☆.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!
more about me…
mostly copying everything i said on my main blog… if you want to know more about me pls send me an ask!!!
☆.ᐟ (i like to think) i am a very friendly person, albeit a bit shy, so feel free to send me asks or dm me about everything and anything because i am so boredddd
☆.ᐟ i am VERY inconsistent so i apologize in advance for shitting out something and then disappearing for a few weeks
☆.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.
☆.ᐟ i do write nsfw and for that reason i will not be interacting with anyone under the age of 18, of course this is the internet and i cannot control what you choose to do, but i will not interact with you in any way :)
☆.ᐟ i tend to write reader as afab with she/her pronouns but if you’d like to see reader as anything or anyone else feel free to request!
requests…
☆.ᐟ i love when people send in requests and i absolutely love hearing ideas however…. i dont tend to write them. i do not discourage sending them though!!! i just have such low motivation and i fear not writing them up to the requester’s expectations
☆.ᐟ that being said, please send in any requests or thoughts you have and i may just write a small blurb or drabble as opposed to a full length fic :)
☆.ᐟ i dont really have a ‘yes’ and 'no’ list on what i will write. as long as it doesnt make me personally comfortable to write about, i will write anything!
⤿ 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!!!!!!!!!
ᰋ ˓ . synopsis a quiet night in, a cheap towel, an old pair of clippers, and eric love sitting between your legs like he belongs there. he says he needs fixing up for work. you both know it’s more than that. (wc : 3k)
ᰋ ˓ . contents ⸝⸝ ⸝⸝ fem!reader. established relationship. aged-up!eric. eric being emotionally repressed. anxiety. dirty talk. praise. teasing. MESSY messy oral sex (f!receiving). unprotected p in v sex. couch sex. size kink. rough-ish but loving sex. emotional vulnerability. mdni 18+
𝜗ৎ . notes ; omgg i came back with an eric love fic 🤭 this is my first time writing for him and i hope i delivered… can y’all tell i was lazy asf with the header LMAOO
The towel over Eric’s shoulders is one you keep meaning to throw out, the edges gone thin from too many washes, the faded blue darkening where stray bits of hair cling to the cotton.
He sits on the floor between your thighs with his back against the couch, knees bent, broad shoulders tucked neatly between your legs as though he belongs there more than he belongs anywhere else.
The flat is quiet except for the soft buzz of the clippers and the low murmur of some late-night program neither of you has been watching. Outside, the streets are damp from evening rain, orange lamplight smeared across the window glass, but inside everything feels close and warm, full of the smell of shaving foam, your body lotion, and the takeaway cartons still stacked on the coffee table.
Eric had shown up with dinner and clippers in each hand and that tense, stubborn look on his face, pretending he only needed a trim when you both knew it was more than that.
New job tomorrow. First proper thing he’d had lined up in ages. Warehouse work, early mornings, steel-toe boots, some supervisor who apparently “talked like a prick” but gave him a start date anyway.
He had shrugged when he told you, like it didn’t matter, like he had not been pacing the kitchen for half an hour before finally admitting he wanted to look decent for it.
“Just don’t make me look like a mug,” he had muttered, dropping down in front of you.
Now, his head tips slightly when your fingers guide his chin. He lets you move him without complaint, which is still something that gets you sometimes, the quiet permission of it.
Eric Love, all hard edges and restless hands, sitting still because you asked him to. Letting you clean him up. Letting you care.
“You keep moving and I’m gonna nick you,” you say, dragging the comb through the short hair at his crown, nails scraping his scalp just to watch him shiver.
“I ain’t moving.”
“You are.”
His mouth twitches, though he tries to hide it. “You always got somethin’ to say.”
“And you always come to me when you need fixing.”
That shuts him up for a moment. Not in a wounded way, not quite. He just lowers his gaze to where your bare feet rest on either side of his hips, your toes brushing the worn fabric of his joggers. His hands wrap around your ankles slowly, thumbs pressing there with absent affection.
“Yeah,” he says, quieter. “S’ppose I do.”
The clippers go silent when you finish the last pass along the back of his neck. You brush the loose hair away with your fingers, careful, gentle, and he leans back into the touch before he seems to notice himself doing it.
There’s something almost boyish in the way he accepts the attention, a hunger he tries to disguise as impatience. You know better by now. Eric can take a punch, a threat, a door slammed in his face. Tenderness is what makes him go still.
You set the clippers down and rub your palm over the fresh cut, smiling when he tilts into it like a cat.
“There,” you murmur. “Handsome.”
He scoffs, but it comes out rougher than usual. “Yeah?”
“Mhm. Proper cleaned up. Might even fool them into thinking you’re respectable.”
His fingers tighten around your ankles, and when he turns his face, his mouth presses against the inside of your knee.
It starts as nothing, just a kiss against warm skin, but the pause afterward is too long. His lips move again, slower this time, dragging along the soft place above your knee while his hands slide up your calves.
You look down at him, and he’s already looking back, eyes dark under the harsh yellow lamp, jaw freshly lined, mouth softened by wanting.
“You gonna keep taking the piss,” he asks, voice low, “or you gonna let me say thank you?”
Your stomach pulls tight. “Depends how you’re saying it.”
Eric turns fully between your legs, pushing the towel off his shoulders so it falls in a heap behind him. The haircut has left tiny dark flecks clinging to the back of his neck and the collar of his shirt. He looks rough and newly made at once, familiar and devastating, his hands sliding higher until his thumbs press into the soft insides of your thighs.
“Like this,” he says.
Then his mouth is on your thigh again, open and hot, kissing his way upward with a patience that does not match the tension in his body. His lips brush the hem of your shorts, and he looks up at you from between your legs with that bruised intensity he gets when he wants too much and does not know how to ask cleanly.
“Eric,” you breathe.
“C’mon,” he murmurs, rough palms kneading your thighs wider. “Been thinking about it all evening, sitting here with your legs ‘round me, acting like I ain’t meant to do nothing about it.”
You lift your hips enough for him to drag your shorts down. He does it quickly but not carelessly, pulling them over your thighs and tossing them somewhere near the coffee table. Your underwear follows, hooked down with two fingers, and the air touches your bare cunt for only a second before Eric is spreading you open with his thumbs, thumbs digging into the slick, puffy lips of your pussy and holding you wide so he can just stare at how wet you already are for him.
The first lick is slow enough to make your breath catch, his thick, flat tongue dragging from your leaking hole all the way up through your folds, collecting every drop of your slick like he’s starving for the taste of you.
He groans deep in his throat, the sound vibrating right against your cunt as he does it again, messier this time, lapping broad and sloppy, coating his lips and chin in your juices until they’re shiny. His fresh, barely-there stubble scrapes hot against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, rough enough to sting in the best way while his mouth works you open, tongue pushing inside your tight hole, fucking in and out in slow, filthy strokes that make wet noises fill the room.
