who am i ? mae. 23. she/her. infj. pisces. writer. graphic designer. in love with men (only fictional tho). addict of true crimes, halloween and horror movies. asexual. writer’s block is my second name.
my muses — i will cherish you until the end 🖊️
vocabulary — you speak like shakespeare 🕰️
smut : a story where there is sexual interaction between two characters or more. Could be about a lot of subjects.
blurbs : story without a specific category, it just exist, can have smut in it. blurbs can also be request you send.
REQUESTS ARE CURRENTLY OPEN — 📃
steve harrington
— the boy next door ⚓️
steve harrington + eddie munson
— that’s what you call flirting ? 🕯️
steve harrington + eddie munson + reader
— studdy session 🗒️
ethan landry/kirsch
— party like a virgin 🎱
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Characters - Dennis Whitaker x Michael "Robby" Robinavitch
Wc - 1.3k
MDNI
Summary - Dennis gets a bit risky when he smokes pot, especially when he smokes a little too much pot.
Warnings - Smut, intoxication, age gap, masturbation, WHINY Dennis
A/N - Alright guys, this is my first fic on this blog so be kind! If I made any grammar errors or whatever errors in general I'm sorry, I wrote this into the deep of the night and I don't feel like correcting anything lol.
Today's shift at the PTMC felt much longer than it should’ve, it was almost dizzying how much Dennis was getting pushed, pulled, and dragged around the trauma unit.
Robby’s constant manhandling during the day certainly didn’t help either, seriously… who could possibly focus on giving a patient simple stitches from some freak kitchen accident when your big attending comes in with gentle eyes and huge rough hands that always somehow needs to skim over your lower back in what's supposedly meant to be a sign of approval?
Those hands never fail to plague Dennis’s mind even in the comfort of his own home, where he seems to be getting dizzy from something other than grabbing hands. Sweet puppy eyes were now sleepy and glassy, pupils dilated, and brain fuzzy enough to make him feel the urge to start doing dumb things, things he would most likely regret when the high has worn off.
But his body was so damn warm… a nice tingle shooting through each of his nerves and reminding him of a very familiar feeling he gets when a certain doctor feels him up.
So you can’t really blame him when he’s finished almost half of the blunt Trinity oh so very graciously gave him (she felt bad and decided he deserved a break while she went out with friends- she still wants the other half), and is pathetically palming at the outline of his unbearably stiff cock through the fabric of his thin pajama pants.
Soft hushed whimpers unintentionally bubble up from his throat at every graze his cock receives, he knows he shouldn’t be thinking about those big hands that push him around and rest over his own to guide him through life saving procedures… It's inappropriate and unprofessional.
That’s what a sober Dr.Whitaker would think, but stoned Dennis couldn’t honestly care less at the moment, not when he has to keep licking his lips from the insane cotton mouth and his fat cock is giving hopeless twitching pleas against his hand for that sweet release.
It’s when the pad of his thumb teasingly brushes over the puffy head of his needy cock through the soft fabric that makes the tears start to spring up, a broken almost sad whine slips through his lips at the overwhelming feeling of his sticky tip being stimulated.
God, he wishes it was Robby’s calloused fingers worshipping and rubbing over his pathetic cock instead… and it’s that exact thought that makes something in our very faded out Dennis feel uncharacteristically hotblooded.
His free hand lazily ventures towards the nightstand that he thinks he left his phone atop of earlier that night, he almost whimpers in disappointment when he can’t feel the familiar material of his phone case but soon relaxes when his fingers brush over the sleek case.
He lets out a quiet sigh of satisfaction before hazily opening up his phone, his thumb slowly scrolling through his text messages until he stops on a particular contact… making a wave of arousal and excitement rush throughout his already tingly body.
The profile picture doesn’t even have a face to it, a simple ‘R’ held its place instead, (he’s been meaning to change it for a while now). He opened the chat and was greeted with a blurred conversation from about two days ago, something about “taking breaks…” yada yada… “you’re doing good…” whatever.
His breath hitches softly when he finally dips a finger beneath his pants plus his boxers before pulling it down just enough to let his aching cock spring free and gently slap against his abdomen, causing a hushed gasp and a soft delighted shiver that runs through his very being.
Dennis has to stop his head from spinning when he wraps a shaky hand around his hard throbbing length and begins to pump his fist at a brutally slow pace, a low moan breaks free at the delicious friction his hand gives him.
