Hi. So, I'm popping my 'hosting a fic writing challenge' cherry with a silly idea. 🫣 There are a lot of Pedro characters who don't receive as much attention within the fandom, and I thought it would be fun to create a challenge to help generate more fic for them! To put some methodology behind this, I searched AO3 character tags and compiled a list of characters that returned fewer than 500 search results (as of 10/6). The characters included in this challenge are listed below, along with their current AO3 fic count. *I used AO3 for ease of search because the tags are more consistent*
This challenge is open to everyone! That includes YOU! 🫵🏼
If you'd like to participate:
Send me an ask with a number between 1 and 22 (characters are not in the same order as listed below), and I'll provide a character for you. There is no limit on how often a character can be assigned.
The world is your oyster when it comes to your fic's content. All themes, tropes, reader types, and pairings are welcome. Please tag your fics appropriately. No RPF, please.
If you'd like a prompt, let me know in the ask, and I can spin for a random trope.
due date: whenever. But if you need a deadline (like me), it's 12/31.
challenge tag: #ficsforthePPCUfic-less
please @ me when you post your fic and use the challenge tag
Reach out with any questions. I hope you'll consider participating!
-Kat 🫶🏻
🏥 Charlie (SNL - LA mush mouth) - 0
💒 Renaldo (SNL - Vow Renewal) - 2
🌊 Juan Badillo (Graceland) - 3
⚖️ Nathan Landry (The Good Wife) - 8
🧛🏼 Eddie (Buffy the Vampire Slayer) - 13
👨🏻🏫 Mr. Ben (SNL - Fan Cam Assembly) - 20
😷 Ted Garcia (Eddington) - 24
🐎 Silva (Strange Way of Life) - 27
🏔️ Comandante Veracruz (Burn Notice: The Fall of Sam Axe) - 30
✋🏽 Shane "Dio" Morrissey (NYPD Blue) - 34
🥵 Lucien (The Uninvited) - 39
📼 Clint Flood (Freaky Tales) - 43
💵 Harry Castillo (Materialists) - 112
🤑 Maxwell Lord (WW84) - 169
🎥 Javi Gutiérrez (TUWOMT) - 261
🩸 Max Phillips (Bloodsucking Bastards) - 267
🦸🏻♂️ Marcus Moreno (We Could Be Heroes) - 301
🥼 Reed Richards (F4: First Steps) - 363
⚔️ Marcus Acacius (Gladiator II) - 378
🗡️ Pero Tovar (The Great Wall) - 400
🧎🏻 Dave York (Equalizer 2) - 462
💊 Dieter Bravo (The Bubble) - 462
tagging some mutuals for visibility and reach (let me know if you'd like to be removed): @80ssong @half-moon16 @baronessvonglitter @ak-vintage @bergamote-catsandbooks @iknowisoundcrazy @peepawispunk @kedsandtubesocks @lotusbxtch @inept-the-magnificent @mandaloriankait @cosmickid-inmotion @sin-djarin @burntheedges @whocaresstillthelouvre @justagalwhowrites @almostempty
What a year it's been, oh my lord.
Back in February, I got into reading fanfics. I was a lurker up until September when I decided to start a new blog and write up my own story 'When Did You Get Hot?'
It's not the best thing I've written, but we all have to remember where we started. Since then, I've interacted with so many amazing people on this app, and I want to thank them for welcoming me into this community. I truly do appreciate each and every one of you.
As we approach the new year, I want to remind everyone that putting yourself out there is not an easy thing to do, but so many people greatly appreciate your work. Whether it's writing, art, edits, or crafts, you are seen.
And I want to remind people that the hurtful things you say about peoples' creativity, does effect them. There are real people behind these stories, and all they want to do is express themselves. Do not stoop so low as to comment on how you didn't like their writing style, or you don't think their art is good. If you don't like it, don't interact with it. The people on this app do not create their work for you.
⤷ Anyway, enough rambling, here are my 2025 Fics of the Year:
Javier Peña
✩ Inertia by @half-moon16
Series Summary: Psychological Law of Inertia: a person will tend to maintain the status-quo unless compelled to alter the status-quo by a psychological motive. So...between you and Javier Peña, who will move first?
✩ Learning to Live by @wheresarizona
summary: While grocery shopping, you happen across a handsome man confused by some produce. Coming to his aid leads to an invitation for drinks, and next thing you know, you’re falling head over heels for Javier Peña—a good man who has trouble believing he is.
Sparks fly when you meet and ignite an insatiable need that you both try to fight for the sake of taking things slow; Javi determined to do things right by you. The problem is, the two of you only have so much self-control.
✩ Thoroughfare by @gothcsz
SUMMARY: After being reassigned from Colombia to a small town in rural Texas, former DEA agent Javier Peña takes on the role of Deputy Sheriff to tackle a series of mysterious murders plaguing the community. As rumors swirl about a sacrilegious group lurking in the shadows, tension mounts among the townsfolk. Amidst the chaos, Javier finds himself drawn to Paloma, the sheriff's daughter, who captivates him entirely. As the former agent delves deeper into the investigation, he becomes increasingly entangled in the complexities of the case and his relationship with Paloma. Inspired by Ethel Cain's album 'Preacher's Daughter,' Javier navigates a web of deceit and intrigue, uncovering shocking truths about the town and its inhabitants.
✩ Undercover by @milla-frenchy
Summary: specialized in surveillance, you work at the DEA as a field agent, and despite being your colleague, Javi can’t get you out of his head
✩ With You I Fall Down by @joelsgreenflannel
summary: another day in colombia, another bomb orchestrated by narcos. but this time, it hits the street near your workplace. javi doesn't what happened to you, he rushes back home to find out.
✩ Velvet Crowbar by @wiitchesterr
summary: you came to Colombia from New York with a badge, a mission, and no intention of getting attached. but months later when you’re scarred, restless, and unable to forget what you and javier peña went through—you’re not sure what’s left to hold onto. until one night, he shows up at her door, and nothing feels like duty anymore.
✩ Complicated by @ovaryacted
SYNOPSIS: You begin to realize Javier's position at the DEA is putting a wedge in your marriage. It was only a matter of time before everything you've built crumbled once you reached your breaking point.
Joel Miller
✩ Ghosts of a Past by @shadowqueen2024
Summary: You and Joel grew up together in your town in Texas. But because of your father, you were forced to leave Texas and Joel behind. You continued writing but eventually stopped. 20 years after the outbreak happened, you land in the Boston QZ, where you see that the ghosts you thought you buried came back.
✩ Life Goes On by @the-sophverse (TW)
Summary: When things go wrong Joel has to do what you ask him. But how could he continue to live on?
✩ Keep You Warm by @majestyeverlasting
summary wandering hands on a chilly morning in bed with the love of your life
✩ I'll Be Home For Christmas by @punkshort
Summary: Having just caught your fiancé cheating on you, you decide to come back home from the big city to Austin for the month of December to try to figure out your next step. You had no idea you would be getting more than you bargained for with the handsome single dad who built your parents' house.
✩ Feral by @mcthsman
summary: Part man, part beast, Joel Miller lives in solitude a few miles away from Jackson. At fifty-seven years old and without a Soulbond, Joel can't coexist with others— a man without his mate crazed by time and age. Until the day he sees her, the girl with tangerine blossoms in her hair and a laugh that echoes through the trees. So, he tracks her down. Hunts her through the woods, and brings home a girl that is not the wilting flower he expects.
✩ Spittin' Teeth by @hollyseb
summary: joel overhears men talking about you at the tipsy bison
Harry Castillo
✩ Then Came You by @pedroscurls
series summary: after lucy, harry believed he was destined to be alone. he had given up on his dream to be a father and husband. that is, until he met you who gave him hope for a future he thought was lost.