“Oh, fuck,” you whisper, fingers gripping the nape of his neck.
He groans when you tug him closer, the vibration pushing through your throbbing clit.
His tongue circles it slow and deliberate, then flattens wide, dragging over it again and again while he sucks the swollen nub between his lips, pulling hard enough to make your hips jerk.
He doesn’t tease for long. Eric has never been graceful with wanting; when he wants something, it comes through in his hands, his mouth, the hard press of his body. He buries his face deeper, nose grinding against your clit while his tongue spears back into your cunt, licking deeper, slurping loudly at the fresh gush of wetness that leaks out around his mouth.
Your thighs start to shake around his head, slick running down his chin, but he just grips you tighter, fingers bruising into your flesh, holding you open so he can devour every inch of your dripping cunt.
“Look at me,” he rasps against you, mouth shiny, breath hot. “C’mon, look.”
You force your eyes open, and the sight of him nearly undoes you: Eric between your thighs, hair cropped clean by your own hands, face flushed and shining with your slick, eyes fixed on yours while his mouth lowers again.
He licks you slower once he has your attention, filthy and thorough, tongue sliding over your clit before he sucks it hard again, slurping sounds filling the room beneath the forgotten television. He keeps going like that for what feels like forever, alternating between long, slow drags of his tongue through your folds and sudden, greedy sucks on your clit that have you grinding shamelessly against his face, soaking him even more.
“That’s it,” he mutters, words muffled against your cunt. “Give it here. Let me have it.”
Your whole body is trembling on the edge, cunt clenching and fluttering around nothing, but he suddenly pulls back just enough, mouth hovering, warm breath teasing your soaked pussy while he looks up at you with that dark, wrecked stare.
His mouth and chin are slick, eyes heavy, chest rising hard beneath his shirt. He looks almost drunk on it, pupils blown wide, a little dazed by your taste. When he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, it only smears the mess across his skin.
“You’re foul,” you whisper.
Eric laughs under his breath and rises onto his knees, pushing between your legs until his body crowds yours against the couch. “Yeah? You complaining?”
You pull him down by the front of his shirt and kiss him.
He comes easily, almost too easily, mouth opening against yours with a groan that has your belly tightening all over again. You taste yourself on him, salt and heat and spit, and he kisses you like he means to press the whole night into your mouth. His hands slide under your top, palms rough over your waist, your ribs, up toward your chest.
Eric’s restraint thins out when your tongue strokes his, when your fingers skim down his stomach and find him already hard and swollen in his joggers. He grunts into your mouth as your palm closes around him through the fabric, hips jerking once, betraying him.
“Fuck,” he mutters. “Don’t start unless you mean it.”
You smile against his lips. “C’mon, then.”
His hands fumble with his waistband, impatient now, breath coming heavier as he shoves his joggers and boxers down enough to free himself. His cock’s thick and flushed, heavy in his hand, the head glistening with precum.
No matter how many times you’ve had him, the sight still makes something low in your stomach flutter. He’s obscene in the warm light of your living room, and the way he watches you take him in makes his jaw clench.
“Stop looking at it like that,” he says, voice strained.
You meet his eyes. “Like what?”
“Like you’re trying to make me lose my head.”
You reach down, wrapping your fingers around him, and his hips press forward before he can stop himself. “Maybe I am.”
He kisses you again, rougher this time, pushing you back into the couch cushions while his cock slides hot and heavy against your thigh, smearing precum across your skin.
There’s no elegance in the way you shift for each other, only urgency and familiarity, your legs opening wider, his hand guiding his cock through your drenched folds with a sharp inhale, sliding the thick head up and down your slit, bumping your clit until you’re whimpering into his mouth.
“Shit,” he groans, dragging the head of his cock against your clit again and again. “You’re soaked. Fuckin’ dripping down my cock already.”
“You did that.”
His eyes flick up to yours, and for a second the hunger softens into something warmer. Pride, maybe. Affection. The aching, wordless thing he tries to hide but keeps handing you anyway.
“Yeah,” he says, kissing the corner of your mouth.
He pushes in slowly at first, not because he is patient but because he knows he has to be. The stretch steals the breath from you, thick and burning, your fingers curling into his shoulders as he feeds his cock into you inch by thick inch, your slick cunt stretching around his girth until he’s buried to the hilt, balls pressed tight against your ass.
Eric’s forehead drops against yours, his mouth parted, his brows drawn together.
“Breathe,” he murmurs, voice rough with the effort of holding still. “I’ve got you. I know, love, I know.”
The pet name slips out when he is not guarding his mouth, and it makes you clench around him hard.
He curses softly, hips stuttering. “Don’t do that yet.”
“You called me love.”
“Shut up.”
But he’s smiling when he says it, breathless and overwhelmed, and then he kisses you so you can’t tease him any further.
He starts moving in slow, deep strokes, his cock dragging through you with a heavy fullness that makes every thought blur at the edges, pulling almost all the way out so you feel every veiny inch before slamming back in, wet and loud.
The couch creaks beneath you, springs complaining under the shift of his weight, but neither of you care. Your legs wrap around his waist, heels digging into him, pulling him closer until his body covers yours completely, sweat already starting to slick between you.
Eric fucks you like he’s trying to stay gentle and failing beautifully. Each thrust grows messier, wetter, his hips snapping harder when your nails scrape down his back, the sound of his balls slapping against your ass filling the room.
He keeps kissing you through it, mouth finding yours again and again, sometimes missing and catching your cheek, your jaw, the corner of your lips. His breath comes in harsh bursts against your skin, his hands sliding beneath you to grip your hips, holding you steady while he drives into you until your body takes him with slick sounds, your juices coating his shaft and dripping down his balls.
“Gonna go in tomorrow looking all respectable,” you manage, voice shaking. “And no one’s gonna know you were on my couch tonight like this.”
His laugh breaks into a groan. “Don’t.”
“No one’s gonna know I had you between my legs after your haircut.”
“Fuck’s sake,” he mutters, burying his face in your neck as his hips punch deeper, cock hitting that perfect spot inside you over and over. “Mouth on you.”
“You like my mouth.”
“I like all of you.”
It comes out too quick to be planned—too honest to take back.
The room seems to quiet around it, even with his cock still buried inside you, even with the wet slap of his hips and your breath catching in your throat.
Eric lifts his head, and there it is again, that naked look he hates giving anyone. The one that says he has already imagined something past tonight and tomorrow morning and the job he is terrified of ruining.
You touch his cheek, thumb sliding over the damp shine near his mouth. “Yeah?”
His pace slows, not stopping, just turning deeper, grinding his cock into you in slow, filthy circles that make your toes curl. “Yeah.”
“Even when I’m bossing you about?”
“Especially then.”
“Even when I cut your hair uneven?”
“It’s not uneven.”
You tilt you head, studying him. “It might be.”
“I’d still let you do it again.”