He almost loses himself completely to the pleasure of his hand stroking his leaky cock before he’s reminded why he was so unfathomably excited in the first place, his phone is still open to his and Robby’s chats… his tongue laps over his pretty pink lips before tapping on the camera icon next to the text bar. Dennis mewls at the sight of himself, one little tear starts to slip from the corner of his big blue eyes at the overwhelming need to just let himself cum.
His canine gently sinks into the plush flesh of his bottom lip as he presses on the red circle and then begins to pick up the pace, his grip is tighter and his hips start to lightly buck up to meet his hand eagerly.
A broken yet muffled moan erupts from him at the delightful sensation, his brows pinch together as his head loosely falls back against his pillow in pure bliss… then his lips slightly part, allowing his sweet shaky whimpers and light needy moans to slip into the room.
Pleasured tears pool into his eyes and cloud his vision as he continues his rough desperate strokes, he can’t help the way the muscles in his abdomen gently clench and the way he keenly arches his back when the pad of his thumb starts to caress over his flushed sticky tip; almost making him lose the grip on his phone completely.
“Dr.Robby…” he sobs out breathlessly, his mind swimming endlessly with dirty thoughts about the older man that made his cock drip and his moans continue to only grow louder.
“Want you to touch me, fuuck- need you to make me cum please- oh god, please…” Dennis whines out urgently, followed by a miserable cry… if he didn’t cum in the next two minutes he was seriously about to start bawling.
He reluctantly stops the recording, then swiftly sends it off to Robby, he knows that his attending is probably going to open it in the morning and fire him over text…won’t even give him a chance to explain how absolutely zooted he was and for some reason in this haze, needed to jerk off to the nasty fantasies he has about his boss.
Dennis hastily tosses his phone to the side on his duvet, his hand makes quick work of roughly pumping his cock with quick flicks of his wrists while his other now free hand slips under his sleep shirt and travels up towards his chest where he finds his hardened nipple and harshly tweaks it, causing him to squeak and little desperate tears to start sliding down his cheeks as his hips twitch helplessly from the intense pleasure.
A small buzz comes from beside him, he almost doesn’t even bother with it… he’s already on the brink of orgasm and dear god he needs to cum.
But… curiosity gets the better of him, his head lazily turns to the side where his phone lays; his eyesight is slightly blurred by unshed tears and the high he’s still enduring but he thinks he can sort of make out the contact name. Dennis puffs out a small annoyed huff before retracting his hand from underneath his shirt and reaches out to grab his phone, he fumbles with it for a bit before bringing it close enough to his face to see who could’ve possibly-
Robby: “So pretty baby <3”
Immediately after, a loud broken sob of pure orgasmic bliss graces the air as Dennis’s balls suddenly tighten and release urgently before abrupt ropes upon ropes of warm milky cum pulses out of his thick cock and onto his pale clenching stomach, fat tears run down his cheeks and onto the pillow beneath his head as his hand fists the white sheets beside him while he writhes and cries throughout his stupefying orgasm.
He whimpers breathlessly as he rides out the rest of his orgasm, his hand gently squeezing the base of his slowly softening cock while his brows unfurrow and his body relaxes in the aftershocks. His eyes sleepily flick over towards his phone for a moment before he slowly grabs it and starts to type back to Robby…
DAVE LIZEWSKI catfishing you. He’s seen you around, he’s heard you talk about the kind of guys you’re into. It’s hard to ignore you when you pass by him, hard to forget the smell of your shampoo as it unfurls under his nose. It took him ages, but he finally got a hold of your information, and slowly establishes a friendship. He’s getting the dirty details on you while you think you’re being charmed by a 6’4” hockey player who’s into books like Pride and Prejudice. He’s in your IM’s hearing about how you like to suck it, how you cup balls for a massage while you make yourself gag on purpose. You like it when your nips are bitten, held between teeth while you ride it. All night he thinks about your naughty little secrets, confessing to him what you’d let him do to you if you meet up. Anything, you say, I’d let you do whatever you wanted. And his hand strangles his boner, jacking off to the imaginary sight of you taking it up your pretty asshole—the one he’s gotten pics of when you bent over for a shot of your open and wet pussy.
There's a frown plastered on his face, eyebrows scrunched as if he's looking at something absolutely disgusting yet the slight upward tug of his lips tells you otherwise.
“Like what?” You asked him, confused as to why he's looking at you the way he is.