✩ Somebody to Love by @/punkshort
Summary: Harry finds someone who wants him for something other than his money.
✩ His Type, Her Font by @/wiitchesterr
Frankie Morales
✩ literally everything that @berryispunk writes
✩ Sizzlin' by @sunshinehaze1
Summary: Your friend convinces you to attend a BBQ at her boyfriend’s friend’s house. The last thing you expected was meeting Frankie.
✩ Saved by You by @/pedroscurls
series summary: escaping a toxic and abusive relationship, you book a one-way ticket across the world to start new life. and along the way, you meet a pilot named Frankie, and his group of friends, who leaves a lasting impression on you.
✩ Flying High by @/the-sophverse
Summary: After you die, Frankie is left behind to pick up the little pieces. And in the process, he finds something you left just for him.
Author's Picks (my own work)
✩ La Mentira - Javier Peña x OFC
series summary: Angelina follows her father's footsteps in the DEA after his death with her new partners Javier Peña and Steve Murphy. She can't entirely be trusted, and she doesn't want to be.
✩ Western Nights - Joel Miller x fDoctor!reader
series summary: You'd go to great lengths to protect the people you care about, and so will Joel. Regardless of how he feels about you, that's one thing the both of you can agree on.
✩ Snooze - Harry Castillo x f!reader
summary: neither you or Harry want to face the world just yet.
✩ I Know The End - Frankie Morales x f!reader (TW)
summary: it's harder around the holidays now that you're gone...
Please show some love by reblogging and commenting on your favorite fics. This app does not thrive off of likes, it lives off of reblogs. Your positive feedback is what keeps us creators motivated.
Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader (f. Marcus Acacius & Lucilla Aurelius)
Summary: You attend your friend Lucilla's annual holiday party and meet someone new.
Warnings: 18+, MDNI. Modern AU, no outbreak or battles in the colosseum, meet-cute, fingering, unprotected PiV (do better), creampie, no use of y/n
a/n: This is my Secret Santa gift for my beautiful friend @ak-vintage. Her Pedro faves are Joel, Marcus A., and Din. I hope you like it, Ash! ❤️ and that you'll forgive me for not elaborating further on the party bathroom smut 🤭 tysm to @80ssong for the beta! 🥰 and big time thanks to @pr3ttynpiink for organizing! ❤️
word count: 4,386
ao3 | ml
As you walk up the driveway, you admire the lights trailing along the edges of Marcus and Lucilla's house. They live in a large, luxurious home decked in over-the-top opulence. Roman columns frame the front porch, wrapped in garland and accented with gold bows and lighting. Glittery white lights perfectly line the edges of the house, and more are draped meticulously over the immaculately trimmed shrubs. Their house practically lights up the whole neighborhood. It's hard to imagine their electric bill; you're thankful you don't have to pay it.
You met Lucilla earlier this year while volunteering at the local food bank. You decided to volunteer to meet people after moving to the area recently. Lucilla comes from money; her father was the CEO of a local business, and she inherited a large amount of money when he passed. So she has plenty of free time to give back to those in the community who are less fortunate.
After one of your volunteer shifts, Lucilla invited you for coffee. You found her to be surprisingly down to earth. It's not typical of your experience with people who come from money and have had things handed to them. She's very grounded and wise. You quickly became friends, and she's like the big sister you never had. She has at least a decade on you, and you've often turned to her for advice as you assimilate to Austin. It's comforting to have a support system in the area.
You've been invited to her beautiful home for dinners numerous times and met her handsome husband, Marcus. He's around Lucilla's age with soft, greying curls, always perfectly coifed. His face is framed with Romanesque features and a prominent nose. Having retired a couple of years ago as a general in the Army, he still maintains a thick, sturdy physique that offers an intimidating presence. He's anything but. You've only seen him as soft, gentle, and welcoming. You've spent enough time with them that you've been able to observe their relationship quietly, and it's nothing short of "relationship goals." You hope to find a loving relationship like theirs for yourself one day.
They throw these holiday parties every year, and this is your first time attending. You're bound to have a great time based on what you've heard about past years' parties. And you look forward to meeting new people. Who knows, maybe you'll meet someone.
Lucilla and Marcus go all out. The outdoor decorations were only a precursor to what awaits you inside. It looks like a Christmas store blew up. Garland is wrapped around the staircase banister and the fireplace mantle with perfectly placed ornaments. Every door frame is adorned with mistletoe dangling over the threshold, waiting for unsuspecting guests to pass through. Santas and snowmen of varying sizes sit on tables and shelves. Silvery snowflakes decorate the walls, and you spot not one but three different Christmas trees. Each has its own theme.
The expansive kitchen island has a beautiful spread of charcuterie, wines, and liquors and a punch bowl of spiked egg nog; holiday songs, clinking glasses, and the smell of mulled cider waft through the air.
--
Joel is a good sport. He's not a fan of large gatherings. He'd much rather hang out in the backyard with a beer, catching up with his brother. Or when Sarah was still at home, a night on the couch watching a movie. Nights that would end with Sarah falling asleep halfway through the movie and Joel carrying her upstairs to bed. With his reserved nature, he tends to be a wallflower at parties and a quiet observer. This one, which his employee, Marcus, invited him to, is no different.
He's found himself in a corner, making small talk with another partygoer who, unfortunately, found out what Joel does and has since been bending his ear about house renovations. Joel spots you as you walk through the door, ignoring the man in front of him, who continues to prattle on how he can't decide which faucet to place in his half bath.
Joel finds himself gawking at you. You're a vision in your eggplant velvet wrap dress with a satin sash tied into a bow on the side of your waist. The dress hugs every curve of your body, with a skirt that falls to your mid-thigh, providing Joel a view of your shapely legs. The dress's neckline cuts into a deep v, hinting at what's underneath. You're a fucking knockout.
He observes as you juggle a wrapped gift box for the white elephant exchange and a hostess gift in your other hand. It's a lavender-scented candle. You've noticed Lucilla wears the scent often. You greet Lucilla with a hug and kiss on the cheek. Offering her a wide, glowing smile. Oh god, you're beautiful. Joel is shaken from his enamored haze when the sound of broken glass interrupts his thoughts. He must find a way to talk to you before he leaves tonight.
--
Over the last hour or so, you've had a chance to meet everyone at the party—neighbors, family friends, Marcus's old Army buddies, and their spouses. All of them were very nice, but the small talk was exhausting, so you're thankful when you hear Lucilla quiet the guests with a shout, "ALRIGHT EVERYONE TO THE LIVING ROOM! It's time for the gift exchange."
You enter the living room and look for a place to sit. Various chairs are lined up around the couches, almost all already taken. You decide to remain standing rather than scramble to find an open seat.
While Lucilla explains the rules, a basket with small pieces of folded-up paper is passed around the room, with numbers 1-30 written on each. You select yours and pass it to the man beside you; rough fingers graze your hand as you complete the handoff. He thanks you, and you turn to get a better look at the owner of the deep, gravelly voice.
You're struck by how ruggedly handsome he is. A sharp nose, plush lips, and patchy facial hair sprinkled with greys. He's wearing a crisp light blue button-up and dark jeans that hug him just right. It seems you haven't met everyone at the party yet. How did he escape your notice?
He catches you staring, "What number did ya get?"
"Um…" you look down at your paper, "29. How about you?"
"Looks like I got lucky tonight," he turns his piece of paper around to show you, "30." He winks.
Uh oh. He's handsome and charming. You're in trouble.
"Name's Joel. How do you know Marcus and Lucilla?"
You introduce yourself and tell him about your volunteer work and how you met Lucilla. "And you?"
