☆.ᐟ hi everyone my name is fei! my main blog (where i write for daryl dixon from twd..) is @mrdixon and @mrdixonafterdark where i reblog and whatnot… this blog however is for jack o'connell’s characters!! i am quite a new fan of his.. :> but i have fallen deep. mainly decided to start writing for him because while i love the remmick fics… i yearn for certain characters of his (cook and oliver specifically…), so i hope my fics will exceed all expectations.. btw! this is the only account i use with this username, any other social media platforms with this user is not me!
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☆.ᐟ as mentioned, this blog will be specifically for jack o'connell’s characters. yes, characters. i will be consuming his entire filmography just to write fics. i love many of jack’s roles but my current favourites are james cook (skins uk) and oliver mellors (lady chatterleys lover) so expect more fics of them hehe.
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jesus christ its been so long since i opened tumblr... i just KNOW i missed out on some awesome fics. im going to be catching up on reading and writing.......
patrick sumner masterlist | main masterlist
summary: reader coaxes patrick to open up to her about his past, a checkup at the doctors’ ensues…
warnings: 18+ explicit, patrick after the events of tnw, established relationship (married), shy patrick, perv patrick?, perv in the 19th century that is, both reader and patricks thoughts, bit of corruption kink if you squint, improper medical practices (can you guys tell i dont go to the doctors that often oops), patrick wears glasses briefly yum, awkward and bashful, fingering, edging, teeny bit of praise, unprotected p-in-v, rushed ending (how do you end a fic…)
word count: 6.6k
a/n: hi sorry i fell off the face of the earth my mental is crazy but im back hi. can you tell ive been playing a lot of stardew valley and my favourite bachelor is harvey…? medical men with moustaches am i right?
dividers: @bonnieknowsbest
Berlin, Germany, 1869. After the events of The North Water.
Patrick stepped out onto the cobbled pathway, seeing his breath in the air as he pulled his gloves on. You stepped out next to him, dressed in your warmest skirts and coat. He peered down at you in his peripheral but was displeased to find your face was obstructed by your hat.
He had insisted on you staying home while he ran his errands, but you were far more insistent, going on about how you “needed the air” and “wanted to spend time with him.” With one more glance at you when you took his arm, he led you down the dampened pathway.
The two of you had been married for two years now, rounding on your third, and Patrick was a quiet lover. Despite the years knowing him, he was still quite stiff and reserved when it came to speaking about himself or showing affection. Still, he had his ways of showing he cared. Even if that was by minute squeezes he gave your arm before you crossed a road or leaving an extra strudel for you at breakfast.
The only thing you couldn’t crack about him was his past. You were both two of few English speaking people in your town, though Patrick was decent in Deutsch, so you figured he had come from elsewhere.
“Just down here,” he tugged your arm gently, leading you to what looked like an apothecary. He didn’t see the way your brow lifted, removing his hat as you both stepped into the building.
You let go of his arm to give him room to roam but still stayed close by. The owner of the apothecary was an old man who eyed you suspiciously to which you lowered your head, choosing to stay close to your husband.
Patrick looked around on the shelves before addressing the owner, “four ounces of the laudanum, please.”
You watched as his hand clenched into a fist on the counter, bouncing it absentmindedly. You were well aware of his indulgence and you also may have snooped around in his study, finding many empty vials of the substance.
He looked over at you as the owner riffled through the supply, smiling shyly as if you had caught him red-handed.
The owner wrapped the bottle up while Patrick paid for it, offering his arm once more as you both left the apothecary. The cold bit at your nose once you stepped out and you wished you had brought a scarf. You squeezed your husband’s arm lightly, letting him guide you to where else he needs to go.
“You should’ve brought a scarf,” he murmured as if sensing your discomfort. “It’s awfully cold out.” He steered you around for quite some time, buying a couple things for his studies as well as some ingredients for the house. Despite your protests, he even bought you a fresh new pair of slippers as your old ones had started to fray.
As soon as you both arrived home he had you sit down so he could unlace your boots—just one of the many ways he showed his affection.
While he quietly undid the laces of your boots, your mind began to wander over to the paper bag which contained the laudanum, and how much time he spent in that study of his. You knew he must’ve had some medical background since there were many anatomical texts in his study, and not to mention how trivial he was about your health.
“What did you do before coming to Germany?” You asked tentatively, noticing the way his fingers paused for just a second.
Patrick was always honest with you, but it was rather he held information back. He sucked in a breath before continuing his ministrations, “must you be so curious?”
“Well, sometimes I feel you know me better than I know you.”
He hummed quietly at that. It wasn’t a jab at him and he knew it. It was simply a fact, one that he felt bad about constantly. He slipped your last boot off before rubbing your ankle, his thumb smoothening over your stocking. He stood before you, picking up the paper bag which held his personal purchases. “Come.”
You watched him walk off for a moment before rising to follow, placing the bag of groceries on the counter on your way. He led you into his study. You’d been in here countless times before, most of which you had snuck in to ponder about his texts. You rounded his desk to take a seat while he looked around on his bookshelf before meeting your curious gaze.
“I was an army surgeon back when I lived in London,” he explained slowly, as if debating whether or not to tell you the full story. When your curiosity remained unwavering, he resumed, but not before staring at your fingers as you shed your gloves. “I was stationed in Delhi, but to spare you the details, I was soon cashiered and left with nothing but a limp…”
His eyes flicked back up to yours but quickly avoided your sympathetic look and reached for a worn journal on the shelf, fingering through the pages. “I eventually boarded a ship, the uh- The Volunteer. Horrid things, horrid times.” He practically shuddered as he recalled the events. His gaze returned to you with a deeply furrowed brow, “the things that happened were much too vile for a lady like you to hear.”
“Why haven’t you told me about this?” You frowned not out of contempt, but sadness for making him feel like he should withdraw this information from you.
“It’s not that simple,” he sighed before pushing the journal back onto the shelf, “I had done things and well, I had to flee London essentially.” He looked at you nervously, frowning back at you. “I had to make sure I could trust you.”
“Patrick…” your shoulders slumped. You had figured he was hiding things from you for good reason, but you hadn’t expected him to assume you’d rat him out on whatever it was he did.
“I know,” he sighed and walked over to where you were sitting, dropping down onto his knees and lying his head down on your lap. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Another part of me also wanted to leave my past behind and start anew.”
You weren’t upset by his admission, just sad he had kept it hidden for so long. His head remained in your lap, only turning slightly once your fingers started through his hair.
“An army surgeon, hm?” You started more lightly, “much more qualified than I thought.”
He froze slightly, lifting his head to glare at you in mock offence. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Here I thought you were just a physician, turns out you served as a surgeon.” A grin tugged at your lips upon seeing him pout, “what else have you been hiding from me?”
Patrick couldn’t keep his sulking up for long, not when his beautiful wife was getting a kick out of teasing him. His hands rubbed at the sides of your hips, shaking his head. “Nothing you need to worry about.”
He rose to his feet with an audible grunt, turning to put his earlier purchases away. But you weren’t quite done, still wanting to know more.
“You know a lot then?” You hummed softly, trying to sound casual as you leaned forward in the chair with a hand on your chin, playing with a pen.
“You could say that,” he rumbled absentmindedly.
“So, you could give me checkups?”
He looked over his shoulder with a furrowed brow, “that, I could… why?”
You leaned back in the chair, stretching out with a cheeky grin. “Just wondering. It’s always good to go to the doctor’s, and seeing as you were one, it’s more convenient.”
“I suppose you’re right…” he squinted at you suspiciously before returning to his organizing. Just as you had composed yourself, he murmured, “what are you getting at, honey?”
The endearment sent a pang of warmth to your chest. It wasn’t often that he used them on you, but each time was a pleasant surprise. You offered a gentle hum in wonderment, shrugging even though he couldn’t see it. “Nothing, just making sure you’re alright with me asking.”
“Are you hoping for a more… confidential checkup?” The way the question came out, you wondered if he meant to say it aloud, due to the way his shoulders tensed and his ears reddened. You also froze at the implication and didn’t respond save for a small gasp. “Sorry- That wasn’t what I-”
“What would that entail?” You asked despite yourself, somewhat curious as to what a ‘confidential checkup’ looks like.