Cuddling on the sofa of your apartment—a temporary home in this madness you call borderland, your limbs in a mess of tangle with his as you're sprawled atop of his body, his arm around you and the other behind his head.
Niragi was a constant wild child but moments like this makes you remember that even someone as wild as him needs normalcy in his life too—that at the end of the day, he is a human too.
His arm tightens around your figure for a brief moment before relaxing, the flex of his arm seems unintentional. “Acting like you don't know? Tsk.”
“I wouldn't know unless you tell me, Niragi.” It was amusing to watch his frown transform into a scowl, the evident shade of red, no matter how small, bright on his ears as he glare at you.
It is quite adorable, ever so tough and cocky bastard, Suguru Niragi who crawls from death every damn time is flustered underneath you. His bandages cannot even hide it.
Instead of responding right away though, his arm that was behind his head shifted to reach over your face, settling on your jaw as his stare is on level with yours—eyes steel and cold softening until his lips curved into a damn small grin.
“Like this.”
Rugged, rough, and dangerous is what everyone who would see him describes him.
Yet the way he places his kiss on your lips is tender, soft and gentle like he's afraid to taint you but his hand that's gripping your jaw is firm and commanding, telling you to stay still.
What was the look you were showing him? You could've asked and persisted but he swallows your every breath, the parting of your lips merely serving him an opportunity to kiss you further, deeper, more.
The arm that's around your body draws small scratches of patterns and shapes, a slow dance and kiss as he attempts to close the 'non existent' space between the two of you with the proximity you already share.
Hips slowly gyrating against yours in a slow motion, not to get you off, but to simply feel you and your warmth.
For someone as lust driven and hungry as he is, just being with you was enough.
“Shit, you're so..” He couldn't finish his words, no, with how your taste left him speechless and the way your eyes flutter like a butterfly kissing your lids slightly open to look at him as he parts from your lips got him fixated on you.
You drive him mad.
And he's already insane enough.
He dives right back in when he felt you take a breath, the sweet sweet air you breathe in being taken right away, teeth grazing your lower lip, biting it to ask for your permission yet never waiting enough before he pushes his way through.
Every curve, every nook, he explored it like he's an adventurer on a quest—call him one because you are his world he is willing yo conquer.
Suguru Niragi is both rough yet gentle, tough yet soft, it is only you who get to see his vulnerability. “It seems last night wasn't enough for ya', pretty?” He murmurs through the kiss, sending vibrations through mouth as a small chuckle escapes his lips, once again capturing yours.
“I'll make sure you won't look at anyone the same damn way you're looking at me now.” It wasn't just a mere statement, but his tone sends a promise.
If it was merely an innocent kiss before, now wasn't.
It's aching, the core tht burns inside you as he pushes you into the pillow. The soft velvety pillows muffling the noises that you fail to contain with how he is moving. “Oh.. mhm, Niragi.. ”
It's like you're in a trance that you can't break.
Your wrist bound behind your back as Niragi uses it to his advantage, moving faster as he holds onto you. “Ya' like that, darlin'?” He drawls next to your ear when he leans, pressing a small chaste kiss on your shoulder, it was sweet, loving—
Until it switches back to him absolutely ravaging you like a madman.
“mhmm.. hah, y-yeahh..”
His hips repeatedly hitting yours, abusing the spot that he knows will make you see stars, knowing every damn well of your body.
The curve of your back, arched beautifully and every noise that breaks from your throat gets him going. Your legs are shaking from the intensity yet always lifted for him to take.
Niragi let's go of your wrist to take a hold of your neck, wishing to see your expression, “now why are ya' holdin' back your moans?”
The squelch squelch squelch is a repetitive melody to the room, hand twisting your neck so he can see what look you are making.
“There you are..” You could hear the smirk from his tone, lilt and amused upon seeing your face. Almost mockingly teasing until his lips finds the side of your mouth, “no one is here but us, scream all you want.”
“Wanna hear my name from your lips.”
Fast, deep, rough, then turning slow—after a thrust, his body gyrates and you can't help but follow after his. The stimulation is addictive. “Hah... Fuck, it feels damn good.”
His hand traces your body, fingers following the curve of your spine and to your ass where he palms the globe of it, feeling every inch of you and watching how his dick goes in and out of you.
The length of him pushing into you until your body flinches at the heat of the passion, squirming against him. Both trying to get away and push into him, asking for more, you don't know.