Your chest warms painfully, and he sees it. Eric notices more than he admits, stores tenderness away like contraband. His mouth lowers to yours, softer now, though his hips keep working you open with steady, pounding pressure, cock dragging against every sensitive inch inside you.
“I’m gonna do it right,” he says against your lips. “This job. I’m gonna keep it.”
“I know.”
“You don’t know.”
“I do.”
His jaw flexes, and for a moment he looks almost angry with how badly he wants to believe you. “Could get a better place eventually. Not massive or nothing. Just somewhere decent. Somewhere you ain’t got to listen to pipes banging all night.”
“With room for your clippers?”
“With room for your mouthy self to cut my hair and chat shit while you do it.”
You laugh, but it breaks into a moan when he angles his hips and hits deeper, cock slamming into that spot that makes sparks burst behind your eyes.
Eric’s hand slips between your bodies, thumb finding your swollen clit with wet, clumsy pressure. He rubs you in tight circles while he fucks you harder now, forehead pressed to yours, eyes locked on your face as your pleasure climbs again, your cunt squeezing his cock like it never wants to let him go.
“Yeah,” he whispers. “Come on.”
You cling to him as it builds, your body tightening around the relentless drag of him, the couch shifting beneath you both.
He keeps talking to you in that low, broken voice, half filth and half devotion, telling you how good your cunt feels gripping him, how he’s got you, how he’ll look after you.
The words blur together until you’re coming hard around him, hips trembling, mouth open against his while the pleasure pulls through you in deep, helpless waves, your pussy pulsing and gushing around his cock.
Eric follows soon after, thrusts turning ragged, his whole body tensing over yours. He groans your name into your neck as he comes, cock pulsing inside you, flooding you with thick spurts while his hands grip you like you’re the only solid thing in the room.
For a while afterward, neither of you moves. His weight settles careful. Your fingers drift over the back of his fresh haircut, feeling the neat shape of it beneath your palm.
“You’ll be alright tomorrow,” you whisper.
He kisses your shoulder, then the side of your throat. “Yeah.”
“And when you come home, I’ll fix anything that got messed up.”
His mouth curves against your skin. “Hair or me?”
“Both.”
Eric goes quiet at that. Then his arms tighten around you, and he breathes out slowly, all the fight leaving him for a moment.
ˋˏsummary: cook gets a new job at a strip joint after a friend put in a good word. It wasn’t necessarily part of his plan, but neither were you.
LISTENED TO THE ANORA SOUNDTRACK WHILE WRITING THIS!! I had fun with this it’s supposed to be a little silly I’m trying to be kinder to myself when writing let’s clap #activeeramaybe
✧warnings: MDNI 18+, drugs (cocaine, etc.) drug dealing/trade, strip club setting, sexual content, public/semi public sex, unprotected sex, riding, dirty talk, creampie, #bush
Cook’s gotten fucked over all his life really, this was just another add-on to all the shit thats gone down.
After the whole Louie fiasco, Cook decided that he wasn’t going back to Manchester. Cook was gonna do what he does best: keep running.
And that’s exactly what he did.
Now, he’s doing the same thing he was doing in Manchester—running drugs. Except now he’s in London, bigger scale. He’s working in some shitty corner store, ringing people out or secretly selling the weed the store had when someone asked for it.
“Alright, that’s half an ounce.” Cook murmured as he moved out the back of the store, a baggie of weed in hand. He leaned forward against the counter. “That’s—seventy three pounds.”
The customer paused as if he thought Cook was taking the piss, “Seventy three?” He was an older gentleman with excessive hair gel and an unnecessarily tight shirt and pants on. A proper douche.
Cook just waited as he stared at him, absentmindedly playing with the bag.
The man scoffed but still opened his wallet, thumbing through his notes before holding out the proper amount.
Cook stood up straight again, grabbing the money from the man and tossing the bag towards him, “Cheers.” The man said something under his breath that Cook didn’t hear as he opened the door, the bell on the top of it jingling before stopping as he shut the door.
It was quiet, aside from the music playing inside the store. He took a breath in, moving to riffle through the money the man handed him before opening the register to put the notes inside.
The bell jingled again.
“Sorry, we’re about to close.” Cook continued sorting out the money.
“Cookie!”
He finally glances up at that and sees one of his mates Jonathan walk in.
He gives a short nod, “Jonno.”
Jonathan moves to the counter, leaning down against the surface. He’s got that look on his face, that Jonno look. Which means he’s definitely got some bullshit to say. “Look, mate, you won’t believe this shit—” He’s already laughing as he continues, “‘ve got a new job, and I’m the luckiest man alive.”
His eyes flick back up towards Jonno, “Yeah?” He closes the register, “Where?”
“Y’know that place a few streets down? Shakers?”
Cook pauses, furrows his eyebrows, “..That strip joint?”
A wide smile spreads across Jonno’s face as he snaps. “Bingo.”
For a moment, Cook’s silent.
He lets out a short laugh, “You’re kidding.” But Jonathan’s already shaking his head, “Nah, mate, ‘m dead serious.” He leans in a little closer, “Look, the owner’s not just running some trashy strip joint. He’s in the drug business, and ‘m dealing for him. He wants more dealers so..” He gestures between the two of them.
Cook blinks, shaking his head with a scoff, “..Nah, nah man. ‘M alright.”
He did not want to get involved with another drug lord—he’d learned his lesson and seriously couldn’t afford to repeat mistakes he’s already made.
Jonno’s smile faltered at Cooks words, he made a face, “What? Why not?”
He shrugged, “Because I’m not doing that shit again, ‘m not.”
“Cook!”
“No.”
“You’ll make what, ten? No, five—okay, like, three times the amount of money you make here.” His voice took on a more convincing tone, “Cook, come on, you know I wouldn’t fuck you over.”
Cook took in a deep sigh, running a hand over his face. He didn’t know if he fully believed him on that, but something made him blurt out, “Alright, fuck it.”
Jonno’s smile was even bigger than it had been before, “Really?”
He nodded with a light scoff, “Yeah, yeah I guess.”
Jonathan clapped, “Let’s make some fuckin’ money then.”
Cook felt like the music was pulsing through his brain.
Shakers was dark besides the pink and purple strobe lights that flickered sporadically. It was pretty packed inside, men were sitting in booths with girls, or sitting at the bar, or in front of the three main poles where three topless girls were already dancing. The strong smell of perfume and sweat lingered as Cook moved deeper into the club with Jonathan.
He brushed past a few girls walking past holding the hands of men they were taking into private rooms, he kept his eyes forward as he followed Jonno.
If Cook had gotten this job a few years earlier, he would’ve already had one dancer on his arm and another between his legs. But he wasn’t like that anymore, not really.
His thoughts were interrupted when he got shoulder checked.
That’s when he turned and saw you.
