the beginning of your relationship) Andrew to, when in bed, trying to dirty talk, say some shit like, “you..do you like this dick..?” trying to be sexy but he feels awkward. all monotone and a little lifeless. and you see him trying, smiling a little as you nod, “love it Andrew, feels so good.” he nods firmly, grunting over you while holding your legs.
he tries again, “your..pussys so tight and. wet.” he’s stiff with his words, eyes wide trying to gauge whether you like it or not, because he doesn’t know how to do this, but he doesn’t wanna be completely silent to you.
you admire how much he wants to please you. “yeah, Andy? feels good around your dick baby?” you try and get him more comfortable, grinning at the louder groan he lets out. “love it, baby. love ho-how you squeeze me..love how you squeeze this dick.”
his puppy eyes search for your approval, that he sounded good, that he was making you feel good. not that it took much from you, still moaning and twinkly eyed under him. “there you go baby,” you whisper, a small giggle escaping through pants, and he nods, a little blushy smile on his face. “am i doin good for you..?” “yes Andy, ur doin’ amazing.”
summary: a dentist visit with doctor abbott awakens your oral fixation.
1.4k
Your foot taps against the floor of the dentist waiting room, your hands clammy and pressed atop your jeans clad thighs.
You hated the dentist. You hated any kind of health appointment. They always stressed you out.
But you hadn’t been for a dental hygiene appointment in years. Which, isn’t great. You knew that. But work was busy and bills were expensive and aside from brushing and flossing your teeth, your dental care wasn’t really at the top of your priority list.
“Miss L/n?” A female voice calls from across the room. You lift your gaze up from your phone and give the dentist assistant — you assumed her to be — a tight smile.
You stand from your seat and tuck your phone into the pocket of your jeans and make your way over to the woman standing near the door that led into the hallway.
You both murmured your greetings to one another and she led you into an empty operating room. You remove your jacket and take a seat on the dental chair, laying it behind you.
“Doctor Abbott will be with you shortly, ma’am.” The woman nods to you, giving you a final smile before leaving.
After about a five minute wait, the door opened “Sorry for the wait, ma’am. I’m Doctor Abbott, I’ll be performing your routine check. It’s very nice to meet you.”
And god, you’re nearly certain that your heart faltered for a split second. He was.. gorgeous.
He was middle aged, about mid forties if you were to guess. His hair was wavy and slightly greying, and from what you could see, it looked as if it were a slightly ginger or auburn colour before he started to go grey. He was physically fit, clearly someone who went to the gym regularly.
Well, at least he would make this appointment a little more exciting. He certainly was easy on the eyes.
You clear your throat, suddenly feeling a little flustered. Embarrassingly so. “Oh, it’s okay. Nice to meet you too.” You were now laying back slightly on the chair, your legs outstretched in front of you.
Doctor Abbott grabs a four wheeled stool and sits down on it, rolling over to you and situating himself near your head and grabbing a pair of blue gloves from the table next to him and putting them on his large, callused hands.
“So, today we’re just going to do regularly cleaning which includes scaling, polishing and a flossing. Is there any issues that you’ve been having recently, or are we okay to just get straight to the cleaning?” His voice was deep and professional, like he had rattled off these same words thousands of times today. He had a subtle confidence about him.
You peek up at his name tag secured around his neck. Jack Abbott. Nice name.
You feel stupidly nervous in his presence, especially now with him sitting so close to you. But you push your feelings aside and answer his question. “Well, uhm.. I haven’t been to the dentist in a while and I’ve recently noticed some tooth pain, specifically when I eat something chewy? Like, gummies in particular. It’s a little random.” You chuckle.
Jack chuckles back, the conversation surprisingly easy. “Not random at all. Tooth aches are the most common things I deal with day to day.” He continues. “So tooth pain, hm? Can you show me which tooth or teeth are paining you?”
You nod and open your mouth, your face reddening at how stupid you probably looked pointing at your back teeth. God, you hoped your breath smelled okay.
Jack nods in understanding, grabbing a dental mirror tool from the table next to him and gently pushing it into your mouth. You keep your gaze fixed upon the ceiling as he quickly examines each tooth, humming softly under his breath.
You felt one of his gloved fingers in your mouth too, guiding the instrument along your back teeth. Your breath hitches when his finger brushes against your tongue for a second.
Fuck, that felt..
God, you were really touch starved, weren’t you? You were seriously getting turned on from your dentists fingers in your mouth?
You weren’t.. obvious about how that affected you, were you?
Why was he.. smirking? A knowing look crossed Jack’s features. A slightly cocky look at that.
“You okay?” He asks casually. His finger runs over your front teeth before slipping out of your mouth. And it probably wasn’t intentional, right..?
You nod around the tool in your mouth and he pulls it out to allow you to talk properly. You suck in a subtle breath and reply to him. “Yeah! Yeah, I’m fine.”
“Yeah?” He echoes, tilting his head to the side. “You seem a little flustered, or something.” He takes a moment before continuing, his voice a little lower. “Are you enjoying this?”
You.. what the fuck were you meant to say to that?
“I.. I’m sorry. I’m just a little nervous, that’s all.” You scramble for words, trying to excuse your change in behaviour. Fuck, this was mortifying.
Jack nods smugly. You watch his expression start to change, like an idea had landed and he was running it over in his head. He then lifted his hand, signalling you to open your mouth again.
He slides two fingers into your mouth, and initially, you presume he’s just continuing your exam. But then they slide further.. resting on your tongue.
Doctor abbots voice drops an octave, something dark flashing in his eyes. “You like that?” He asks, his voice taunting and a little surprised.
Your breath catches in your throat, a heat blooming over your cheeks. You felt mortified. Humiliated. But another feeling washed over you too.
Pleasure.
It pooled between your legs, your core heating and twisting as you became slick beneath your underwear. You clench your thighs against each other, as if Jack could see through your clothes and notice how soaked you were beneath them.
Your eyes roll back slightly, a small sound of pleasure rumbling from the back of your throat. You nod your head the best you can with your mouth full, and Jacks other hand comes up to grip the side of your face. To hold you steady.
And then his fingers went deeper. Brushing against your uvula. Your eyes begin to water and you gag a little around his digits, your saliva coating his gloved covered skin and threatening to drip from your mouth.
Jack makes a humming sound in contemplation. He keeps his hand still, not pushing in or out, just resting in the back of your throat. “Interesting, hm? Getting all hot and bothered over a pair of fuckin’ gloves in your mouth. Kinky girl, aren’t you?” He chuckles.
Your cheeks are burning now, your eyes feeling unbearably heavy. They flutter closed and a string of saliva drips from your lips down to your chin.
“Hm?” Jack pushes, and your eyes fly open when you realise you hadn’t responded to him. You nod awkwardly, making a garbled humming sound around his fingers.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I can’t hear you. Say that again?” He taunts, pulling his hand back, releasing his digits from your mouth. The blue gloves were dripping with saliva and your chest burns with humiliation at the sight.
You greedily gulp down some air, your lips swollen and pink from sucking. “You like being used like this, sweetheart? Getting all messy knowing that anyone could walk in and see?” Jack asks now that your mouth was free.
“Yes, doctor Abbott. I— I like it, a lot.” You stutter, squeezing your thighs together subconsciously to ease some of the tension between them.
Jacks eyes flick down to them, catching the movement. A crooked smirk crawls onto his lips as the realisation sets in. “Are you getting messy down there too, sweetheart? Fuck, you’re pathetic.” He chuckles, bringing his fingers back up to your mouth and pushing the same two back inside.
You almost moan as they slip into your heat, your tongue swirling around the surgical glove. The texture felt pleasant on your tongue. Stimulating, actually.
Jack begins to thrust his fingers in and out of your mouth at a steady pace, brushing against a sensitive spot in your throat and making you gag every now and then. Your eyes water slightly in pleasure and you feel yourself turn molten beneath your panties. Your pussy begins to spasm uncontrollably and a feeling of panic and embarrassment washes over you.
You moan in overstimulation around Doctor Abbotts fingers as your orgasm ripples through you, your fluids dripping into your underwear, undoubtedly making the walk out of this place extremely uncomfortable with the mess you’d made.
You came. Completely untouched. That had never happened before. Hell, the men you’d been with sometimes couldn’t make you cum while touching you.
But Jack noticed it. Of course he did. You had a feeling that you wouldn’t get much past him.
“Oh, you’re cumming all over yourself. Oh fuck, baby,” Jack groans as if it physically pleases him to see you feeling good. He keeps his pace with his fingers unfaltering, your oral fixation being satisfied every time he makes you gag on his hand.
And suddenly, you think you’ll start making more dentist appointments.
Thank you for reading!! Got a little sloppy and lazy at the end so sorry about that. This is incredibly self indulgent too lol, and I’m actually dealing with some tooth aches at the moment also😭
tag list: @valyrianjoel @dixie-isnt-cool @mytearsricochetm @felix24601 (there were so many others wanting to be tagged but for some reason it won’t let me?? Sorry about that guys)
tags: MDNI, smut, andrew “pope” cody x afab girlfriend reader, needy pope, sun bed humping..? idk lmao, reader is described as wearing a bikini, pool side sex, they escaped smurf WOOHOO!!, oral (f receiving), pussy drunk andrew, mommy kink (yeahhhh), praise kink (andrew has it), orgasm and cumming in pants.
summary: Pussy drunk pope. That’s all.
1.1k words
The California heat was always generous, but especially so in this time of year. Which was probably why it was your favourite.
You used to hate this state. Living here. It was no wonder you did when that witch that was your Partner Andrew Cody’s Mother, lived here. Controlled him. Abused him.
But things were different now. Pope had broke free from the chains of Smurf, cut off contact from her and gave all the evidence he had against her — leaving out stuff that incriminated him and his brothers of course — to the police and got her put behind bars.
It wasn’t easy to do, you knew that. But you supported him all the way through, helped him through his problems and found a therapist suited for him.
So now? You felt like you could enjoy these sunny days. Lounging by the pool, the salty, summer scent in the air feeling refreshing with each inhale through your nose.
And of course, Andrew’s head between your thighs made the summer evening all the more enjoyable.
You were sprawled on your back on one of the sun beds in front of your backyard pool, your brows beading with sweat from the heat of the sun and the pleasure rippling through you.
Pope was laying on his stomach, his hard on pressing firmly against the black swim trunks he was wearing. His face was slick with your juices, his eyes watering with every rut of your hips up into his mouth. A lewd slurping sound comes from him as he collects some of your juices and brings them up to your clit, spitting them on the bud and flicking his tongue against it.
The action had you seeing stars, your hand flying down to tangle in his curls. “Yes, baby. Yes, just like that. Fuck, Andrew.” You moan through clenched teeth, your voice raw from moaning. Pope didn’t reply, just moaned into your pussy, the noise causing vibrations on your most intimate parts.
Andrew wasn’t much of a talker during sex at the best of times. Honestly, the only times he really did speak was when he was asking how he was doing, seeking praise from you. He liked hearing that he was making mommy feel good. That he was good.
Oh yeah. Mommy was a thing now.
It had surprised you a little when Pope first called you that. He was balls deep in you from behind, sobbing softly as you intentionally clamped your walls on his cock. It just slipped out of him. A plea.
And although Pope had a tough, dominant exterior, with his trauma — specifically his issues with his mother — it was no wonder he sought that role in you during sex.
Pope briefly stops his ministrations but doesn’t pull his mouth away. “It’s good?” He asks softly, enquiringly. His voice was muffled against your pussy and the sound of it like that nearly brought you to tears. And the question wasn’t rhetorical or cocky, or even really a form of dirty talk. He genuinely wanted to know.
You nodded eagerly, the urge to lift his head up and kiss his pretty face being almost unbearable. “Yes, Andrew. You’re doing such a good job for me. Making mommy feel so good with your tongue,” You assure honestly. “Now keep going for me, baby. Mommy’s gonna cum soon if you keep doing your job so well.”
And that promptly got him back to work. God, he was like a little puppy like this. Just eager to please his mommy. Wanting her to feel good. It made you so proud of him. Of him allowing you to be this person for him. His partner, his friend, a person he trusted.
Andrew sucks your clit into his mouth, the action making you gasp. But that gasp was quickly turned into a guttural moan when he accompanied it with two of his thick fingers sliding into you, curling upwards to aim for your swollen g-spot.
Just like you taught him.
Fuck, he was good at this. And your statement a few moments ago about cumming soon would definitely prove to be true if he kept doing this for the next couple minutes.
It was just so fucking unique that despite you physically being completely at his mercy, emotionally, you were still the dominant one for Andrew. You were praising him, calling the shots, keeping him in line. How special was that?
Your moans begin to become more frantic, your cunt squeezing and spasming around Popes knuckles with every suck on your clit or movement of his digits inside of you. Your thighs start to tremble, your fingernails digging into his scalp roughly. “Yeah — fuck yeah, baby. Oh, Andy, mommy’s gonna cum for you.” You whine, your hips bucking erratically as you reach that point in the build up to your orgasm where you are just on the edge but not quite tipped over. It’s intense. Like your falling but waiting for the actual landing.
Andrew’s eyes begin to glaze and before you know it, tears are falling from his eyes and onto your pubic area. Sobs are muffled against your pussy as he continues to suck and lick you, his fingers moving faster and more urgently inside of you.
Well, that did it.
The sound of those pathetic whimpers and sobs, his salty tears rolling down your mound and dripping onto your pussy, mixing with your juices. Yeah, you were done for. You were cumming. And hard.
“Such a good boy. Cry for Mommy, Andrew. Show her just how much you enjoy this.” You mumble through shuddering gasps, making a mess all over his face.
Andrew keeps sucking you through it, his chest flushing deeply when you look down and notice how he’s humping the sun bed beneath him. Oh, the poor baby. So fucking ready to cum in his pants just from having his face in mommy’s cunt.
You bite down on your lip and moan through your teeth, pushing his face away when his tongue became too overwhelming. He took the hint and pulled back, peppering kisses on your thighs and nuzzling them as he whined desperately, the friction through his swim trunks bringing him dangerously close.
“Mm — gonna cum. S’your pussy, it’s so good I — I can’t take it.” Pope says with a shudder, the site of him so worked up despite you not even touching that pretty cock of his being just as satisfying as the orgasm youd just had and were still coming down from.
“Oh, sweet boy. It’s okay, baby. Come in your trunks. Mommy wants you to make a mess of yourself.” You encourage.
And with one final rock of his hips into the cushioned sun lounger, a strangled cry passed his lips, and he was cumming in his fucking pants.
Pairing: high school football coach Joel Miller x f! Cheerleader! Reader
Word count: 3.1k
Summary: Coach Joel has to deal with cheerleader reader at the homecoming dance!
Warnings: SMUT! PWP, Unethical pairing, reader is 18, dub com, fingering, dirty talk, minor butt stuff, PIV, intoxication, so on and so forth. No editing, no proofreading, unbetad, probably a mess but it is rather nasty!
A word from the author: didn't know I was finishing this today! Cool. Hope you enjoy the second installment of this story.
Masterlist
Part 1
“How’d I get roped into this horseshit? Ruin my whole goddamn Friday night,” Joel mumbled to himself and shifted his weight from foot to foot. He stood against the wall, just behind the refreshments table that had been set up at the far end of the gymnasium. Yellow and blue balloons and streamers hung from the walls and a disco ball had been tied up over the middle of the basketball court, covering the room in swirling flecks of glittery light. A banner had been painted and tacked up under the scoreboard that read “Lions Homecoming 2025” in sloppy, dripping, block letters.
For his part, Coach Miller stood, arms folded sternly across his chest, muscles of his forearms flexing while he kept an eye on the punch bowl, making sure no wiseass kids tried to spike it. He set his face in a scowl and scanned the crowd, making himself look vigilant, even if he was dreaming of the moment he could climb into bed.
Some of the other chaperones dressed up, especially the women. He didn’t mind that part, a little extra skin on display from that firecracker art teacher with the tattoos. He let his mind drift to what she’d look like stripped out of that dress and on her knees sucking cock. Wondered where she might be hiding more ink.
The eleventh grade math teacher with the great ass, the student teacher who was upstairs in History or English or something. He forgot her name, but committed her tits to memory. He’d tap into that particular memory bank later. For now, he had to make sure the seniors didn’t get too out of control at their Homecoming dance.
For most of the evening it wasn’t too bad. You expect to break up a cat fight or two and confiscate some cigarettes. You might catch some kids trying to sneak into the bathroom to fondle each other, but overall, it was quiet. Teenagers danced awkwardly to shitty music while the AV club dj’d. All Joel had to do was make sure they knew he was watching and wait for the lights to come on at 11.
At 9:45 Joel was nodding along while the boys tennis coach yammered on about his new stretching regimen and munching on dry cookies over a blue and yellow cocktail napkin when the double doors swung open and you stumbled into the swirling lights of the dance. You were flanked by two other girls, cheerleaders, he thought. You wore corsages on your wrists and smelled like that godawful fruity spray all the girls have these days. You looked like you belonged on a red carpet. You looked like a fucking slut.
He couldn’t help but notice. Of course a girl like you would show up in a skintight number with two skinny little straps that did fuck all, tits pushed up to drive every man and boy here crazy, slit all the way up your thigh with a garter peeking out, and some stripper heels you could barely walk in. Little slut. You teetered in, smiling wide and swaying your hips with every step.
Joel watched you dance. With your friends, with boys. Some that he knew from the football team and some he didn’t. You twirled and swirled and some of your moves should have gotten the attention of a chaperone, but by that time they’d all started mingling together and forgot about making sure nobody was out of line. There you were, though. Practically humping half the football team right on the dance floor. Their hands on your hips, your ass against the front of their poorly fitting rented suit pants.
After that stunt you pulled last fall, Joel’s not surprised. He got angrier the longer he watched you whoring around. Surely someone would notice and come break up the orgy of teenage hormones soon. When two more grating, bass-heavy songs had played and no one had stepped in, Coach Miller had enough. It was clear he was the only one taking things seriously and he was going to have to handle this situation himself. He wadded up his napkin in his fist and squeezed it tight, letting it fall to the floor.
You felt him before you saw him. The charge in the sweat-damp air changed and you knew only a fraction of a moment who was behind you before his hand was around your bicep and you were being spun around. The crowd you’d been in the center of had scattered, and you were face to face once more with Coach Miller.
Your brain was sluggish, and it took a moment to understand who he was and what he might want. When you had it figured out in your mind, you smiled at him, your grin plumped your cheeks and the glitter around your eyes caught in the light. “Mister Miller!” You squealed. “You never called me! I’ve been waiting, I thought you forgot about me,” you feigned a pout and wobbled closer to him. You tried to steady yourself against his chest, but he grabbed your wrists, jerking them away.