Maybe it was due to the heat of the moment that there's droplets kissing your skin, his sweat from the lovemaking—from how he's fucking you full, but something tells you that it's so much more. Your eyes, barely open and conscious glances at him briefly, until you couldn't with how he makes you close it by hitting the spot that brings you to heaven and back.
“Wanna see you look at me, like- hah.. like how you did earlier.”
“H-how exactly?” You still ask, small little droplets continues to touch your bare skin—tears of his love, vulnerability..
𝐉𝐎𝐒𝐇𝐔𝐀 𝐖𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐓𝐎𝐍 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒 ⋆˙⟡ (that no one asked for)
Warnings : Stalking mentioned, obsessive behaviour, (obvious) mental issues, fluff, comfort/hurt, friends (w benefits?), no relationship, y/n mentioned,
A/n : Josh's sisters are dead in this (hence the comfort). I also made this out of nowhere, which is why it wasn't on my 'upcoming' post!
☆ After his sisters death, you, Chris, and Sam were the only people he talked to for a while. He didn't trust anyone else to care for him as much as you. "I can't trust them, not as much as you, y/n"
☆ Josh had trouble sleeping, continuous nightmares of his sisters coming back to haunt him. So, he always asked you to stay with him until he went to sleep.
☆ Sometimes, he even asked you to sleep over in his room
☆ His sisters used to play baseball with him. You took their place after (to help him cope)
☆ After the prank took place, you became even closer with Josh. No one wanted to be around him (apart from you)
☆ You had to force him to apologise because he didn't think what he had done was wrong
☆ He followed you (much like the wendigo did it's prey) to make sure you weren't sneaking off to see someone else (when you were supposed to be around him)
☆ When you were interviewed with the police you didn't lie, unlike the rest of the group. The practised speech was wasted away on you, as you cared for Josh too much
☆ "I don't want you to leave me, you have to stay.."
☆ Josh said hurtful things sometimes. It made you feel like shit but you knew he didn't mean it
☆ You encouraged him to see another therapist to help with the heaps of trauma that enveloped him
☆ He bought a baseball bat just for you (in your favourite colour) as a thank you gift
☆ When the others started warming back up to Josh (which took some time) they also joined in on the games.
☆ You and the group played in the snow for a whole day after baseball
☆ He made you watch movies with him in the movie room (with was almost always a romcom..?)
☆ Every comforting message you tell him makes his heart melt
☆ He'd tell you dad jokes and then say, "I'm just joshin' ya!"
☆ "Let me help you" he'd say before simultaneously failing at the task
☆ You suggested going ice-skating together, and he agreed only to immediately fall over and become embarrassed
☆ He secretly loves you and never wants you to leave him ᡣ𐭩
crystaistar 2024 — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content.
Merry Christmas everyone, hope you all got what you wanted ♡☆
warnings: smut, fem!reader x josh, dry-humping, drinking, josh is a pervert, semi-plot, make out, drunk reader, smutty indications, aggressive teasing
a/n : my bi-monthly drop!!!! wrote this for my dear friend adri, and me :3 but also because i just finished until dawn and this sexy man is EVERYWHERE… will be writing more of him soon. stay tuned ! ;)
you knew your limits when it came to alcohol, what you could handle and what you couldn’t.
but joshua washington had to be the world's best sweet talker. because you’d convinced everyone at the lodge you’d be the most sober.
now you were the only one slurring out a random song with an empty bottle of expensive vodka wrapped around your perfectly jeweled up and manicured hand.
“jooooosssshhhhh…” you slurred to him, clinging onto his bicep that felt oddly larger than usual. all he could do was give that signature sexy laugh and shake his head at you.
he was gentle with you, still obviously teasing but not to an extent.
the boy knew you weren’t 100% yourself when you got this drunk.