"Marcus works for me." Your surprised reaction amuses him, and he continues. "After he retired, he was looking for part-time work to keep himself busy. I own a contracting business."
That explains his rugged appearance and calloused hands. You take in his broad shoulders and biceps, which cause the seams of his shirt to work overtime to stay together. Lucilla interrupts your thoughts, "OK, now that everyone has their number, we'll go ahead and get started!"
A woman named Simone starts things off. After selecting a gift from under the tree, she tears the wrapping paper to reveal a cat-shaped ice cube tray. The crowd erupts in laughter when she shows it around the room. It's not a very appealing gift, which likely means she'll be stuck with it. You doubt anyone will want to "steal" it from her, but at least it has practical use.
The game continues with half the participants taking their turn. Lucilla's son, Lucius, is next. You met him briefly when Lucilla introduced you earlier. He's in town to spend the holidays with his mother. After over a decade apart, he reconnected with Lucilla a few years ago. The relationship is still in repair but moving in the right direction. You know how important it is to Lucilla to have him here.
You haven't gotten the full story from Lucilla, but you know it's a sensitive subject for her, so you've never pressed too hard. You've left the door open for her to share if and when she's ready. He and Marcus seem to have an agreeable relationship and get along fine, which you're happy to see. Stepparent and stepchild relationships can be pretty fraught. He's a handsome kid who resembles Lucilla, but you think he inherited most of his looks from his father.
Lucius takes his turn and decides to steal a gift that was already stolen, securing it himself. The game continues as the room works through the numbers. A steady din of laughter echoes through the room as the exchange becomes more cutthroat. It's all in good fun, though.
Finally, it's your turn. You walk over to the tree where two gifts remain. One is a box covered in teal wrapping paper with a gold diamond pattern and embellished with a twine ribbon. The other one is a tall, slender gift bag that is the perfect size to hold a bottle of wine. You choose the box and return to your spot next to Joel.
All eyes in the room are now on you as you unwrap the gift. Pulling the paper away, you squeal when you see it's a Funko Pop figure. You try to remain calm when you remove the rest of the paper and recognize it is The Mandalorian and Grogu.
This is a score, and you can't believe your luck. You love Star Wars, especially The Mandalorian. And it's not just because you have a crush on the actor who plays him. You love the storytelling and the world-building. This isn't something you'd buy for yourself, but you'll proudly display it in your home. With Joel as the last person left, you hope your brief interaction with him has earned you enough favor that he won't steal your gift.
However, you don't know that Joel and his daughter watch The Mandalorian over Facetime every Sunday night. It's a way for them to stay connected now that she's miles away. They're on their third rewatch, and he treasures these nights with his daughter. He eyes the Funko Pop in your hand and thinks Sarah would get a kick out of this cute figure. Even if he has no clue what a Funko is.
Joel hems and haws, trying to decide if he should go for the last gift under the tree, which he suspects is a bottle of wine. He wouldn't have much use for it as he's more of a beer guy. Or steal your gift and potentially derail any opportunity he may have had to get to know you better. After a few moments of quiet deliberation, he opts to steal.
You huff in defeat, bummed that you lost out on your gift, and hand the box over to Joel. You know it's all in good fun, and Joel had no malicious intent behind his decision. You retrieve the last gift from under the tree, confirming your suspicion of what was inside.
After the gift exchange is complete, the guests disperse throughout the house. You're looking over the wine's label when you feel an elbow nudge your bicep. Your attention turns to Joel, who has a sheepish look. "Sorry for that. My daughter and I love The Mandalorian. We watch it together every Sunday night while she's away at school," he sighs.
Now, how can you be upset about that? Of course, he had a heartwarming reason behind his decision to steal. "Oh, it's no big deal. I'm just happy he's going to a good home."
Joel chuckles. "Would you like a drink?"
You nod and follow him into the kitchen.
--
With your cup of eggnog, you settle at a threshold out of the way of party traffic. He tells you more about the contracting business he owns with his younger brother. You share more about yourself and how you moved to Austin for a job opportunity. He's incredibly handsome, and you get lost in his brown eyes. His quiet confidence and sense of humor are extremely sexy.
Joel recounts a time when his brother screwed up an order for a job. He ordered the incorrect size of lumber and set the project back a week. Joel took over placing orders after that. He shares his hunch that his brother purposefully messed up the order, so he no longer has to do it.
His retelling is endearing. Through it, you get a good sense of his love for his brother, but as with most sibling relationships, some things drive him crazy. You can relate.
A silence falls between you two for the first time since you began talking. You're not even sure how much time has passed. However, it's been long enough to cause a crick in your neck since you've had to look up at Joel this whole time. You tilt your head, rolling it back and forth to stretch it out. When you open your eyes, you're frozen as you realize where you and Joel have been standing. Your chest begins to warm at the implication of where this could lead.
Joel follows your gaze to see what's caught your attention. He gulps when he spots the leafy instigator. His palms sweat as he straightens, and you make eye contact.
The warmth in your chest has moved up your neck as Joel's eyes lock with yours. The swirl of the party moves around you two, and you feel frozen in time. At this moment, it is just you and Joel. A soft smile appears on his face. "Welp. Do you know what this means?"
You swallow, take a deep breath, and offer an inviting smile. "It can only mean one thing."
Joel leans in. You feel his hot breath as his face nears yours. This sweet, funny, handsome man is about to kiss you, and you remind yourself to breathe. His index finger lifts your chin toward him, his lips brushing over yours. It feels like hours have ticked by at this standstill when only seconds have passed. But your patience still wears thin, "Well…what are you waiting for?"
Joel laughs and finally closes the distance. His lips capture yours in a chaste kiss, aware you are not alone. You press your lips to his and let out a soft moan. The sparks you've only read about in novels start to fly, butterflies flutter around in your stomach, and you see fireworks shooting off behind your eyelids. You keep them shut out of fear that you'll wake up from a dream if you don't.
You blink back as you pull yourself away from Joel. Knocked on your ass over a kiss. If his kiss can feel like that, you can only imagine what more would feel like. And you would love to find out.
Wide-eyed, you coo, "That was a really good kiss."
Joel nods, brushing his thumb along his bottom lip. "Yeah, I wouldn't mind doing that again."
"Me either," you giggle, feeling bold, "and maybe more?"
Joel quickly grabs your hand, determination in his eyes, "Follow me."
--
There's no shortage of privacy in a house of this size. The large amount of guests allows you and Joel to sneak off unnoticed. With your hand in his, he pulls you behind him in search of a more conspicuous location. At the end of the hall, you spot an open door that leads to a beautifully appointed bathroom: marble countertops, travertine tile, and a glass-enclosed shower with a waterfall showerhead. Large mirrors with an intricately designed gold frame sit over each sink. This is just the guest bathroom?!
He whips you around to face him and pulls you in for a kiss, not chaste this time. This kiss is brimming with passion. A mix of tongues dancing around, exploring each other's mouths. Playful nibbles leave their marks on each other's lips.
Your palms flatten against his firm chest, and you grip the lapels of his shirt and yank it open. The top buttons fly across the counter's surface and bounce every which way—ping, ping, ting—until they land flat on the surface. Hiding your giggle behind your hand, you look up at Joel apologetically. "Hey! I liked this shirt!" he bemused.
You walk your fingers up his now bare sternum and pinch his chin mischievously. "Oops, my bad!"
"Oh, you're fucking trouble, aren't you?!"
"Only one way to find out," you tease.
"Oh, honey, you bet your sweet ass I will." His hands caress your waist and hips, enjoying the feel of the velvet over your soft curves. "But first, I want you to see how gorgeous you are." He kisses you before he turns you to face the mirror.
Joel stands tall behind you. His hands roam along your body when he captures your gaze. With pleading eyes, he asks, "Can I unwrap my gift now?"