Patrick said nothing for a long while, staring off into the abyss as he struggled to find an excuse to his unintentional innuendo. “It’s not inherently sexual,” his eyes darted over to you for a split second before looking back at the wall, “but it may involve… intimate procedures.”
“Oh,” was all you could say. The room quickly filled with tension, the awkwardness was suffocating. Intimacy was never an issue for you two but perhaps one was more shy than the other. And you weren’t the one. “We could do a confidential checkup, make sure nothing is wrong with me, yes?”
Patrick fidgeted with his hands, pursing his lips to the side until his eyes met yours. “Of course, it would warrant that there are no issues.”
“Shall we do it after dinner?” He answered with a slight nod and kept his head bowed as you got up to leave the room.
As soon as the door shut Patrick finally let his shoulders relax. Unbeknownst to you, he was being driven crazy. He let out a deep sigh and ran his fingers through his hair, doing his best to compose himself. He’d been doing his best to keep his needs tame throughout his time with you. You, his poor, dear wife had no idea how much he wanted you.
The floorboards creaked under his feet as he walked towards his desk, picking up your discarded gloves. He thumbed over the fabric, letting himself feel the softness that enveloped your hands everyday. He imagined the warmth and possibly even sweat that seeped into the gloves.
Before he knew it, he lifted the gloves up to his nose, closing his eyes to inhale your scent deeply. Something sweet, a tinge of musk, and irrevocably you filled his senses. And now, all he could think about was where else smelled like that.
“Over here, honey.” Patrick guided you over to the chaise with a hand on your lower back, not fully pressing, but enough for you to feel the heat seep through.
You sat down tentatively and watched him carefully as he walked around to grab his dog-eared journal. He took a seat across from you and slipped his reading glasses on before draping his stethoscope around his broad shoulders. You’ve seen his medical instruments before, some of which he let you tinker around with.
He looked so focused in his seat—glasses framing those ice blue eyes as they squinted at his notes, suspenders sitting pretty on his shoulders, and fingers lightly tapping a pen against the leather journal. The journal was soon abandoned as he rolled his seat closer to you, taking the stethoscope into his hands.
“Undo your bodice, please.” His voice was a low murmur, as if embarrassed to ask it. Your hands moved delicately to unlace the front of your bodice to create enough space for him to perform his procedures. Patrick took a sparing glance at you but just as quickly looked away, “actually, remove your bodice completely.”
Your cheeks warmed immediately upon his request but did so without a word, leaving yourself in your skirts and a thin chemise. Despite being married and having had seen you in far less clothing, he kept his gaze respectful as he put the eartips of the stethoscope into his ears.
The cool metal pressed over your chemise which sent a shiver down your spine from unexpectedness. Patrick leaned a bit closer but still had his eyes averted to keep your modesty. He dragged the chestpiece over your heart and paused for a moment to listen to your pulse. He hummed in satisfaction before moving it down to your sternum, sliding his free hand onto your back.
“Breathe in for me, slowly.” He rumbled, listening as you did. “And out.” He moved the chestpiece around a couple times—just underneath your breasts and back.
He pulled away with an approving nod which could only mean that your lungs and pulse were in good shape. You sat awkwardly as he wrote in his journal, still improper in just your chemise and skirts.
The checkup resumed in bashful silence. Patrick moved about doing the necessary routine checkups—blood pressure, reflexes, and strength tests. You saw how relieved he seemed to be after seeing no abnormalities in your results. Patrick often worried about you, though he didn’t show it as to not worry or annoy you.
“Perfect,” he murmured as he looked over his notes and scribbled more onto the worn paper. You smiled triumphantly and reached for your bodice, wanting nothing more than to cover up. “Hold on,” he stopped you with a raised hand, “not quite done yet.”
“Oh?” You almost pressed on why you were not done, but then remembered his earlier words—how it may involve intimate procedures. “Oh.”
Patrick allowed himself to take a gander at you, shamefully dragging his gaze down your half-clothed body. His ears warmed and he cleared his throat before snapping up to look into your eyes. “It won’t take long, much of it is just to determine there’s no cancers and that your… receptors are in working condition.” He stumbled over his words as he fought to maintain eye contact, overcompensating by adjusting his glasses multiple times. You weren’t sure what he meant by receptors, but you had a feeling you’d be well aware soon.
He got up to grab gloves before returning at your side, snapping the latex against his wrists. Patrick was internally fighting himself to be respectful. Throughout your marriage he remained nothing but sweet and respectful, always making sure you were comfortable. The fact that he still had to proceed with these routines made it so much harder for him, and he wished he kept this side of him hidden from you a while longer.
“For this examination, you’ll have to remove your chemise.” He murmured as calmly as possible. He observed the way you perked up in shock but moved without a word, like always. He admired your resilience and how despite the awkwardness, you followed his commands without complaints. He wondered what else he could make you do. As you undressed further, he turned away to give you privacy, though it wouldn’t matter much sooner.
You murmured a soft confirmation for him to turn back around and the sight almost ended him as he faced you once more. You were sat straight and proper, skirts tousled and breasts out for his eyes only. The standard procedure would usually involve feeling the breasts under a fabric to keep propriety, but of course Patrick took advantage of your home examination to see your body in all its naked glory.
“I’ll just be feeling for any abnormal bumps or lumps,” he explained while fixing his gloves, mentally thanking the latex for hiding the sweat gathering on his palms. He knew this was an innocent procedure. It was checking for breast cancer for god’s sake, but he couldn’t deny the stirring in his gut as he began to reach for your breast.
Your breath hitched as his hand cupped the swell of your breast, holding the tissue for a moment. A slight shiver ran through you which resulted in your skin pebbling, and your nipples hardening. It had been a while since Patrick had touched you and even though this was strictly medical, his fingers sent a little flutter in your lower stomach.
His fingers started groping and feeling around, squeezing and prodding. You felt as though these gestures were beginning to feel less innocent once he kept it up for longer than you assumed it’d take. Your breathing became laboured in turn, your skin warming as the heat bloomed deeper.
Patrick suddenly switched to the other breast, giving a not so unintentional swipe over the peak which punched out a moan from your mouth. His hand stilled as he realized what he had just done.
Neither of you verbally acknowledged what just happened and Patrick continued the examination with more careful hands. It was hard not to squirm and even harder to keep your hands to yourself. You wished you could touch him the way he was touching you, but you didn’t want to scare him after he was vulnerable enough to share his past, and again, this was a medical exam.
He released your breast and turned to his journal to jot down some notes before clearing his throat gruffly, “no issues there.” His hands were tingling, warm from touching your skin and sweaty under the gloves from how flustered he was getting. Without missing a beat—and without looking up—he ordered, “remove the rest of your clothes.”
“What?” If you could feel any more humiliation, you’d combust, but something in your gut made you want it. “Is that necessary?”
Patrick snapped his head up, seemingly realizing his rashness. “I- Well- Uh- Yes, it’s extremely important you’re bare for the next examination.” He stumbled over his words, wiping his gloved hands on his trousers as if that could remove the sweat clinging to his palms.
With a moment’s hesitation, you removed your skirts and petticoats, and finally, your drawers. Patrick held his breath as he watched you, hiding the way his eyes darkened by pretending to fix his gloves and glasses. You laid down on the chaise and placed your hands over your stomach in an attempt to retain the propriety you carried.
“Part your legs for me,” he placed his hand on your knee gently. He caught the way your eyes widened in horrified shock and explained, “it’s to ensure your pleasure receptors are responding.” Patrick knew he was making things up, there were no such things, but he did not have the guts to admit he just wanted to touch you.
“I’m sure I have no issues there,” you attempted to get out of the situation, but to no avail as he tugged your knees apart. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to go through with the examination, the issue was that you were absolutely soaked.
He gave you no reaction as he eyed your moist center, but a twitch at the corner of his lips gave him away.
“Stop it,” you scolded bashfully, “it is perfectly normal, a woman’s body will do many things.”
“Oh, I know.” He allowed himself a bit of smugness into his tone, proud that his plan was working. His stool slid along so he was positioned by your legs, dragging a finger up your calf and admiring the way your skin pebbled so easily. “Your body is responding. A good sign.”
He bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from smirking. Judging by your lack of questioning, he knew you believed him in performing this pseudo-examination. His fingers continued their path up your leg, tracing over your knee, and then your inner thigh. He could see the hair on your legs stick up and the pulse between them.
You let out a shuddering breath as the tip of his finger met your puffy clit. It didn’t move or even push, it just rested over the needy thing. Patrick’s eyes gazed intensely as your walls clenched around nothing. All attempts at propriety were thrown out the window as you squirmed in frustration, bucking your hips to feel something more than just pressure.
He awarded you with gentle circles over your clit, two fingers swirling in tandem with each other. His eyes flicked up to your face, observing the way your eyes fluttered shut and the way your lips parted. “Now, your body is definitely responding.” Before you could snap at him, the pads of his fingers pressed down harder, tracing harsh circles now.
“Patrick,” you couldn’t help but moan, “is this really an examination you’ve done with other patients?”
“No,” he admitted, no longer ashamed now that you were unravelling. “This is just for us.”
The usually quiet office was now filled with the obscene sounds of your slick and breathy moans. Patrick was breathing almost as heavy as you were, lips parted while his tongue darted out every so often to wet them.
You bit your lip as you watched his dark, hungry eyes, his glasses had slipped down his nose a bit. He’d never looked at you this way before—so irrevocably infatuated with how wrecked you’d become. Your clit was pulsing with need as his fingers rubbed back and forth over it, the sensation burning down your calves. Moans wretched themselves from your throat and your hips bucked in an embarrassing cry for more and less at the same time. Patrick was glaring down at your center, blue-grey pupils barely noticeable. Your legs shifted in an attempt to hide yourself from him, but his other gloved hand reached up to pry a leg away.
A wet whine left your mouth as he suddenly pulled away. You’d fallen out of the daze to realize that your eyes were wet with unshed tears, the pleasure was overwhelming. Your husband looked down at you with a tinge of guilt, his hardened features softening.
“Oh, honey.” He whispered, leaning down to nuzzle along your hair line, pressing kisses there. “You okay? I’m sorry.” You responded with a meek nod, nuzzling back against his face. He shifted in his chair, no doubt adjusting himself. His warmth left you once he leant back on the stool, “for the next examination, I’ll have to remove these, is that okay?”
You looked to him after blinking back your tears, his hands were gesturing to his gloves. Your mind was still swimming somewhere high above you which made you unable to think for a moment. You almost forgot that this was a checkup, an examination of your responses. Beneath the softness however, there was hunger in his gaze. And yet, you nodded.
“I’m afraid I’ll need verbal confirmation.” He suddenly switched back to that authoritative “doctor” voice he had on before, all the tenderness he just showed was gone.
Your cunt clenched around nothing, mouth opening and croaked, “yes.”
He efficiently discarded the gloves before moving closer once more, positioned side by side with your hip before moving his hand over your core. His middle finger gathered the slick that dripped from your hole, lubing the digit up before pressing in slowly. A low groan left his lips as he felt you contract around the thick finger, rubbing against your walls. Your eyes rolled back as he explored you with little shame, the pad of his finger rubbing hard against the ridges inside of you.
“Nothing unusual,” he rasped, very clearly trying to stay composed but failing. His finger prodded around a bit more, not yet thrusting, just wiggling around and rubbing. He made a face of disapproval and your heart lurched, “but very tight.”
A cry tore out as he shoved a second finger into you without warning. No gentle, slow press like he did with the first. Just a dull pain as your hole stretched to fit his fingers. They twitched as he heard your cry, but didn’t pull them out. The digits rested and let you adjust.
His tenderness returned as he planted a soothing kiss on your jaw, the scratchiness of his facial hair distracting you from the throb down below. His fingers drew back slowly, your hole instinctively closing around them. “Shh, relax sweetheart.” He cooed into your ear while his free hand stroked your knee.
You turned your head to rub your head against his cheek, like a cat seeking warmth from its owner. The soft praises and encouragements helped you relax and his fingers began moving, slowly. In and out the two thick digits went, a sticky sound escaping every time they withdrew. Your legs grew less tense as he worked you slowly and you could feel the knot in your gut grow tighter.
“Patrick— I’ll—” Your back arched off the chaise as you warned him of your incoming release. Much to your displeasure, he removed his fingers with an audible ‘shlick.’ His brow twitched as you let out a soft keening sound before bringing his soaked fingers up to his lips.
“Not yet,” he chastised, licking your slick off his flesh. You watched with hunger and a tinge of disgust as he savoured your taste, wondering if he liked it or if it was horrible. A groan escaped him as he licked more and more off his fingers, eyes fluttering shut as he cleaned them off. “Good, your pH balances are perfect.”
His eyes blinked open and you could now see how wide his pupils were blown. You swallowed thickly, both eager and nervous to see what the next examination would be. His eyes bored into yours to the point you felt almost bashful to be looking at him directly. You could tell he was still holding back by the way his fingers clenched into his trousers and how he shifted in his seat to relieve the aching bulge that was hidden beneath them.
It was getting hard not to just take you as he pleased, but Patrick was a gentleman, and he knew you were fragile. If he were to act without thinking he knew he’d break you. As much as he’d like to see that, he knew he had to tread lightly, take it one step at a time. Which is why he chose his next words carefully.
“Our final examination is to make sure you can reach your peak,” his voice was getting rougher by the second, the lust coursing through his veins as his eyes wandered in places that would have him shanked if you were not his wife. “While I don’t doubt that you can, you’ve almost proved it just now, I must find a specific spot to help bring you there.” You watched him lick his lips as he zeroed in on the tuff of hair between your legs, “I would use my fingers, but I have something better.”
Your skin was already plastered in a sheen of sweat, your baby-hairs sticking to your forehead. The implication was made clear once his hands moved to his belt, those thick fingers that were once in you were now moving to reveal something even thicker.
A lump formed in your throat as his hands pushed down his trousers. His cock sprung out, thick and flushed at the tip. He ran a palm up the length of it, brushing over the head to wipe away precum. Patrick sucked in a breath at the way you ogled him. The sight wasn’t new to you, but the nature of this encounter was.
It was confusing in all the right ways—an innocent doctor’s checkup turning into something so vile and lewd, wrong but right.
The chaise groaned under his weight as he climbed on, pulling your legs around his hips. He lowered himself over your body, hands on either side of your face as he rested his forehead against yours.
For a moment you two just breathed each other in, lips parted and brushing. He reached up and removed his frames, tossing them aside where they clattered somewhere on the floor. His lashes dusted your cheeks as he leaned down while his thumbs came up to rub along your jaw. While the moment was lovely, all you could focus on was the heavy weight resting on your lower stomach.
Patrick knew it too, you could tell by the way it twitched against you. He tugged your bottom lip down before kissing your firmly, moaning lowly into the kiss. It broke off with a loud smacking sound and his hands crawled down your sides until they reached your hips, squeezing once. His eyes flicked between yours and where his cock rested against your belly.
His panting was barely audible as one hand left your hip to grab his cock, thumb rubbing along the base. You shifted your hips in quiet impatience to which he tutted and slapped his shaft on your stomach gently. “Patience,” he rumbled, “it’ll come soon.”
Your head fell back in frustration and you huffed at the ceiling. He watched you in this small act of defiance, admiring the arch of your neck as you exposed your throat to him—bare and sticky with sweat. Before you knew it, his nose was prodding along your neck, his sniffs tickling you just the slightest bit. He took one long inhale and groaned, twitching his hips. With a final kiss to your throat, he leaned back to look down between you two again.
“Beautiful,” he murmured. “The female body—your body—was always fascinating to me.” He dragged a large palm from your chest down to your waist. “Your reactions especially. You’ve always wanted me, no doubt about that, but seeing you, so raw, so… so vulnerable…”
He shook his head and reached down to position himself properly. He pushed forward without warning, making your breath catch as he sheathed himself inside in one go.
The pain was immediate—burning through your hips and locking up your legs. You jolted as your core clenched around him tightly. It felt like an electric shock and you hissed through your teeth.
Patrick leaned down upon seeing your discomfort, peppering kisses on your face while rubbing your thigh in an attempt to soothe. “Shh,” he hushed before kissing you firmly, “it’ll be alright. The pain is just as important for the examination.”