“mhm, that’s my name.” he said to you, the two of you weren’t necessarily separated from the group, but you weren’t close enough to be in their conversations.
that was always the case when the two of you were together.
but to him, close was never close enough.
you were rubbing your face all on his flannel, cheek chubbying up and only looking up at him through your eyelids.
eyes big and full of drunken content.
to him, you were just so pretty vulnerable.
the way he was looking down at you was almost straight out of a cheap porno.
his wide eyes, now low and full of an extreme emotion that your weak brain couldn’t understand.
but you had an idea that it was what you were wearing, not to toot your own horn.
soft layers: a tight white tank top stacked with a hot pink zip-up that had fur on the hood and graphics on the back, your tight denim shorts and fleece tights that were meant to keep you warm, but anyone with a right mind knew they were just for show.
technically… you had packed more outfits like this for the trip, but that’s because you weren’t expecting the cabin to be so bitterly cold.
so it wasn’t really even your fault.
in reality, you were dressing this way on purpose.
okay maybe you were dressed like this because you loved the attention.
the peering looks he gave you anytime you walked by, the snarky comments that left his perfect mouth.
who were you to blame? look at that man.
“feelin’ clingy tonight, huh?” he taunted, laughing in your face at the way you were holding onto him and gawking.
“me—? clingy? y’r funny, washington…” all you could do was stutter and stumble on your words.
he made you nervous and you were so intoxicated you could barely think before speaking.
holding him like this made you imagine all the possibilities. all the things you could be doing to each other right now.
and it almost felt like he was thinking the same, like you were always riding on the same wavelength.
you know something else you could ride on.
it was stupid to imagine but there’s always been a tension between you two, so thick and palpable that it left you knees-weak every time he flirted with you.
“let’s just cut the bullshit. c’mon.” before you could even process that he was talking to you, a rough set of calluses were wrapped around your forearm, tugging you somewhere in the lodge that you couldn’t quite comprehend.
the second you heard a door close behind you two, you realized you were in the master bedroom,
only knowing this due to the sudden change of temperature in the room compared to the living room.
“wha- aren’t they gonna n— notice that we’re gone?” you were confused, but you trusted him.
despite the evident look of hunger and lust in his eyes. you trusted yourself in his hands.
“i don’t care. i just needed to get you alone.” his mouth made its way to your ear, slowly, as his warm breath came to touch with your skin,
your body froze up at the sudden attention, making you feel warm. “y/n. almost years i’ve been fantasizing about you, ever since we met,” he paused and cautiously reached for your hips.
his hands were warm and you felt safe, once you processed his words you became putty in them.
“huh?”
was all you could mutter out, keeping yourself in place by grabbing onto his triceps, looking up at him through your full and wispy eyelashes.
“i’m sayin’ i wanna fuck you, pornstar. your skin is so soft and warm. i wanna know,” he paused to straighten himself up and look at you.
“i wanna know what it feels like inside that pussy of yours.”
drunk, he was drunk this had to be the drinks talking. there was no way this was real.
even if he was intoxicated, that didn’t stop his words from going straight in between your legs. arousal pooling onto your lacy panties.
could’ve sworn your eyes started to roll back at the dirty talk, he was so good at it too.
“y’don’t mean that—“ he quickly cut you off, pulling you in nice and personal and grabbing at the plush skin that was covered by tight denim. “i do. with every fiber in me, i swear i do.”
the physical attention was overwhelming, and the verbal one was even more intense. you didn’t know what else to do but to give in to something you’ve been praying for for so long.
you couldn’t even suck in a breath before he was crashing his lips onto yours.
it was a kiss that made you dizzy, you melted into it though, wrapping yourself onto him.
he led you backwards, kissing you still while he was walking, pressing your back against whatever wall was close; stabilizing you with his knee between your legs.
you were holding onto the hair on the back of his head for dear life, loving the hot and messy kiss so much that it turned you on.
all the sexual frustration of not getting any in almost a year turned you into some horn dog.
your head was spinning, you could barely make out a thought. josh’s hand began to unzip your jacket, sliding it off your body while his lips started roaming down your neck.
“i ca— can’t take it,” a whine slipped out of your lips, head turned to face away from him to hide away your embarrassment.
this didn’t stop him though, you felt him smile against your skin and only itch on more.
rutting your hips for you against his clothed leg while he started sucking ravishingly against your neck, josh himself could barely keep himself from grinning at how much he’s won.
josh was the type for messy and quick sex. but when he thinks of having it with you, he wants it hard and slow.
painfully slow. so he can make you take in everything, make you feel everything all at once.
his fingers started sliding off the straps of your tight shirt, lips starting to make contact with the plush skin of your breasts.
“so fuckin’ sexy. just like i imagined. you g’nna let me give it to you? hm?” he was teasing, words muffled by the way he had his lips wrapped around your nipple.