You nod. He pulls down the neckline of your dress and frees your tits from the cups of your bra. You let out a small gasp. He looks at you in the mirror while he kneads them, tweaking your nipples between his thumb and index finger. He nuzzles into your neck and ascends with featherlight kisses to your earlobe, and whispers, "You're so fucking gorgeous."
With a gentle squeeze of your breasts, "gorgeous tits." His husky voice sends a shiver down your spine.
One of his hands moves down your body. His fingertips trail up the back of your bare thigh and underneath your skirt to your ass. A sly grin appears on his face when he doesn't feel any fabric impeding his exploration. You decided to wear a thong tonight to avoid panty lines with the way the fabric of the dress clings to your figure. With a firm squeeze of your bare cheek, "gorgeous ass."
You whimper at his attention and praise, overwhelmed by his adoration of your body. Both hands make their way to your neck, and he turns your face toward him, "gorgeous lips," and he devours you in a toe-curling kiss.
He hisses when your ass backs into him in response. His hardened cock straining the front of his jeans. You suck in your breath, apologetically, "I'm so sorry."
He chuckles, "It's ok, baby." He brushes his lips over your nose and tilts back with a glint in his eye, "You can make it up to me."
You quirk your eyebrow, "oh yeah, how so?"
He doesn't answer you. Silently, he grips your hips to turn you back to face the mirror. He grabs your hands and places your palms flat on the cool marble. He watches your tits bounce in the mirror and feels his cock get impossibly harder. "Stay. Just like this."
You feel the arousal pool in your belly at his command. His hands travel down the sides of your thighs and up under the skirt of your dress. His fingers slip under the elastic band of your thong, and you hear the lace fabric rip.
He slides a calloused finger through your slick lips. A growl escapes him as he feels how wet you are. "This pussy's just drenched for me, isn't she?"
You whimper out a strangled "yes." Overwhelmed by the feel of his thick fingers through your folds, teasing your entrance and brushing against your clit.
Finally, he shows mercy and slides a finger inside you. You clench around his thick digit as he enters you to his last knuckle, his fingertip reaching that spongy spot just right, sending an intense wave of pleasure through your body.
He leans forward, his whole chest pressed against your back. The heat from his body envelopes you. His husky voice vibrates in your ear, "Fucking dripping."
You groan when Joel pulls his finger out to taste you. "Such a sweet fucking pussy. I can't wait to make a whole meal out of her."
He breaches you again with two fingers, and you buck forward at the pleasurable stretch. He begins to thumb against your clit while his two fingers thrust inside you at a steady pace.
"Fuck. I can't wait to get you out of here. I want to take my time with you. The things I want to do."
"Tell…" breathless, "…me."
"I want to eat your pussy until your legs shake." he continues his exploration of your cunt. "Suck on your perfect tits. Fold you in half while I fuck into you until you scream my name."
"Yes, fuck…Joel, I want all of that." Your imagination is running wild at his ideas, the tension is building, and you're ready to snap.
"You'll get it, but I need you to come for me, darlin'." Desperation in his voice, "My cock needs to be inside this perfect pussy."
His words were all you needed to push you over the edge. You brace yourself on the counter as your orgasm moves through you, your walls fluttering around his fingers.
As you come down from your high, Joel quickly unfastens his jeans and lowers them along with his boxer briefs, releasing his throbbing cock. You feel his length bop against your ass. His fingers run through your pussy to coat his dick with your arousal. He lazily strokes his dick while bunching up the skirt of your dress over your waist with his other hand.
His palm runs over your bare ass cheek and slowly navigates your curves to your other cheek. You whimper when he pulls his palm away, already missing the warmth of his skin against yours. The unexpected strike of his palm causes you to jolt forward with a whine.
"Fuck! This is a juicy ass," he growls as his fingers dig into your flesh.
"Do it again. Harder." you pant.
You catch his devilish grin in the mirror as he lifts his arm with a flattened palm. The din of the party muffles the sound of it moving through the air before it lands on your other cheek. Harder. Just like you asked. You feel another wave of arousal rush through you.
"Oh, baby. We're going to have so much fun."
Joel takes his cock and runs the tip through your folds, You haven't seen it, but you can feel it's big as he teases your entrance with just the tip. Your mouth begins to water as you fantasize about taking him between your lips, the heavy weight of it on your tongue as you take him down your throat.
You're so distracted by the thought of choking on his dick that you yelp in surprise when his cock enters you with a forceful thrust; his pelvis slams into your luscious cheeks.
"Oh, she's fucking…" Joel pants, "she's fucking, tight."
He begins a steady pace of fucking you. His hands gripping your hips, fingertips digging in with a bruising force.
He reaches around your waist to rub your clit while he continues a relentless pace. Your walls clenching around him. Breaths increase, and your chest is slick with sweat. His thrusts push you into the counter, driving into you while he rubs your clit. The marble cooling your heated chest. "C'mon, baby. I feel you squeezing me. Let go for me."
You wail out his name as your climax takes hold. He pulls you up against his chest, his hand cupping your breast as he fucks you through your orgasm. Hot breath against your ear as he seeks his release. You wrap your hand around his neck and pull his head toward you. Your lips brush against his ear, and with a whisper, eyes fixed on him in the mirror so you can see his reaction, "Fill me up. I want to feel you dripping out of me."
Joel whimpers. He fucking, whimpers. He's at the precipice of his orgasm and grasps onto your tit tighter. You squeak at the pressure. One. Two. Three more thrusts before he spills into you, drenching your pussy with his seed.
His forehead collapses onto the back of your shoulder; his labored breathing begins to even out. When he looks up, your eyes meet his in the mirror. You both are completely fucked out. Half dressed, tits hanging out, disheveled hair, smeared lipstick. He leans back to get a good look at his spend leaking from your pussy. A boyish grin expands on his face into a toothy smile as he pushes his cum back inside with his finger. "Gotta keep my gift wrapped up."
You roll your eyes and laugh.
Joel grabs a clean washcloth from the towel bar and runs it under warm water. He gently runs the damp cloth over your inner thighs and sensitive folds, cleaning himself before tossing the washcloth in the hamper.
You notice it's after midnight, and you'll need to get home soon—even though you don't want the night to end. You both scramble to dress. Joel stops short when he realizes he can't button his shirt back up all the way. He looks around to find the loose buttons on the counter and pockets them. Softly, you brush his forearm and coo, "I can sew those back on for you."
He winks and kisses the tip of your nose. "Worth it."
--
You accept Joel's offer to walk you to your car, but not before you say your goodbyes. The two of you part to find Lucilla and Marcus to thank them for the party.
When you find Joel again, he guides you toward the door, holding his gift in one hand and the other against the small of your back. He leans toward your ear and teases, "We'll need to discuss visitation arrangements." shaking the figurine in the air.
You playfully swat his chest at his teasing.
You and Joel are unaware that Marcus and Lucilla are watching this exchange from afar. Lucilla turns to Marcus and wonders, "Now, why didn't we think to set those two up? They're perfect together."
"It doesn't look like they needed our help anyway." Marcus wraps his arm around his wife and kisses her temple. "Another successful holiday party, my lady."
Lucilla rests her head on his shoulder and lets out an exhausted but contented sigh. "Until next year, my love."
--
Thank you so much for reading! I'd love to know what you think. Reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated. 🫶🏻
I've got an idea brewing to revisit these two (four)...if I get a wild hair, I may take a swing at it. 😏
npt for folks who were interested in this WIP: @baronessvonglitter @kilamonster @half-moon16 @peepawispunk
Summary: You haven't seen Javi in years when you run into him at a local bar, and it doesn't take long to find yourself in bed with him.