A tear slipped down to your temple, but his lips quickly found it and pecked along your sweaty hairline. For a moment, you just laid there panting while your body adjusted to the feeling of him inside. It had been a while since the last time you both coupled, so it was almost as if your body forgot how it felt. Almost.
As soon as you began to loosen up was when he started to move. It started off with short, shallow jerks, moving just enough that you could feel it. Nothing pleasurable yet, just the feeling of being full. His thumb pressed into the side of your jaw so he could force you to look at him. You were letting out soft puffs of air, legs trembling where they rested over his thighs. His hands pressed into the soft cushion beneath you, being very conscious not to crush you.
After ensuring you were no longer in pain, his thrusts became more deliberate and drawn out. A slow press in until he was seated fully, and then a slow pull back—not all the way, no, just enough to watch the way your hips chased after him. He repeated the motion a couple times, observing your reactions closely. However, it was hard to when you were throbbing around his length and whimpering like a pup.
The soft, breathy whimpers that left your lips had him straining. He was already pushing himself throughout this entire checkup that he had to keep his hands clenched by your sides in order not to grip bruises onto you. He ducked his head down to rub his nose into your cheek, panting hotly as he slammed his hips harder.
The room filled with the sounds of your panting, his groans, and the wet slap of his balls against your ass. He moved his hips in a way that let you feel every inch of his cock, scooping upwards in search of something. Your walls constricted in response, throbbing like you wanted to swallow him whole.
“Perfect,” he groaned, his head now resting against your collarbone. “Your body is responding excellently.” Another hard thrust and a moan slipped out, earning you a soft bite.
Patrick’s attempts at keeping his hands off your body proved unsuccessful once the passion burned hotter. He cupped your ass in both hands and squeezed as he pulled you in in tandem with his thrusts, the head of his cock hitting even deeper than before.
He could tell he was getting closer to that spot by the way your moans turned needy and breathier, so he honed in on that spot and went harder.
You clenched around him as your back arched, pushing your breasts into his chest. He sighed softly at the contact and almost melted, rubbing his head against yours like a cat wanting attention. His cock was relentless, pulsing into you at such a fast pace that you could hear the slosh of your shared fluids.
It was then that you felt it—the rush of pleasure and the settling of this inner ache as he finally found that spot. Your eyes rolled back into your head and your moan was cut off, leaving your mind reeling in pure bliss.
Above you, Patrick watched in a mix of awe and affection. He licked his parted cracked lips, wanting to let you feel out this moment for yourself, but also wanting to ruin you further. Instead, he maintained his speed and pressure and brought his hands up to your ribcage.
“Good,” he whispered once you could see again, grunting a little as he snapped his hips. “That proves the spot does exist.” He said that mostly to himself, but even in your blissed out daze did you pick up on it.
You moaned out again as he hit the spot over and over again. The beginning of your end was soon arriving as the tension in your belly grew tighter.
Your hands didn't know what to do. You’d been as modest as you could be throughout the encounter but now you were completely debauched—hands scrambling over his back and into his hair, tugging enough to send the man above you whimpering into your shoulder. The sweat in his hair coated your fingers which slid down to his neck, pressing into his skin as you pulled him into a heated kiss.
He groaned into the kiss, his teeth and tongue clashing with yours. His own hands slid under your head and into your hair, holding you still unlike his hips moving below.
The heat was reaching an all time high. Every part of your body was dripping with some sort of fluid—sweat, slick, and saliva. You were burning all over, deliciously so. The ache in your cunt was starting to feel almost uncomfortable and you broke the kiss to let out a soft keening noise. Patrick’s eyes widened immediately and his first instinct was to peck your cheeks.
“’m okay,” you mumbled hoarsely, throat sore from all your cries. “Just so… close…”
“I know,” he cooed, licking the sweat off your neck. His pace didn’t change, maintaining those steady, deep thrusts. “You feel perfect… so pretty…” His praises egged you on, making your walls throb and close around him rhythmically.
You weren’t the only one close to your breaking point. It was evident in his actions that Patrick was there too. His hips stuttered every so often, his cock pulsing angrily at the sound of your moans and the feeling of your warm flesh. He panted heavily into the crook of your neck and let his whole body sink down onto yours, ensuring you were flush against him.
“You’re still… wearing all your clothes,” the revelation came to you as soon as you felt him all over. He had removed his waistcoat earlier so his shirt had since been wrinkled and damp, and his trousers hung loosely around his thighs.
“Taking them off would be…” his voice came out as a whisper. He was straining to hold off his release, wanting to come with you. “…well, it’d be unprofessional. Wouldn’t it?”
You felt the cheeky grin against your collarbone and clenched around him in revenge, “you’re ridiculous.”
He shuddered in response and nibbled your neck, “your cunt seems to like it.”
Before you could snap at him for being so vulgar, the head of his cock punched your sweet spot, knocking a loud cry out of you. He didn’t tease, too busy trying to make you both come to make fun of your attempts at propriety.
“There you go…” he whispered as a hand slid down to the curve of your ass, “take it, sweetheart.”
You were uncomfortably hot—feeling the sweat drip down your temples and pool between your breasts, but the pleasure just kept building. You were beginning to lock up and tighten around him, bucking yourself up to chase that friction.
With a few more pumps, you were sent over the edge. Your thighs trembled with the shock of overwhelming pleasure coursing through you. Your eyes rolled back into your head as a shaky cry escaped you, grasping onto his shoulders while he kept moving to coax you through it.
Patrick pushed himself up to gape down at you, bringing a hand up to brush away your sweaty hair from your face. He liked seeing you like this, fully debauched and wrecked. The sight—along with the way your walls fluttered—had his hips stuttering and he soon followed you over. You felt his head drop and the warmth flood your insides.
The moment you came back to earth, you went limp. Patrick’s lips grazed your shoulders while his fingers traced gentle shapes into your skin. He let you bask in the silence and bliss, pecking the softness of your jaw.
The tension still hung in the air, the room heavy with the scent of sweat and sex. You blinked away the haziness and caught your breath, feeling lighter than you had before.
Patrick withdrew from you with a slick sound and sat back to button his trousers. You just laid there and watched him with half-lidded eyes, no longer worried about covering up. He turned to look at you and his eyes landed right between your thighs where the evidence of his release leaked from your cunt.
“Christ almighty,” he shuddered and turned away to rub his eyes as if that could wipe away the sight of that. He rose with a grunt and walked out, leaving you completely bare and lewd in his home office. You didn’t make any attempt to move since the tremble in your legs was still very relevant, and because you knew he’d return soon.
A soft sigh left your lips as you closed your eyes, feeling that post-coital drowsiness that always took over. It wasn’t until you felt the warm press of a wet rag did you realize Patrick was back, but you didn’t open your eyes. Instead, you let him wipe you down, feeling the wet washcloth slide from your neck, between your breasts, and then between your legs.
He pressed a soft kiss on your closed eyelids after he was done pampering you, coaxing your eyes open with a gentle nudge of his head. “Are you feeling alright?”
You met his tender gaze with a yawn, earning a squeeze to the thigh. “Feeling really good.”
“Yeah?” He chuckled softly and covered you with a thin blanket, “that wasn’t too much for you?”
“Not at all…” you smiled sleepily, still feeling light and dazed. “I think we should make these checkups weekly.”
Patrick barked out a laugh before kissing your cheek, shaking his head. “Weekly might be much… but I won’t turn down any requests for an intimate checkup.”
“I’ll hold you to that.”
He smiled at you and then stood to gather his things, flipping through his journal. “Safe to say you have no issues or complications. Everything is in order, now get some rest.”
You watched his back as he walked to his desk, blinking drowsily as the feeling of sleep slowly took over. “Yes, doctor.”
hope you enjoyed! likes, comments, & reblogs greatly appreciated :)
⤿ synopsis : your husband has been working nonstop, but he makes it up to you after a particularly long day. . .
⤿ contents : afab wife!reader , mentions of injuries , praise , masturbation (f!receiving) , patrick is a hopeless romantic , slight voice kink ! 18+ MDNI
w.c. 2.3k
⩩ author notes : new character unlocked: patrick sumner! one of my favourites ♡ i’m lowkey in that part of the writing stage where i’m not sure what i’m writing anymore, i’m just typing words out and praying it fits. please enjoy this little one-shot!