“What’s the matter with you?” Joel sneered, looking you over quickly. Your flirting smile, long eyelashes that drooped over your eyes, the glitter that he can now see was also dusted across your chest and between your tits. He thought of your nipples, of your dress falling just a bit so he could see them again, sparkly and sweet.
“No, what’s the matter with you, Joel? I thought you’d like the video we made but you didn’t even text me back.”
That’s when he heard it. The slur in your words. He gawked at you for a confounded second. “You’re drunk!” He spat the words at you and frowned.
Before you could defend yourself he was dragging you away from the dance floor. Hustling past a group of teachers absorbed in their own conversation, nursing plastic cups of punch, he announced that he “had one that needs to call her parents and someone better keep an eye on the refreshments.” He was waved away, no one the least bit concerned about the juvenile delinquent falling out of her dress, or any of her counterparts still writhing away on the makeshift dance floor thirty feet away. Joel was going to have to handle you himself.
He knew he shouldn’t be alone with you. Not after what happened the last time you were together. He just had to make it to retirement without a horned up slut ruining his life. He’d played fast and loose, but it was time to give it a rest. There’d still be pussy once his name wasn’t on the line, he told himself. No, he couldn’t take you to his office again, even if his cock stirred at the sight of you in your dress. There was no principal or counselor to turn you over to this late. How was he supposed to handle this? He wasn’t sure. His mind raced as he tugged you through the hall by your wrist, music long faded, only the odd classroom light still on.
Joel seemed to remember there being a telephone at the librarian’s desk, and he decided he could call your parents from there. He’d explain that you’d been drinking and needed to be picked up and that on Monday there would be consequences. It was a good plan and Joel was pleased with his quick thinking. If he hadn’t intervened there’s no telling what you might have gotten into. Drinking and driving, maybe. Maybe some boy would be fingering you in the backseat of the car he borrowed from his parents for the night. Maybe you’d have another name to write in your diary. Big loopy gel pen letters spelling “Kevin” with a heart dotting the i. Coach Miller was doing you a favor. You’d recognize that one day.
Not now, though. Now you were wiggling in his grasp, whining for Joel to slow down. “Come on, Mister Miller. I’m not drunk. I’m just having fun. Can’t I dance with my friends? Are you just jealous? I bet that’s it.” Your voice slipped from whiny and petulant into a deeper, sultry pitch that slowed Joel’s steps enough for you to notice. “I knew it. Do you watch our video when you jerk off, coach?”
With a quickness that surprised even him, and a metallic rattle, Joel had you pushed up against the wall of lockers. They were cold against your bare back, contrasting nicely with the heat of Joel’s hand on your shoulder. While he held you with his left hand his right was curled into a fist with his thick, blunt index finger pointed at your face. It was close enough to lick, and you were too buzzed to have the good sense not to push him just a little further.
You wrapped your glossed lips around the tip of his fat finger and flicked your tongue over it. It was too much. Before you could do any more he pulled his hand away and slapped your cheek. It wasn’t hard. It didn’t really hurt. There was a little heat and sting, but it was nothing compared to the way your cunt throbbed for him. His lips crashed into yours. He kissed you hard, swallowing your pitiful cries. He made you feel small and powerless.
Alone in the hallway, Joel towered menacingly over you. Trapped between the lockers and the solid wall of man, you were giddy. Thrilled with how you’d gotten him alone again, with how you could feel the bulging shape of his hardening cock where it was pressed against you.
He could have fucked you senseless right here. Shove you against that wall and hike up your dress and pound into you as hard as he wanted until you were dripping cum down to your knees. He wanted to see your makeup smeared and your dress ruined. His cock pulsed with the need to split you in two, really teach you a lesson.
But not here. No, his sanity prevailed and he straighten himself, softening back into a stern paternal stance while you brushed your hands over your dress. Once collected,
He took your wrist in his hand again and pulled you back the way you’d come, back toward the crowded gym.
Slick seeped into your panties as you let him take you where he wanted to go, pushing you, pulling you, asserting himself over you, his dominance made you feel drunker than the tequila did.
Joel was careful passing the double doors again. He slowed and let go of your hand, and when he was sure the coast was clear from anyone who might question why he was still dragging you around, he pulled you to a windowless door at the end of the hall and quickly unlocked it with a key from his jangling key ring.
Inside the room there was a rack holding basketballs, a stack of folding chairs, orange plastic cones, all kinds of things stuffed onto shelves. In the back was a stack of yellow and blue mats, the kind that the boys would wrestle on. With another twist of his keys, the lock slid back into place with a heavy clunk. Joel took care to cover his tracks. He hastily rolled a few gym towels and shoved them against the bottom of the door to block the light from inside, and hopefully any incriminating sounds as well.
Satisfied that he’d taken enough precautions, Joel shoved you back toward the mats. Anger was rising up in his belly again, licking up like flames that might consume him if not extinguished in time.
“What do you think you’re doing? Huh?” He groped your tits roughly, scrunching the taffy pink fabric of your dress before pulling it down to bare your chest. “Do you know how much trouble you could get me in? I could lose my job, my family, I could go to fucking jail! That what you want?” He underscored each possibility with a pinch of your nipples.
They were just like he remembered, mouthwatering little nipples with their playboy-perfect points. He sucked them hard, flicking his tongue over them while you squirmed against the wall.
"No, Mister Miller," you whined. "I just...
I just..."
"You don't know what the fuck your want you're too young and you're dumb." He would just have to show you then, wouldn't he?
He kissed you again, pushing his tongue past your lips to taste you while his hands found their way under your skirt. Every inch of your skin was soft and smooth, warm and perfumed. He felt the ruffle of lace around your thigh and wondered when the fuck girls started wearing garters to dances. Was that so some little pimple-faced boy could pull it off later and keep it like a trophy after giving you a couple pumps?
Further up your thighs he found what he was after. A wisp of fabric that barely covered your snatch. It was easily pushed aside, giving way to Joel’s thick fingers.
Your face contorted at the roughness of his knuckles against your soft pussy. He dragged them up and down your seam, teasing the wetness out, covering his fingers in it. Had he ever felt a pussy get so wet? He brought his knuckles to hip lips and tasted you, then went back for more. Two fingers filled you at once. “Look what you’re making me do. Bet you planned this whole thing. Just can’t get enough cock, can you?”
You hummed and tilted your hips into his hand, bleary eyes watching the way he sank his fingers into you. “Nobody else can do it like you, Coach.”
Joel laughed at that. Eighteen and already ruined for any other man.
Turning his wrist, scissoring his fingers, he could feel the limits of your soft little pussy being rewritten. Might hurt a little, but it was for your own good.
Satisfied that he’d done his due diligence in opening you up, he pulled and pushed you a til you until you were bent at the waist, face down on the mats. Your shoes barely reached the floor, without them your feet would be dangling uselessly. With them you were able to arch your back, daring Joel to fuck you again.
In one thrust he was inside you, buried to the hilt, pushing against your cervix. It was just what he needed. He knew if he fucked you once he’d fuck you again. One taste wasn’t ever going to be enough. Joel loved young little sluts and he didn’t care about the danger. He liked the danger.
Harder and harder he pounded your pussy, your sweet little moans became needy panting. His heavy cock bore through you as he matched his rhythm to the bass of the song playing just yards away.
While your head spun, Joel was in full control. You were disconnected from time or space, tied down by his firm grip on your hips and his turgid member spearing through you. He could tell by the glazed over look in your eyes.
He touched his thumb to your asshole, pressing but not breaching. Your cunt seized around him, like he knew it would. "Gonna have this next time," he promised, pushing against the puckered flesh. "You save this for me. Nobody else."
The song switched to something with a slower tempo, signaling that the dance was winding down. Out in the gym couples were dancing slow, awkwardly shuffling to the romantic song. Here in the closet, Joel sped up.
"Turn over. Come on, we gotta be quick." You blinked and nodded, doing as he said. You rolled onto your back and pushed your tits together while Mister Miller shoved your knees up. "Rub your clit. You know how to do that? You make yourself come so much watchin' that tape. Do it for me. Come all on this cock."
God, you were wet. Nobody ever talked to you like this. Boys your age were quiet when they fucked you. Afraid to even moan, they definitely never talked so dirty.
You dipped your fingertips down into the sticky mess of your cunt, pretty acrylics clicking together as you found your favorite angle to rub yourself off. Joel fucked you fast and hard, biting his lip, ready to shoot his load deep. He felt you start to clench in rhythm and ground down deep and firm against you. Your legs jerked as your came, spasming, flailing, not even realizing that at the same time Joel was spilling inside you.
With heaving chests you stared at each other. The orgasm had a sobering effect.
"Pull your panties up. I'm going to let you slide this time, but you better watch it. This close to graduation you can't be getting in trouble. You get fixed up and you get back out there and you cool it. Understand?" Emptying his balls had cleared his mind enough to return to responsibility adult mode. Decidedly less fun.
"Alright coach. Uh. Sorry. Yeah. Okay."
He fixed you with a stern look. "And keep that cum inside."
He's so devastating. He put himself back together quickly, wiping his softened dick on a gym towel and tucking it away before sneaking your garter into his pocket and ducking out of the closet without another word. Yu righted your dress, arranged your tits, pulled up your straps, and pulled your wet panties back up. They were totally soaked and uncomfortably cold against your bare skin. Your legs were like jello. You slipped your heels off and carried them, Bambi walking back into the gym.
Thankfully, your return went unnoticed. Everyone had made their way back to the middle of the gym, and stood facing the small stage at the far end. A spotlight shone down on the student council president as she gave a speech. You watched from your spot at the back as she opened an envelope. The Homecoming King. She called him to the stage and put a plastic crown on his head. The quarter back. He was handsome and popular and everyone knew he was going away on a football scholarship in the fall. More than a few years were shed in the girl's bathroom over it.
Homecoming Queen was announced next, you couldn't hear well from back here. Everyone looked around, hands clapping, people yelling, and then, louder, your name.
You stood in front of the school with a crown on your head, a bouquet of roses in your arms, and Joel Miller's cum dripping down your thighs.
tags: MDNI, free use, smut, husband joel!miller x afab wife!reader, no outbreak au, consensual free use, dirty talk (and I mean loooots of dirty talk), reader is stressed and is taking it out on Joel, brief mention of a small argument, doggy style, missionary, unprotected p in v sex, reader tries not to react but that pussy does 😛 (AYYY), sweet Joel, soft dom Joel, mentions of aftercare but not shown, orgasm and creampie.
summary: a week of stress causes a brief argument with you and joel which then leads to him taking advantage of the free use arrangement you both have, quite literally fucking the anxiety out of you.
wc: 2.5k
dividers by @/tsumiinum
If you were being honest, you’re not quite sure why you’re so angry this evening.
It was just.. one of those days where nothing was going right and everything was succeeding in pissing you off. First, it was being half way through your morning shower and realising you had run out of shampoo, leading you to be forced to attend work with greasy hair. Then it was your boss deciding to show up to work late — as per usual — and leaving you to have to deal with the useless intern who acted as if they’d never used a computer in their life, and lastly, it was that stupid comment Joel made when you came home from work in a mood.
It wasn’t even particularly rude — what he said. It was just a passing a comment when you’d told him you were fine in a tone that was unnecessarily harsh.
“Okay, I was just askin’. Don’t gotta bite my head off, baby girl.”
He’d retorted back lightly. And that of course led you to kick up a stink when you were the one taking your shitty day out on him. You’d stormed upstairs, deciding that you didn’t need his reprimands and tossed yourself onto the bed, settling for some doom scrolling in your mismatched pyjamas. Usually you’d change into one of Joel’s shirts when you came home from work, but today — completely and utterly out of spite — you’d settled for your own, less comfortable clothes.
Joel decided it best to let you cool down from whatever was bothering you upstairs on your own — give you some space. It was evident that you weren’t in the mood to talk and he understood that. Sometimes even he — after a shitty day — didn’t want to talk about what was bothering him.
But he knew if it was something serious, you’d come to him. You both had that trust in your relationship. So from what he could gather, you were just in a mood. Woke up on the wrong side of the bed.
And that’s where the idea of your free use arrangement came into mind.
The two of you had come up with the use of this kink a couple months ago. In fact, it was a fun, sexy birthday gift to Joel that started things off. And then it just.. kinda stuck.
You both had a safe word, a colour that signalled the other that you didn’t want to continue, that you didn’t want to start at all.
And with how you were acting right now? Joel thinks you might just need a little loving from him to make you feel better. For him to take care of that pussy of yours — fuck it out of you.
So before he could debate it in his head any longer, he made a beeline for the stairs and then, your shared bedroom.
You heard him before you saw him. That damn door opening so squeakily revealing his presence to you. For a moment, Joel just leaned against the door and stared at you sprawled out on the bed on your stomach, phone in hand and completely ignoring him despite knowing he was there.
Joel takes a couple steps until he’s standing in front of the mattress facing your back and casually — so damn casually, he begins removing his clothes. Unbuttoning his shirt and tossing it off before reaching for his belt, the sound of it unbuckling being sign enough for what he was about to do.
Your clit twitches and your core heats beneath your black, cotton shorts, a shiver slithering down your spine although you kept it from showing. “Still not talkin’ to me, I take it.” Joel comments, pushing his jeans and boxers down and freeing his half-hard cock, palming it and giving it a squeeze to bring it to full erection — not that he necessarily needed the extra help of his hands though. He was certain that a couple extra minutes of just looking at you laying in that position, your pretty ass looking so inviting in those shorts, feet bobbing up and down mindlessly, would result in him becoming rock hard.
You sniff softly and turn your head to the side, acting as if you were more engrossed in the Elle article you were reading about Pedro Pascal — the actor you were infatuated with who looked eerily alike to Joel — not even bothering to acknowledge Joel’s presence, let alone the removal of his clothes.
Excitement coiled in your gut at the thoughts of what your husband was about to do to you. Of being fucked by him or touched and trying your best to act as if wasn’t phasing you.
“I’ll take that as a yes then,” Joel chuckles, kneeling on the bed behind you and gently, so goddamn gently, begins to pull your shorts down your legs and off your feet, no underwear on underneath therefore leaving you bare from the waist down. “So.. I figured I’d give ya a little TLC, Honey. Put that little arrangement of ours to good use, hm?”
You gasp involuntarily when Joel’s thumb makes contact with your clit. He briefly pauses his ministrations to manoeuvre you into a better position, gently coaxing your legs apart. He then resumes his provision of stimulation, a smug smile that you couldn’t see creeping onto his mouth at the sight of your body twitching.
“Such a pretty pussy, Angel.” Joel comments, leaning down and pressing a final kiss to your clit before pulling his hand away and pressing the head of his cock to your entrance, manhandling you up onto your knees to give him better access to your cunt. You were already starting to make a mess — coating your thighs in your stickiness despite how little Joel has even touched you.
You feel embarrassed yet don’t move your eyes from the screen in front of you, holding your weight on your arms as you scroll through the website with your thumb, your brain barely withholding any of the information written in the article. You inhale sharply when Joel presses his tip into your opening, barely giving you any time to mentally prepare for the stretch before pushing inside of you fully, holding your ass in his two, large, overworked hands.
“There it is, just like that,” Joel purrs slowly, and almost reverently fucking himself in and out of your heat in long, deep strokes that had him reaching the deepest parts of you. You can hear the satisfaction in his voice, the relief. “Nice and slow, Sweetie. Let me build ya up, kay?”
You don’t respond although your hand starts to slump a little, not holding your phone as tight as you would be if you were actually paying attention. The slow, heavy drags of his dick across your walls had your clit twitching painfully, your insides pulsing and hugging Joel’s cock appreciatively.
A small sound escapes you, something of a squeak when his tip meets your g-spot. Your phone falls from your hand and your forehead ends up connecting with the mattress before you can stop yourself. Tears spring into your waterline, a mix of pleasure and emotion from the heaviness of your day being released.
“Oh, I know. You’re tryin’, huh? I know you’re tryin’ to ignore me. You don’t wanna talk about what’s bothering you, do ya?” Joel coos at the sounds of your soft sniffles, the sound of your defeated little sounds. You don’t respond, still clinging to that scrap of stubbornness left within you. You didn’t want to give in so easily, you still wanted to make him beg for your attention, even if you were the unreasonable one.
You haul yourself back up onto your forearms, forcing your phone back into your hand and resuming your scrolling, now opting to check out Instagram. Your hand trembles slightly, your cunt fighting the urge to clench around Joel’s cock at the heavy, intoxicating pleasure he was providing.
Joel chuckles again, amused with your determination. He begins to speed his thrusts up, forcing your hips down and barricading either side of your head with his arms as he begins to fuck you harder into the mattress, your clit being stimulated with his heavy balls swinging and thumping against it. Your mouth drops open, a cry threatening to spill out before you quickly censor yourself by biting down on your bottom lip.
“Yeah,” Joel rasps, his words becoming slurred as he fights off his own orgasm threatening to consume him. “You might not be payin’ attention to me. But this little pussy is. And no matter what you do, no matter how much you look on your phone, your little cunt is tellin’ me this is exactly what you need.”
His words hit you right in the core, heating your body up even more, sending your eyes rolling back with the mixture of his cock and words. He continued. “This pretty ass in my hands, and this perfect, perfect pussy milking my cock. S’so special, baby. Letting me use you like this — bein’ my little fuck dolly.”
Your mouth began to move before you could stop it from doing so — before you could yourself back. “Joel, p-please.” You beg softly, not even entirely sure what you were begging for. Him, his cock, his soothing words, maybe. You push your hips back, allowing your phone to fall from your hand once more. Not bothering to hide from the pleasure anymore.
“Yeah, I’m here, Angel,” Joel soothed to your plea and you can almost hear the relief in his voice when you succumb to him. The relief that his plan was working. “Just feel it, baby. Don’t worry about that phone of yours. Just feel my cock on that spot. My balls slapping that pretty clit.”
Joel’s head suddenly drops down to pepper kisses and love bites on the back of your neck. He leans forward just enough to trail his tongue up to your pulse point, sucking and nipping and the thrum of it before soothing the slight hurt with this tongue.
That was your weakness.
Any remainder of control you had over yourself was severed completely, a deeper, more intense moan erupting from your throat along with a; “fuck, baby,” that came out high pitched and sudden. Gasped out, more like.