You were in a sparkly bra and thong, the clingy material leaving little to the imagination as you passed by him, looking back once with a smile. For a moment the bumping music stopped, and all he heard was the click of your heels as you walked away. The strong smell of your fruity perfume lingered, instinctively he inhaled.
He was broken out of whatever daze you put him in when Jonno finally pushed open a door, inside sat the guy he was telling Cook about—Danny, the owner the club.
He was slouched back in his chair thumbing through notes, his big calloused hands sorting them in separate piles. He was a big guy, balding at the top of his head with prominent wrinkles on his face—so, what cook wasn’t expecting.
He didn’t look up at the two of them, continuing to do what he was doing as he took a drag of the cigarette he had sitting in the ashtray.
Cook glanced over at his mate, waiting for him to say something.
Jonno cleared his throat, gesturing with a smile. “Danny, Dan, Dan the man. Hey.”
He finally looked over at the two of them, not amused in the slightest. He took one look at Cook. “You don’t work ‘ere.”
“Nah nah, this is my friend James I was telling you about. Remember?”
Danny’s eyes went back to Jonathan. He sniffed, “..So you’re just goin’ about telling people about my business, is that it?”
And for a moment, Jonno looked panicked. “No—no, sir I was just—” he swallowed, “..Cook won’t spill.”
“He won’t, huh?” He sat up a little straighter in the chair, taking another deep inhale of the cigarette. This time, he really took in Cook’s appearance, the trainers, his button up t-shirt hidden beneath his jacket, “You with the cops?”
Cook shrugged, “Don’t think so.”
Danny hummed at that, taking a final drag of the cigarette before putting it out, “..Alright, I trust Jonno a little bit.” He quickly pointed a finger, shaking it for good measure, “But if you two screw me over, I’ll fuckin’ kill you.”
“Won’t let you down, Danny. Promise.” Jonathan said with a smile.
Surprisingly, Cook doesn’t hate working at Shakers.
He was doing what he did best, except not just with weed like at the corner store—more, powdery substances. The men that came into the club? Fucking lived for the shit, Cook wouldn’t try it, maybe he would’ve in the past, but now? He was trying to stay alive. So, he continued just selling it to any man who asked, or gave it to the dancers when their high-spenders asked for it.
The dancers were all pretty nice to him. Not to be cocky—but Cook knew he was a pretty boy, knew girls liked him, and his cock. But he didn’t try anything with any of them, ‘cause one: it’s not a priority right now, and two: he didn’t want to get his balls cut off by Danny.
He wasnt necessarily interested in any of the dancers, except you. You both always seem to end up around eachother anyways.
Cook was leaning against the bar, absentmindedly tapping his hand against the counter to the beat of the music playing, watching some of the girls on stage. Then heard that familiar clicking and chewing of gum.
You were walking towards him, hips swaying with every step in another little set on—something pink and lacy, tits and ass practically hanging out, but that was the point wasn’t it?
“Hey Cookie.” You said teasingly as you leaned in close beside him, brushing some of your hair over your shoulder, “..Guy over there wants to have some fun.”
He looked over to see the man in question. Some posh twat with an expensive watch on and a half chud already in his pants. He grabbed a baggie full of something powdery, putting it in your hand. His hand brushed against your manicured fingernails. “Good luck with that one then.”
“Thanks.” You murmured, your glosses lips pulling up into a smile.
He gave a short nod, “Mhm.”
He’s seen you on stage, the way the attention is immediately on you as soon as you walk up to that pole, batting your eyelashes and smiling at the men holding money out. It wasn’t that type of smile, it felt genuine, reserved for him, almost.
He also could’ve sworn you looked him up and down.
But he couldn’t think about it too much because you were already walking away with the man, grabbing his hand and taking him to the private rooms. Cook’s eyes instinctively went down to your ass, before he seemed to realize what he was doing and straightened up. Focus Cook. You want to keep your balls.
Apparently that’s not enough to stop him, because for the first time in a long time, he’s going after a girl.
Cook’s good with women, alright? He’s had enough experience with them to know the signs of when a girl wants a piece of the Cookie Monster. He was ninety nine percent sure you wanted him back. The looks, the touching, the eye fucking.
It was late when he was walking out of the club, the big sign outside flickering faintly. That was when he saw you and stopped. The real you for the first time.
You were in just a dress covered up by a jacket, your purse in your hands. You were bare faced, none of that glittery eyeshadow that you wore on stage. “..Where are you going?”
Was this a set up?
He slowly started moving towards you again, his hands in his pockets, “To my car, that you’re in front of.”
You were quiet for a moment as you chewed your gum, a slow, side-to side movement. “..’ve got some leftovers from that guy.” Inside your bra you pulled out the little baggie, a small amount of the powdery substance was still inside. “..Wanna have some?”
Cook contemplated for a moment, before shaking his head, “Nah, not really.” He sniffed, putting his hands in his pockets, “Don’t really mess with that stuff.” Anymore.
Your perfectly shaped eyebrows raised, “Pussy?”
He felt himself smile faintly as he shook his head, “Stuff kills, don’t it?”
You smiled back at him, “..Well, if y’dont want to it—” You tucked the baggie back into your bra, letting the silence linger for a moment. You looked him up at down, your eyes lowered.
Gave him the look, another sign you wanna shag.
“Maybe we could..” A shrug. “..Have fun in your car instead?” A tilt of your head.
Oh yeah, Cook is in.
“Oh yes—fuckin’ ride my cock, just like that—” His back is pressed flat against the backseat of his car as you bounce frantically up and down on his cock, his body jolting back and forth against the seat.
“Yeah? You like that? Oh my god—fuck!” You tried laugh, but it quickly breaks off into a moan as his cock presses deep inside your pussy. It’s hot in the car, your damp hair beginning to stick to your face and back as you moved your hands to rest on his chest, dragging yourself over his cock.
“Fuckin’ right I do, god—” He responds back through clenched teeth, listening to the wet slap of skin against skin. His eyes shut for a moment before reopening to watch his cock disappear inside of you. “Been waiting for this since, shit—I saw you.” He manages to push himself up into a sitting position, keeping you on his lap as his hands move under your ass, helping you slam down onto him.
“Yeah? Thinking about my pussy?” You smiled, grabbing his face between your manicured fingers as he nodded his head, “Yeah.”
“Thinking about what it felt like?” You kept moving, your voice becoming more breathless as that knot built in your stomach.
“Yes.”
“What it tastes like?” Your tongue slid over his ear and he whimpered, “Oh fuck, yes.”
You stopped after a moment, your legs burning. “Fuck your cock into me, come on, baby.” You managed to choke out, and he did, holding you up as he started to sloppily ram into you from underneath and you screamed.
“Oh my god, yes! Keep going, don’t you stop—don’t you fucking stop, or I will kill you.” You crashed your lips against his, your mouths barely meeting as you moved wildly on top of him, your cherry flavored lipgloss smearing all over your faces. His pubic hair brushed against your clit with everytime you pressed your hips down against his.