┇likes, reblogs, and comments are highly appreciated! ❤︎
the rain came down hard against the glass pane of patrick sumners’ dimly lit office. heavy like hail, hurling itself down from the dark clouds that hung above the english sky. patrick stood at his desk as he urgently packed up all his necessary items, impatient to get home to you—his wife. patrick had usually been less busy, however his office had experienced quite an influx in patients over the last several days due to changing seasons. the common colds, the allergies, the injuries sustained from slipping on ice, you name it. it wasn’t uncommon for patrick to be on his feet all day, but this day in particular had him counting down the minutes until he could run out the door. he made sure everything was arranged correctly for the next day, but not as neatly as it normally was, there just wasn’t time for that. he had spent the last few days overworking himself, to the point where the few times he saw you was when he came home to you sleeping, or woke up to you sleeping. the candles were blown out, and the office was locked up. he walked down the darkened hallway of the building, passing by the offices of other specialists housed within the miniature medical clinic, all of them empty by now leaving patrick the last man out. he had meant to be home an hour ago, but patrick found it quite difficult to decline his services, especially when he knew it was an urgent matter. you were probably worried sick about him. he imagined you hopelessly staring out the window at the rain, an endless list of what could’ve happened to him warping around your mind and leaving you unsettled. in reality, you were waiting for him but not as worried as he thought you up to be. you had decided to spend your time waiting for him in the bathtub, a ritual you performed on certain nights when the home felt too cold without patrick’s presence. you stepped into the warm basin of water and held the sides to ease yourself in, letting your back rest against the cool porcelain. you tipped your head back and sighed, finally feeling soothed, although it would’ve been much better if your husband could join you. nonetheless, you let yourself get comfortable in the warm tub, scooting down slightly to cover more of your body. you reached over the side and grabbed a small bar soap and a coarse washing brush, lifting one leg out of the water to begin gently cleansing yourself. the water became considerably cloudy as a result of the soapy suds, shielding the view of your body under. your eyes were closed until you heard the unmistakable noise of the front door opening and shutting. patrick was home. heavy boots thumped up the stairway in an attempt to be gentle, patrick assumed you were already in the bed asleep until he saw the only lit room on the floor; the bathroom. the door was barely ajar, only a small sliver of light poked through from the bottom. patrick walked over to the door and slowly opened it, revealing you in the bathtub. his gaze landed on you and stayed there, not wanting to look at anything but his wife.
“aw patrick, i’ve missed you. please, sit” you smile gently at him, and gesture towards the small wooden stool beside the tub.
he walks forwards and makes himself comfortable on the stool. one wet hand reaches out from the water to tenderly caress his beard, small droplets of water dripping down his neck and to his knee. he holds your hand in place with his, and you wince at how cold he is.
“i apologize for my timing, it was not on purpose that i come home to you this late” his tone is gentle and soothing to your ears. the kind of voice you could fall asleep to. his tired eyes scanned over the barely visible figure of your body beneath the water, and then back up to your face.
“it is not your fault, my love. it is merely what you signed up for.”
“i never wish to have another day as long as this one. i thought of you the entire time i worked” he quietly admits.
“really?”
“you plague my every waking moment, my darling” he says it as if it were obvious.
his words never failed to make you feel special. patrick had a habit of talking with formalities, even with you, but he meant every word he said to you. he treasured you like no other person could.
you leaned upwards nearing his face before he got the hint that you wanted a kiss. he bent his head down slightly and pressed his lips against yours softly, careful not to ruin the moment. you let your lips linger near his before leaning back down, your eyes never leaving his.
“would you tell me about your day?” you ask him sincerely, but not wanting to press him incase he didn’t wish to debrief.
“you truly want to hear about it? it’ll bore you to sleep, i’m sure” patrick huffs a small laugh.
“please do, i have not heard the sound of your voice in what has felt like ages,” and it was true; patrick had been working a little more than he usually did, and you could see the exhaustion in his face. “and please come closer, put your hands in the water, my love” you grab his hand, signaling him to scoot forward, his abdomen pressed up against the side of the basin. you pull one hand against your collarbone, and he immediately feels the difference in body temperature. you roll up the sleeve of his white dress shirt.
patrick relaxes against your touch, finding comfort when in contact with your body. he begins, “as you know, i started my day early. my walk towards the office was dreary, but that is to be expected at this time. as soon as my doors were open, my practice became flooded with patients. all different types of cases and such,” patrick talked with a smallness in his voice, some words whispered and others softly spoken. during his talking, you would slowly drag his hand beneath the foggy water, closer to your breasts. he noticed you were moving his hand, but he refused to do anything about it just yet.
“it becomes difficult to distinguish the differences between common illnesses, all of them seemingly blending into each other. at the end of the day, i can only believe i have made the most correct decision for each patient,” you continue to pull his hand lower before placing his hand on one of your breasts. patrick doesn’t seem to falter in his speech as he lightly squeezed the fat of your breast, cupping them and smoothing a thumb over your nipple. you continued to stare at him as he talked, admiring him with a heavy lidded gaze. what were the odds that you would end up married to a man so easy on the eyes? he carried on with his talking with his hand simultaneously moving lower and lower, finger tips scraping over your midriff delicately. his profession consisted of touching the skin of many people, however your skin was much different to him, he could touch it all day without getting tired of it.
“i treated a young patient who had fractured his elbow after sliding on ice, it is certainly a painful area to injure but he was a strong boy, barely shedding a tear. then a woman came in claiming she may have contracted chickenpox” his hand was at your navel now, rubbing back and forth to the sides of your waist. you whined quietly at the ticklish sensation, and it made patrick’s eyes move to meet yours, already understanding what it is that you wanted. normally, he would’ve asked you outright what you desired, but this time he was going to let something happen without involving words. his gaze flicked back down to where his hand was, and brushed his fingers against your mound.
“are you sure you want to hear all the details of my day? you don’t seem to-” he began to speak again but you interrupt him, holding his hand under yours.
“keep talking. all i want is your voice” you say with lust practically dripping from your lips, pushing his hand down all the way to where you want it to be. you feel his hand freeze against you, breath hitching, but quickly relaxes. the pads of his fingertips dusted over your nakedness. you moan quietly and lean your head back, closing your eyes in the process.
“very well then, my dear. as i was saying, the woman had chickenpox. she was inconsolable over it, but i assured her that it would clear up over the course of a few days. then i sutured a man’s gash closed,” his fingers slowly ran up and down your slit, collecting whatever slick liquid that was beginning to seep out. every time his fingers moved upwards, he would press down slightly on your clit, eliciting a shaky breath from you.
“it was a deep cut. he had told me he sustained it from a rough night out, he couldn’t quite remember how it happened but judging by the look of it, it must’ve been done by a perpetrator with a blade” now he was rubbing small circles over your clit, and little noises were starting to break out of you. he wondered how you could get off to his gruesome stories, but you weren’t exactly listening to his words, more so his voice. the way it rumbled and rasped when he spoke quietly, aware of how loud his voice sounded when speaking full volume in a small echoey bathroom. patrick was not the type of man to raise his voice, he was quite a soft speaker, never really projecting his voice unless he wasn’t heard the first time. this translated into the bedroom as well. he was vocal enough to let you know it felt good, but he stayed quiet as he much preferred to listen to yours over his.
“the rest of my day became a blur, i believe i may have overworked myself. i spent more time thinking of you than my patients, which i assume must make me irresponsible. it is something i cannot help. i will indulge in my thoughts of you if my mind so pleases” you whimpered both at his words and his fingertips pressing harder against you, his pace unchanging. you open your eyes, and examine his starved expression. this is what he had been waiting to do all day.
“talk about me, now” you mumbled.
“i may not tell you very often, but you are one of the only things that keep me going in this life. i have no purpose if i cannot serve you.”
you bucked your hips into his hand, a clear indication his words were getting you off.
“o-oh patrick mmph” your words made him go faster, the water around his arm creating small ripples.
patrick watched how your chest rose in and out of the water every time you breathed, a tiny portion of your breasts poking out beneath the clouded water, wet skin shining against the candle light.