Warnings: 18+, MDNI. oral sex (m&f), unprotected PIV, use of “slut” during sexy time, no use of Y/N
a/n: This was written for @baronessvonglitter Birthday/Fuck-tober Challenge. (It’s not “belated”…it’s just that I wanted your birthday celebration to last forrrreeevvvvvveeeerrrrr. 🤭 but really it was mostly because I was in my head, nervous about writing for Javi P. for the first time 🫣) Happy Birthday Adriana!! 🥳 I was given Javi P and the song, Needed Me by Rihanna. Thank you to @80ssong & @half-moon16 for the beta reads. 😘 Also, a big time thank you to @morallyinept for creating these amazing resources that I referenced to help me get “in the zone,” writing for Javi: character database & FWB!Javi P.
word count: 2,900
ao3 | ml
When you open the door, he’s immediately on you. Barreling past the threshold with a desperate need, he doesn’t have time to be polite, unable even to utter a “hello.” The only greeting, his lips and tongue consuming yours in a heated kiss. He smells of whiskey and cigarettes, which you can taste on his tongue as it dances with yours. His large hand cradles your face, and the other finds a home on your waist as he pushes you further into your home. The hunger for you consumes him as he searches the depth of your mouth with his tongue. He attempts to ground himself, tightening his grip on your waist, afraid that if he lets go, he’ll drown in his feelings of unworthiness. He needs to prove he’s worth something, even if it’s just for a good fuck. You both let out a grunt as your bodies slam against the wall, his arm caging you in as he continues his relentless pursuit with his tongue, leaving you breathless. Reluctantly, you push your palms against his firm chest to catch your breath. His lust-filled eyes roam your face, anticipating your next move. With a mischievous smile, you roughly grab his wrist and lead him to your bedroom. It’s only been a few nights since he had you last. Falling into bed with Javi had become a regular occurrence since that first night you ran into each other after his return from Colombia.
–
Javi stoically observes the other patrons: a group of friends wrapped in a rousing game of darts, a couple at the jukebox debating a song choice, finally settling on a Hank Williams tune, and an older gentleman around Chucho’s age swallowing down the last beer before he’s finally cut off. Javi stares at himself in the mirror behind the bar, contemplating how he found himself here, alone again.
He’s had a long day. It was a day filled with Javi confronted by his recent past, fielding questions and congratulations about his time in Colombia and his contributions to the takedown of Escobar at his cousin’s wedding. Javi has difficulty accepting the praise; they'd be appalled if they knew of the many blurred lines he crossed in the lead-up to Escobar’s capture. His responses were polite but short. He worked his way out of the uncomfortable conversations quickly and with little detail. Only to be faced with addressing another chapter of his past, his ex-fiance, Lorraine. A reminder of his failure in romantic relationships. Still reeling from the reception, nerves shot, and a need to self-soothe the only way he knows how Javi is back out the door shortly after he and Chucho returned to the house. He didn’t even bother to change. His truck left a trail of dust as it rattled down the gravel driveway on a mission to exorcise his demons.
Javi sits forlornly, nursing a second round of whiskey. The first went down too quickly, and he had to take his time with this one. He can’t keep searching for absolution at the bottom of a glass tumbler. Javi throws his head back, glass tumbler at his lips, savoring the feel of the amber liquid sliding down his throat; his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. When Javi straightens, he watches as the door to the bar swings open in the mirror. He blinks briefly to refocus his eyes to fully take in the sight and ensure the whiskey isn’t playing tricks on him. It had to have been over a decade since Javi saw you last. His work in Colombia took up most of that time. He watches as you make your way to the bar. A sense of relief washes over him that you haven’t recognized him with his back towards you.
You sit at the opposite end of the bar, huffing an exasperated sigh as you settle in. The bartender greets you to take your order and returns quickly with your drink. Javi quietly observes you, taking in your plush lips as they wrap around the tip of the straw, your cheeks hollow as you take your first sip. When you rest your elbows on the bar, his eyes trail down to the opening of your silk blouse, the top buttons unfastened. He can glimpse your delicate skin at this angle and peek at the lace that edges your bra. You haven’t changed much; if anything, you are more beautiful. Breathtaking, even.
Javi knows how to read people after all his time in the DEA. It’s evident to him that you’ve also had an exhausting day, and finishing your first drink doesn’t take long. He takes in the smooth line of your neck as you take the last sip and winces when you take your frustration out on the bar top, slamming your empty glass onto the lacquered oak. Javi calls the bartender over and requests to order your next round. Your eyebrows lift in surprise when you find a fresh drink before you, having not ordered another round. With a knowing smirk, the bartender nods in Javi’s direction. You raise your glass towards him and offer a wink to thank him.
You thought those broad shoulders looked familiar. In your haste to find a seat at the bar, the need for alcohol to quell the stress of your hectic day, you couldn’t take him in fully. You had heard about Javi’s return to Laredo but are still surprised to see him. His elbows rest on the bar, the cuffs of his sleeves rolled up to expose his forearms, as your eyes scan the breadth of his shoulders and chest, confined by the grey and brick-red plaid button-up. The top two buttons released of their duty for the night, and you see a hint of his tan sternum just below the hollow of his neck. You look back up at Javi, and he’s waiting with a smirk, having caught your lingering look. The barstool scrapes across the wood floor, and Javi moves to relocate to the stool next to you.
“So, Javi, how long’s it been?” you muse as he nears.
He sits on the stool, one foot on the crossbar with his knee jutted out, facing you. He’s close enough that you feel his warmth through his jeans. You’re distracted by the thought of opening your legs just a few inches so he could slot his leg in between them. The thought sends a rush of heat up your spine. His thumb swipes across his plush bottom lip as it quirks up in a half smile.
“It’s been at least ten years, hasn’t it?”
“At least,” you agree. “That’s a nice shirt. Why are you so dressed up tonight?”
“My cousin, Danny, got married today. Just got back from the reception and needed something stronger than a Budweiser.”
With a teasing lilt, you hold his stare and ask, “Awww, was it really that bad?”
“It was…a lot. It was good to see family, especially my Tia,” he averts his gaze, spinning his glass on the bar top, “but I had to field many questions about Colombia.”
His eyes were still downcast; you could sense Javi was uncomfortable and quickly tried to change the subject. “That does sound like a lot, but selfishly, I’m glad it brought you here tonight. How long have you been back?”
“About a month. I’ve been helping Pops out on the ranch. It’s been a good distraction. What brought you here tonight?”
“Oh, that’s great. I’m sure Chucho is glad to have you back and appreciates the help.” You sigh before you continue, “I had a date. I’ve been seeing this guy for a few weeks. It was casual, or so I thought. He blindsided me over dinner and said he wanted us to be more. I’m not looking for that right now, so I had to end it.”
Javi ticks his tongue, cocks his head to the side, and sarcastically huffs, “Poor guy.”
Javi doesn’t have much sympathy for the guy, not when his idiocy leads you to him. He recalls how you’ve always played it cool, keeping men at a distance, taking what you need, and moving on. You’re not that different than him. Never one to stick around, only searching for the warmth of another body to satisfy an immediate need. Inevitably, the relationships meet their demise when the men come to need you more than you need them.
“So,” he tries to hide his coying smile behind the rim of his glass, but you don’t miss it. “What are you looking for?”
You swallow down the rest of your drink and set it down on the bartop, gentler this time. “How about you come back to my place and find out.”
–
Javi takes in the intimate space of your bedroom. He notices the cigarette abandoned in your ashtray, slowly burning away. A paperback book lays face down on your bed, holding your place while it awaits your return. The lighting is subdued by the scarf-draped lamp in the corner, and a candle flickers on your nightstand. A mix of sage, citrus, and smoke wafts through the air. It reminds him of the evenings he spent in Gabriela’s small apartment when he was searching for release. He realizes he’s interrupted your quiet evening alone, but with the enthusiastic response he received at your door, he’s pretty sure you don’t mind the change of plans.