Joel chuckles into your neck, speeding up his thrusts at your sudden burst of enthusiasm, moaning at the way you tightened around him, your slick walls hugging his sensitive dick. Abruptly, he reached down and gently — yet still firmly — wrapped a handful of your hair around his fist, tugging on it to force your back into an arch, his cock hitting so much deeper with this angle. Your moans turning pornographic as he began to speak.
“Yeah, you’re payin’ attention now. So deep like this, isn’t it? My cock all up in your belly, baby girl.” Joel grits, the obscene skin on skin slapping and the loud moans being ripped from your chest making his mind go hazy. He feels his cock start to pulse, his abdominal muscles tightening as he desperately holds back his orgasm. “Is this what you needed?”
You nod frantically, tears now freely flowing down your face, the release of your emotion cathartic as your climax neared. That was also part of the reason for your tears. “Yes — yes, baby. Just — just needed you to — to make me feel better.” You cry. And he could tell it was the truth — that you weren’t just agreeing with him because you thought that it was what he wanted to hear.
And something in Joel’s chest cracked at that. The sheer honesty and rawness in your words. He slows his thrusts slightly but keep the hardness of it. Gently, he pulls you up against his chest, your back flush to it so you were in a more comfortable position, his chin resting on your shoulder. “I know. I know you did, Angel. I’m here now,” he starts, kissing a tear away from your cheek with a crane of his head, his fucking of you making the both of you breathless as he did it. “You’re gonna feel so much better when you cum for me. Just gotta let it all out and give it to be. Let me deal with all that stress, huh? And then you know what I’m gonna do?”
You can barely say more than this through your hiccuping sobs; “What?”
But Joel continued on anyway, a smile laced in his words at your fucked out state, your orgasm on the brink of washing over you. “I’m gonna get you nice and comfy after, and I’m gonna clean you up. Make you a little dinner and grab you some snacks and just pamper my baby girl. I know she needs it.”
And you didn’t deserve him. His sweetness, especially after you’d torn the head off him earlier over a tiny comment. More tears slip from your eyes. More of emotion.
And just as you feel yourself about to come undone, it’s ripped away. Joel pulls himself from you gently, groaning softly at the loss of your heat as if this brief loss was as agonising for him as it was for you.
You whine in protest, confusion. But he quickly hushes you by rolling you onto your back and shifting you back against the pillows, ensuring your neck was supported before raising your legs onto his shoulders. “Shh — s’okay. Just wanna see that pretty face when you cum for me, baby.”
And then just like that he slams back in, resuming his thrusts perfectly and it wasn’t long until you were back on the edge. Tipping over it, tipping, tipping, tipping until finally — it hit you.
A yelp is forced from you that turns into soft, blissful whimpers as you writhe beneath Joel. His lips connect with your forehead through it. Then your nose, then your cheeks, chin and finally, your lips, kissing your swollen mouth until you were out of breath and pulling back frantically.
You drop your legs down from his shoulders and wrap them tightly around his waist, pressing you foot against his ass to pull him even closer to you. Inside you.
You see it in his face he’s close. Just as fucked out as you.
“Please — ple-ase cum inside of me, Joel,” you beg, eyes pleading, glimmering with desperation. “Need to feel it.”
Joel slows his thrusts to ensure he didn’t hurt you considering how sensitive you must be after that release, yet they still stutter — his hips. An amused laugh falls from Joel’s lips, his eyebrow cocking upward in surprise. “Oh? You’ve changed your tune.”
And despite your state — your dreamy haze. You laugh, right from your belly. The kind of giggle that just bubbles out of you. And Joel does the same with you. Just happy to see his baby girl smiling as he marked you from the inside with his release.
Thank you for reading lovely!! Comments, asks and reblogs of your thoughts are greatly appreciated :)
family friend, uncle rich, always lends a helping hand when you're in a bind.
18+MDNI, MAJOR CONTENT WARNING: please do not interact if you do not want to read any of the following—faux incest, descriptive unwrapped p in v sex, age gap (richie 40, reader college-aged), fingering, college partying/drinking, allusions to mikey’s substance abuse mentioned, idk sleazy nasty couch sex? richie with a belly, hairy richie, also richie with a big dick, it is nasty but consensual, no eva but tiffany mentioned, no use of y/n
happy kinktober! i will not be posting every day, but i hope this is enough nasty for now.
your mother, a registered nurse, had more things to worry about than your sneaky self on the opposite side of chicago on a rooftop with sixty other idiots you decided to party with. she was busy making sure no patient croaked, choked, or spontaneously combusted. her mind was not occupied with you “living in the moment of your twenties” because, for the most part, you took care of yourself since your dad skipped town when you were thirteen. you were headstrong and made sure to always have a safe solution to the situations you placed yourself in—like this party for example.
like any other weekend night, you slipped out of the house while your mom was on the graveyard shift and rode with thasia from your library study group.
thasia was trustworthy; she held your hair back while you puked your guts out, told you your boobs were crooked in your top, and checked your ass as you walked to make sure you didn't bleed through your pants. thasia always brought you home and even sometimes stayed the night after—she was a safe solution.
except for the fact that after mingling with some mutuals, having one strongly poured drink, a couple of rounds of grinding against the guy who always eyed you in calc, thasia was nowhere to be seen. the text on your phone that solidified it was ‘call me when you want to leave. left with daniel.” you didn't want to stay here alone, even if thasia wasn't by your side, knowing she was there was better than truly being alone. you also didn't want to ruin whatever little situation she was starting with daniel again.
but what you did know was that you did not want to risk taking a ride from anyone else because they were all past the point of tipsy. taking the “l” was out of the question because then you'd have to hoof it home on a dimly lit street. those were not safe solutions.
you could call your mother dearest, but then you'd have to get the nagging that went along with that, so after a few more moments of contemplation you picked up your cell and called uncle rich.
to your advantage, you were hardly buzzed, and in a conscious state of mind to figure it out. and for that solution richie would probably call you a hotshot for your quick thinking.
richie was clumsy and weird—possibly a little too enthusiastic at times, but he was always there. he used to be the guy who picked you up from soccer practice when your ole’ man couldn't make it. he was reliable, albeit, a little brash. he couldn't ever deny the soft spot he had for you, kid.
it rang and rang, and the second you thought it was going to go straight to voicemail uncle rich was on the other line.
“hey, unc,” you began while distancing yourself from the music and the sweaty partygoers. “hey, can you hear me?” you asked brushing past someone’s shoulder to wedge your way into the stairwell.
“yeah, yeah,” richie confirmed. he was awake, which was a good start. you didn't have to piss him off when asking for what you needed. his voice wasn’t groggy and you could faintly hear his television. he probably couldn't find his phone because it was wedged in the couch cushions.
richie couldn't ever settle himself after slinging sandwiches with his friend mikey, or to you uncle mike, at the beef. he needed a few hours to unwind with extra cigarettes, and some bullshit on the television.
“what's up, kid? it’s late,” richie asked, clicking down the television’s volume and pressing his phone closer to his ear. “really fuckin’ late, actually.”
“um, i need a favor,” you sighed softly as your eyes darted around the room, hearing footsteps from the lower levels drawing closer.
“oh shit, it must be ‘don't-tell-my-mom-hour’ since you're callin’ me. what’d you do this time?”
“i’m at a party, and i’m sorta stuck,” you continued.
“stuck as in somebody is fuckin’ with you? or stuck because you didn't stay with your friend like i told you to before?” richie pressed, although he knew he had full intentions of coming to the rescue. he knew all too well the woes of going out losing a friend along the way. “buddy system, kid. buddy system,” he reiterated.
“my ride didn't even tell me she was leaving,” you explained with a huff. “can you please come and get me?”
“imagine that kiddo is stranded and needs her uncle rich to come and save her,” richie teased although you could hear him shuffling around.
uncle rich was a safety net and not only in times of immediate crisis like your first flat tire or that time your boss would constantly hit on you while you worked. he’d pick you and cousin carmy up from school and stick you in uncle mike’s office at the beef. your mom could finish her shift at the hospital and you and carmy did homework until someone on the staff could get free labor out of either one of you.
“uh-huh. yeah,” you agreed dryly, a little mumble slipping from your lips as a couple passed you. “it’s nowhere shady, i promise. that rooftop off the highway.”
“gimmie like twenty minutes, okay? just stay outta trouble ‘til i get there. no movin’, or talkin’, or doing that roof jumping shit like spider-man. i’ll come up and get ya.”
you laughed, relieved in every sense of yourself. “got it. thanks again, seriously.”
“yeah, you owe me, hotshot. should be chargin’ you a chauffeur fee for as many times you asked me to drag you around.”
you’d been watching from the top of the roof for any sign of richie, and it wasn’t long before you could see his beater of a sedan sliding into street parking.
your goodbyes were quick and unenthusiastic; you were trying to rush to uncle rich as soon as you could, so you didn't keep him waiting. you did him the courtesy of trekking down half the amount of stairs and meeting him on a landing.
richie had a shirt balled in his hand and his keys in the other. his jacket was unzipped, but his hood was up, slides on with baggy sweatpants that he was most definitely free balling in. his oversized t-shirt concealed most of what his missing underwear was meant to do.
your party attire wasn’t exactly impressing him. more so making him question who the hell you were raised by and why in your right mind you would want to spend forty-degree weather without a jacket in sight.
he couldn’t begin at hello if you left the house resembling a girl from the strip club where his wallet got lifted at, but no matter, uncle richie loved you and always came prepared.
“i was fuckin’ right without even having to see you first. put this shit on,” he insisted tossing the wrinkled beef uniform shirt in your direction.
you attempted to pull the plunge of your shirt closer together and dusted your jeans. at least most of your body was covered. he should've seen you during spring break—poor unc would've had a heart attack.
“what?” you grumbled, shaking out the shirt he had given you. a waft of cigarette smoke and snuggle fabric softener hit your nose.
“dressed like a floozy, and guess what? it’s cold. ever thought of that shit?”
your nipples were slightly hardened through the thin material of your shirt. it was cold, but the breeze was light and it was much more lively next to everyone at the top of the building.
“uncle rich, it was a party—”
“and i know what happens at parties because i was the jagoff pickin’ up girls like you. now, put the fuckin’ shirt on.” richie crossed his arms, waiting impatiently for you to slip on his restaurant tee. your copper colored sleeves clashed with the burgundy berf shirt.
the fabric hits at your upper thigh, causing you to tuck it into the front of your jeans in an attempt to still look trendy. you followed richie down the stairs, watching him fiddle with his jacket pocket and rummage for a cigarette without taking the pack out.
“and y’know you’re crashin’ with me tonight, right? because i’m responsible for your hotshot-self now that you’re gettin’ in my car.” richie looked down at you as you spotted his car upon exiting the building.
“tiffany isn't there?” you questioned, jiggling the handle which was always stuck once you approached the passenger’s side. the door handle was the last concerning thing about the entire car, but richie had a system that he swore by although you could never master it.
“nah, not seein’ her anymore,” your uncle shrugged, taking a hit of his freshly lit cigarette.
“you said that last time.”
“yeah, i’m sure your virtuous ass has never been back and forth with a guy. do i need to bring up the gallagher kid?”
“seems like you already brought that back up, okay great,” you grumbled. “you can do better than tiffany. i think she's stuck up.” you hated when he came by and tugged the door just right.
richie furrowed his eyebrows. “i don't think she's—” he huffed, knocking your hand anyway to get a better grip on the rusting metal. “kid—every time—pull up not out, then you gotta—” richie flicked the ash from his cigarette and was prepared to slip his hand next to yours and pop the door open. a soft groan left his mouth as if his explanations had actually ever worked for you before.
“uncle rich i am ‘finessing the linkage’, so shut the fuck up.” you stopped him before he could even get to the phrase he coined for the car door.
“no, you’re not. you gotta—”
“i’m going to get it,” you protested, blocking him to earn yourself a few more seconds at doing it on your own.
his hand reached for yours to settle your tugging. he used your hand as leverage to anchor the door. he pushed your hand down and popped the handle, making the door creak as you went under his arm to slide into the passenger side.
“it’s okay to need me, kid,” richie assured you before shutting the door.
“yeah,” you sighed. you were passing the crap richie had stuffed onto the front seat into the back. he made himself comfortable in front of the wheel. his seat was almost completely reclined. he was letting his cigarette hang out of his mouth while he cranked the engine. his arm was slung behind your seat as he checked his mirrors.
“but what's this new beef with tiff?” richie questioned, eyeing you as he cracked his window to blow his smoke to the wind.
it wasn't new at all. he just hadn't paid much attention to your disdain towards her.
“she always acts like she's better than everyone. i just don't like her.”
“she's definitely better than me,” richie confessed with a shrug. “i mean i don't have much else goin’ for me. when someone half as pretty as tiff comes into the beef, maybe i’ll move on.”
it was quiet for a while, occupying time as richie smoked. you occasionally side-eyed him, which made him only want to try harder.
“i’m outta smokes, and i’m gettin’ another pack before we get back home. you want somethin’?” bribery was always a good option no matter what age you were, but it was easier to win you over when you were younger.
“no.”
richie was at the counter. you trailed behind him reluctantly because it was better than sitting in his cramped car and waiting.
“my treat, kid. go pick somethin’,” he insisted, tapping the packet of cigarettes on the counter.
you rubbed your chilled arm and sauntered down the aisle, mostly to keep richie quiet.
you brought a can of tea and two bags of candy: sour worms for him and red vines for yourself. you'd end up enjoying yourself once you pulled yourself on his stained sofa and watching reruns of naked and afraid especially when richie started claiming that he could ‘totally do that shit.’
“see, now you're comin’ around. just you, me, and junk. like old times,” richie smiled as he paid with a handful of loose cash.
once back in the car you cracked the tab on your tea and sipped. richie lit another cigarette. the ashtray in his car was overfilled, all the cigarette butts were precariously stacked on top of each other; some already managed to spill to the ground on the unvacuumed carpet.
“you been hangin’ with mikey too much,” richie commented as you dug into your roped candy. “he never stops eatin’ those things.”
you tugged a piece loose and twirled the rest between your fingers. “he doing any better? uncle mike, i mean.”
“uh,” richie paused, clearing his throat. “let’s just say that i’m glad i only got a call from you tonight.”
“sorry, uncle rich.”
“nah, kid. not your fault. mikey’s just got his own way of doin’ stuff.”
richie’s apartment hadn't changed a bit; no matter where he moved, he still had his clutter and an unorganized one-bed-one-bath. the only thing that changed is the available amount of square footage which only ever seemed to decrease.
you left your shoes at the door, not because richie was against shoes indoors, but because you knew you didn't want to dig under the couch after one of them inevitably slid too far back.
he emptied his jacket pockets onto his countertop while you set your midnight snack on the coffee table. you pulled off his uniform shirt and laid it across the unfolded laundry. richie’s ancient radiator always made it suffocatingly warm in his living room.
“you can take my bed when you're tired,” richie offered, peeking his head into the den to watch you try and move his laundry pile to the corner chair. “unless you want to crash next to me on the couch,” he laughed, licking the pad of his thumb.
“bed sounds nice,” you replied too quickly as richie put a couple of the worms in his mouth. the cushion you were currently sinking into had a deep depression likely from richie’s weight being pressed into it nightly.
he sat on the opposite end of the couch, plopping one leg up on the coffee table. his arm was slung over the back of the couch, barely grazing your shoulder as you settled in next to him.
he had his candy package resting on his abdomen as he flipped through the channels to find something mindless to watch. a smirk was present on his lips, trying to contain his residual laughter from his mediocre joke.
“suit yourself, this baby has gotten me through more nights than i can count,” richie joked eating another handful of sour worms while you pulled your legs to sit criss-crossed beside him.
though naked and afraid was not on selected programming tonight, deadliest catch was, and what kind of uncle would he be if he didn’t force you to watch boats on stormy waters haul in crabs?
your knee was resting against the outer edge of his thigh. his arm on the back of the couch was looser and more relaxed, occasionally letting his fingers grasp at the ends of your hair. you didn't mind it, if anything it reminded you of being a little girl barely being able to stay awake past nine o’clock watching the same television set with him.
you'd yawn and rub your eyes with your fist and fight sleep because uncle rich let you stay up until you conked out crooked on the arm of the couch. richie would follow suit after he smothered both of you in a sherpa blanket that was not properly cared for.
currently, you were in the same position, dozing off watching television.
“so is tiff a sore subject or can i say that i broke things off this time?”
you head whipped around, suddenly not as tired as you once were. “what?”
“i just thought i’d mention it because you think she's all high and mighty.”
“i don't care,” you shrugged, although it was evident in your tone that you did. “probably better that you did though.”
“well, i did because i don't think i’m ready to settle down with her yet,” richie admitted, patting your thigh.
your eyes met his, taking a moment to let his fingertips slide back to his candy. he then awkwardly tugged at his large shirt and pulled at the waistband of his sweats—just fiddling.
“yet?” you questioned. your neck was still craned over your shoulder watching his every move.
richie swallowed, shifting uncomfortably on the sofa. “yeah, i mean what girl is gonna really make me happy? they all gotta have somethin’ wrong with ‘em if they go for me.” his lips made a thin line. “but y’know tiff was really one of the good ones? i just can't commit to what she wants.”
you didn't know exactly what tiffany wanted because if it was loyalty and reliability she lost the perfect man for that.
“uh-huh,” you muttered, feeling your licorice breath hit your lip.
“whatever real reason you got for not likin’ her is fine, but i don't think it ever woulda worked because of me.” he pulled the center hem of his sweatpants, shifting his weight again. gross, basically manspread, not having a care in the world that he should definitely not be the guy to go commando.
you rolled your eyes; uncle rich always hated that shit. he still hated it now. he nudged your thigh with a look that said knock it off.
“stop actin’ like that. i gotcha a snack and picked you up off a fuckin’ roof in the middle of the night after i worked all fuckin’ day,” richie scolded lightly, rummaging for another worm.
“i’m not acting like anything.”
“oh-ho, real fuckin’ rich. poutin’ at me because of tiff? when she's only ever been nice to you?” richie jabbed at the look of contempt that was still on your face.
“why are you defending her like you're still together?”
“god, i don't know. only spent fuckin’ forever tryin’ to impress her. which you helped me with by the way. remember that?”
you turned your body, one leg now hanging off the couch and the other one tucked. “that was before i didn't like her.”
richie held his temples with a breathy exhale. “kid, what am i gonna do with you? you never shut your mouth.”
“wonder where i learned that from,” you retorted, crossing your arms and pressing your lower back against the armrest.
richie’s every last nerve was spent on you, and although he wouldn't have it any other way he couldn't stand your smartass mouth which was a direct effect of him.