“god i can’t wait to fill you up. gonna tell chris how good this pussy is.” josh snickered, grinning at the mess he was making of you.
and he hadn’t even fucked you yet.
he brought himself up to bite on your ear, hands teasing your breasts as your hips (which had minds of their own) kept grinding on his knee, the friction making your brain go into mush.
your mind was completely blown, blank and empty.
fingers were digging and wrinkling up his flannel as your mouth was agape.
you were all hot and bothered, needing and yearning for more.
if you felt this good only from foreplay, imagine how good being so full of his dick was gonna be.
you couldn’t wait.
you were letting out noises you didn’t even know you could make,
INTERVIEW 027. THERAPIST! CHARLIE MAYHEW
murdrtober oct 24th.
Your therapist gives you advice. What better way to exercise said advice than with the person that it came from?
1.1k+ words
MDNI 18+
After the weekend you had, you were truly considering skipping this session. But after waking up far too late to cancel without there being some sort of financial consequence, you put on your big girl pants and made your way down to Dr. Mayhew’s office, convincing yourself that professionalism would outweigh whatever awkwardness could possibly exist between you both.
From his end, maybe there isn’t any awkwardness, but from your end the discomfort is as obvious as the hickey sitting on the side of your neck.
You try to cover it with the hood of your sweatshirt, ignoring the dampness of the fabric as you clear your throat and shift the way you’re sitting.
“So I thought today we could talk about your ex.”
As if you needed any further confirmation that Dr. Mayhew saw you out this weekend.
It was a fleeting look, and the two of you were on opposite sides of the bar, but you definitely saw your therapist outside of the office holding a beer, and he definitely saw you outside of the office holding your exes hand. The same guy you’ve cried and whined and got existential over in many of your sessions.
You don’t say anything to Dr. Mayhew. You simply sit still, knowing that there will be a question accompanied by his introduction soon after. His gaze is piercing and unwavering, so you take a second to glance at the window, watching the rain fall down the glass.
“Are you still attached to him?”
There seems to be a right or wrong answer to this question. Even though Dr. Mayhew is giving you that look, the one that’s supposed to be passive and indifferent, you can tell he has already made his own conclusions and he’s simply waiting for you to arrive at them, too. It’s obvious how he feels, from the way he sits, to the tone of his voice.
He could pretend all he wanted, but you’ve been his client for long enough to know his tells. The same way he knows yours.
“What do you mean by attached?”
He knows you’re deflecting, trying to find time to come up with yet another lie.
“I mean, are you still seeing him? In contact with him via text? Email, even.” Dr. Mayhew crosses one leg over the other and interlaces his fingers over his kneecap, drawing your attention to the difference between the outfit you see him in now and the one you saw him in over the weekend.
You don’t know which one you prefer, the relaxed jeans and well-fitting tee shirt he wore this weekend, or the clean-cut white button down and navy slacks that he wears now.
You lift your eyes to look at Dr. Mayhew and he holds your gaze, dark eyes fixed on you as he sits patiently and waits for whatever your answer will be.
You could lie to your therapist once more, wasting the immense amount of money you spend on bettering your mental health. Or, you could just tell the truth, since he already knows it.
“I’m not attached to him, but we are still in contact, yes.”
Dr. Mayhew doesn’t look disappointed, but he doesn’t look proud either. He adjusts the way he’s sitting once more, now leaning back in his seat with his legs spread just enough to gather your attention.
“Have you made any efforts to completely sever contact with him?”
You sigh, crossing your arms and leaning back in the seat. You know Dr. Charlie is noticing your body language, likely mentally cataloging it to describe you as ‘Guarded’ when he’s writing his notes after this session.
“How do you think I should do that?”
“Well I think you should get your mind off of him, for starters. Maybe try picking up a new hobby, getting out of the house without feeding into night life since that’s what the two of you would do often. Maybe even try seeing someone new, anything that will remind you that there is a life outside of the one you had with him.”
It’s a subtle suggestion thrown in there, and maybe he doesn’t mean what you think he means, but the corner of your lips quirk up as you watch Dr. Mayhew across from you. He seems nonchalant, like he hadn’t just told you that the best way to get over someone was to get under someone else. But if it’s the doctor's orders, how could you not take his advice?