You guide Javi towards the bed and unbutton his shirt. Your palms flat on his tight chest as they caress up and over his shoulders, and his shirt falls to the floor. Plush lips pepper soft kisses along his jawline before you trace the tip of your tongue over the skin on his neck and down his chest in a torturous game of connect the dots, saliva linking one mole to the next. Flicking your tongue over his nipple emits a soft groan in response when you nibble on the small nub, sending a jolt of pleasure through his body. Your lips and tongue continue down his stomach until you meet the thick patch above the waist of his painted-on jeans, the coarse hair tickling your lips. You feel the heat radiating from his pronounced bulge, straining the front of his jeans.
His fingers meet yours as you move to unbutton his jeans, and he shoos them away. You watch, in awe, as his cock springs free when he pulls his jeans down past his hips. You’re not surprised to find he is completely bare underneath. You grip your bottom lip with your teeth as you watch a bead of precum leak from his uncut tip. Not one to let anything go to waste, you flick the tip of your tongue over his slit before the bead drops. Javi releases a groan, and your eyes meet his as you take the head of his cock between your lips.
With one hand gripping his ass to pull him closer, the other wraps around the base of his cock. You begin to stroke his shaft in time with your mouth. You take him as far as you can until his tip hits the back of your throat. Overwhelmed by the sensation, his hands cup the base of your skull, with his fingers laced through your hair. He gently guides your head back and forth, setting a smooth pace. When he removes his hands, you speed up, saliva dripping out the corners of your mouth as you hum and moan over his length. Javi grunts out a plea for you to stop before he comes down your throat. You release him with a pop and swirl your tongue around the tip as one final tease before you rise from your knees.
He cradles your jaw with his calloused hands, drawing you nearer to consume you with a bruising kiss. A mix of tangled tongues and nipping teeth elicits a chorus of moans from both of you. With your palms flat on his bare chest, you push him back towards the bed. He collapses and adjusts his body to rest his head on the pillows. You peel away the rest of your clothes slowly while he watches you, stroking his cock as he takes in the delicate curves of your body and soft skin shadowed by the room’s dim lighting. When you’re completely bare, he beckons you towards him. With a leg on each side of his hips, you rub your wet pussy over his length. His eyelids flutter as your arousal coats his shaft. He grabs your hips and, with an impatient gruff, “I need to taste you. Come up here and sit on my face.”
Eagerly, you ascend his body, leaving a trail of your arousal across his sternum before you move to situate your thighs on either side of his face. He teases kisses over the delicate skin of your inner thighs, tickling you with his mustache. He palms your ass to bring you closer to his mouth and wraps his forearms around your thighs to hold you in place. You peer down through hooded eyes to admire the landscape of sinew and veins over his arms as his grip tightens. Satisfied with your position, he widens his tongue and licks through your folds at a languid pace. You start riding his face and grinding your slick folds along his nose, the tip hitting your clit in an intoxicating cadence while he fucks you with his tongue. He moans into your pussy, swipes his tongue through your folds, latches his lips around your clit, and begins to suck, causing the heat in your belly to reverberate through you. He continues to eat at you and smacks your ass, causing you to slam your palm against the wall for balance. Your other hand is carding through his hair, gripping the tendrils to push his face into you.
“Yeah, eat that fucking pussy.” He moans at your demand, and you feel your belly start to coil with your imminent release. With his lips latched onto your clit, he continues sucking until you’re writhing and screaming his name as you come, soaking his chin with your release.
“Fuck…” Javi is breathless. He would gladly suffocate in your pussy, “You taste incredible.”
You shift your hips and begin to crawl down his chest. When your pussy meets his cock, you hiss when the tip hits your oversensitive clit. With his grip on your hips, he guides you back and forth over his cock to coat in your slick. You continue the pace, teasing him until he whimpers and begs to be inside you.
“Begging for this pussy like a slut, huh?”
Before he has a chance to answer, you grab his cock and notch the tip at your entrance. Teasing it in slowly until he can’t wait any longer, he grabs your waist to spear you onto him. You begin riding him in earnest, using his cock as you see fit. His thrusts begin to meet yours as he pistons his cock into you.
He lustfully watches the bounce of your tits as your ride him. They’re too far away from his mouth. He needs to feast on them. As he sits up, he takes a breast in his mouth, sucking kisses around the heavy weight, and takes a nipple in between his lips, nipping the hard bud with his teeth. His pursuit continues on your other tit when you circle your hips. He feels your pussy squeezing him and reaches in between your bodies to rub his thumb over your clit. Your legs begin to quiver, signaling you’re close, and he increases the pressure. He wraps his other arm around your back, pulling you into his chest. Your breasts pressed up against his bare chest, sticky with sweat. Your hardened nipples brush up against his skin as you ride him, causing more slick to build in your core. His grip tightens as he positions his feet flat on the bed and thrusts into you relentlessly. His pelvis slamming into your ass when he coos into your ear as you both ride out your orgasms together. Javi blurts out, “Tell me you need me.”
He feathers soft kisses along your cheeks, down your jaw to your neck. He presses light kisses onto your bare shoulders. On his return ascent, he nuzzles his nose along your skin, retracing his steps to your lips.
Taken aback by his declaration, you hum in response to his delicate touches as you both work to catch your breath and return to the room. Hoping that he was deep in the throws of his orgasm and he didn’t mean anything by it. Javi sits up, one leg bent with his foot flat on the bed and the bed sheet draped over his softening cock. He leans back against the headboard and lights a cigarette. Resting his arm on his knee, he looks down at you with hopeful eyes.
You reluctantly make eye contact with him when you finally ask, “Why are you here, Javi?”
“I just needed to see you.”
It’s at this moment when you realize Javi needs you more than you need him, and this has run its course, whatever “this” is. You’re not interested in more than fucking. You’re not interested in fixing a broken man, even if the sex is the best you’ve ever had.
Thank you so much for reading! I'd love to know what you think. Reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated. 🫶🏻
npt for @almostempty since you asked about this particular WIP. 😊
Summary: It’s been so long since you and Joel have had sex. When you finally find the time to reconnect, things happen a little too soon.
Warnings: 18+, MDNI. No outbreak AU. established relationship (married), use of pet names (darlin’, baby, big guy), allusion to m!masturbation, Joel in grey sweatpants and a plain white T 🫠, f!oral, fingering, use of vibrator, unprotected PiV, creampie, no use of Y/N
a/n: This was written for @justagalwhowrites Joel Miller Birthday Celebration. I picked a combo of dad!Joel and a lil bit feral!Joel (he’s horny, y’all) with the theme of premature ejaculation. I had been noodling on the idea of a “dry spell” within an established relationship for a bit and thought it would work with this challenge. Thank you to @80ssong for the beta and constant encouragement! 😘
word count: 3,608
ao3 | ml
“SARAH! Hurry up, your dad is waiting in his truck!”
“I’m coming!” you hear her call from her bedroom. “I had to get my math homework,” she huffs as she bounds down the stairs and into the kitchen.
She gallops toward you and wraps you in a bear hug. Instinctively, your hands wrap around her and kiss the crown of her head. “Love you,” she says as she hurries to meet her dad; having been with him for the last fifteen years, you know his patience is hanging on by a thread. He has a short window to drop Sarah off at school to beat the worst of Austin’s morning rush hour and make it to the job site on time.
“Love you too!” you shout back. You wince as the front door slams behind her. You’ve lost count of how often you’ve asked her not to do that.