“give the bitchin’ a rest, sweetheart.”
you chewed the inner part of your lip so as not to let the creeping smirk plaster over your face. you couldn't stay mad at him forever. richie’s expression formed right back; his eyes almost closing from his grin and his forehead wrinkles softened. you kicked richie lightly in his calf making him flick your kneecap. it was on now because richie tossed his open bag of candy on the coffee table by his foot.
back and forth. you pawed at his fleeing hand landing a jab on his chubby stomach. he pinched your wrist as you retaliated. you leaned forward, rocking forward on your knees to give his forehead a thwap. he knocked your shoulder making you gasp as your hand landed on the tops of his thighs. richie had flinched from the mere thought of his dick, which you narrowly avoided, being crushed by your palm. you swallowed glancing at his lap and then to his piercing blue eyes.
he cleared his throat awkwardly as his eyes wandered across your entire embarrassed face and straight down to your shirt. the damn one he tried so hard to cover after disapproving of it on sight.
you moved one hand to his chest, balancing yourself more appropriately against him until you could comfortably sit back across the couch. that was until you felt richie fidget in his seat. your eyes flicked to his lap, the lump in his pants a lot more evident than it once was.
that’s when you leaned closer to rest your head against his forehead. your mind was jumbled—trying to gasp at any sense you had left before you placed your lips on his.
richie paused for a moment preparing to cross a line that he was leaning over the moment you fell into his lap.
he brought you closer, embracing your waist he sighed into the kiss. the tension in your shoulders relaxed, pressing harder as his lips were fully captured.
you complied the moment he was coaxing you forward with his hands groping each side of your waistband. his legs were now planted on the ground—an open invitation for you to straddle his lap.
your grip tightened on his shirt, moaning as richie straightened his back to hold you closer. his lips began guiding yours into something slower and deeper. the kind where every sensation was tangible. his growing erection below you was only separated by a few pieces of fabric and one of his hands cradled your ass while the other unbuttoned your jeans.
you didn't know why it was so easy or even so tempting to lean over like you did, but no matter why it felt like the place you needed to be.
you softly whined as richie’s tounge entered your mouth. he was tugging down your zipper, resting his fingers against the front of your panties. you were cupping his face, comfortably immersed in this little, heated bubble. your thumb brushed upwards on his facial hair—a gentle reminder that he was being accepted in this moment.
his touch mellowed you; you were so malleable under his guidance while he moved his lips with yours. he dipped into the top of your underwear surpassing your trimmed mound of pubes and squeezing past the constraint your jeans provided to gently rub your folds.
you pulled back gasping softly, hanging onto richie’s wrist as his finger pads dampened with your arousal. his head dipped to your chest, messily kissing your sternum and the sides of your breasts that were peeking from the exaggerated neckline of your shirt.
you squirmed as his scruffy, bearded face grazed your soft skin. grinding into his lap while feeling the brush of his long shaft that was bulging under your seat made your anticipation grow while his fingers prodded your entrance.
“you want me to stop, kid?” richie’s fingers were still toying with your outer folds. he asked because he had to, making sure you wanted him as much as he wanted you in this very moment.
if you hadn't called him to be your lifeline you'd be getting it from some asshole with daddy’s money paying for their tuition while inside of their shared dorm room. at least this way he could watch over you.
“no,” your voice didn't waver. you were almost there to having his fingers inside of you. maybe you were a little desperate and quick to succumb to the teasing richie was demonstrating by dragging his finger pads around your folds and occasionally brushing against your clit.
this was not a quick entry by any means, richie was forcing your jeans and panties down further so his fingers could be enveloped by you. you performed an awkward shimmy to get your jeans and underwear to the bottoms of your thighs, so richie’s hand could sit easily between your thighs and up your pussy.
you moaned with the pitch lifting at the end, taking his fingers easier than you were about to take the restless cock in his pants.
“that okay?” he inquired, as he maneuvered them faster. his breath hit your chest—a little sticky in the space between your cleavage.
you nodded quickly as your nails dug into his arm. his fingers curled to reach your g-spot fully.
it was so stuffy in the den—enough to make your lower back begin to sweat. his palm cupped your cunt as he fingered upwards. you peeled off your shirt quickly, letting your breasts fall, not nearly as pretty and perky in the way the top held them, but no matter the logistics of breast tissue, richie kissed a column of your neck and then the underside of your jaw.
“yeah, good. mhm,” you nodded again, rocking against his hand.
he was keeping you close, not wanting you to stray even as you fussed from pleasure. you were melting in his hand as his fingers repeatedly thrust inside your walls.
you were sinking further down trying to keep his fingers where they were as they filled you so nicely.
there was enough force behind each of his movements, curving against your sweet spot just the way you wanted it. richie’s fingers were completely soaked, working you just right to keep you wanting more. he could feel you bowing forward trying to force more stimulation to your hole, knowing it was time to move on. he’d much rather let you cum on cock to show you how good it could make you feel.
richie removed his fingers from your sex, circling your clit slowly. his thumb rolled over your unstimulated bud. your lips parted in protest as he stopped, leaving it so swollen and begging for him to touch again.
he offered his hand to your mouth. you shly held either side of his hand and bobbed your head as your tounge parted his fingers. you maintained eye contact, feeling him shift again to squeeze his erection through his sweatpants.
“imma fuck you, sweetheart,” richie took his cleaned fingers out of your mouth and gave your lips a quick peck. “jus’ gotta get outta these,” he tugged at your jeans; you shakily stood stepping out of your bottom garments as richie tended to his own.
his pants' waistband was folded sitting directly under his heavy balls. he offered his lap back to you; it looked a little more intimidating this time with his dick fully spring. his filthy fingers jacked himself slowly; his was ruddy tip leaking with pre-cum.
he offered his hand to your mouth as you bracketed his legs again. “go on gimmie somethin’ to work with, baby.”
your eyes flicked to his hand while you spat in it, knowing he was going to take your saliva and stroke his cock so boldly in front of you again.
you hovered wearily above his shaft while richie held the base of his dick. you were sinking onto his tip slowly, breathing through the much different sensation. his cock opened you more than his fingers.
richie’s mouth suddenly went dry, having you begin to mount him. there wasn't any coming back from this now. there was only a guilty conscience later to add to the list of things that kept him up at night. whether he wrapped his dick up or not it wouldn't matter who he’s fucking.
“god, rich,” you whined, squeezing the top half of his manhood in your inner walls. your arousal was making this easier, but his erect length was greater than average.
“you're fine. doin’ good, kid,” richie encouraged. it almost felt wrong to say, but he wasn't taking it back now. you were taking him so good, stuffing yourself with the dick from the guy that honestly cared about you the most.
richie was watching you worriedly as you slid down his length further. your hands were still planted on his shoulders by the time you fully seated yourself on his cock. you eyes were now completely closed, grounding yourself in the moment to relax. his hand still guiding his cock straight into your wet hole, supporting you in the only way he knew how.
“fuck,” you murmured, hiding your face in the crook of his neck. you slid your hands behind him to brace yourself on the back of the couch.
“you’re okay, sweetheart. i got you,” richie consoled, letting out a shaky breath. his hands spread your ass some as if the feeling of the fullness would subside faster. you only nodded; a tightness not only in your throat but in your gripping pussy.
“i got you,” he reassured as you began to work up to an unsteady bounce on his hardened dick.
you hummed in acknowledgement, wiping your forehead on his shoulder before picking your head up to begin quickening your motion on his manhood. your tits jiggled temptingly in front of his face.
licking and kissing at the curves of your breast uncoordinatedly, he immersed himself in your chest. suckling at your skin but also your nipples—the ones that were pebbled so teasingly under your top in the stairwell. his tounge dragged your areolas and then wrapped your nipples in a hefty cover of warm saliva.
richie cursed under his breath when the sticky sound of your cunt filled his ears as you slid down a little harsher this time. you were working his length with a little more confidence as richie groaned.
up and down, your legs cramped but you paid no mind to it, pushing through it to work his length the right way. the slight curve on his shaft was perfect, expanding your walls and making you follow his length all the way down. there was a slight stick from the sweat but your pussy was creaming around his cock.
your legs kept snagging on his shirt with your quick bursts of riding his pole; he bundled the bottom of his shirt right above his hairy belly. the same dark belly hair trailed down to his pubes—overgrown, yet not taking away from any of his length.
you rolled your hips back. with a new sensation against his cock richie peered over your shoulder watching you grind against him.
his eyes suddenly widened, and he could feel his dick slightly twitching inside your pussy. he grabbed the underside of your thighs to slow your riding. he gave an awkward chuckle, which made him swallow. “stand up for me, sweetheart.”
he couldn't believe he was already turning you over, slightly embarrassed—possibly even a tiny hit to his ego. but you, kid, who was always ready to test his every fucking limit was still doing it now. he couldn't even try to make up some sexy excuse because his mind was already fuzzy from being so close. so the last thing he requested was for you to stand.
richie wiped his sweaty forehead on his shoulder sleeve, tugging off his oversized tee. “yeah, that’s good. just hold the back of the couch.” richie’s hand was splayed on your lower back as you positioned yourself, trying to plant your feet firmly as he lined his veiny cock with your entrance. he bit the inside of his lip looking at all the arousal richie helped produce.
a little arch in your back as richie rocked forward moving your entire body forward from the weight behind his thrust. your arms stretched out far and your head favored leaning on your right bicep as it hung low. your legs close together were edging richie’s tip just right as he humped. you had a certain grip on his cock—coating him with that sinful wetness.
richie crouched some, taking his thrusts upwards. his cock nudged at your cervix, making you gasp loudly. you panted into your arm as your legs shook.
his dick ramming into your sex, widening your hole to take all of him in a new position. richie’s opposite hand guided your hips down to him to meet his motions.
“uncle rich,” you moaned. your eyes became teary while his shaft ravaged your walls. “i think i’m gonna cum,” you exhaled; the wobble in your legs becoming more apparent as your cunt throbbed around him. “n-no, i’m really gonna cum,” you rambled again, feeling that pool in your belly building stronger.
deep in your core, that orgasm was rising to the surface, and richie wasn't stopping. “me too, baby. me too. gonna cum too, baby,” he agreed.
he could feel how heavy it was in his balls—no more edging, no different positions. his hips bucked as you clawed for stability on the couch.
“uncle rich,” you whined again, becoming louder as your climax hit. his wild humps continued until you were pulling forward unintentionally from your come down.
he pulled out quickly, holding not only the base of his cock but your hip. you felt his seed shoot on your lower back, slightly cringing as the hot viscous substance landed.
“fuck. okay. hold on,” he blurted, steadying you while he pulled up his sweats. he massaged your hip gently as he grabbed a discarded takeout napkin—the quickest solution although undesirable.
you unsteadily waddled to grab the shirt he loaned you previously. with yourself half-dressed richie sat you next to him on the sofa.
richie held either side of your face, placing gentle kisses against your forehead every few seconds. his chest was still rising and falling rapidly. your body was curled into him.
your smudged makeup only worsened when you rubbed your knuckle on your under eye. richie brushed your hair back and then tugged the blanket off the back of the sofa. with a bit of fluffing and fixing, that old sherpa fabric covered you both.
suddenly you weren't blocking out the noise of the television. the wind was still slinging cages and the crew was scrambling onboard. richie now moved to rubbing your cheek with his thumb, quietly trying to settle your trembling body.
“you good, kid?” he questioned, making your head flick up.
“yeah.”
“you wanna talk about—”
you cut him off, “thanks for picking me up, uncle rich.”
there wasn't enough time tonight to dissect what just happened, nor did you want to. you didn't want to pick apart your daddy issues or the oddly good feeling of validation it just gave you to know that richie didn't push you away.
I am sick of nsfw victor gideon x reader I wanna see more silly platonic drabbles hehe if not victor gideon submissive WHAT WHO SAID THAT-
“Let Me Help You Relax, Doctor.”
Sub!Victor Gideon x Dom!Reader
p in v, dom/sub dynamics, pet names, cream pies, seduction.
One day, he had asked you to come into his office later than usual. He was obviously stressed out, and his messy handwriting was a tell-tale sign of it. The desk he sat at, usually meticulously organized, was disheveled and unkempt.
Victor was a quiet man, and you knew that; he would much rather observe than give his input.
For six months, you had been working under him and loved every second of it. Perhaps, it was because you thought it was extremely sexy how soft spoken he was. Thus, when he asked you to be his personal assistant, who were you to say no?
Being his personal assistant meant getting to be around him 24/7, an opportunity you simply could not pass up. Taking care of sickly patients and documenting all therapy sessions was a two-person job after all.
Oh, you couldn't stand to see him like this, so tousled, so overwhelmed. You only wanted to help your favorite doctor out.
You moved closer to him gently putting a hand on his shoulder, “Why don’t you sit down Doctor. I can clean up.” you purr into his ear whilst guiding him into his desk chair. He lets out a sigh but doesn't protest.
Your hands remain on his shoulders as he sinks into the large chair. You feel him gradually relax. Picking up his pen, he began scribbling down patient prescriptions again—nice and neat per usual.
As you start to softly massage his shoulders, you notice he tenses up at first. “Shouldn’t you be cleaning up, my dear?” He asks, voice low and gravely.
“I’m just helping you relax. You know I’ll get it done… I always do,” you whisper the last part in his ear. That’s when he sets his pen down, halting his writing.
“If I didn’t know any better I’d think you were trying to seduce me, darling,” he says with a slight edge in his voice. You just smile and keep massaging, working your thumbs into his shoulderblades. Once he is fully relaxed you run a delicate hand over his big arms, giving them a light squeeze. “Darling—“ but you cut him off by sinking down onto the floor. His face contorted into a puzzled look before realization struck him. You make your way under his desk so you're face-to-face with his crotch.
“Shhhhh… I just want to make you feel better,” you whine, moving your hands to rest on his knees. Even from this angle, you could see the flush in his cheeks. Ever so teasingly, you creep your hands up and he grabs your wrist. “Please…” you pout looking up at him and, slowly, his resolve cracks. He pushes back slightly, giving you room to work.
You perk up and fully sit on your knees before making quick work of his belt. You press your palm on his obvious bulge. A hiss falls from his parted lips and you can feel how hard he is. Biting your own lip, you undo his pants, slowly lifting his throbbing cock out of the confines of his dress pants.
He was massive, long, and thick with a nice curve. You could see the pre-cum leaking from the pink tip as it twitched. You give his cock slow pumps earning a low groan from Victor. Smirking, you press your thumb right on the head. His whole body shutters—you wanted more.
His strong hands gripped onto the chair's armrest as you teased him. “Darling p-please, stop teasing me,” he lets out alongside a small whimper. You had never heard him sound so desperate. It fueled you, making you clutch his length tighter in your soft hands. He was usually a cool, refined man, but tonight was a different story.
With zero hesitation, you engulf him into your mouth. He arches when he feels the heat of your mouth around him. He was big, filling up your throat instantly. Tears formed in the corner of your eyes as you took him deeper. The salty taste of precum and sweat mixed together on your tongue.
You held yourself there. Keeping all of him in your mouth, nose pressed right up against his groin. You begin bobbing your head up and down, eliciting groans of pleasure from Victor. He gently tangles his hand in your hair. You suck harder, making him squirm, the movement making you pull away. “Be a good boy and stay still for me, hmm,” Whimpering, he nods whilst also removing his hand.
Placing your mouth back on his cock, you slurp up and down, swirling your tongue over the tip. You could tell he was close based on the loud groan that was pulled from his throat. “Darling, please…” But you had already pulled yourself off him.
Licking your lips, you undress before coming back to him. He looks up at you, sweat dripping from his brow, face red, and hair a mess. Without warning you place yourself on his lap. Positioning yourself over his throbbing cock, you lower yourself agonizingly slow. His hands tremble but you place your hands over his so he cannot grab your hips.
“Beg for it.”
His eyes widened, but no protest formed. “Please, my dear, please ride me…” He begged so sweetly; how could you say no?
“Good boy.” And with that, you finally sink down onto his cock, completely bottoming out. He tosses his head back and a low groan is ripped from his throat. Rolling your hips with a sly seductive smirk you couldn't take your eyes off his face.
How his breath was stick in his throat, how his mouth hung slightly open, the ebads of sweat that ran down his face. You loved it, starting to bounce up and down letting your own moans of pleasure fill the room.
“Good boy.” And with that, you finally sink down onto his cock, completely bottoming out. He tosses his head back and a low groan is ripped from his throat.
"Please let me touch you darling." He cried out as his tip impaired your cervix. Your head loled forward onto his shoulder and you moved your hands from his. They were on you in an instant, gripping your waist. You knew their would be bruises with how strong his large hands engulfed you.
He started pistoning his hips faster each thrust hitting all the right spots, "Fuck Victor!". He was close and so were you. Smashing your lips onto his you begin rolling your hips, chasing release. With a few more powerful thurst you both cum.
He mians in pure ecstacy. It was a sound you would soon become addicted to. You felt his cock twitch inside you as he filled you up. You felt so pull but didn't move off him, choosing to colaps into his chets. His hand softly rest on your back.
You would clean up the mess later but as of right now you just wanted to stay full of him. You kiss his chest and close your eyes. Maybe a quick power nap before you both had to start doing work again.
my default when writing is gender neutral! so it's a gn!reader and just a quick lil daydream i'm sharing. hopefully i will lock in and write a full fic but WE SHALL SEE.
I'm also posting this on ao3, but it's my first ever uploaded fic on there, im still learning how it all works! I just saw that the victor gideon tag on there was empty and wanted to fix that. also its pretty spoiler free bc i have not finished the game myself, that being said dont spoil it for me either pleaaseeee <3
anywho, here's to the other folk who saw that big weird old guy and wanted a piece too
cw: choking, mild dubcon but not really?, biting, weird virus biology, ring kink, size difference and a twinge of breeding kink
I think he'd start off with a lot of gentle stroking, the back of his knuckles running down the parts of your body he can't wait to explore. Your head's turned from him so he tilts his own to find your line of sight again, desperate for your attention
once he's got his hand in your pants, then he can't help the heavy breaths and soft chuckles that leave him. his palm grinding against you, calloused pads of his fingers tracing toward your entrance, the cold metal of his rings petting your sensitive areas
"There, there you are. Yes, that feels nice doesn't it? Oh, yes, very good. Look at how your body's begging for me."
Then when he looks to enter you, his hand goes to your throat, thumb pressing against your pulse, rings digging in just slightly. your back to his chest as he lifts you from the ground, your feet dangling in his grasp. He's rid you of your bottom half clothing, spreading your legs wide so he can properly watch how he fits in you, how smoothly he makes it in.