You think you and Dr. Mayhew both end up getting what you want in the end. You take his advice, at least as best as you could. When your friends invite you out on Friday, you politely decline and instead spend your time at home working through a film franchise. But on Saturday when they ask you to come out again, you couldn’t say no without being a bad friend, so there you are on a Saturday night, dolled up with your friends at your sides, reinforcing that if your ex happens to be here, all of you will leave and go somewhere else. But if there’s someone hot, a potential prospect to get your mind off of your ex like your therapist advised, then by all means.
It’s weird how everything falls into place. You and Dr. Mayhew are in the same place at the same time yet again, the two of you found each other on a night where you were determined to completely get your ex out of your mind, and welcome someone else—anyone else—into the otherwise empty roster.
It’s not like you attach yourself to the first person you see, if that were the case you would’ve been with the blue collar worker who offered to buy you a drink at the bar, and not at the back of the building with the guy you pay a solid amount to listen to your problems every other week.
But there is something about Dr. Mayhew that makes him the one. He knows what you are doing, there is a silent agreement for there to be no strings attached as he takes you to his car. He just wants to help you out in any way possible, really. He tells you so as he unzips your dress and let it fall to the floor of his bedroom. He will do anything to help his clients, especially ones that he sees himself in.
“Gonna get your mind off of him, alright?” He tells you as he drops to his knees, his fingertips digging under the elastic of your lacy panties. You came prepared, dressed for the inevitable moment where you would sleep with someone new for the first time in a while.
You nod. “Yeah,” you agree, threading your fingers in Charlie’s short hair as he brought his mouth closer to your cunt.
And Dr. Mayhew does get your mind off of him.
He’s so good to you, so attentive to exactly what you need. It’s no wonder he went into medicine, his bedside manner is fucking incredible.
father charlie asking you to call him father during sex is making me tweak
cw: 18+ mdni, fem reader, pussy EATING, let him be a little more openly crazy in this one, trope typical dub con and corruption kink but you're just as crazy so you think that you're doing the same thing to him, bible verses as dirty talk, inaccurate religious practices, religious slut shaming/degradation (?)
Your thighs are already shaking and he’s only kissing up your inner thighs, so cute, so sweet. “That’s it, little lamb, lie back for me.”
Your skirt is pushed up to pool around your hips, the wood of the pew you’re sitting on leaving an already uncomfortable ache in your hips.
Father Charlie kneels in front of you, right out in the middle of the open. Sure, it’s after hours and no one is on the premises but the two of you, but God is still here. Isn’t he? Watching in judgment as the man meant to be your spiritual leader sups at the fountain of your cunt.
He smiles when you start squirming and immediately slaps the inside of your thigh, harsh but genuine in its tough love, “Ah ah ah. I thought I told you to lie back and take your Father’s tongue in your pussy like a good girl.”
The candle’s flames flicker as you pant and stare down at him, he looks so handsome in the soft orange glow, like an angel. But isn’t it the demons who sneak down to earth and seduce unsuspecting whorish women into damnation? Father Charlie could never be a demon in your eyes though, and he knows this more than he knows every verse of the good word by heart.
He could desecrate you with a nail gun and you’d bend over and spread your legs, bleeding out on the beige carpet. But you’re his special girl, his darling wife to be and you know better than to do anything that would force his heavy hand.
“I-I’m so sorry, I won’t do it again.” You plead, the thought of losing his favor for even a second causes you genuine distress, "Obey your leaders and submit to them, for they are keeping watch over your souls, as those who will have to give an account.”
“I-i’m so sorry, who?” He mocks, pitching his voice higher and spitting on your clit. “I won’t do it again, who?”
“F-father. I’m so sorry, Father. I’ll be listen you, I swear.”
“You’re going to be a good girl for me anyway, like a real child of God should.”
Your soft sighs turn into even softer moans when he redoubles his efforts and leans forward to kiss your throbbing clit. A crucifix that tastes as electrifying as a star, he moans as your natural musk invades his senses. He’s so happy you’re on an off shaving day too, there’s just enough hair peeking through for some to come off on his tongue with every swipe.
Father Charlie moans into your puffy pussy, speaking in tongues into your folds and sliding his tongue in your sopping hole. He smacks his lips together when he pulls back to breathe, smiling up at you and licking away the sticky string of you that clings to his mouth.
“Maybe I should have this cunt for communion, draft my sermons laying in between your thighs. You should’ve never taken this job, little lamb. Now even God himself couldn’t keep us apart.”
A flash of light, and his nose bleeds onto your pubes. Then the vision’s gone, and Father Charlie’s burying himself back into the heaven that is your sloppy pussy.