With your first coffee down, you drag yourself to the life-giving machine to pour another cup into your favorite mug. It was a Mother's Day gift from Sarah when she was six. Joel took her to a paint-your-own pottery studio during one of their “daddy-daughter” days. When they came home, Sarah barreled through the door with a mischievous glint in her eyes and a massive smile. You watched, amused, as your daughter bounced around, unable to contain her excitement. Animatedly, she tells you about her day with Joel, which started with a large stack of pancakes for breakfast and a movie. She recounted the day so quickly that Joel was worried that if she kept going, she’d accidentally spoil the surprise. He rested his hands on her shoulders with a low shush. His calm demeanor and soothing touch instantly relaxed her. He reminded Sarah that she had to be patient and, for the time being, had to keep a secret. You looked at him questioningly, and he shrugged. He smirked as he moved his index finger and thumb across his lips, motioning that they were sealed. A few weeks later, you would finally unwrap your surprise. Since then, it has been like no other mug ever existed. It delights you every morning, admiring the colorful hand-painted flowers and “World’s Best Mom” scrawled across the mug’s surface.
For six months or so, you and Joel have been like ships that pass in the night. Joel’s contracting business continues to grow and has him running around all over Austin. Some weeks, he’s put in seventy hours and has just enough energy to shower before he climbs into bed where you’re sat upright with your laptop, working tirelessly on your latest project with a looming deadline. He graces you with a peck on the cheek before he rolls on his side, and within minutes, you hear the low drone of his snores. In the mornings, you exchange kisses and “I love yous” when he comes downstairs to grab his coffee before he’s out the door with Sarah, and you relocate to your home office for the day.
You hope there is a light at the end of the tunnel soon. Even if you have to dig the tunnel yourself to find it, it’s been too long since you and Joel have had sex, and you’re not sure how much more you can take. You crave the intimacy of being close to your husband, skin-to-skin. It invigorates you, seals your love, and makes you feel more connected. You worry he could be losing his attraction to you. You’ve been together for over a decade, which is a long time for your bodies to change. He seems to have only gotten more annoyingly handsome while your body has grown and pushed out a healthy, brilliant, funny girl, and things aren’t as tight as they once were. Parts of your body are softer and have a tendency to spread a little more when you sit down.
You and Joel have always had a fulfilling sex life. When you first got together, there was hardly a day where you didn’t fuck. Even after you got married, and all your friends had warned you your sex life would change and frequency would lessen, you and Joel still managed to keep a healthy schedule in the bedroom. Things did slow down a bit when Sarah was born. Caring for a newborn is exhausting, and you and Joel could barely keep your eyes open. As Sarah got older, things in the bedroom began to pick up again. Tommy would come over and watch Sarah so you and Joel could have regular date nights to keep the romance alive. At the end of the night, you’d go home and fuck like you used to. It helped keep the passion alive amid the stress of your jobs, maintaining the household, and getting Sarah to and from school, soccer practices, and playdates. This has been the longest dry spell you’ve experienced in your relationship with Joel, hopeful it is temporary.
After your work project finally wraps up and Joel’s current job has slowed while he waits for permits, you arrange a sleepover for Sarah at her friend’s house tonight. She’s finally at the age where she feels comfortable with overnights where you and Joel aren’t just down the hall. You log off work early, having already put in close to sixty hours for the week, and head to the mall. You want to find something to knock Joel’s socks off and re-energize you both. After an hour of perusing your favorite lingerie store racks, you find a few sets to try on. You fumble around in the fitting room, trying on your selections until you find a winner. Joel won’t know what hit him—an emerald green negligee with lace cups and trim, fly-away opening, and matching thong panties. You feel a tingle of excitement imagining his reaction.
You’ve already dropped Sarah off at her friend’s house, and the dinner table is set by the time Joel gets home. Joel walks into the smell of roasted chicken, mashed potatoes, and green beans. It’s one of his favorite meals that you make. He finds you standing over the stove, putting the finishing touches on dinner. He comes over to greet you, wraps his arms around you from behind, and leaves a kiss on the sensitive area where your shoulder and neck meet. You sway in his arms, relishing in his embrace, inhaling his scent of sweat and sawdust—the smell of a man who works hard to provide for his family.
“I’ve missed you, darlin’. How was your day?”
“Pretty good. I’m glad you’re home.”
“Me too. Do I have time for a quick shower before dinner?”
“Yup, the chicken still has to sit before I cut into it.” He pulls away from you and places a playful swat on your ass before he heads upstairs.
Joel hops in the shower, looking forward to a quiet, relaxed evening with you. It’s been so long since you’ve had an opportunity to be alone together. He hopes tonight he’ll be able to rekindle the passion you both have craved from each other these past months; he’s missed being intimate with you. It’s just been hard to find time to connect with how busy you’ve both been lately. He’s thankful there’s a lull at his current job site, which has relieved some of his stress. While he’s in the shower, he debates whether he should fuck his fist so he can last longer with you. Eventually, he decides against it because there’s not enough time, and he wants to ensure he has enough stamina for you. When he steps out of the shower, he changes into a pair of grey sweatpants and a white t-shirt and heads downstairs for dinner.
You head upstairs while Joel finishes cleaning up the kitchen after dinner. When you hear the kitchen faucet shut off, you scramble to finish getting dressed for Joel. A few minutes later, he appears in the doorway of your shared bedroom, mouth agape. He’s at a loss for words; you are a vision. His eyes travel your body to find you wearing his favorite green plaid flannel, with your legs bare. It also happens to be your favorite green plaid flannel. He always looks incredibly handsome in it. The shirt hugs him in all the right places, stretching across his broad shoulders and tapering at his slim waist. Any time he wears it, all you want to do is take it off. Joel imagines he probably looks like The Mask when he sees Tina for the first time—eyes bulging out, jaw dropped, and tongue rolled out in front of him. He lifts his jaw off the floor and finally remembers how to speak; he exhales, “I think that looks better on you than it does me.”
“Hmmm. It’s possible.” You slowly unbutton the shirt as you saunter towards Joel. “But, I think it may look better off of me.” You let the flannel fall to the floor.
Joel is going to lose his mind. He’s the luckiest guy in the world. He has an incredible life—an intelligent, generous, and beautiful wife who gave him a caring, witty, and beautiful daughter. His time with you has been the best years of his life. The wisest decision he made was asking you to be his wife. And now, you’re standing in front of him in this green silk number that has caused all the blood to rush to his cock. His cock, which is now stretching the fabric of his sweatpants with a pronounced bulge. You take notice and grin, pleased at his reaction. “So, I guess this was a good pick?”
He steps closer, now within arms reach. Trailing his fingers down the smooth fabric, he responds, “Baby, it’s perfect. You’re perfect.” He pulls you in for a searing kiss. “I’ve missed you so much. I’ve missed us.”
You melt into his arms and feel his cock press against you, and arousal pools in your silk panties. Joel’s hands trail down the back of your body slowly. He teases at the lace trim before sliding his hands under your negligee to rest on the soft, round globes of your ass. His calloused hands explore your supple skin, and he lets out a grunt as he grabs hold and thrusts his stiff cock into your center. The contact causes him to suck air in between his teeth with a hiss. It’s been too long since he's had you this way, and he’s not sure how long he’ll last. Your kissing becomes a mix of frantic tongues and wet lips devouring each other. The intensity at which he takes over is overwhelming. You love it when he gets this way like he could eat you alive; he wants you so badly.
“You feel so soft, baby.” He pants between kisses. “Mmmm, I need you.”
“I know, Joel. I need you too…so bad.”