It's strange, veiny in an inhuman way and a few ridge like bumps down the sides. He's big, likely due to the virus. It gives you a slight ache at the stretch, but he's patient. At least he tries to be, but it seems your not the only one affected, feeling his hips twitch and enter him in a little quicker than you're ready for. Then you get a moment to adjust, as long as he can offer before he starts pulling you up and down.
"Forgive me, I can't help myself. I'm sure you can't either."
Fancy words get replaced with his hard breathing and growls into your shoulder, even biting into it as his sounds are near primal. Through it all, he even lets out delirious laughter, his excitement manifest.
"Perfect- Perfect. Just like I kn- knew you'd be. That's- haah.. haha- such a good job, my dear."
"Oh, now look at the mess you've made. Let's get you all cleaned up, hm?"
You feel his grip on you tighten, his rings pushing deeper in your skin, his voice beginning to crack. To the harsh growls you heard before, now falling into more of a whine, desperation to reach completion. Your body now being used like a toy as your moved effortlessly over his cock, the sensation running through you and hitting all the right places. You cum first, tightening around him in a way that makes him throw his head back before securing his arms tightly around your torso and shoving you hard down on his cock over and over again until you feel him filling you. He moans through gritted teeth, forcing his hips up to milk any final moments of pleasure.
Summary: You have a fever, and because you’re his very special patient, Dr. Gideon tries to help. In his own way…
Word count: 4.7k
Warnings: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, noncon, medical experimentation, vomiting, blood & injury, implied SH, drug use, needles, knifeplay, size difference, oral sex, vaginal fingering, penetration, choking, biting, dry humping, orgasm denial
Link to AO3
A/n: this is pretty gross and bad but the smelly reptile man brainrot is too powerful and I needed to something about it. Enjoy!
***
You know it’s him before he even enters the room.
The lock to your cell gives its familiar double-click, the sound cutting through the quiet of the room. Your stomach roils on instinct before the nausea can catch up, but luckily, you’re already awake. Have been, for hours, trapped in a feverish half-sleep suspended on the ebb and flow of your symptoms. Every swallow tastes like blood, and your thin nightgown clings to your skin in damp patches. Your body can’t seem to decide if it’s ice-cold or scalding, so you burrow yourself deeper into your bedsheets. You prefer it this way, if only to avoid looking at him.
Fluorescent light spills in from the hall. You sense it crest along your silhouette and pull the sheets up even higher, suppressing a shiver that cannot be blamed solely on your illness. Measured footsteps approach the bed, and his scent, antiseptic and metallic, surrounds you.
Dr. Victor Gideon makes a low, gravelly sound before he speaks.
“You’re awake,” he says simply.
A hand settles over the crown of your head, the unnaturally cold appendage shocking your eyes wide open. Thankfully, he can’t see that. It takes everything in you to steady your frantic breathing, fingers blanching where they curl into your sheets.
You wonder if it’s worth feigning sleep. The doctor is not an idiot, and certainly no stranger to your failed attempts at deceiving him by now, but you think he deserves the pettiness anyway.
There’s only silence for several more beats until he says your name, loud enough to produce a resounding echo in the small space. The dread it fills you with forces your lips apart, but no sound comes out. You try again, and your voice scrapes up raw.
“I couldn’t sleep,” you say, cringing at the pain in your throat.
Gideon says nothing. His hand brushes aside the hair concealing your face until it reaches the slope of your forehead, feeling the sweat that has accumulated there. You bitterly note the pleasent bite of cold from where his skin and rings press against you, a reprieve from your body’s own stifling temperature.
He hums low, as though considering something, then leans close enough for you to feel the mattress dip.
“Sit up,” he says, disconcertingly soft.
His proximity makes your head swim and stomach lurch.
“I can’t.”
“I won’t ask again,” Gideon warns.
With a huff, you force your elbows beneath you. Thankfully, the doctor backs up enough to give you space, but as you rise, your vision blooms with bleary spots and your feverish joints protest sharply.
“That wasn’t so hard, now was it?”
At last, you turn to look at him. Gideon is dressed in his usual coat, snakeskin leather shining dangerously in the low light of the room. He must’ve been out, you think, noticing the way his wiry hair is slicked back. A wet sheen covers the expanse of his inhumanly pale chest, as though he’d been in the rain.
He’s even wearing that wretched visor. It is perhaps the thing you loathe most of all about this man. The cold, all-seeing glint of it a constant reminder that he would never offer you something as simple or as equalizing as eye contact. It’s a power imbalance you have known since he took you captive all those months ago.
The cameras activate, whirring softly as they extend outward to analyze you. You cannot fathom what he sees besides the shell of a girl he’s reduced you to in the name of scientific research. A cannibal’s hubris.
You turn away from the uncomfortable scrutiny of it, but Gideon catches your chin between his large fingers and turns you back. You utter a noise of protest, only to be startled into silence by the sudden proximity of his face.
“You have a fever,” he notes, standing straighter.
No shit, you think hatefully. You’ve been sick. For days. It was really only a matter of time before all his drugs caught up to your body. Some darker part of you almost rejoices at the simple fact that this illness could be lethal, maybe your only way out of this hellhole.
“An inflammatory response to the last treatment,” he says again. “Taking longer to resolve than expected, it seems.”
He’s speaking out loud more for himself than you; you never understand what he’s talking about anyway, divulging only the barest details of his findings on occasion. You’re not even entirely sure there is a purpose to these experiments.
You know there is something that Gideon wants from you, though. The reason for these daily visits and the continued abuse and exploitation of your body. After all, you can’t imagine this monster has any room for affection in his heart. It’s a truth grossly apparent in a moment like this, where his behavior feels more perverse and unpredictable than ever, as though he is acting on some private fantasy.
Gideon reaches into his coat pocket and procures a small bag. Inside are three pills, all smooth edges and ill intent. Your stomach churns at the sight alone.
“No,” your voice cracks. “I can’t keep anything down.”
“I don’t think that’s fair,” says Gideon coolly. He shakes the pills from the bag and places them in your palm. “You don’t want to keep anything down.”
Frustrated tears burn at the corners of your eyes. “Please, the medicine makes it worse,” you insist. “It always does.”
The doctor says nothing to that, only staring down at you with the same unreadable expression. Then, his hand drifts towards a metal cart by your cot and flexes over a large syringe. The blood in your veins turns to ice.
The message is simple enough, and you know all too well that he will not hesitate to follow through on it.
“Good patients do as they’re told,” Gideon murmurs. “Surely you know that by now.”
You’re choking on air as hot, angry tears stream from your eyes.
You don’t want to yield to the threat, but the fear of falling victim to the mad doctor’s wrath paralyzes you. After a beat of hesitation, you nod slowly.
Satisfied, Gideon reaches for a cup of water and places it beside you. His disfigured smile, lips curling excitedly over jagged gold teeth, tells you he must get a kick out of this little game of defiance.
Despite the harrowing threat of Gideon’s temper, you keep your jaw shut. Your gaze falls to the pills in your shaky hand until your unshed tears blur their colors together, Gideon watches calmly, but the slight down pull of his mouth tells you his patience is thinning.
Silence stretches until the pressure feels as though it might split your skull. You tip your head back and place the pills on your tongue. Sharp bitterness invades your senses at once, and the urge to gag rises hot and violent.
Gideon beams, pleased.
You snatch the cup of water and down it in one go, but your throat seizes in immediate protest. He places a hand on your shoulder, rubbing placating circles as you cough sharply.
“Shh… just let it pass. You’re doing very well,” he murmurs.
The praise is short-lived as nausea crashes over you.
You bow forward, stomach clenching hard enough to make your ribs ache. He does not step back, but instead reaches for the metal cart to pick up an emesis basin, as though he expected this, and places it beneath your chin. You retch, once, then twice, bringing up the bitter medicine, water, and bile. Cold sweat turns waxy on your skin.
“I-I’m sorry, I r-really didn’t mean to do it this time,” you sputter between gags, but Gideon watches on disinterestedly.
He sets the basin aside once you’ve recovered, “I hoped that wouldn’t be necessary, but perhaps we should try the bath again.”
Your head lifts a fraction, eyes misted with the effort it took to expel everything from your body. You internally try not to panic
“N-no, not that again. Please.”
The doctor continues, “Your present fever is proving inconvenient for the data we require.” He pauses for a beat then nods to himself, like he’s pleased with his own idea. “If you still cannot stomach the medicine, then we will simply have to try the traditional approach again.”
“But it hurts,” you choke out. The room tilts on its axis as you try your damndest to keep down another wave of nausea.
Before you can argue further, your blanket is stripped away. Cool air bites at your clammy skin as Gideon hooks one arm beneath your legs and hauls you over his shoulder with effortless strength. The shame that flares through you burns hotter than any fever.
He carries you out of the room and into the adjacent bathroom, unceremoniously dumping you onto the stool bolted to the ground. Without another word, he approaches the bathtub and turns the tap. It sputters, then steadies into a crystalline stream.
Gideon glances back at you. “Remove your clothes.”
You might’ve laughed if you weren’t so terrified. Instead, you rise from the stool at once and lunge for the bathroom door, only for a rough hand to clap over your shoulder and shove you back towards it.
Your cheeks burn hotly with indignation, unsure of what to say. And why should you? Gideon is leaning down to stare at you, lips thin and expression unreadable, but you already know you’ve crossed the line.
As you stand beside the man now, you're disturbingly reminded by how this monster towers over you, capable of swallowing you whole should he wish it.
“Can I at least do it myself?” you plead, begging for some semblance of reprieve from his overbearing presence.
Something like amusement crosses Gideon’s marred features. “Oh,” his smile turns predatory. He leans impossibly closer, until you feel his hot breath condensate along the shell of your ear. “But we already tried that once before. Didn’t we?”
He punctuates the last part with a squeeze of your throat. If any of the nausea from earlier had begun to recede, it certainly comes rushing back now, along with the memories of your last attempt at rebellion when you attempted to drown yourself in this very tub. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to bury the memory of this cold-blooded monster’s hands on your bare skin and fists tangled in your hair.
”That won’t happen again, I swea—“
Without warning, you are lifted and dropped into the bathtub. A yelp tears from you as frigid water engulfs your body, the cold is so immediate and absolute it steals the breath from your lungs. Your flimsy, white nightgown soaks through immediately, but you hardly have the presence of mind to feel the shame of lying practically naked beneath him.
Gasping for breath, you look upwards to where Gideon stands over you.
The grin he fixes you with is carnivorous. He drops to his haunches beside the tub, imposing height still oppressive even bent down to your level.
“You’re not like others, you know,” he breathes, sweeping a wet strand of hair from your face. “That is why I must take such careful measures.” His hand drops to caress the tendons in your neck, lower until it cups a breast, flicking an erect nipple through your wet gown.
Your hand moves before your mind can stop it, striking him square across the face.
The crack that splits through the bathroom sobers you at once; shock detonates in your mind so violently that you can do nothing but stare at the profile of the man before you, then at your own hand as though it belongs to someone else entirely. You let it sink into the icy bathwater, then shrink back against the tub as though it’ll make you invisible.
Gideon goes still. Then he turns back.
And then he is on you.
Your head slams into the tile as his hand buries itself in your hair, forcing you still as he kisses you. Pain blooms hot behind your eyes, the violation of his nearness causing a surge of panic to flood through your body. His tongue traces the seam of your bottom lip hungrily, serpentine and cold. It demands entrance and you don’t have the strength to stop it. The forked appendage finds yours, and you’re certain you still taste of vomit but he doesn't seem to care.
Groaning in revulsion, you shove him away, but Gideon’s hand closes tightly around your neck. The callused pad of his thumb finds your carotid instantly, stroking it in silent warning until you yield.
The surface of your tongue catches on the chipped edge of a tooth, eliciting a small cry of pain as the tang of blood fills your mouth. Gideon groans when he tastes it, lapping up every trace with ravenous greed. When he finally pulls away, a thin strand of saliva remains connected to your mouths.
“I thought we’d moved past these little tantrums,” he seethes. His thumb presses deeper into your throat, making your head feel airy.
“Just kill me,” you spit. “I’m not getting better, and it doesn’t fucking matter–”
Gideon sighs and releases your throat, rising to his full height. You drag in a ragged breath, still reeling from the assault, only to freeze when you look back up and find him grinning at you. Fresh blood stains his smile, gold and crimson flashing in the low light, as though his teeth had been inlaid with rubies.
“Kill you?” he repeats, like you’ve just insulted him. “I’m afraid I can’t do that—not while I still have use for you.”
Suddenly, you are being hauled out of the water and slung over his shoulder. You scream and thrash against the iron grip, soaking through his beloved coat and sending water streaming from your hair and clothes to the floor. Droplets splatter like tears across the concrete floor as he carries you back to your bed.
”No. No. Please, just leave me alone.”
You’re tossed onto the bed in a tangle of limbs. A wave of disgust rolls through you at the feeling of your soaked nightgown clinging to your skin, and the abrupt shift from the bath’s freezing water to the suffocating warmth of the bed makes your teeth chatter. You can scarcely catch your breath before he is on you again in a blur of snakeskin and pitiless cold metal.
You cannot escape him. Gideon’s presence is absolute no matter where you are, a reptilian bane that lives in your very marrow. His mouth finds yours again, nipping at a sensitive spot on your lip that begins to bleed. His arms trap you, fingers roaming about your body and squeezing into your nightgown and skin like he means to wring you out.
Something sharp digs into your skin, making you flinch. When you look down, a scalpel gleams in Gideon’s hand. It carves a long, bloody stripe along your collarbone, the searing pain briefly pacified by his tongue dashing out to lap it up. You go slack in his arms like a limb doll, head still throbbing from where it struck the wall earlier. The bath has done nothing for your condition, and fever creeps back over you in a nauseous wave, bringing with it that drowning delirium.
“You… you are my masterpiece,” Gideon pants, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your sternum and breasts through the material of your gown. A crimson tongue darts out to swirl lasciviously around your peaked nipples.
You briefly wonder if it would be possible to snatch the scalpel from his hand while he’s distracted and end your life right here, months of experimental torment beneath his thumb for the sole purpose of cruel dominion. A perfect retribution for a life that you no longer owned.
Almost as though reading your mind, he begins to laugh like a madman. You flinch at the sudden noise, which sobers him, turning his expression eerily grave.
“You are my finest work. Did you really believe I would ever let you go?” His face splits into a smile, with all the unhinged delight of a hunter closing in on its prey. “You, of all people, should know better than that.”
“Don’t you dare touch me,” you snarl, twisting in his arms to fight him off despite your mounting nausea, but he pins you down to the bed with inhuman strength.
Sinking to his knees, Gideon licks away rivulets of bath water on your bare legs, twisting the flesh tightly enough until the pressure blanches your skin. You cover your eyes with your arm and cry out, making him ease his grip before stroking gentle circles into your calves like he means to placate you. A hand glides up your leg, skirting along the wet edge of your nightgown. You hastily attempt to clamp your legs shut, but noticing this, he scores a deep cut into your thigh with the scalpel, sucking at the wound greedily.
“There, there,” he murmurs. “I’m only trying to help you.”
His hand resumes its ascent between your legs, cupping your sex over the drenched fabric. You instinctively reach over to cover his hand with your own in a silent plea to stop, but it only serves to compel his ministrations.
“Shhh… please don’t fight it,” he murmurs feather-soft into your skin, sounding vulnerable in a way that is unbecoming of him. “Can’t you see that I need you to trust me?”
“No more, please,” you collapse back onto the mattress and pretend this is all just a nightmare, a fever dream wrought of venomous heat.
The bottom of your nightgown is torn by the scalpel as Gideon rips the rest away, baring you entirely.
He leans over to plant a chaste kiss at your navel, sliding upwards until his mouth latches onto a nipple. His rapidly hardening cock digs into your abdomen, uncharacteristically hot from this cold-blooded monster. He sucks at the peak experimentally, capturing it between his front teeth and nibbling down. You sink your nails into his feathery hair and swallow back a broken sob. Why is he doing this to you? How much longer must you endure this torment before this creature decides you have nothing left to give?
He moves higher to nuzzle into the crook of your neck, grinding his clothed cock against your bare sex. The pressure of the snake buckle on his belt feels unexpectedly good against your pubic mound. He registers the small whine it elicits.
Gideon whispers your name reverently. “Tell me who you belong to,” then, seething, “Tell me.”
He emphasizes the command with another cut of skin at your sternum, licking that one like the others before he kisses you again. You taste yourself on his tongue.
“No one,” you hiss against his mouth, and Gideon laughs menacingly.
Cold fingers dash quickly between your bodies to find your cunt, gliding embarrassingly smooth along the folds. You turn to bury your face into the sheets, horrified in the face of evidence to your unwanted arousal. He makes a hum of approval as his fingers circle about your entrance and before you can stop him, two digits are pushed deep inside of you. Despite your wetness, the brutish size of his fingers leave you crying out in burning agony as they begin to pump in and out at a cruel pace.
Your body is betraying you. It must be. He has no right to it and still, it bows and thrums to his every touch. It feels too weak, too pliant that you wonder if he’s done something to you; after all, you have no idea what kind of drugs he has been pumping into your system since you were first taken here, nor what fills the syringes he administers whenever you misbehave. Maybe there was even something in those pills, despite your efforts to purge them. Colors writhe in the void of your clamped eyes as you try to imagine yourself a million miles away from this moment, somewhere in a lush forest, or deep beneath the sea, where this monster could never find you.
“I won’t… fuck…. Please just stop…!” You protest, squirming beneath his weight. But then he adds a third finger and curls it until he finds that spot along your walls that turns your brain to cotton. The combination of your fever, pleasure, and humiliation makes you feel like you might dissolve into the bed.
Time slows as you reach the edge. You defeatedly squeeze around Gideon’s fingers, if only to get this over with faster. But your release never comes.
Gideon detaches himself from you like a ghost. You clench around nothing and cry out, swallowing the plea that rises in your throat, certain it would shatter whatever ragged scrap of fighting spirit you have left if you ever let yourself yield to this beast’s whims.
You scramble up against the wall as soon as he moves away, and fix him with the most poisonous glare you can muster. “You’re fucking insane–”
The words lodge in your throat as Gideon begins to unfasten his visor.
You’ve seen his eyes once before, but the sight of them now, ablaze with sadistic hunger, makes fear cinch tight around your gut. Unnatural eyes, serpentine and bright, trail hungrily over your naked body before lifting to lock with yours.