Cook’s brain was fried at this point, all he could do was focus on shoving his cock in and out of your tight pussy, he was mumbling at this point, “Please cum on my cock, please—I want it, want you squeezing me please.”
“Yeah? You want me to cum?” He was nodding as he looked at you, pounding into you faster as he blabbered on. Your hand was already moving down to your clit, frantically circling the bundle of nerves, “Oh, you’re gonna make me cum, you’re gonna make me cum on your cock—Fuck!” Your whole body shook as you felt yourself gush around his cock, your vision going white as your pussy clenched around him.
His cock twitched inside of your pulsing walls, his movements growing faster as he tried to reach his own orgasm, “Fuck—grab my balls, grab my balls—”
And you did, your hand reaching between the two of you to massage the heavy weight of them, and that was all it took before he cried out, stilling inside of you as thick spurts of his cum coated your inners walls.
He immediately slumped back against your chest, your sweat slicked bodies pressing close together in his small car as you ran your fingers through his hair—instinctively, his mouth came down to press open mouthed kisses against your shoulder. He was softening inside of you.
It was quiet as you both caught your breath, before he blinked, seeming to realize he came inside of you, “..Oh, shit—‘m sorry, wasn’t even thinking.”
“No—it’s fine, it’s fine.” You were able to mumble out, pushing yourself up to brush back your sweat slick hair out of your face. You smiled. “Cookie.”
“Hm?”
“You have my gum.”
“Oh.” He finally seemed to realize he did infact have the small wad of bubblegum inside his mouth, “D’you want it back?”
But you just let out small giggle, pressing your head into his shoulder as your shoulders gently shook, and he found himself laughing too, a genuine thing.
ive been really into patrick sumner lately and while i will watch the show eventually, i bought the book because ive been reading so much so hopefully ill be able to write for him soon......
james cook masterlist | main masterlist | jaf masterlist
summary: reader and cook have been sneaking around for mindless, no strings attached sex, but reader suspects cook might be wanting more from her.
warnings: 18+ explicit, no beta read beware, cheating, oral (fem. receiving), unprotected p-in-v, creampie, car sex, feelings and a lil bit of angst heh, nothing evil yet….
word count: 5.4k
a/n: alas i have overcome finals and the plague and i award you all with this bullshit. this took so long because my writing is genuinely nothing burger im falling off. i probably restarted this like fifteen times so… i also ended this chapter really weird imo but ignore it because the next chapter is gonna be spicy
Gunshots rang through the muggy living room, the television was painfully bright as lights flashed violently across the screen. You stared at whatever game your boyfriend was playing from the couch.
He sat about a foot or two away from it on the floor—eyes glazed over and mouth hung open. You on the other hand, drooling from boredom.
Your eyes hurt but you couldn’t bring yourself to look away, instead, busying yourself with the chicken nuggets he bought while your attention switched between the screen and your phone.
He still hasn’t called. He being none other than James Cook.
It all started three months ago when he suddenly contacted you after a year of assuming he was gone for good. You met up with him at a bar to catch up. The awkward conversation soon spiralled into doing karaoke with the other patrons, clinging to each other in the alleyway, and then a quick snog in his car.
You hadn’t meant to kiss him, let alone make out, but he offered to take you home… and you both didn’t mean to end up reminiscing in the car… and you definitely weren’t the one who initiated the kiss.
Things quickly spiralled from there—you both ended up fucking the next week in your flat’s entryway. You didn’t plan on telling Cook about your boyfriend, but you figured you owed him that. It wasn’t like he committed anyway, you both were in the same boat—friends with benefits—quick, mindless shags with the benefits being someone to talk to.
You looked back down at your blank notification wall and let out a sigh rougher than intended, unfortunately catching the attention of your boyfriend.
His head whips around to look at you unsteadily, “what’s wrong? Thought you were havin’ fun…”
“I am babe,” you murmur reassuringly while fighting the urge to roll your eyes. “Go back to your game.”
He turned back to the tv without question and resumed that shitty game. You and Cook had agreed on meeting up tonight under the condition that he’d call to save your ass from… this. However, he was supposed to call an hour ago.
Your fingers tapped impatiently against your thigh, debating hitting your boyfriend over the head so you could go over and do the exact same thing to Cook for making you suffer an extra hour.
Just as you were about to doze off, the familiar jingle of your ring tone shook both you, and your boyfriend conscious. You answered immediately, sitting up while your boyfriend paused his game and looked back at you.
“Hello?” You waited for Cook to speak, though it didn’t matter since you had a script for yourself anyway.
“Ready to come over?” The smirk was evident in his words, and it took everything in you to not grin shitless right now.
“Oh shit, Carrie. Really?” You settled for the name of your best friend, if you made up some kind of emergency, surely you’d get off scot-free.
“Mm,” Cook hummed low enough to make you throb between the legs, “can’t wait for you to get ‘ere.”
Your boyfriend eyed you in concern, asking silently what was going on. “Do you need me to come over?” You shot him a fake-apologetic look, though he couldn’t tell the difference fake or not.
“Oh yeah she does,” Cook purred. “She needs some help with a long… hard… cock.”
You bit your lip to stop from moaning out loud, and still, the man beneath you had no clue. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll come over.”
“Your boyfriend has no clue does he?” There was a bit of shuffling on the other end, like he was sitting up in bed. “No clue his precious girlfriend loves cumming on this cock better than she loves him?”
God. You’d kill him if it weren’t for the concerned eyes looking up at you from the floor. “Okay,” you cursed the way your voice cracked, “I’ll be there.”
As soon as you hung up your boyfriend got up, “is she okay? If you have to go then go.”
You sigh in relief as he showed no signs of knowing, grabbing your things. “Her… grandmother, um, it’s not looking good.”
He frowned but nodded in understanding. You felt a hand on the small of your back, guiding you to the door. “She needs all the support she needs right now, yeah?”
“Yeah…” you turn to him while stepping into your shoes, your heartbeat starting to pick up. “I’m sorry this had to ruin date night.”
“Don’t mention it,” he smiled while stroking the back of your head, “I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Mhm,” you hummed absently, you totally forgot about the plans you made. “I’ll swing by noon?”
He nodded and you both shared a brief kiss before you were dashing out to your car, snickering under your breath as you started it up. “Idiot. What kind of fucking date night was that?”
The radio played some shitty pop song as you drove down the near-empty, wet roads. But all you could think of was getting into his flat, into his bedroom, and getting him into you.
The drive to his place wasn’t long. His flat was located in a sketchy part of town so you shot him a message before parking in one of the alleys behind his place.
Cook insisted on coming out to bring you in since he didn’t trust you to be out alone, especially at this time of night, so you waited.
There was a singular street light flickering at the end of the street, casting one area to be lit in a dim, warm light. You looked around your car to ensure you were alone.