You run your fingers through his hair in a frenzy, but you obediently sink into the shooting pain in your pelvis as you slump into the pew.
Father Charlie’s eyes glint like rubies as he eats you like a starving man, your water turning into wine as you flood his taste buds with your juices. His knees strain in the confines of his dark slacks, digging into the church floor, but his precious lamb is worth every twinge of pain. They’d be added bonuses, anyway. He hums a few lines of a hymn, the melodic vibrations give you tingles.
You squirt minutes later when you lock eyes and he nips at your clit, fantasizing about chewing it into a heart. He chastely pecks the bud through your orgasm and into overstimulation, which is always his goal. Father Charlie’s favorite game is to make you come for every sin you confess to in your last confessional.
“You’ve been eating what I’ve recommended, good, you’re fattening up really nicely, dear.” He comments with a quick squeeze to your mound, laughing at your exhaustion.
One down, six to go. You’re blessed with a guilty conscience.
his cassock is unbuttoned at the top, revealing a sliver of his collarbone, but the arrogance is still in his posture, the way he leans back in the chair, eyeing you with a smirk. slowly, you reach down, fingers brushing against the skin of his neck before you wrap them around his throat, not tight, but firm enough to feel his pulse beneath your fingers. his smirk doesn’t waver though; if anything, he seems to enjoy it.
“you like this, don’t you?” you murmur, tilting your head as you squeeze charlie’s throat a little tighter, watching the way his jaw clenches in response. his eyes flutter close, as if savouring the feeling. so, you reach down, squeezing his cheeks together, forcing his mouth into a pout.
your thumb grazes over his bottom lip. he stares up at you through half-lidded eyes, but still denying you the satisfaction of a full reaction. instead, charlie pokes his tongue out, licking your thumb in one slow, lascivious motion. in retaliation, you slip two digits past his lips, pushing it against his tongue. his mouth closes eagerly around your fingers, warm and wet. he doesn’t flinch or pull away, doesn’t lose that smug look. if anything, he leans into it, his tongue swirling around your finger as he suckled.
you push a little deeper, watching as his lips part wider to accommodate you. emboldened, you push your knee between his legs and start to grind against the hard bulge in his crotch, applying pressure; moving back and forth in tandem with your hand. a whine bubbles from his throat, sending vibrations from your fingers straight to your cunt.
No thoughts, only Art looking for chapstick and stumbling upon Tashi’s lipgloss in a tossed pair of Patrick’s pants.
Art puts it on for shits and giggles and immediately feels heat crawl up his neck and face as he looks at himself in the mirror. He knows he probably looks ridiculous wearing it. His image looks a tad feminine; the gloss being pale pink with a slight shimmer that sparkles in the light. He wipes it off, dismissing it as a one-time thing. Unfortunately, he can’t stop thinking about it and can’t help thinking about the shine and the slick, sticky feeling when he first rubbed his lips together and suddenly Art is putting it on whenever he has alone time.
He only applies the gloss when he’s sure Patrick will be out for the evening or stuck to Tashi until an inevitable fight brings him back to their shared dorm. It’s only by relying on Patrick being gone for a weekend, whether visiting his parents or staying with Tashi -Art can’t remember what Patrick had said- that Art gets caught by the devil, himself, putting it on.
The duo stands staring at each other for a long moment before Art scrambles to scrub the stickiness from his mouth. Patrick, in all his nonchalance and confidence, shrugs it off like it’s no big deal and the pair leaves it at that.
Only the image of Art wearing that pretty pink concoction is burned into Patrick’s mind and it’s all he can think about- hell, DREAM about. He constantly has to shake the memory from his mind when he wakes up in the morning with sticky boxers - dreams of Art going down on him and leaving wet kisses all over his body while wearing the cursed substance stay stuck on replay. His mind wanders so often to Art that it becomes enough of a problem to where he starts chronically canceling plans and ends up breaking it off with Tashi…
Because all he can think about are those pretty, pink lips and golden curls and pathetic puppy dog eyes before he decides he has to do something about it before he loses his mind, entirely.
stanford art would not be able to stay still when you kiss his neck. your roommate is asleep not too far away but as soon as you latch onto his throat and pepper kisses there his hips jerk up and he whines like a puppy and there’s a tent in his shorts. you barely palm him and he’s cumming in his boxers as you clasp your hand over his mouth.