“What I have planned for you will not be stopped by these petty little shows of rebellion, but it is entertaining to watch you try,” Gideon muses, placing the visor on the metal cart. Fear paralyzes you when he reaches for the syringe.
“No! Fuck, get away from me!” you scream, wrenching from the bed, but Gideon traps you again with his eager hands.
He twists you by the ankles and drags you right back towards the edge of the bed where he kneels, prying your legs apart to bring his face between them as the tip of the syringe rises like a serpent’s tooth and plunges deep into your thigh.
You collapse onto the mattress, defeated. A strange drag settles over your limbs, as though your blood has thickened in your veins.
The injection site burns, but even more scalding is the wet, dragging slide of Gideon’s tongue at your sex. You can’t stifle the broken moan that comes out of you, half-panicked, as you weakly attempt to kick him away with your foot. He barely reacts, squeezing your ankle tighter until the pain shoots white-hot up your leg.
Gideon closes his mouth around you, that hateful tongue pressing flat against your clitoris as he suckles lightly. He is merciless against your swollen folds, forked tongue plunging in and out of you until you’re left wheezing for air.
Your thoughts wade brokenly in your mind. You think the drug is beginning to take effect as weakness seeps through you in slow, poisonous increments, like you’ve been filled with this monster’s venom. Pleasure dies at the stake of your stupor. At some point you begin to cry, your cheek meeting the cold dampness of tear-stains on your sheets as you turn away to bury your burning face.
Your breath hitches at the half-lidded stare Gideon gives you from between your thighs. He’s grinning, the mess of your arousal apparent on his lower face as he lingers there, savoring your anguish. He blows on the sensitive flesh, using his coarse thumb to rub quick circles on your clit. You tear away as the scene becomes hazy and attempt to focus your attention on counting the ceiling tiles.
Something about that must amuse him because he begins to laugh against your folds, the vibration sparking every nerve to life. This, along with the delve of his greedy tongue into your sopping cunt sends you over the edge. But the pleasure does not arrive cleanly, instead it drags through the chemical fog in a warped pulse, too dull to ride out.
His hands keep you pressed to the bed, slurping down your orgasm and dragging his tongue from your slit to clitoris until you're left writhing in the muddy throb of overstimulation.
But he’s not done with you. Before you can recover, he wipes his mouth against your thighs and grabs a hold of you, rolling you onto your stomach effortlessly.
“Stop. Please, please, that’s enough–” you moan out, forehead slamming into the mattress. You feel like rolling over into a cramped ball on the floor and purging your body over and over until it forgets the feeling of his hands on you, in you–
“It’s taken me forever to find you…” He releases a shaky breath, caught somewhere between amusement and disbelief. “Now, at last, you can fulfill your destiny.”
You are still trying to decipher what he means when the jingle of his belt buckle and trousers coming undone barely registers in your syrupy brain.
No. No. No.
In your mind, you lurch away from his hands, but your physical body remains motionless on the bed. Gideon grips your lower body and slams his hips forward without warning. You scream into your own mouth, teeth sinking hard enough into your cheek to draw blood. Your bottom half feels like it might split in half from the force of trying to accommodate his inhuman length. The scarred, ribbed skin of his cock rubs obscenely against your walls, large hands settling on either side of your hips as you faintly feel them slither up and down your ribcage in a futile attempt to soothe.
A helpless sob escapes you, but the doctor moans over you, deep and ragged.
“Shhh… Oh, forgive me… But you’ve left me with no other choice.”
Gideon begins to ride you to his pleasure, sliding deep enough that you feel the hot, swollen head of his cock pound against your cervix, girth stretching your walls unbearably wide. Fingers on one hand squeeze your hips, hard, the other reaching for the underside of your body to tightly squeeze and pull at your breasts, rolling a nipple between his fingers.
“You’re doing so well, ah– that’s it. So damn well for me.” Cold flesh envelops you once more as he dips down to lick the space between your shoulder blades, your back unintentionally bowing toward him. The hand at your breasts drops to your lower belly and presses against the bulging impression of his cock as it jerks in and out of you savagely.
His next thrusts are harder and more merciless, even in your drug-induced haze, grazing a spot inside of you that sends a fresh wave of feverish heat in your blood. You gnaw on the bedsheets until your mouth is dry and brimming with the downy taste.
One more punishing snap of Victor’s hips into that particular spot, fingers rubbing tight circles at your clit with deliberate pressure has you coming undone in his hold; it’s a mangled sort of release that makes dark spots burst like fireworks in your vision.
Gideon isn’t too far from release himself, because the pulsation of your walls around him have his thrusts growing more desperate and sloppy.
“Yes… yes, yes, ah, that’s it,” he hisses, words blurred into a liquid murmur. “Can’t you see I’m the only one who recognizes your worth?”
A hand entangles itself in your hair, rings snagging at the strands, and wrenches your face close enough that you can hear Gideon snarl his release. Ropes of warm seed flood your channel, curdling any lingering pleasure from your orgasm into a deep, sour nausea.
You are wholly trapped beneath this monster’s weight and the effects of the sedative to do anything, even as he continues to pump a few final, agonizing strokes into you.
The doctor hasn’t even removed himself off of you before you feel the iron grip of his fist begin to wring your neck. You are slammed back against the bed before you can make sense of what is happening.
Gideon whispers your name like a prayer, “Rest, now,” he says, voice sounding strangely faraway. “We have so much more to do when you wake.”
Darkness swells around you, your final scraps of consciousness shattering into the blessedly quiet void of the sedative.
The peace is startling and merciful, like the breaking of a fever.
Tags: Smut; Mommy Kink; Dom/sub Undertones; Light Dom/sub; Men Whimpering; Submissive Zeno; Hurt/Comfort; Blow Jobs; Oral Sex (male receiving); Masturbation; Praise Kink; Established Relationship; Reader-Insert; No Use of Y/N for Reader-Insert; Female Reader-Insert but could be ftm without bottom surgery, no gendered terms are used aside from clit and pussy oh and mommy; POV Second Person; Insecure Zeno
Word Count: 1,626
Summary: Zeno comes home after a hard day of feeling like a failure and all he wants is to be taken care of. An accidental slip of the tongue from you leads to something wonderful you've both been secretly craving.
Also on AO3: Here
It happens by accident.
You're cuddling in bed with Zeno, his head nestled in your lap while his arms circle your waist lazily. He's had a rough day – the Connections are putting more and more pressure on him to deliver results, to get a return on their investment, while Victor continues to be useless and annoying and rude to Zeno at every turn. Everywhere he turns, he is reminded of his genetic donor and his own failure to live up to his greatness.
So when Zeno came home to you, frown lines deep on his face and shoulders tense, you didn't hesitate to drag him to the bedroom, toss aside his leather coat and suit jacket, then dump him on the bed right in your lap.
Your hands naturally drift towards his hair: the colour fascinates you because it's a perfect silver that is entirely natural, but on top of that it's always so soft and silky to the touch when not weighed down by styling products. Right now, it’s a bit stiff because of the gel he put in it to slick it back, but it’s the work of a few passes with your fingers through it for it to loosen up and yield to your ministrations. Zeno releases a sigh that seems to come from the depths of his soul at the touch of your nails against his scalp and you smile to yourself at how he snuggles closer to your stomach. He reminds you of a cat sometimes.
You love him so much. He's so gentle and sweet, always is with you. He was actually very shy and unsure when you first met (struck by your beauty, he explained later), but always the perfect gentleman. Sure, he's also deadly and willing to do things most people consider cruel in order to achieve his goals, but when it comes to you he's more like a guard dog – vicious to threats but eager to come to heel when called. Having the utter devotion of someone so powerful and intimidating is a heady feeling.
It's the sight of him, so small curled up around you, so at ease in your arms, seeking your touch like it’s an oasis in a desert, that makes the words slip past your lips without meaning to.
“There there, baby. Mommy's got you.”
You want to backtrack as soon as the words are out. You stiffen under Zeno, heart pounding in your chest so hard you fear it's going to explode, and you brace yourself for his reaction. You don't know where that came from but… Don’t you? From the moment you met Zeno, you felt this pull towards him that was unlike anything you've ever felt around another man. The thought of babying a man, mothering him, has always repulsed you – enough cis, straight men treat their partners like they're their mothers as it is, you have no interest in parenting a grown ass man. But something about Zeno and his wide eyes behind those shades he always wore raised a protective feeling in you that made you want to wrap him in a blanket and hide him from the world.
But regardless of your own feelings, surely Zeno wouldn't appreciate being babied. Not when everyone already undermines him and treats him like a faulty project that keeps misfiring.
You are prepared for his ire, his indignation. Apologies are already on your tongue, just waiting to be deployed. But they turn out to be unnecessary.
Zeno lifts his head from your lap and looks at you with wide, glassy eyes whose pupils are blown wide. His breath is shaky when he exhales before biting his lower lip slowly. Your eyes are drawn to it, of course, and a jolt of arousal goes through you at the sight of those teeth biting into the plump flesh.
“Do you, Mommy? Have me?”
Heart flip-flopping in your chest, you nod and reach a trembling hand towards his cheek so you can cup his face tenderly. Zeno leans into the touch, eyes fluttering shut on instinct, and you audibly coo at the sight, unable to help yourself.
“Of course, baby. I always have you. Let me take care of you, hmm? Help you forget about your worries,” you whisper. You can hardly recognise your own voice – gentle but raspy with arousal, holding a hint of firmness and authority you never thought yourself capable of.
“Please,” Zeno whimpers – honest to god whimpers – and you lose it. A moan escapes you at the sound of it before you drag him up to your level for a kiss. Zeno goes without complaint, letting you manhandle him easily, and his lips are so yielding and pliable under yours as you absolutely devour him whole.
You take your time kissing him, running your hands through his hair and massaging his scalp, letting your nails scratch against the skin every so often so you can hear those pleased little sighs fall from his lips every time you do. You kiss his jaw, under his ear, down his throat – leaving plenty of hickeys as you go – and Zeno does little more than lift his arms or his hips when you start taking clothes off.
With him on his back under you, you touch and kiss every inch of him. His hands are kept dutifully out of the way so your exploration can occur unhindered and it makes you so hot and bothered you swear you could black out from it when he releases a needy whimper and a plea for you not to stop as you kiss his chest, bite on his hard nipples, then leave hickeys and bite marks on his inner thighs.
“Mommy,” Zeno whines at long last, unable to take your teasing any longer, “please touch me.”
“But I am touching you,” you tease, blowing a hot breath of air against his cock just to see it twitch and leak even more precum onto his stomach.
“Not like that. Please suck my cock!”
The smile that spreads over your lips is nothing less than adoring and you oblige, first taking his weeping dick in your hand and giving it a pump.
“Okay, baby. Whatever my baby wants, hmm? You deserve it.”
That gets a choked off moan out of Zeno, his eyes shut tight against the pleasure, and you raise an eyebrow at the reaction. Somehow, it doesn't truly surprise you that he has a praise kink.
You lean down and give the head a lick then, tasting him like his pre is some kind of gourmet meal, and hum approvingly at the same time he whines and bucks into your hold.
“So sweet for me, Zeno. So good.”
This time, his moan and the blush that accompanies it are expected. You smile, pleased, then bend back down and properly take his cock into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks and taking him as deep as you can. Zeno moans above you, just broken strings of nonsense mixed with your name, and it makes your pussy throb to see him so gone already, reduced to a babbling mess.
You alternate between sucking and licking his cock and sucking on his balls or fondling them with gentle, loving fingers, throwing in words of praise throughout to work Zeno up even more.
“That's it. Good boy, Zeno, just like that,” you mumble the praise against his wet balls when he thrusts into your tight fist to chase his pleasure and it seems like that's the final straw. With a broken shout, Zeno's balls tighten, his cock twitches in your hand, and then he comes – his thick load shoots out of him like a geyser, painting his chest white, and you watch with glittering eyes as you work him through it, wringing every last drop out of him.
When he's finished, Zeno drops to the bed with a satisfied sigh, eyes open but hazy as he stares up at the ceiling, and you take his distraction as an opportunity to reach a hand between your legs, finding your clit under your soaked underwear and rubbing it furiously. It doesn't take more than a few rubs against it before you're cumming too, a whimpered moan of your own escaping as you find your release.
When your eyes find Zeno's again, he's looking at you in wonder mixed with embarrassment. You scoot up the bed to reach his face and immediately take his lips for your own, kissing him messily but with feeling.
“That was so hot. Thank you, baby,” you confess after you part.
“It was,” Zeno admits quietly. “Thank you for giving it to me.”
You shake your head fondly and rub a gentle thumb under his eye while you lean down to press a kiss on his forehead.
“I'll always take care of you, Zeno. I love you.”
The same look of wonder and disbelief crosses his face that always appears when you say those words to him, but he swallows and offers you a small, shy, but genuine smile.
“I love you too… Mommy.”
You huff a small laugh, shaking your head, and kiss the tip of his nose in lieu of replying.
It's unexpected and not something either of you are used to but… It feels right. It works for you. And you like taking care of him, being the one in charge for once, the one he looks to for reassurance and protection. He might guard your physical safety like a hound in the outside world, but here, in your home, in your bedroom, you're the one protecting him; you protect his feelings. And he is so very grateful to you for seeing something worth guarding, something worth being gentle to. Nobody else does. It's a nice feeling.
Summary: Usually, Victor held meetings in his office, not at a strip club. But Zeno had insisted on it this time, and who would say no to a private striptease?
Wordcount: 7.1k
Warnings/tags: Porn with plot, strippers, alcohol, penis in vagina sex, doggy style, missionary, dirty talk, multiple positions, biting, tit slapping, begging, crying, rough Sex, vaginal fingering, Hand jobs, breeding, creampie, unsafe Sex, Reader is chubby, squirting, age gap, size difference, praise kink, english is not my first language, not proof read!
★★★★★★★★★★★★★★
The bass thumped through the dim haze of the strip club, neon lights flickering over women that were dancing sensually around poles. Smoke curled in the air, mixing with the scent of cheap perfume and spilled liquor, Victors nose scrunched up in a snarl as he followed Zeno deeper inside, the man in front of him strutting around as if he owned the place.
When Zeno had called in a meeting, regarding the tracking and capture of Grace Ashcroft, Gideon expected them to discuss it in his office- the usual. But no, this time Zeno insisted on chosing the place they would talk at.
Said place being a strip club came as a surpise to Victor.
But Zeno was his client, his companion of sorts, partners in crime some would call it- literally. And he was the money man in the whole operation. If Victor wanted to find and continue his masters legacy, he had to stay on Zenos good side.
Zeno guided Gideon to a table that was closest to one of the stages, a skinny blonde woman swaying her hips to the music, her eyes lighting up as she saw the white dressed man. Mr. Wesker. He always paid good.
While Zeno easily dropped into the chair, one leg thrown over the other, Gideon seemed less enthusiastic. Zeno lounged comfortably, his eyes, even though they were hidden behind his glasses, trailing over the movements of the stripper in front of him approvingly. He threw her some money, that's what he was known for. Throwing money around like confetti because he thought it made him irresistible. Big spender, zero charm.
But that mattered down here. Only the guys with money were interesting. And while the woman didn't know the big guy Zeno had dragged along, she quickly realised he wasn't here to spend anything. He looked like he'd rather dissect a corpse than watch tits bounce to the rhythm. So she quickly went back to ignoring him.
Victor huffed through his nose, throwing his briefcase onto the table. "So, Zeno, I'd like to start with-" but he didn't come far as Zeno clicked his tongue in annoyance "I'm not talking without a drink in my hand" he said dismissively, bringing his cloved hand to his mouth to whistle over to the bar.
The words you do it were about to leave your mouth, but your friend said them faster, making you lose your little game of banter. You groaned and took a pen and paper off the bar counter. "Hey, I did the last one. It's only fair" she called after you with a chuckle, her laugh growing louder when you flipped her off. You had been on your feet all day, in these stupid but unfortunately sexy heels and just wanted to take a break.
You adjusted your short skirt, the one that stretched perfectly over your curves and the plushness of your stomach. It always gave you the most tips, even if you were just serving drinks.
You sauntered over to the table with the guy that had whistled to get your attention, hips swaying, your makeup making your eyes look even more alluring. You recognized the man in white, though you didn't know his name. He was...a bit exhausting to deal with. But he was generous, which was a good compensation.
When Zeno spotted you, he whistled again, approvingly "Well, hello there, gorgeous," he drawled, leaning forward to take your hand, kissing the back of it. "What's a vision like you doing in a place like this?"
You flashed a professional smile, pulling away your hand a bit more forceful than intended "I'm here to ask what you boys want to drink today" you almost purred, popping out your hip as your pen tapped your notepad, waiting.
"Pour me a glass of whiskey on the rocks, sweetheart" Zeno said, slipping a bill into the hem of your skirt. You scribbled his order down with a hum. Then your gaze slid to the man next to him- damn. That just hit you like a freight train. He was massive, even sitting. You were sure you were merely a head taller than him when he sat. Just how much would he actually tower over you if he stood up?
His shoulders were broad and strong, straining his leather vest which wasn't closed in the front all the way, giving you a peek of his skin there, a snake skin coat draped over his stool like a shed skin. His skin was pale gray, etched with scars and cracks veined in red, and those yellow eyes pierced right through you. You almost visibly shuddered. Not from fear, no. People with mutations weren't as uncommon in this part of town, you had seen plenty. But it never made you feel...hot and bothered before.
When he started speaking, you almost melted into a puddle on the floor. Thank god your friend forced you to take this table. "Spiced rum. Neat" he specified, his voice way gentler than he looked, a soothing tone to your ears.
Your handwriting was crooked as you tried to remember what he ordered- you just couldn’t help imagining his voice speaking of something else, right into your ear while he fingered-
Zeno cleared his throat, snapping his fingers lightly. "Yeah and also, add some salted olives for me, pretty girl" he chimed in, enough to make you regain your composure. You nodded, writing it down, earning yourself another handful of bills that soon were stuck against your waistline.
Just when you turned to leave, Zeno called to you "Hey, beautiful, you got a name? Or should I just call you mine for the night?" he grinned, as if that just got you wrapped around his finger for good. You chuckled, trying to ignore the cringe-worthy line, telling him your name "- and flattery will get you extra toothpicks for your olives." You winked in hopes to get more tips later, but your attention lingered on Victor, who was subtly staring at your ass when you left.
Zeno wasn't hiding how he looked, watching you over the rim of his glasses as you talked to the bartender. "Oh she's so into me" he muttered, a lazy smirk playing on his lips as he saw you lean against an empty bar stool, bored, waiting for the drinks to be poured.