“It’s fucking creepy here..” you muttered, silently praying for Cook to come. The eeriness of the quiet, empty alley was giving you the chills and you’d much rather be shivering under a different context.
Turning your head back to your phone, you caught a glimpse of a face in your peripheral. On instinct, you screamed.
Cook stood outside your door cackling, hunching over with his hands in his pockets. You scowled at him through the glass and swung open the door in retaliation, hitting him quite harshly.
“Oof,” he caught the door before you could do any substantial damage, and of course that signature smirk appeared on his face. “Sorry princess, couldn’t resist.”
“You’re such an asshole,” you didn’t make an effort to get out yet, still pouting at his cruel joke. His smirk softened as he bent down to your level, his arms coming out to cage you in against your seat, and kissed you firmly. Despite your annoyance, you kissed back eagerly and pushed your lips harder against his.
Cook laughed against your mouth and as he pulled away, brushed his thumb against the corner of your mouth. “Careful now, unless ya want me to take ya in the back over here?” You raised your brow at the same time he did, contemplating his offer.
The sound of a dog barking down the street stopped whatever dirty thoughts you were having, Cook’s head whipped to the side to look towards the sound. “Nah, let’s go inside.”
He nodded and took your hand, guiding you to walk in front. The dog continued to bark, albeit a bit farther away. Cook laughed at the way you shook, grabbing your ass as you both made it to the door.
“Scared ain’t ‘cha?” His breath was hot against the back of your neck and you wondered if he could hear your heart pounding. He had you practically pinned against his front door, arms coming around you to open it. “You know I’d protect you.”
A snort escaped before you could stop it and walked into his dingy flat like you owned it. The door closed behind you as you looked around. It was a mess as usual—pizza boxes piled up on the coffee table, beer bottles shoved to the corner of the room, and a few clothes strewn across the floor, including one of your good bras.
“Oh my god!” You gasped as you picked up the flimsy fabric while Cook tossed his keys into a tray. “I’ve been looking for this!”
“You’ll probably have to wash it,” Cook walked in front of you, rubbing his nose. Despite having had his fluids on and inside of you, the thought of it grossed you out, dropping the bra where you found it.
“Wanker,” you muttered, “you’re fucking disgusting.” The genuine disgust in your tone made him cackle, and it only intensified when you turned to glare at him.
“Wh—? C’mon babe,” he grinned widely, showing off his teeth as he held his arms out. “I’ve done worse to you.”
He looked so unbelievably douchey in this moment that you wanted to ditch him and head home to get yourself off, but you knew better than to leave now. His grin softened as he approached you slowly, ducking his head.
You didn’t protest when he grabbed your waist and backed you up against a table. His breath was hot on your face, smelling like cheap beer and cigarettes, you’d think you'd hate it, but with him? You were into anything.
“Quiet now?” He rumbled, eyes meeting yours. You didn't quite trust yourself to speak just yet, afraid you’d say something that he’d hold against you.
Cook didn't push. Instead, glancing down to your lips, and back to your eyes. He caught the hitch in your breath before you had the chance to register it even happened, his lips already twitching into a smirk.
“Ah,” he said simply, lowering his head to brush his nose along your jaw. The motion made you shiver pathetically, too turned on to fight back as his lips pressed against your neck firmly. “Talk to me.”
“And tell you what?” The words came out shaky, betraying you. He laughed into the crook of your neck, dragging the tip of his nose up, and back down your jaw to look you in the eye.
“What do you want me to do?” He hummed casually, pulling away enough that you couldn't feel the heat of his breath on your face. His thumb slipped under your joggers, teasing at the waistband of your panties.
After realizing what he asked you, you frowned. You absolutely hated when he did this.
“You know what I want,” you snapped impatiently. “I didn't come here to hang out.”
“’Course you didn't,” he scoffed, matching your attitude. His thumb continued rubbing at your waistband, his brows raised as if expecting you to respond.
All you did was glare, not wanting to give in so easily. He was already on thin ice with you, after all that shit he pulled by making you wait and scaring you half to death in the alley. You wanted him to make the move—to beg you like he made you beg him.
“Always liked ya like this,” he murmured suddenly and slipped his thumb out from where it was rubbing your hip. Instead of pulling away like you thought he would, he lifted his hand to brush back your hair, almost tenderly. “So fuckin’ annoying.”
“Like you aren’t,” you retorted, smacking his hand away. “Made me wait a fucking hour and now you won’t even fuck me?”
“You want me to?” He feigned surprise, but he couldn’t hide his grin.
At this point you were done with all the banter and shoved his shoulder. Cook let out an amused sigh and grabbed your wrist before stealing a kiss. One thing about the fucker, he was very good at distracting you.
He bit at your bottom lip which elicited a gasp, allowing him to slip his tongue in. You loved the way he kissed—messy and wet, not that weak bullshit your boyfriend gave you. Cook kissed like he wanted you, like he needed you, like he’d die if you broke the kiss.
His hand slid into your hair and tugged hard. The motion sent a jolt of arousal down your body and you moaned from the lack of pressure down there. Cook swallowed the moan before moving his lips down your jaw while his free hand grabbed your ass greedily.
Your head was swimming. All you could think of was him, not your poor boyfriend.
He moved his hand from your ass and hooked it under your thigh to sit you up on the table. The sudden switch in position knocked you unstable, reaching back to stabilize yourself with your palms behind you.
Cook laughed roughly into your ear while his hands got busy at your hips. The gravelly sound made you shiver, especially so when he began tugging your joggers down. Open-mouthed kisses left your neck wet and tingly, forcing quiet moans out of you.
The moment he dropped to his knees you practically drooled, and his hands that almost angrily pulled off your panties didn’t do much to help with the overwhelming desire brewing inside of you. You let a out a breathy laugh when he groaned at the sight between your legs—soft and dripping, his head falling forward to smell you.
“Fuck, ya missed me, yeah?” He placed his chin on the ledge of the table, looking up at you through his lashes. Your heart did a stupid little flip when you met his heated gaze, barely nodding at his question. He turned his head to brush his lips along your inner thigh, feather light and ticklish.
He nosed his way along, making it to your mound where he left a soft kiss. One of your favourite things when sleeping with Cook was the fact he always made sure to take care of you. Sure, he was a selfish lover, but he wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to tongue-fuck you senseless.
“Mmh,” his hands pulled your thighs over his shoulders, dragging you to the edge of the table, and closer to his face. He was a man of little restraint and this moment was no exception. Cook loved to tease, but after weeks of not being able to have you like this was enough for him to push aside his tendencies. “Hello, sweetheart.”
His tongue met the soft flesh between your legs, dragging up your folds and barely brushing over your clit. The feeling was unlike no other, your legs immediately went limp and your jaw went slack with a shaky breath. He purposefully avoided giving attention to your clit, opting for gentle flicks and soft kisses while slurping at your folds like they were your own lips.