“i remember, the day i met you, that you would be the death of me. i never believed i would’ve been able to find someone after my time india, but you changed everything.”
the sensitivity in your core had you clenching around nothing. he knew exactly how to stimulate you and he wasn’t wasting any time with it. his fingers were now rubbing your clit at a moderate speed, and you could feel that euphoric sensation building up. your hips continued to jerk forward every time he became a little more rough.
“it’s so good—please—patrick”
“please what, angel?”
“g-god…please continue!”
“you want me to tell you more? how your mere existence consumes every part of me? how i cannot stand when you are not by my side? how i wish to touch as i am now every time i see you?” he was flustered from how much was spilling out of him, how vulnerable he was being. he couldn’t help himself if he tried, his feelings just tumbled out of him. he held your eye contact as slowly watched you nearing your finish. at this point, you could only nod and whimper at everything he said, words becoming too difficult to form. you reached out to grip patrick’s shoulder, but he grabbed your hand instead with his other free arm and held it to his chest.
“you’re close, aren’t you?”
“mhm! v-very..”
“come for me, my darling.”
you closed your eyes to help yourself focus, every rough drag of his fingers pushing you closer towards the finish line. you took a few deep, ragged breaths before it all came out. you finished with a loud whine and a buck of your hips up into his hand, chasing more friction. patrick watched the way your face contorted in pleasure, the way your eyebrows furrowed, your tongue when your lips parted and the sounds that would fall from them. god—it was such a beautiful sight.
“that’s it, thaatts itt. there you are. so good for me” he said, almost whispering to himself. he continued to circle your clit but very slowly and lightly now, pulling small aftershocks out of you. then he leaned down once again, lips locking against yours. one wet hand came up to caress the back of his head, dampening his hair slightly. you kissed him deeply as a thank you.
“patrick..” you pull away, lips mere centimetres from his.
kiss your screen every time you see a typo or grammatical error in my fics because it means it's home grown and not some ai bullshit and im dead serious about this
⤿ synopsis : all your life, you’ve always gotten everything you’ve ever wanted. no one ever told you ‘no’ until you met a drug dealer named cook who didn’t want to play into your little fantasy…
⤿ contents : afab reader , reader is very much a spoiled brat , mentions of drug use (cocaine) and drinking , reader provokes/is a bitch to cook , slight dubcon , slapping , rough unprotected p in v in a car , doggystyle , gunplay , threats , freak!reader , face painting ! 18+ MDNI
w.c. 4.6k
⩩ author notes : second cook fic!!! this was pretty ambitious of me to write but i'm rocking with it! i almost wanted to give this to eric love but i decided he's not deserving of this type of treatment, so cook handled it instead. enjoy and please mind the tags!
┇likes, reblogs, and comments are highly appreciated! ❤︎
luxurious. lavish. expensive. three words that described your entire life. it had always been that way, ever since you were a baby until the present, you got all that you’ve ever wanted. the word ‘no’ wasn’t even a word that existed in your mental dictionary given the fact that you almost never heard it. you were highly spoiled and came from extreme familial wealth, solidifying your spot in every possible space you wished to join.
throughout your life, you were only gifted with the best; a picturesque home, professional babysitters, the top education available, and a life filled with extravagant experiences. those who didn’t know you called you a princess, those who did called you a rich bitch…and so what? they weren’t wrong. the hardest things you’ve ever endured in life were the times when your freshly manicured nails would chip, or when you just couldn’t decide what to wear while standing in a walk-in closet the size of an average person’s bedroom. you were out of touch with reality, and you liked that. you couldn’t fathom why the outside world needed your attention when you could simply live in your own plush bubble.
it wasn’t your fault however, that’s just the attitude you were constantly surrounded by and how your parents raised you to act. even your own friends acted in their own selfish ways, always flashy and trying to one-up you as if seeing who was more wealthy was the ultimate game of life. it was bothersome, but you could handle it no doubt. i mean, why let such minor troubles affect you when you were off attending the best university in the country, partying til dawn every weekend and getting with every boy you laid your eyes on. life worked in your favour, and to say you had tremendous power over people was an understatement. that’s why when one person resisted your efforts, you were enraged.
it all began when an invite to a party was sent to your instagram dms. a house party, tucked away near the outskirts of the city at someone’s family mansion. nothing you weren’t used to. as much as you liked partying on campus and your dorm only being a short distance away, they were more monitored therefore you couldn’t let loose as much. you were no stranger to a good party, as your friends often dubbed you as the ‘party itself’. it was happening on a weekend to celebrate the end of the first term right before the second one started, and best believe you needed a huge house party after the unbearable amount of exams you just took. you weren’t the smartest girl out there, but you certainly weren’t dumb. yes, your parents knew the headmaster well and put in a good word for you, but that didn’t mean you weren’t somewhat deserving of going to a nice school which is what you told yourself for comfort.
you texted your groupchat with your closest girlfriends asking if they received the same invite, to which they did. in fact, almost everyone in your year was. that was a lot of people, but the more the merrier. it was currently a tuesday, and the party was planned for saturday night, so you really had a lot to look forward to. the mere thought of it even gave you a sudden boost in motivation to get your assignments done early so that you could completely let go the night of.
that saturday afternoon, you stood in a fluffy robe facing your fully packed closet. your hand lightly glided over the hung up dresses, getting a feel for what kind of vibe you wanted to bring to the party. the party was only a few hours away, but you already had your everything shower, fully lotioned yourself from head to toe, hair was done, nails were done, and makeup almost fully completed. you tilted your head back in frustration, not understanding why it always had to be this hard when choosing an outfit. you thought about calling a friend to help you out, but you were all about surprises especially when it came to dressing up, so you scratched that idea off. instead, your mind wandered to the guy you’ve been seeing for awhile now. dominic. he was tall and charming, the one you could bring back home no problem. he approached you at a christmas party on the guise of having mutual friends, but he really only wanted to get you in bed with him. truth be told, it definitely wasn’t the best sex you’ve ever had but it was manageable since you happened to be a mid dick magnet. you thought about dominic as you continued to decide what to wear. what could impress him? more so, what could show him you were that girl? you finally landed on an outfit; a mini dress straight from an archive fashion collection. your silhouette was hugged in all the right places and there was no doubt that anyone would be wearing something similar. you paired the dress with some kitten heels, your signature jewelry, and a clutch. standing fully dressed in front of your mirror, you took a few mirror selfies before stepping forward and pressing your glossy lips to the cold material, symbolizing good luck.
you shared a limousine with your friends on the way there, making sure to pregame with a bottle of champagne. the mansion came up on a hill and was absolutely stunning. it was an older french country mansion, not like those lifeless modern homes that were composed of giant rectangles. you didn’t know the host well, but you knew his family had good taste. it was around dusk when you arrived and the house was nearly filled by now, with some people choosing to stand out in the front and the back for personal space. you and your friends walked into the large foyer and was immediately met with the smell of perfume and weed. there could have been hundreds of people in this house. suddenly, dominic came into your peripheral and hugged you, which did shock you slightly.
“always good to see you, babe. how are ya? you all just arrived or what?” he said into your ear, almost slurring his words like he was drunk. he definitely smelled like it.
“yeah i’m alright, we just got here…you can let go now” you said uncomfortably through a smile, itching to get his paws off your dress.
dominic let go but continued to hold your hips as he leaned down to kiss you. your friends let you know they were going to walk over to the bar and asked what they could get you, and the thought of getting another drink instantly pulled you away from his lips.
“a glass of red!” you said desperately. wine loosened you up like no other drink could.
“ohh fuck, ‘forgot to ask you if you wanted something..” he says, cradling your cheek. you winced at the smell of booze in his breath and you leaned away.
“don’t worry, you’ll know for next time” you flash him a smile that makes his knees wobble, and he chuckles.