Victor mustered all the strenght in him not to roll his eyes. He just hummed, the sound something between acknowledgement and agreement to Zenos delusional words.
"You have that look in your eyes" The bartener mused as he poured the whiskey, the ice in the glass cracking at the contact. "I'm tired as fuck, to put it frankly" you replied, but he shook his head with a laugh "No, not that. You look like you're thinking about sex. Is it white suit guy?" He asked you, looking behind you at Zeno, who went back to watch the blonde stripper dancing.
You bit your lip and shook your head "Not him, but..." you mumbled, averting his gaze. He gasped, almost overpouring the glass of rum "Uh, okay...you do you, girl" he shrugged and you went to slap his arm in embarrassement, to which he chuckled.
He sent you on your way with the drinks and bowl of olives on a tray, but not without muttering "Maybe if you kiss him, he'll turn into a pretty prince"
You threw him a look over your shoulder “Ha ha, you’re funny” you deadpanned. The bartender snorted, cleaning a glass with a rag he had slung over his shoulder “And you have some weird fetishes” he said, more to himself than to you, and luckily you were already too far away to hear him.
You balanced the tray on one hand as you approached the men’s table, your face growing hotter the further you went. At least the glass was cool against your fingers as you set it on the table and slid it towards Zeno “Whiskey on the rocks…” you started, absentmindedly placing the olives in the middle of the table. “…and a spiced rum, for the handsome gentleman” you didn’t know what came over you to make you say that, but now it stood between you in the humid air like a brick wall.
“Handsome gentleman? Sweetheart, are we seeing the same man?” Zeno chuckled, trying to mask just how pissed he was at the attention you gave Gideon. He went to pat his shoulder roughly “No hard feelings, Doc”
That made your ears perk up “You’re a doctor?” You asked, watching as the object of your desires took an approving sip of his rum, and you didn’t even know his name yet. “Well, yes. I am. A virologist, to be more specific. Dr. Victor…Gideon” the way he said his last name, his voice turning into a deeper rumble as he bowed lightly, flicking his wrist- a very charming way of introducing himself, you thought.
You giggled softly, squeezing your thighs together as his dark gaze raked over you, assessing . “It’s nice to meet you, Dr. Gideon” you said, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, purring his name as you tested the sound of it on your tongue. Good god, if you didn't get into his pants by the end of this evening, you'd combust.
He cocked his head to the side, a small smile playing around his lips “Victor” he corrected you, taking another swig of his drink “And the pleasure is all mine” his tongue darted out to lick the remains of the liquor off his lips- you damn near fainted right there. It was split, like a snake’s. It shouldn’t have surprised you as much as it had turned you on, it was very fitting to the python theme of his clothes and jewellery after all.
You bit your lip, thinking about what his tongue could do, before you cleared your throat and averted your gaze. "Well, if the boys want another drink, you know where to find me" you said, pointing behind you at the bar with your thumb.
Your eyes wandered to Victor one more time before you reluctantly pulled yourself away, turning around with your tray tucked under your arm.
Victor let out a breath as your perfume left his nostrils, and he already missed the sweet scent of it. But he was here for business, and now that Zeno had his drink, they could finally talk. Or so he thought. He was just about to start where he left off when Zeno shushed him, popping a olive into his mouth "Seriously?" he mumbled, chewing.
Victor furrowed his brows, stopping in his tracks as he was just about to pull out stolen documents and photos "What?" he asked, a slight irritated edge to his voice.
Zeno looked at him, chewing obnoxiously, letting Gideon wait for an answer even though he was already fuming out of his ears. "Are you seriously just gonna...ignore that?" Zeno said, poking a few olives onto his toothpick before eating them one by one.
"Ignore what exactly?"
Zeno rolled his head to the side to look properly at Victor, his glasses sliding down his nose to reveal his eyes that screamed don't play with me right now, but as Gideons face remained obvious, Zeno sighed "Ignore that our darling server has the hots for you" of course Zeno had noticed that your eyes kept drifting to the big guy. He himself was used to being the center of attention, the one women fawned over for his looks and class- totally not because of his money.
But you? You with your beautiful plush curves, breasts sitting nicely in your skin tight shirt and your thighs thick enough to crush a man's head- you were eyeing Victor like he was the main course, even though you could have anyone.
Victor scoffed at Zenos words "She is as infatuated with me as she is with you, Zeno" he said and watched as the man in front of him processed his words. Zeno threw him a nasty glance before he cought himself, brushing a hand through his slicked back hair. "I'm serious. Didn't you see the way she looked at you? Should have brought your stupid goggles, maybe then you wouldn’t be so painfully obvious"
Victor huffed, his eyes narrowing. He wasn't stupid, you only batted your eyelashes in hopes to get money out of his pockets. That was the trick of these clubs. Gorgeous young women glued to the lips of older men, waiting patiently to be showered in money.
"I'd rather we discussed the situation at hand. Grace Ashcroft. A loyal informant of mine sent me her employment documents. She works for the Federal Bureau of-" yet again he was interrupted by Zeno, who laid hid arms around him, pulling the taller man closer "Come on, Victor. Live a little. If she works for the FBI, it's a piece of cake for us." He reassured, not taking this as seriously as he should "So, for now, let's focus on the piece of cake in front of us"
Gideon followed Zenos eyes to the bar where you stood, swirling a fruity cocktail in your hand as you talked to the bartender. Piece of cake indeed. Your soft side profile, kissable lips and round ass was all Victor could focus on.
"Just look at her. What a pretty little thing, all soft and inviting. Don't tell me you don't want a little taste of that, old man" Zeno continued rasping and truth be told, Gideon couldn't avert his gaze away from you. You seemed to feel his eyes bore into your back and you turned, meeting his intense stare. You bit your lip to surpress a smile, holding your glass up as if to cheer, before turning back to the bar. A flicker of interest broke through Victors mask of professionalism. He hadn't been with anyone in years, too buried in work and too scarred inside and out. Could he even handle you? Sweet and curvy temptation that you were?
After a tense pause, Victor sighed and ripped himself away from Zenos tight grip "I'll pass, thank you" he declined and opened up his laptop, typing in the password, making Zeno huff.
You gorgeous little thing were so desperate to get laid that you'd fuck Victor out of all people, and he didn't even appreciate it! Zeno could only shake his head.
Victor slipped an envelope over the table "Now, I'd like to discuss what we came here for in the first place" he said, voice stern with no room for arguments, his eyes pinning Zeno in place. The blonde man sighed "Alright, alright" he muttered, lighting a cigarette before he finally turned his attention to Gideon fully.
Gideon showed him all the documents, informations, e-mails and photos the private investor he paid had found to Grace's whereabouts, schedules and close relatives.
The men planned the abduction with deliberate care, every detail important. It had to work this time, it just had to. Zeno nor Victor were ready to wait another 8 years just because they made a stupid mistake or forgot one crucial factor.
By the end, the whole club had been emptied out. It was well into the morning hours now, and Victors backpain was proof that they had been sitting here for a very, very long while. They would have spoken about this whole thing even longer if it hadn't been for your friend approaching them, her hands on her waist "Gentleman, you don't have to go home yet, but I'm gonna need you to leave. We're closing" she said seriously. Her presence was menicing, pushing. She clearly wanted them to leave now.
Gideon, who quickly got onto her last nerve, was calmly sorting his laptop, the pictures and his notes back into his sleek black briefcase. She went to storm off with an annoyed groan, grabbing her coat to leave, but not before she cane over to you while you scrubbed down the bar "Can you handle these two assholes? I can not deal with their shit right now" she explained dramatically, giving you a quick kiss on the cheek after you nodded. Then she headed out, leaving you alone to your closing shift.
You ruffled out your hair, brushing a finger under your eye to clean off the eyeliner that had smudged throughout the night, making you look more like you hadn't slept in days instead of being sexy. Then you went over to the two men, hoping you didn't look as tired as you felt.
When you stood in front of them- holy fucking shit, Victor indeed loomed over you, quite easily up to two feet taller than you. You swallowed thickly. What else of him was this big?
You suddenly didn't feel as tired anymore.
You cleared your throat and collected the empty glasses off the table, putting them onto your tray that you held with one hand while you cleaned the table with a rag with the other "Well, you heard her. I don't want to throw you guys out, but I do want to go home soon" you smiled, eyeing Gideon in all his glory, with the snake coat now, in hopes to burn this imagine into your mind before you would never see him again.
"We're on our way, love" Zeno bowed slightly, throwing you a wink. Ugh, why couldn't the big strong doctor be so flirty with you?
Zeno already turned to leave when you suddenly stumbled over your own feet, the glasses slipping from the tray and shattering on the floor. Great. Really fucking great. "Shit" you gasped, dropping to your knees to scoop up the shards back onto your tray quickly. Not only did you have to pay for two new glasses now, but you also just completely humiliated yourself in front of Gideon and Zeno.
The floor suddenly went dark, and when you looked up, you almost moaned. Victor had crouched down with you, still towering over you tremendously. "Let me help" he just stated calmly and soft, beginning to pick up the glass "Oh- no, you don't have to-" you protested, but he was already shoveling the large splitters onto your tray. "You'll hurt yourself. Such delicate hands shouldn’t be scarred up" he said matter of factly, and the gesture made your heart soar in your chest.
He then helped you up, his hand strong and sure as he pulled you up to your feet and you almost tripped again, right against his chest. But you cought yourself, taking a step back, your fingers shaking as he handed you the tray with the busted glass.
"Thank you, doc" you smiled, which he returned, and you swore your cheeks were burning up from the look he gave you. He was about to answer, though a sharp whistle behind him made you both jump.
"Get in the car or get a room" Zeno complained impatiently, tapping his food as he leaned against the entrance door, impatient.
Victor bid you goodbye and turned to follow the smaller man. You watched him as he bowed down to fit under the doorframe, the door heavily clicking shut after that. Now you truly were alone, the pop music quiet in the background and your heart hammering helplessly in your chest.
Outside, Zeno dialed the number of his chauffeur, and by the way he almost crushed the phone in his hand from anger, the driver was on his way- but currently held up by a traffic jam.
Cursing, he searched for a fat cigar in his coat pocket, nearly biting it clean through with how hard he was clenching his jaw.
Gideon knew better than to taunt him right now, so he remained still, watching Zeno inhale deeply, before puffing out a ring of smoke that carried down the street until it eventually faded into thin air. His shoulders were a little less tense now, though only a fraction. "When he gets here, m'gonna fire him" he mumbled over the thick nub of cigar hanging from the corner of his mouth.
Until he could fire the guy, it could be mere minutes, half an hour, or closer to two hours...Gideon leaned against a street lamp, crossing his arms in front of his chest. That's when he noticed- he wasn't carrying his briefcase!
He must have forgotten it in the club, too busy helping you with the clean up and stressed by Zeno whining into his ear that he wanted to leave.
He rolled his eyes, barely noticable, pushing himself up right. "Where'you goin'?" Zeno asked with a cocked brow, muttering through his cigar. "Forgot something" was all Victor answered, stomping back over to the entrance of the club and hoping you hadn't already locked up the building.
Relief washed over him as he found the door to be open, lights and music still on. Gideon watched you jump, ducking behind the counter as you heard the door creak open. You relaxed a bit as you recognized him "Don't scare me like that, fuck" you wheezed out, a shocked laugh escaping you. You had almost dropped another glass!
He didn't answer you, looking almost frantically around the room in search of something, frowning as whatever he was looking for wasn't in it's place where he had left it anymore. You dried your hands with a rag, your eyes following him "Is everything...okay?"
He spotted the suitcase on the bar counter, striding over to it. "I was just looking for this. Very important documents" he informed you with a charming half smile as you craned your neck up to look into his face. "And here I thought you came back because you missed me" you pouted softly, sauntering around the corner to stand in front of him.
He chuckled, the noise warming your core. "I can not miss what I never had, can I?" he returned, noticing the way you seemed to inch even closer. "You could have me. Right here" you were alone, and you were horny. So, so horny for this man. So it didn't really come as a surpise when you answered like this, and you couldn't bring yourself to feel guilty, not even when he muttered that hook-ups weren't his thing.
"I haven't done this in...ages" he admitted, but he felt his resolve cracking when your fingers made contact with his leather vest.
You stood flush against him, this was now or never "Then let me make it memorable" you breathed, fingers inching up to the scar that ran down his chest, your touch featherlight as you traced it. Victor was glad you couldn't see the goosebumps that spread across his neck and arms right now.
"I could make you feel so good" you whispered sincierely, and all better judgement was thrown out the window when your tongue replaced your fingers, licking the scar up to his throat- as far as you could reach while already standing on your tip-toes.
His hand shot up to grip your arm. You expected it to be harsh and tensed up, but he was surprisingly gentle, his hand sliding up to cup your face "Well, if you truly want to be a naughty little tease, why don't you strip for your doctor, hmm? I need to examine you properly, don't I?"
Fuck, Jackpot! You didn't think you would be able to crack his resolve in the end like this. You had already came to terms with the fact you'd go home and finger yourself to sleep, trying to imagine it was him. Now you didn't have to imagine anything anymore, you could just experience this, allthough you had no idea if you were dreaming right now instead. It was just too good to be true, which is why you pulled him by the hand over to a plush couch in front of a stage, buzzing with giddiness and excitement. Your genuine wide smile was enough to warm his coldblooded self.
"Make yourself comfortable, Doctor" you purred, watching him fall back into the leather couch, the material creaking under his weight. Tension crackled between you, like it had all evening, your pulse racing as you faced him.
His legs were spread wide, those yellow eyes tracking your every move, and something already began to stir in his pants.
You smiled, despite feeling incredibly bashful under his gaze. Yes, you had masturbated in weird and risky places before, but never out in the open at your job like this. You had rooms for that here, but you were too impatient to pull him into one, just so you could say you had a bed beneath you. He could fuck you right on this stage, too.
You started to sway to the last bit of music that played off of the work playlist, something sensual, before you slipped off your bra without removing your shirt yet. You threw it to the ground carelessly, then your hands slid up your sides, cupping your breasts through your top, thumbs circling your nipples until they pebbled through the fabric, a soft shudder going through you.
Slowly and ever so teasingly, you peeled off your low cut shirt and let it drop to the floor as well, revealing your full, beautiful tits, soft and bouncy, just begging for his attention.
Victor's breath hitched, his cock now very visibly filling out his pants. "My god" he muttered, eyes glued to you, the black slits of his eyes dilating into round pools of desire, making his eyes appear as if they were solid black.
You couldn’t remember the last time someone had actually looked at you with such genuine adoration and interest, so you shimmied out of your skirt, kicking it aside, standing in just your lace panties that clung to your wet pussy, the colour matching your bra. You turned slowly, arching your spine to show off your ass and the soft rolls of your back, then faced him again, fingers hooking into the waistband that dug into your soft hips. "Like what you see, Doctor? I always had a thing for men in white coats, you know” you admitted, caressing your curves to the music.
Victor chuckled, a deep rumble that sent shivers down your spine. "Come closer, darling. Be a good girl and tell me where it hurts” he mused, flicking his fingers in a command for you to approach. He didn’t have to tell you twice.
You slid your panties down, quickly stepping out. But instead of throwing it away, you pushed the wet fabric into his coat pocket as you perched yourself on his lap, your dripping cunt barely hovering over the bulge in his pants. "Down here” you whispered, voice raw with need as you guided his large hand too your pussy, letting him feel how soaked you were.
You mewled as his fingertips dipped inside you shallowly, your hand clawing at the collar of his coat. He hummed as if analysing your reaction with medical professionalism “What kind of pain are you experiencing?” He asked you, smooth and soothing, his middle finger slipping deeper inside, making you gasp “Is it dull? Stabbing…burning?” His voice became more and more breathless as he watched you fall apart from the stretch of his fingers.
You sighed, his fingers easing the ache in your core “It’s a throbbing…pulsing pain. Feels empty” you whined, rocking eagerly against his hand, your arms snaking around his neck for balance “Any idea what it might be, doc?” You panted the question, your wet pussy squelching on his fingers and swallowing his thick rings that made him feel even bigger.
“Hmm, I could imagine one or two things…but I think I need to take a closer look, just to be sure" He smirked, pulling out of you, the uncomfortable emptiness returning instantly and you whimpered at the loss. You wasted no time to spread your pussy lips over his bulge, humping against the coarse fabric of his pants, staining it with your slick. You felt like him being completely dressed while you were naked was greatly unfair, so your hands went to his coat, shrugging it off his broad shoulders. Then you unbuttoned his leather vest with shaking fingers, your hands just couldn’t get the garment off quick enough.
Underneath it all- fucking hell. His torso was cushioned with fat, but you felt the strength under your palms as you roamed his pecs, the pale grey skin soft despite the red scars that mapped his body.
"So fucking hot" you breathed to yourself, nails scraping down his chest, leaving angry red trails. He hissed at the sting and yanked you closer, your mouths finally crashing together. The kiss was hungry, your tongues tangling, allthough yours quickly lost the battle with his forked one.
He broke away, making you whine out that he stopped, a string of salaiva connecting your tongues "Go get your medicine, sweet girl"
You obeyed instantly, fumbling with his belt and zipper until you practically ripped it all off of him- and then his cock sprang free, slapping against his plush belly. You thought you just came on the spot.
Victors dick was very much matching the rest of him. It was girthy, long, veins pulsing underneath the pale skin and his tip already leaking. "Holy fuck" you moaned, wrapping your hand around it, stroking slowly. It throbbed in your grasp, hot and heavy, bigger than anything you had ever taken, though you certainly dreamt of having your pussy stuffed to the max.
You held his cock up and against your stomach, it ended about an inch or two over your belly button, and you were looking down at it in awe. He chuckled at that, but was interrupted by a groan as you pumped him faster, thumb swiping over the sensitive tip. His head fell back, eyes fluttering "That's it" you stroked him like you knew just to drive him crazy, as if jerking him off was everything you ever did- everything you were made for.
When he regained his composure, barely, he leaned forward to latch onto your breast, trailing hot open mouth kisses over it until his lips found your nipple, sucking hard and swirling his tongue over it.
You cried out, arching into him as he bit down lightly, his golden teeth grazing the sensitive bud. "Fuck- oh, Victor!" you gasped, squeezing his cock tighter in your fist. His free hand slapped your other tit, the sting making you yelp again, then he pulled off your nipple to spit over your other breast, rubbing the saliva in with rough circles.
"Such perfect breasts you have" he muttered against your skin, switching sides to suck, slap and bite, leaving them red and slick and blooming with red and uneven teeth marks. You ground eagerly down on his thigh, pussy soaking his pants, your movements over his cock growing sloppy.