“Cook…” his name came out as a whine, frustrated and extremely turned on. You felt him smirk against you, his fingers tightening around your thighs when you canted your hips up in search for more. He finally graced you with a firm lick to your clit, flattening his tongue against it.
He loved the taste of you. Sweet and tangy and something undeniably his. You both have been screwing around long enough for the taste of him to linger on you, and he loved it. He never had to worry about tasting another man on your cunt. Sure, he had tasted your boyfriend on your lips, but never your pussy. No, this was his.
Cook may not have you, but he certainly had your cunt.
He continued to slurp and suck at your folds, his tongue dipping down to your entrance where you continued to leak, lapping at the tanginess while he fought to keep your legs apart. You were a complete mess, head thrown back and jaw slack. The pleasure made your legs feel weak and you tried so hard to close them and push him away, despite how bad you needed to come.
It wasn’t hard to get you overwhelmed by the feeling of his mouth and it almost hurt. There were times you had gotten so close from head that you almost squirted into his mouth, but the embarrassment of the thought always held you back. It was just the way he made you lightheaded, the way his tongue swiped greedily over your clit before digging it as far into you as he can, and the way all the sensations sent jolts of white-hot pleasure through your body.
He finally opened his eyes after hearing your breathing get ragged, a telltale sign that you were about to fall over the edge. He hummed against you, bringing your attention down to him, and the sight ruined you.
His hair was tousled by your half-hearted attempts at tugging, all unruly and sweaty like he’d just run a marathon. You met his glazed over eyes with a similar expression, reaching down to fix his hair weakly. He locked his gaze with you while he sealed his mouth over your cunt, drawing out a long moan from your swollen lips.
He relished in the way your eyes rolled back, feeling a strong pang of possession over you as you fought to keep your eyes on him. Cook was always smug, but he felt especially so knowing he was the only one who could get you like this—drunk on him before he even got his cock out.
He shook his head side to side slightly, nuzzling further into your softness and burying his nose into the bit of curls you’d trimmed the night before—inhaling deeply. A quiet whimper escaped you and it tugged at his heartstrings, wanting nothing more than to give you everything.
But Cook could be cruel.
He broke away from your pussy with a wet, slick sound, a string of your arousal still connecting him to you. If anything, this could’ve made you come from the sight alone. His mouth and chin, glistened with your slick and you didn’t doubt he reeked of you. All he did was grin up at you before pressing a wet kiss to your clit, hands squeezing your hips when they twitched at the sensation.
“Sorry babe,” he mumbled, though it was obvious he wasn’t apologetic at all. “I like it when you’re all whiny.”
You began to shake your head as you watched him wipe his face off with his sleeve, letting out incoherent babbles of “want more” and “don’t stop.”
He stood up and nodded at you, “top off, I wanna see those tits.” You followed without protest and shed your shirt before reaching behind to unclasp your bra. He followed your movements and took of his own top before reaching for you.
Your lips crashed together in a heated, wet kiss. He tasted of you, his tongue swiping over yours with rough precision and making you taste that burst of tanginess that came from between your legs. His hands were everywhere—in your hair, on your tits, squeezing your thighs. He bit at your lips to feel you shiver, your moans swallowed by him as he tugged you off the table.
You wobbled a bit and chased after his lips as he turned you away from him. His grip on your hips were tight as if he were willing you to stay, so you did. Panting while your eyes adjusted to the space around you and your hands flat on the table to keep yourself from tumbling over.
Cook’s forehead was pressed against your shoulder and his breath was hot against your skin. It was almost like he was trying not to breathe heavily, like he didn’t want you to know how affected he was after nearly suffocating between your thighs. There was silence for a moment, followed by the soft clink of his belt being undone, and then the rustle of his trousers being discarded.
The excitement hadn’t worn off, the thought of getting closer to the main course only reigniting it. He kissed the nape of your neck while a hand found your hip, “should I grab a rubber?”
“No,” the admission came quick, too quickly. He chuckled against you but didn’t tease, too far gone to care.
His teeth sunk in slightly at the junction of your neck and shoulder as he began to press in, the head prodding around before passing the threshold. Your jaw went slack then, feeling the burn as you stretched around his cock.
It always hurt at first, no matter how many times you’ve slept with him, but it only made the experience better.
His hips were flush with your ass at once, his teeth letting go. You both stood like that for a moment, silence broken by the distant sound of a dog barking outside. His heart beat furiously against your back, his breath stuttering in his chest.
“Okay.” His hands wrapped around your hips, keeping a firm grip before withdrawing his cock and slamming it back in hard enough to jolt the table forward.
The both of you moaned in unison. He continued the motion a few times before speeding up, pulling your hips back in time like he could push himself deeper. You had since begun to keel over the table, hot breath fogging up the worn wooden table as you moaned and whined for more.
Cook was doing no better than you were. His hips were snapping hard against yours, creating sounds of skin slapping against each other and table legs no doubt scratching up the floor. Your pussy squelched around him with every drag, soaking him and creating a white rim of mixed fluids.
He couldn’t take his eyes off you and the way your cunt hugged his cock perfectly. He truly hadn’t had anyone like you, no one who could drive his mind and heart this crazy.
A hand dragged down your spine and into your hair, gripping but not tugging. Slowly, you felt a pressure come down as he bent over you.
“Come here babe,” his voice was soft, a rough contrast from the way he was fucking you. He slipped a hand under your chest and dragged you up, the same hand reaching up to turn your head.
This kiss was different, slow and tender. His thrusts eventually slowed to a gentle grind, his mouth slanting over yours again and again. You mewled softly every time he broke away. His kisses turned into pecks before dragging his lips onto the bridge of your nose, your forehead, your cheek, and finally, back to your mouth.
“Mm,” he rumbled, picking up speed. You were the one to break the kiss this time, but you didn’t move away and kept your foreheads pressed closely together. His nose pressed into your cheek as the both of you groaned in unison.
There was a sudden brush between your thighs, his hand settling there and stroking your clit. A soft cry escaped your lips to which he began to pepper kisses along your jaw.
“Cook,” you whispered. “Too much.”
“I know, I know.” He whispered back even as he continued his torment, thrusts getting harder as he felt your walls clench. “C’mon sweetheart.”
The both of you came with a choked cry, bodies pressed together while his hips ground gentler, pushing his come into you.
A hush fell over the room once more, only the sounds of panting and ragged breaths could be heard. You swore you could hear your heart thud in your ears and wondered if he could hear it too.
Cook didn’t move for a second and just held you against his chest. Once he began to pull out, you could feel the uncomfortable sensation of his seed drip down your legs and as if he could sense your discomfort, he bent to retrieve his discarded shirt. He wiped you haphazardly, albeit gently before tossing it aside and grabbing you.
You let him guide you onto the couch. He fell back with a small huff and pulled you down to lay against him.