“glass of red for the little party girl!” one of your friends hands you a generously full glass, and you immediately begin chugging it like it’s beer. you were famously irresponsible with your drinking but you always denied it, mostly because you never remembered much when you were drunk.
for the first half of the night, you chatted and danced like a proper party goer, and you were always the one who stood out amongst the crowd. the second half of the night was a little different. it was already a little late by then, around 10pm, but the house was now at full capacity. some people were fully drunk, others jumping into the pool outside, and some upstairs occupying the guest bedrooms. the basement of the home was where the more ‘lucrative’ part of the party was happening. obviously you had to go down there. dominic told you about the host hiring some drug dealers to deal to the party goers, almost in the same way you hire clowns to entertain children at a birthday party. it intrigued you. you hadn’t really done drugs except a little weed here and there, and one magic mushrooms trip when you were 14. dominic led you down the winding stairs towards the basement, making sure to keep your tipsy self from falling. the basement was darker and the smell of weed was much stronger. it was buzzing with people, and dominic was eager to get some coke from one of the dealers. he pulled you along through the groups of people until he came up to a man sitting at a couch with drugs laid out in little baggies in front of him. girls tripped over themselves as they waited in line for more drugs when they clearly had enough, while some guys stood anxiously as they attempted to get a lower price on the coke, but the dealer kept firm on his prices. when it was you and dominic’s turn, you took a moment to register his look; he had on dark clothing that blended into the couch he was sat on, shaggy cropped hair, pale skin, and a face that made your stomach flutter. he was laid back on the couch nursing a beer bottle.
“what can i do for ‘ya, mate?” the man said as he leaned forward slightly, looking up at dominic.
“just some coke man, nothin’ crazy” dominic said trying to joke around, although it sounded annoying coming from his mouth.
“anyfin for your lady?” the dealer said looking up at you while taking a sip. you liked the way he looked at you, even if it was just a regular stare.
“we’re sharing” said dominic.
“‘course, mate. how much?”
“an 8 ball.”
the man sorted through his little baggies and pulled out one that was filled to the brim with the powdery substance. dominic pulled out his wallet from his pocket and hands the dealer some money, while grabbing the bag in the other.
“gracias my amigo” dominic says again in a cheesy voice, and it literally grates your ears to hear him try to be funny.
“enjoy” the dealer says kindly, although annoyed by dominic’s presence.
dominic takes you to another couch, still in view of the dealer, and flops down.
“you ever done this before?” he says while scrambling to find something with a flat surface, instead opting to use his phone screen.
“mm, no” you say sounding uninterested, your eyes completely focused on the dealer handing out more drugs. you wondered what his name was, how the host knew him, and if he went to your university.
“wanna sniff the first line?” dominic already had two lines created in the time you spent staring off.
“i don’t think i want any coke tonight, sorry babe” you say with a fake smile, feeling a little uncomfortable.
dominic pauses and furrows his brows, “okay so, i just spend money on coke for the both of us, and you’re saying you don’t want any?”
“i never told you i wanted coke.”
“yeah, but i was under the impression you wanted some since you wanted to come down ‘ere so badly.”
“you’re having a laugh, babe.”
he uses his money that he rolled up to sniff the coke while you talk, and he takes a hard sniff to really get it up his nose. you could tell he just wanted you to piss off already.
“this couch is reserved for people who do coke.”
“guess i’ll go back upstairs then. text me when you wanna stop acting like a dick” you huff, grabbing your clutch and storming away from dominic. you head towards the stairs, but you take one last look at the dealer, and he’s looking at you too.
3am was rolling around, and the party was wrapping up. the host noted on the invite that everyone would be kicked out at 3 because their parents would be coming back at 7am. the mansion was pretty trashed at this point, beer cans were littered all over the property, some toilets were clogged, the smell of weed couldn’t have been removed even with 100 candles burning, and not to mention all the people who were passed out. this house would probably never see another party again. you were still annoyed at dominic for how he treated you, but you also couldn’t keep your mind off that dealer. you needed to know his name at least before you left. dominic had already left with a few friends, coked out of his mind, so you felt okay going back into the basement. you told your friends you needed to use the toilet before you left, and they waited in the foyer for the limousine driver. you made your way down the stairs of basement, and felt your nerves twisting as it was pretty quiet down there. there were only a few party goers left, most passed out, but the dealers were packing up. you spotted him on the same couch, packing his things into a backpack, completely oblivious to you padding over to him until he felt the couch dip slightly beside him. he quickly turned his head to look at you and raised his brows in surprise.
“shops’ all packed in now, babe. you could’ve bought sumfin’ 10 minutes ago” he says as he returns to packing.
“not looking to buy.”
“whatdya’ want then.”
“your name.”
he looks back at you, even more surprised but also a tinge of confusion as well.
“cook. james cook. and yours?”
you gave him yours in the sweetest voice you could put on, using your charm as a weapon like a snake with venom.
“nice to meet you, cook.” you say quietly but genuinely as you admire his facial features. he had a boyish beauty. a little rough around the edges. the fact that you felt some attraction was incredibly weird considering you went for preppy guys, but in the moment you didn’t acknowledge it.
“say cook…why don’t we have a little fun in that bathroom over there?” you tilt your head with a pout.
cook laughs awkwardly and looks at you, then shakes his head.
“nah, babe. weren’t you here with some bloke? the unfunny one?”
you frowned, feeling insulted.
“that’s not my man, he’s just some guy i shag…not that he’s any good though” you trail off slightly on that last part, a quiet admission of truth.
“sorry ‘bout that. i’m not doin’ any shagging tonight though, sweetheart.”
you understood the concept of consent, but the concept of being told ‘no’ was making you visibly upset, not to mention the fact that you were pretty drunk.
“every guy wants to shag me.”
“every guys’ not me, babe.”
“but..i always get what i want.”
“dunno ‘bout that, darlin'.”
you slumped back into the couch in defeat, you didn’t even realize your protesting was becoming embarrassing. for a moment, cook looked back at you, slightly entertained by the spoiled brat sitting next to him.
“whatever, i’m too good for you anyways, so is this pussy” you say angrily while getting up.
“you keep tellin’ yourself that” cook says in a nonchalant tone, which riles you up even more.
“fuck you! you don’t even know who you’re talking to, you knob!” now you’re yelling, and people are looking.
cook just laughs, the same way he used to laugh when he was younger and some idiotic scenario was happening in front of him. he was throughly entertained by you.
tears start forming in your eyes quickly from both the humiliation and the fact that your charm didn’t work. you made an angry groan before thumping the floor with one foot like a child throwing a tantrum, and stormed off again. this time not looking back.
the ride home was a disaster. two of your friends got motion sickness, another was arguing on the phone with her parents, and you were sat there sulking. never in your life have you felt so rejected, that’s how ‘perfect’ your life had been. to a normal person, this would’ve been a regular occurrence but for you this was a horrible situation. was cook still attractive to you? yes. was he a massive dick? also yes. you started to think about how it would be if you fucked a drug dealer, how dirty it would be. not only would your family cease to speak to you, but it would be such a bad look for you. did it really matter though? technically, you were seeing dominic, but it wasn’t like you’ve never been unfaithful before. you’ve done plenty of things with plenty of guys while being in relationships all because you weren’t being satisfied at home. it would’ve been your little secret anyways, to fuck cook. you were notorious for making extremely bad decisions. you were going to see him again, and you would be getting exactly what you wanted.
some time had passed, and the party started to become old news. you never stopped thinking about cook though. you spent hours searching his name on google, instagram, facebook, snapchat, you name it, and he just wasn’t there. your only option was to get in touch with the host of the party, but they had their phone taken away for awhile for obvious reasons. when you did get in touch, they told you that they only knew one dealer from the group, and that dealer brought his friends with him. they offered to give you his number and you happily obliged. you immediately contacted the dealer and asked for cook. he asked for the reason and you told him you wanted to buy specifically from him. the dealer said okay and would set up a time for you and him to meet. when he asked for your name, you gave a fake name so cook wouldn’t cancel for any reason. after the conversation ended, you smiled excitedly at the thought of your redemption. this was your greatest masterplan yet.
you approached the car in the half empty car lot somewhere outside the city, heels clacking on the pavement. you had decided to wear a little disguise; a designer trench coat with some dark sunglasses. after all, you really weren’t supposed to be out here doing this. you walked up to the drivers side door and leaned down to look through the glass. cook rolled his window in confusion, and you took that moment to remove your sunglasses.
“thanks for meeting me” you say with a tone of faux innocence, knowing damn well this was his job, not some hangout you two planned together.
cooks’ jaw falls slightly in shock, but then he just chuckles.
“‘course it’s you again.”
you walk around to the passenger side and made yourself comfy in his car, even going as far as to pull down the passenger mirror and check your lipgloss.