"Please" you begged, pushing his cock between your folds, sliding back and forth. It made Gideon hiss, hands digging into your thighs painfully "I need your cock inside me. Please, Victor"
You shrieked as he suddenly stood, hauling you up in his arms and manhandling you onto all fours down onto his large coat that he threw onto the cold stage so your knees were cushioned. There was barely enough room for him on the couch alone, but he needed to fuck you properly, make this worth your while, so the stage it was.
Your hands clawed at the fabric as you arched your back, eagerly presenting your dripping pussy to him. He massaged your mound with one hand just to see you squirm.
"You really want me to stretch that pretty pussy?" he taunted, but maybe with a slight unsure tone, as if you'd snap out of it soon and realise you were letting a disgusting old bastard fuck you raw.
But all you did was push back against him "Yes, yes I want it. Fill me up, doc- wanna cum all over your cock" you mewled, laying your upper body on his coat, your cheek squished against the collar, inviting him even further.
Victor lined up with your hole, rubbing his thick head through your folds and coating himself in your wetness before thrusting in. Once your pussy started to envelope him slowly, inch by inch, he couldn't help but sigh in bliss. You were so tight, while to you, it felt like he was splitting you open. You screamed, the stretch burning in your core, his cock filling you utterly and completely. "Oh, what a snug little pussy" he sighed, bottoming out, his heavy balls slapping your clit.
He wasn't a monster, so he waited exactly 3.5 seconds to let you adjust, anything extending that time would have been torture.
Victor pulled out before slamming back in, setting a brutal pace from the start. Each thrust rocked you forward, tits bouncing and your nipples rubbing against the fabric of his coat while his hips snapped against your ass. "Who would have thought you would take me so well" he mused, watching how he disappeared into your cunt, his dick coming out wetter with every pass. The sight made him groan.
You moaned, pushing back as much as his strong hands on your hips allowed you, meeting his harsh pounding "H-harder!" you hiccupped, biting into his coat "Fuuuck, you're so biiig" you whined, the needy sound muffled.
But Gideon wouldn’t have you hiding your moans from him, so he wrapped one hand up in your hair, yanking your head back, exposing your neck for bites and open mouth kisses. When he leaned over you to lick at your pulse point, his plush stomach molded perfectly into the arch of your back, as if you two were made to fit together like this.
Tears started to brim in the corner of your eyes as he abused your cervix mercilessly, pleasure shooting down your legs to the point you almost couldn't hold yourself up anymore.
When he reached around, his thick fingers finding your clit to rub it in fast circles, a sob escaped your throat and fat tears rolled down your cheek from the ectasy "Cum for me, sweetheart. Milk my cock, I know that pussy wants it. She's so needy, dripping all over me and onto my coat. Filthy girl"
His words were your undoing and you soon submitted to the building pressure coiling in your abdomen, your orgasm crashing over you likes waves. "Victor! Oh god- yes! Yesyesyes, cumming!" you yelled, your body convulsing violently, your cunt gushing even more around his cock while your legs were shaking helplessy beneath you.
He didn't stop, and the way he moaned when you clenched hard around him was heavenly. He pounded you through it as best as he could to prolong your pleasure and chase his own release, but your orgasm made you incredibly tight, your pussy barely letting go of him.
"Good girl. Be ready for one more, I haven't had my fill yet" Victor pulled out of you with a slick pop, much to your dismay, before he flipped you onto your back. He was setting you down carefully despite his desperation.
He hooked your legs over his shoulders, grasping your pillowy thighs in his hands, kneading them as he leaned forward to fold you in half as far as your flexibility allowed, slipping back inside. You moaned at that, your eyes rolling back into your head. "Oh my- fuck!" You gasped, this new angle hitting spots deep inside you that you didn't know existed.
You scratched his back open, drawing blood, the pain only spurring him on. Your mouth was opened in a constant symphony of moans and whines, your brows furrowed as you tried to keep looking at him, into his lustful eyes, and the way his lips parted to pant, sweat beading on his forhead.
He spat on your tits again, slapping them as he fucked you, making you cry out and arch your back into him. "Look at you, tits jiggling and your pussy creaming on my dick. Such a needy slut. What more could an old man like me want?" He taunted, admiring your beauty like he had all evening. Even when your tears washed the make up down your face, you were utterly captivating.
You could only nod dumbly, your voice shaking "Yes yes yes, use me, Victor, please!- don't stop!" you were sobbing all pretty for him, another orgasm approaching quickly with how sensitive you already were. The mere pressure of his thumb on your clit threw you over and you came a second time, harder, squirting all over his cock with a shocked yell. Your vision whited out for a second there, your ears ringing so loud you didn't even hear yourself scream his name like a mantra.
Victor growled, thrusts erratic. "Gonna fill you up, cum deep in this tight cunt." He muttered more to himself than to you. Even if he had spoken to you, he doubted you were close enough to earth to hear him at the moment. A feeling of proudness filled his chest, so he buried himself all the way inside with a roar, his cock twitching violently against your cervix, unloading thick hot spurts of his cum right where it belonged, so deep he was sure most of it would stay inside.
Both of you panted heavily as you came down from your highs. He gently slid your trembling legs off his shoulders, your eyes remaining closed, even when he gently pulled out of you, though not without earning himself a disappointed whine from you.
He brought you back down from space with a kiss, one you gladly accepted. Your whole body was buzzing with warmth, aching in all the right places.
When he pulled back, you were smiling blissfully, completely relaxed and at ease. He brushed a strand of sweaty hair behind your ear, the gesture making you shiver. "That was...amazing. How much do I owe you, sweet girl?" he asked you.
At first you thought he was joking, and when you realised he was dead serious, you bursted out laughing, sounding hoarse but giddy, sitting up on his coat. He helped you, putting the top part of it around your shoulders. It dwarfed you slightly, feeling heavy and grounding. "Owe me? Victor, that was the best fuck of my life, ever. I'm not charging you a single penny" you giggled, wrapping yourself up tighter in his jacket, watching him sit next to you on the stage to put his pants back on.
You brushed your hand over his naked chest, your finger traveling down the scar that seemed to split him in two "But...maybe you could...ask me out on a date? Dinner somewhere, round two..." you purred, smirking up at him with mischief in your eyes. Damn, you looked too good in his coat. This was a deadly combination.
He blinked, a rare smile cracking on his face. "A date? With me?"
You smiled, leaning closer "Yeah. We have to talk about the results from all the tests we just did and find out what's wrong with me- why I seem to have a thing for older, mutated doctors"
Victor chuckled, pulling you in for a lazy kiss. "Deal" he breathed against your lips.
Of course, despite everything, Victor hadn't forgotten about Zeno. But considering that he hadn't blown up his phone nor stormed in on the two of you fucking, the driver was most likely still on his way here.
Gideon quickly went to dress himself in his vest, brushing back his hair and trying to look like he didn't have wild sweaty sex just moments ago. You stood on wobbly legs, collecting your clothes from the floor, even though you were currently wearing Victors coat, which dragged across the floor and slid past your hands from how big it was.
"Your coat..." you muttered, even though something in you didn't want to take it off. Victor looked down at you, and my god were you cute. A slight smile tugged at his lips and he leaned down to kiss you one more time "Keep it. As a promise that we will see each other again" he whispered in your ear, making your heart hammer in your chest, giddiness rising up in your throat.
You went over to the bar counter, trying not to fall over with the excess fabric pooling around your legs, and scribbled something onto a napkin. Your number.
From the fanny pack you used to store your note pad for orders and your wallet, which you had discarded onto the floor as well, you pulled out a small travel sized parfume, the one you had used today, soaking the napkin with it so the scent would linger for a few days. Then you waddled back over to Victor, pushing the napkin under the hem of his v-neckline.
"Give me a call, doc" you purred, leaning up to kiss his cheek, the last bit of lipstick you hadn't managed to sweat off leaving a faint mark on his cheek, which quickly matched the colour his face flushed in from the gesture.
When he reluctantly left this time, he didn’t forget his suitcase, storming out of the club.
Zeno stood where he had left him, cigar burned to a stump. When he saw Victor, he squared up "Where were you?" he asked irritated.
Gideon held up the briefcase "I forgot this. I went in to get it, but the server girl had already put it into the lost and found container. I went through the whole thing to get it back" he lied, stepping up to Zeno.
While the idea of a big guy digging through a pile of stinking clothes, practically diving into the huge container for his suitcase was amusing, but Zeno couldn't find it in him to even smirk. "Did the gods of the lost and found demand your coat as compensation or what?" he spat into Victors face, but the taller man only brushed past Zeno as the familiar car they were waiting for came into view behind him.
A touch of something floral and fruity stung in Zenos nose as Gideon walked by and he turned his head, only to see a kiss mark on the side of Gideons face that was illuminated by the streetlamp.
"What the fuck-" he exclaimed as he pieced it all together, but the sound of a door being slammed shut made him snap out of it. The black tinted window of the car rolled down, revealing Gideon in the passenger seat "Get in, Zeno" he commaned, then the window went back up, leaving Zeno to stare into his dumbfounded face in the reflection
He huffed out a growl.
"Lucky bastard..."
★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★
Idk what has gotten into me lmao and idk if this is even a good plot for Gideon, but I got carried away as you can see😭
Lmk how you liked it in the comments <3
Also, why is being tumblr such a whiny bitch when you're in a rush to post something
IF you’re still looking for writing inspiration, anything with Victor & reader who suffers from migraines? Basically I’ve been photosensitive and nauseous all week, and crawling under the covers and thinking about our delicious doctor is about all I can do atm, he’s so big and soft and comforting
ABSOLUTELY!! i have so many family members with chronic migraines yet i somehow got off without them. I truly hope yours ease soon! I see all the time how debilitating they can be. and thank you so much💙💙💙😙😙
Mixing them with Victor, though, reminded me of one of my friends migraine "cures..." which is essentially to have someone squeeze his head Really, Really Hard. Like, palm on forehead, fingers grabbing the sides, and just Squeeze as tight as you possibly can. Seems very... Victor. Something only a migraine sufferer would think of........
and, something i was forced to think of when writing; How do you sexualize a migraine. its a little shorter than normal, but i hope you like it anyways!!😙😙😙also youre married here
decompression - Victor Gideon x Reader [SFW] (suggestive)
content warning: brief descriptions of gore/surgery
Your head was going to explode. No matter how much Victor assured you that that simply wasn't going to happen, you insisted on your impending combustion. If it wasn't that, you'd told him, you had to be checked for some sort of brain bleed, hemorrhage-- *something--* that proved the issue was far beyond what you knew it really was.
You'd done this every time. Each time, he'd told you that as unfortunate as it was, you really just had to let it pass. Begging for some type of intravenous painkiller used to work, providing you with enough temporary relief to at least go to sleep, but as the pressure only returned your doses were beginning to border on fatal. Lived with a doctor, loved with a doctor, and all you had to fight the pain now was better-than-average prescription pill cocktails.
Victor did care enough to have you checked out... until the MRI and CT scans came back empty of any concern-- thrice-- and he realized your condition was nothing life-threatening. Of course he wanted your pain to ease (it would certainly make his own life easier, too), and he'd do plenty of things to make it happen! There just wasn't much he *could* do. He'd considered surgery; decompress your nerves, get the delightful experience of literally picking your brain while you slumber beneath him. 'Do what you have to,' you told him, and so under you were put.
Your doctor plucked and pulled at the tissues of your brain, a fleshy heap of matter gathered on a metal dish for you to examine in disgust once you'd awoken (but he knew you'd want to see it). Maybe you were just in so much pain you'd accept whatever he had offered, or maybe you really did want this done; either way, Victor was ecstatic with the opportunity to open you up and feel your blood vessels squeeze under his forceps, watch the flaps of your skin open and reveal your innermost body to him.
He'd finished within the next few hours. In which way, you never asked-- though he was covered in much more blood than any surgeon should be. Your pain was *gone,* the feeling so foreign you thought you were still under the remains of some kind of anesthesia. He'd told you it might only be a temporary fix. You ignored him. He was the best surgeon you knew-- even if the only-- surely you would bask in this ecstasy forever.
So, here you were months later, head under your blankets in a meek attempt to shield your eyes from the sunlight peeking in through your curtains. Despite your new scar proving to God you'd fought hard for it, had your judgement, had your penance; the vice around your head tightened. Attempts to eat were thwarted by waves of nausea, vomiting only making your eyes further feel like they were going to burst out of their sockets. You didn't even think about entertainment, either, as all screens sent your sensitive nerves into a frenzy that took minutes to recover from. Lay and wallow, the world said. You bit into your blankets.
"I'm sorry, my dear," Victor cooed from his place on the bed, large frame sinking into the mattress, "really, I am."
You'd forgotten he was there, in all honesty. Had his weight not shifted you towards him, you would've assumed your migraine was somehow pressurizing the springs inside, too. His hand rested flat on your back, rubbing deep circles throughout your spine.
"Just... shut up. Keep talking."
"Alright, then."
His chuckle was loud enough to where he knew it would irritate you, but oblige he did. Deep baritone cut through your head, a hot knife through butter melting down your ears and relieving your tension; though barely enough to keep you conscious. Your husband's empty talk of work made you think once of reattempting the surgery, and twice about abandoning all civilized pursuits of medicine in favor of just drilling a hole through your skull. Thick fingers made their way up your neck, pushing, kneading, working your body to full relaxation since your mind couldn't.
When he hit your scalp, it just felt... *good.* Really good. Decent, anyway, compared to the alternative of nothing. You went from squeezing your eyes shut to fluttering them closed, white flashes in your vision gradually fading with his massaging touch. Maybe he *was* drilling a hole through you, and had just fed you enough pills to keep you from feeling your excess blood dumped onto the bedsheets. In the best way, it felt like being internally emptied from your eardrums, pressure lifting and easing until regular hearing became possible again. You lift your head towards him, a silent plea to continue.
"How's that, then?" Victor spoke, hand grasping your head like it was nothing but a basketball. You think he meant it as a joke, something to show just how feeble you were, writhing in pain, whatever he wanted, but...
"Tighter," you demand, grasping his cracked wrist. Perhaps you were wrong to compare your pain to a vice. Maybe a vice was what you needed the whole time? His eyebrow lifts in amusement.
"Really? That's what you want?"
It felt like cold leather against your burning forehead, relief so close and yet *so* far because he just won't listen to you and follow this *one* instruction--
"Just squeeze it tighter," your teeth clench, irritation palpable, "please."
His finger brushes the scar behind your head. If nothing else, he supposed. So he did, compressing your cranium under his full strength. And *fuck,* was it the best thing your senses had been through in *ages.*
Sheer power cleared your sinuses and poked pins through your eyeballs, blood draining through what felt like every one of your orifices. The sigh that left your lips bordered on carnal, muscles in your neck strangling it before it could properly leave your mouth. Rushes of normalcy had you quivering under his grip, desperate not to lose it as you urged, begged, pleaded for him to go tighter, tighter, *tighter.*
"Ah..." thoroughly entertained was an understatement, Victor thought, "but of course."
Another hand wrapped around your head, thumbs meeting in the middle and pressing down on your skull as if you were nothing but wet pottery. He pulsed his fingers, tongue darting out to taste the air as he acted as your living massage gun. He'd smelled this feeling on you before, when you'd given yourself up so willingly to be under his knife; that keening, dragging, burning need that shriveled his taste buds to ash. Callouses throb in a tight rhythm behind your brain and run over your scar like braille, the suture marks dotting your skin serving as an all welcome reminder of the day he peeled your flesh back to see you.
He did wish the effects lasted longer for you, he really, truly did, but the idea of performing the operation again only made his grip stronger. Reopening that wound, your own body tightening around itself so much you can't even bare the pressure; he would fix it all for you once more, that sweet release when he tore your excess matter from your nerves close to orgasmic.
Yes, your nerves, Victor tutted, fingertips digging deep into your skin. He'd expose them to his wandering eyes, the taste of controlling your every function lingering in the air as he worked hard to relieve you. At any moment, he could strip you of your most basic facilities, leave you reliant with no eyes to see, no ears to hear, no throat to swallow. He supposed you already were. He didn't need to slice anything for that. Wasn't he lucky?
"Okay... okay. I think it's feeling a little better. Victor?" You grabbed his sleeves, your doctor's grip unfaltering.
"Victor? Victor, come on." Weakness had wracked your body from the past few days of agony, and you were already unable to fight back in top condition. Victor simply stared through you. Into you, fingers trying to reach inside.
"Victor!"
His head tilts, golden teeth peeking through his smile as he releases you. The little bow he does does little to ease your tensions, but considering he's just eased the absolute worst of them, you keep your irritation to a minimum. You think you'll risk a flare up should you stress over something so trivial, and starting back at square one was the last thing you wanted. For him, though...
"I was just thinking," Victor begins, tongue running over his lips, "what do you think about another procedure?"
step daddy!leon who calls you sweetheart the first time he meets you he just smiles a soft, dangerous smile and embraces you a little too tight. it feels… off. but he’s got that nervous laugh, rubs the back of his neck like he’s awkward, so you brush it off. he’s probably just trying to be nice. right?
step daddy!leon who starts calling you sweetheart every single time he sees you. in front of your mom it’s casual, almost dad-like. but when she’s not looking? it seems different. “you look pretty today, sweetheart.” “need help with that, sweetheart?” you feel your stomach flip every time. it’s creepy… but also kinda hot?
step daddy!leon who babies you like crazy. you’re 18, but he still insists on carrying your bags from the car, tucking your hair behind your ear when it falls in your face, asking if you’re cold and draping his worn leather jacket over your shoulders. your mom thinks it’s so sweet. but you feel the way his hand lingers on you.
step daddy!leon who can’t keep his eyes off you when you walk around the house in tiny sleep shorts and a thin tank top. your small tits poking through the fabric, shorts riding up your ass every time you bend over. he stares like a perv—jaw tight, throat working, adjusting himself when he thinks you’re not looking.
step daddy!leon who starts “accidentally” walking in on you changing. door cracked just enough for him to see you naked. he apologizes, swearing he though you were still in the shower, yet he lingers a second too long, eyes raking over your body before he closes the door. you pretend you don’t notice the bulge in his sweats when he leaves.
step daddy!leon who finally snaps one night. you’re in the living room, on your hands and knees looking for the remote under the couch, ass up in those same tiny shorts. he comes up behind you quiet, hands on your hips, pulling you back against him. you feel how hard he is in his pants.
step daddy!leon who calls you sweetheart while fucking you stupid, bent over the couch, praying your mom doesn’t hear him having his way with her precious daughter.