By now, your shared heartbeats had slowed and your breathing had settled, but when you turned to face him, you felt the air shift. He looked away from you and let his arms fall loosely around your waist.
For a moment you felt his heart beat a little quicker, and you thought you heard his breath hitch. But you chalked it up to the heat of what just happened.
“Are you stayin’ over?” The question was asked with a bit of resistance, like he regretted the words as soon as they came out his mouth.
You pondered for a moment even though it was useless. Of course not, you wanted to say, but the words didn’t come out. “I can’t.”
“Why not?” He scoffed lightly.
“Boyfriend wants to do something, brunch I think? He was looking forward to it, said I’d enjoy the place he picked out.” You frowned, unsure why you were telling him so much, like you had to justify being with your damn boyfriend.
You watched the muscle in his jaw tick, eyes flickering down to yours before drifting out the window. “Right.”
He sat up abruptly, making your head spin. You stared after him while he picked up his boxers and tossed your clothes at you.
The air was tense now while you both redressed. You said nothing. He always got weirdly territorial after sex, but you reinstated every time that you had no intention of anything more with him, even if the thought made your heart pound harder.
Cook left for a moment to grab a new shirt, joining you at the door. He was quiet as he walked you to your car, but you could feel he had since calmed down.
You both slowed once you approached your car, his hands fidgeting with his jacket.
“So,” you let out a small breath. “I’ll see you.”
“Yeah,” he replied just as short.
You sighed before unlocking your door and getting in. Cook just stood by, no intentions of leaving. Before you could say anything, he bent down and kissed you. Hard, like he was trying to prove a point.
His hand slid into your hair and his fingers rubbed at your scalp to try and coax a moan out of you. He was aching again, but not in the way he was minutes ago.
A firm hand on his chest was enough to get him to stop, but it didn’t stop the flicker of hurt flashing through his eyes.
“I’ll call you,” you mumbled dismissively, starting the car. Cook only nodded and shut your door, standing off to the side to watch you drive off.
You watched him in your rear view mirror until he disappeared from sight, and let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. Only then did you feel your heart racing, it always did that when he kissed you, but it felt different this time.
“Jesus christ,” you shook your head. He was only a friend, a friend who got you off better than your boyfriend could, nothing more.
The words repeated in your head over and over again until you got home. It never got this weird before, but you figured it was just due to the late hour. You both were tired and emotional.
Lying in bed you shut your eyes, trying to rid yourself of the memories of the day, but the evidence of him between your thighs were all you could think about.
You had lasted two days. Two whole days without calling him up for sex.
You felt proud of yourself for not caving after day one, but after a particularly bad handjob that left you very unsatisfied, you called him asking him to pick you up from the corner store by your boyfriend’s place.
It was risky, meeting up so close to where he could potentially see you, but you were too wet to think about the logistics.
So here you were, in the backseat of Cook’s car, parked in a random alleyway, getting your brains fucked out.
“Fuck! Right—Right there! Yes!” The head of his cock shifted to perfectly pummel at your sweet spot, using it to his advantage while his lips sealed around a perked nipple. Your fingers twisted in his hair while you moaned without a care in the world, cursing like your life depended on it.
“Like that?” He breathed against your breast, his tongue flicking over the curve of it before nipping at your nipple. He ground his hips down enough for you to feel his pubic hair brush against that swollen bud nestled beneath your own. He smirked around your nipple at the sight of you rolling your eyes back, “can’t hear you.”
“Yes—Fuck! Yes, like that.” You cried, literally. Tears streamed down your cheeks from how good you felt. Your legs wrapped themselves around his waist, earning a groan from him as he pushed himself up onto his hands.
“Yeah, I got ya.” He sat back on his haunches while his hands grabbed greedily as your waist, using the leverage to buck into you rapidly. If anyone passed by right now, they’d know exactly what was going on from the way the car shook, but probably also because your moans echoed down the road.
Your back arched against the leather seats, your hands scrambling to find purchase on anything—his hands, the seat, your tits. You even reached back at some point to drag your fingers down the fogged window.
Cook just watched you lose your mind. For once he didn’t care about getting himself off, once he heard you talk about your boyfriend’s half-assed handjob, all he wanted was to show you who could really make you come.
He felt your walls start to constrict around him and with gritted teeth, he fucked you harder, relishing in the choked moans that escaped you.
The feeling of your orgasm was euphoric. Your back arched off the seats and you felt your vision go white, head completely empty except for him. You breathed and lived him.
The motion of him pulling out and spilling on your stomach took you out of your daze, but not fully. You laid there, limp and sated while he wiped you clean. Then, he bent down to kiss the valley of your breasts and up to your throat before kissing your lips.
However, the kiss the brief and he pulled away just as quickly to redress himself.
And now, here you were. Sitting in the back of Cook’s car with him, sharing a cigarette in silence. There was a weight to the air, not tense, but something. It smelled of tobacco and sweat and sex, almost suffocating.
“You wanna get somethin’ to eat?” He finally broke the silence, fingers brushing yours as he handed off the cig.
You bit your tongue. On one hand you wanted to accept, but the other went back to your boyfriend, who you told you’d be back after a quick trip to the corner store. “I—”
“—You can’t,” he interrupted with a sigh.
“Cook,” you frowned, looking at him. And you hated the way he looked back at you. Like you were hurting him, like he didn’t agree to this arrangement. “I told him I was just going to get some snacks.”
“Is that what this is?” He laughed bitterly, taking the cigarette back. “I’m just an errand you have to fulfill?”
That stirred up some anger in you, and you turned your body to face him. “You have no right to be acting this way.”
“Don’t I?” He shot back, turning his head to look at you.
“No!” You exclaimed. It was pissing you off how much audacity he had. You were taken and he knew that when he started screwing around with you. And it was pissing you off even more now that it hurt to see him this way. “You knew what you were getting into, it’s not my fault you feel as though you have a claim on me.”
Cook didn’t say anything. Didn’t scoff or retort. He only smiled and looked off absently as he took a drag from the cigarette, holding it like a prop. Your shoulders slumped at the sight, not knowing what to say or how to make this better.
“Y’should go,” he muttered after a beat.
“What?” You tried to get him to look at you, to make him tell you exactly what he was feeling.
“You should go before your boyfriend starts calling.” But Cook never spoke about his feelings.
You stared at him for a second, wanting him to pull you into his arms and never let go. But he didn’t. He barely even looked at you. So you just sighed, making yourself presentable before leaving the car.
Your boyfriend barely noticed how long you were gone, too busy watching a football game when you dropped the grocery bag of crisps and pop next to him.
His arm wrapped around your shoulders once you sat next to him, but his warmth did nothing to fill your hollow chest. All you could think of was Cook and how confusing he was.
You really didn’t get it, it was just supposed to be sex. Not… this.
hope you enjoyed! likes, comments, & reblogs greatly appreciated :)
taglist (comment to be added!): @flixpii , @poison-babeyy