“whatdya’ want, then” cook watches you, not fully believing you were just here for drugs.
“oh, you know, an apology.” you say as you used your fingernail to clean up the bit of gloss around your lips.
“and why’s that?”
“i’m sure you remember, you were rude to me the night of that party.”
“s’not rude, just didn’t wanna bang ‘ya.”
“why not? tell me why you wouldn’t fuck me?”
“you were clearly pissed, and i don’t shag girls like you.”
“girls like me?”
“just spoiled, petty, bratty. i don’t get on with those types of girls.”
his words were a slap to the face. it wasn’t the first time you heard someone call you those words but his words stung harder.
“well i don’t shag guys like you. guys who sell drugs for a living like an absolute loser in dishevelled cars, like what a joke.”
cook huffs out a laugh but it’s not because he finds you funny, you genuinely hit a nerve. cook never wanted to be a drug dealer, he was just doing this to survive.
“you think you can just sit up in ‘ere and chat shit about me and what i do to get around?” he was actually a little upset now, but it only fuelled you in a disgusting way.
“yeah, i do.”
“get the fuck out me car, mate.”
“i’m not your ‘mate’.”
“i’m not gonna say it again.”
you wouldn’t say it, but you were absolutely getting off on cook’s anger like the sick person you were.
“what if i don’t get out?”
cook was done. he reached into the waistband of his jeans and pulled out a handgun, aiming it right in your face. in one moment, your face went from smug to shocked. there was a click. he turned the safety off. you couldn’t even move, you were paralyzed in his passenger seat as you realized this could’ve been it, the end of your life at the hands of some drug dealer.
“get in the back, then” cook said, gun unmoving. he motioned with his head to the backseat of his car. you tried to speak but only a breath came out, a weird incoherent sound.
“don’t say nuffin’. get in the back now.”
you moved very slowly, crawling over the console into the backseats. cook waited until you were fully situated and then climbed over himself, gun still in his hand.
“d-don’t hurt me…i’m s-sorry..” you’re unable to control the shake in your voice, tears on the brink of your lower lash line.
“not gonna hurt you. just gonna teach you a lesson” he says gently but it still feels very condescending, rightfully so.
“get on your hands and knees for me.”
your heart dropped. somehow it was exactly what you wanted but it wasn’t at the same time. when you didn’t acknowledge his words, he pointed the gun in your face again, and that got you moving.
“good girl” he said under his breath as he watched you take off your coat, and position yourself so that you were facing the outside window and your ass was facing cook. you were wearing a black slip under your coat, nothing too sexy but obviously it was for easy access incase cook gave in. cook got up on his knees and lifted your slip over your ass, revealing a black lacy thong. you felt his hand smooth over one cheek before feeling a painful smack, earning a shriek from you. his digits pulled the lacy fabric down and used two hands to pull the two cheeks apart, inspecting your nakedness. your humiliation was beginning to turn you on. he removed one hand from your cheek and smacked your pussy, making you squeak and jump again. cook said nothing and continued to smack you, harder every time. then you heard a belt unbuckling and a zipper being pulled down, then a warm nudge at your dampening entrance. you whimpered at the thought of him impregnating you. then he pushed in, slow and steady, and you felt every inch of it. he groaned above you, and it was filthy. cook began moving at a fast pace, like he was ready to get this over with so he could kick you out of his car. he slammed into you with every thrust, burying himself to the hilt. you couldn’t keep the moans falling from your lips, he was just too good, and you almost already knew that. you hated how every guy you’ve hooked up with were so passive in the bedroom, never wanting to get rough with you or treat you differently even for one night. cook was different; he wasn’t making love to you—he was fucking you. and he was absolutely fed up with you. his pace made you gasp every time his cock plunged into you.
“f-feels so fucking good! cook-”
before you could finish speaking, cook leaned forward, pressing his abdomen into your back and wrapping his free hand around your mouth abruptly, his other hand pressing the gun to the side of your head. it made you gasp under his rough hand. his pace barely slowed down.
“not a fuckin’ word from you. you say another word and i’ll hurt you” cook says threateningly into your ear, pressing the tip of his gun harder into your skull with every word. you can only close your eyes and nod, warm tears sinking down your face onto his hand.
the only sounds being made were the sounds of aggressive skin slapping and the occasional whimper from you. cook kept quiet for the most part, not wanting to reveal how good you felt clenched around him even though his mouth was still near your ear. your nails dug into the faux leather of the seat as you felt your orgasm approaching. your mouth hung open with brows furrowed as it was building rapidly, hoping no loud sounds would come out incase cook made good on his word. with a few more thrusts, you came, shakily exhaling as quietly as you could. your aftershocks pulled cook’s orgasm closer as well, and his thrusts became sloppier. then he spoke again.
“turn ova’, needa see your face” cook said breathlessly, making you think he needed to see your face to finish.
he pulled back and you quickly flipped over, revealing your fucked out expression. cook was tightly fisting his cock as he used the headrest to pull himself forward, nearing your face. oh, he was going to finish on your face. he tipped his head back for a moment and made a sound that was a mix of a groan and a whimper. you opened your mouth as you waited for his cum but cook angrily told you to close it. you squeezed your eyes shut and suddenly felt a warm liquid shooting at your face, making your breath hitch. cook grabbed the top of your head with his big hand and brought your face closer to his leaking cock, painting your face with his release. he chuckled wickedly, watching you turn from a petty snob to a whimpering coward. this was unlike anything cook had ever done to a girl, but you pushed him to be like this and that was his reasoning, not that anyone would know about this. you opened your eyes when you felt cook was finished and caught a glimpse of your face through the window. you looked disgusting. mascara pooled around the bottom of your eyes, your hair was dishevelled, and you had a man’s cum all over your face. somehow, a part of you was still into it.
“you can go now” cook said, “you got what ‘ya wanted, now fuck off” cook said looking down as he frantically pulled his jeans up and re-buckled his belt.
you turned to open the side door and awkwardly stumbled out, quickly grabbing your trench coat and using it as a wipe for your face. cook moved to the front of the car again and handed you the sunglasses that you left on the dashboard. you put them on immediately to cover more of your face. then cook started his car and drove out of the parking lot, the exhaust blowing in your face as he left. you stood there, watching his car disappear, wondering what brought you to this point. you took a deep breath and called an uber home, returning back to your normal, cozy bubble but deep down secretly hoping you would cross paths with cook again.
am I really gonna write a fic for an unnamed character in a movie that won't be released until next year bc Jack looks good in army fatigues and the idea of having to clamp your hand over his mouth to keep him quiet during sex because he's a whimperer
I'm still kinda heated hearing it's happening—again. but let me add onto this because clearly some of you did not learn the first time (or the second, or the third) when you were saying disgusting things about Jack's partner, Imogen.
the second you start attacking a real woman’s looks over a man you do not know, you’ve officially hit rock bottom behavior
like i genuinely need you to pause and think about what that says about you. not her—you
because what kind of person sees a stranger, minding her business, existing in a relationship, and decides “yeah, i’m gonna pick her apart because i’m obsessed with her boyfriend”
that is not normal. that is not fandom. that is not “just jokes.” that is insecurity, entitlement, and a complete lack of self awareness
and i’m not even gonna pretend to be nice about it, if you’re doing that, you are a loser. full stop.
there’s no intellectualizing it, there’s no “well actually,” there’s no nuance to be found there. you’re sitting behind a screen, talking down on a real woman’s appearance, because you’ve built up some fantasy in your head about a man who does NOT know you exist
and let’s really unpack it for a second, because it’s not even about her. it’s about the fact that she’s real and she’s there, and that disrupts whatever delusion you’ve been entertaining. so instead of dealing with that like an adult, you try to tear her down to make yourself feel better
it’s transparent. it’s embarrassing. and it’s tired
we’ve been over this already, and the fact that it’s still happening is what makes it even more disgusting. like how many times do people need to tell you to leave real people alone before it sinks in
you can be as feral as you want about a man. you can write, thirst, scream, do whatever, but the second you start targeting real people, especially over their appearance, you’ve crossed into something that just makes everyone else side-eye you
so if you’re one of the people doing this? genuinely get a grip. log off. go outside. reevaluate
because this behavior is not just unattractive—it’s absolutely pathetic!!!!!!!!!