It’s a frenzy of hands groping at each other. Neither of you can hold back. He begins to drag the hem of your negligee up and prompts you to lift your arms as he pulls it over your breasts, which tumble out of the fabric. He watches them bounce with rapt attention, practically drooling. They aren’t as perky as when you and Joel first met, but he’s always been obsessed with them. With you standing in front of him, bare except your thong, he takes one of your breasts in his mouth, the other held in a firm grip as he massages and lathes at them. You moan in pleasure as he takes his time covering every inch, leaving a trail of licks and soft bites across your chest.
Joel moves up your sternum, trailing over your collarbone and neck, nipping at your jaw, locking your lips with his once he reaches his destination. The noises emitting from Joel’s are animalistic. He needs to consume you in every way possible. He begins to grind into you, pressing his cock into you. You let out a needy moan as his hips propel forward into your soaked panties. Joel’s eyes widen at the last press of his hips into you, and he realizes he’s about to come. Oh fuck. No, no, nononono. This can’t be happening. Not tonight. He was so in the moment that he couldn’t catch the signs. Maybe he should’ve jerked off in the shower. Shit. Joel’s mind begins to run through his playbook of thoughts he uses when he wants to stave off an impending orgasm. The latest delivery of lumber, the Longhorns’ upcoming season, and the leaking faucet in the half bath that he wants to fix this weekend. But it’s too late. He grunts and moans, his thick fingers gripping your hip for balance as he explodes into his pants and lets out an exasperated sigh. It takes you a moment to realize what happened as you watch a wet spot bloom on the front of his pants. He hasn’t cum in his pants since he was a teenager.
“That hasn’t happened to me since high school,” he admits, embarrassed.
You lift Joel’s head, your hands tenderly holding the sides of his face, and look into his eyes. “Baby, this is probably the best compliment ever! I may have trouble getting through the doorway with how big my head is right now.” you chuckle.
He lets out a short laugh, and a small smile forms across his handsome face. Gripping your upper arm, he leads you to walk backward until your legs hit the bed. “Well, my recovery time isn’t what it used to be.” He pushes you gently until you collapse onto the bed, ogling your breasts as they bounce in response. “I hope you’re ready to come for me a few times before he’s ready to go again.”
“I think I can manage that.” You giggle as his broad body hovers over you, and he leaves a path of wet kisses down the plane of your chest, in between your breasts, and over the soft rolls of your stomach. As he approaches your center, he shimmies your panties over your hips and down your legs, exposing your wet cunt to the cool air of the bedroom. Joel moans, “There she is. God, I’ve missed her.”
He dropped to his knees in front of the bed, his broad shoulders spread your legs apart, giving him a perfect view of the arousal coating your folds. His fingers travel up your thick thighs, inching closer to your core. You’re writhing in anticipation of his touch where you need him most. He takes his time, teasing you until you almost break. Sensing your need, he gives in and runs his finger over your clit and down your seam. He looks up at you with a devilish grin before he dives in. His tongue glides through your folds, lapping up your arousal. Your back arches, shoving your pussy in his face when he reaches your clit. He circles his tongue over the hardened nub, wraps his lips around it, and begins to suck and flick his tongue, sending shockwaves up your body, causing a moan to tumble from your mouth. He smirks without letting his lips leave you, pleased with your response.
You’ve been together long enough that Joel knows precisely what you need and where you need it to make you see stars. His forearms grip around your thighs to hold you in place, not letting you pull away from his tongue ravishing your clit. He’s devouring you like a man starved. Because it’s true, he has been starved. The last six months have been brutal, not being able to taste your sweet tang. He lets out a feral groan as he continues to eat at you. He knows you’re close and groans into your pussy. The vibration reverberating through your body is enough to send you over the edge. Your thighs shake, a harmony of moans and curse words barreling from your lips while you cum all over his patchy beard. He laps up your slick while he gazes at your blissed-out face. Joel ascends the bed and leans in to kiss you, and with a devilish grin, he teases, “That’s one!”
You laugh, a broad smile across your face as Joel admires you, so much love and lust in his eyes. “So, big guy, what’s in store for number two?”
With a mischievous look, his eyes never leave yours as his hand travels down your body. His fingers dance over your soft stomach until they reach your entrance. He breaches your wet folds with two fingers, knowing you’re more than ready to receive them after you just came on his tongue. They slide in easily as his thumb meets your clit. He’s slow with his teasing because you’re still a little sensitive. He thrusts in and out, bumping into that spongy spot that sends electric volts through your body. It doesn’t take him long to build you back up to another orgasm. He feels you clench around his fingers and continues his pace until you erupt with a cry, your orgasm gushing out of you, soaking his fingers. Joel pulls his fingers up to his mouth to clean up your juices and then leans forward with a peck on your nose, “That’s two!”
He feels his cock begin to stiffen. He’ll be ready to go soon; he just needs you to come again for him. He pulls out a vibrator from the nightstand. You look at him incredulously, unsure if you have another one in you, feeling so overstimulated already. Joel flicks the purple toy on and smiles as it hums. He begins on the lowest speed, dragging the tip up and down your pussy lips. You feel yourself getting wet again with his teasing. He increases the speed and watches as you thrust your hips up, your body’s natural response to the change. It’s almost too much, but you feel your orgasm drawing closer and grip his forearm as he drags the tip of the vibrator through your folds until pressing it up against your clit, moving to the highest speed. Your eyes roll back as your body flails with your release. Joel watches as you come down from your high. He shifts his eyes to his pants and returns to yours with a smile. His cock is rock hard now. “I guess the third time’s the charm!”
You lift from the bed and eagerly grab at the waistband to pull them down over his hips. His dick springs out, and you lick your lips. He would love nothing more than to watch his cock slide through your luscious lips, but he’s not risking it. He knows he won’t last long in your wet mouth, and he wants to come inside you. Joel lifts your chin, and you look at him with doe eyes, “He needs to get inside your pussy, baby.”
With unbridled enthusiasm, you lay back on the bed as Joel pulls off his pants completely, and he crawls up your body. Holding your gaze, he lines up and begins to feed his cock into you. You are pressed so close together, and with him now inside you, it's as if you two have become one person. He thrusts into you, slowly at first, and gradually increases his speed. He doesn’t feel deep enough and has to give you all of him, so he lifts and moves your legs to rest your calves on his left shoulder, his cock never leaving the clutch of your pussy. With your thighs now pressed together to make your pussy feel even tighter, he grabs onto your hips, thrusting in earnest. His pelvis slapping into your ass with each drive of his cock inside you. Feeling his orgasm build, he pushes his body forward, folding you over and driving even deeper. When he hits the spot, it sends you into a frenzy, and you cum, wailing his name. Joel’s jaw tenses as he grunts and follows after you, flooding your walls with his seed.
As you both catch your breath, trying to recover from the immense euphoria, Joel looks down at you and sees tears fall from your eyes. He kisses them away as they slide down your temple. When he leans back, he thumbs at a new tear that’s formed and wipes it away before it has a chance to fall. “You ok, hon?” he asks, concerned.
“Oh, yes, Joel. I’m fantastic. I’m just so fucking happy.”
Your favorite Joel smile appears—the one that is so full and wide it makes his eyes disappear and wrinkle at the corners. It feels like your heart will burst from your chest. He slams into you with another toe-curling kiss. When he finally pulls away from your lips, he looks into your eyes, “I love you so fucking much.”
“I love you, too, Joel.”
He pulls his softening cock out of you with a hiss, and you whimper at the loss of him. He keeps your legs up so he can watch as his cum drips out of your swollen lips. Satisfied with his work, he shifts your body to the side and sidles up behind you, wrapping his arms around you. He hums while he peppers soft kisses over your shoulder, and you let out a sated sigh. You’ll worry about cleaning up later. You don’t imagine you’ll have difficulty convincing him to hop in the shower with you. But for now, you want to stay in the embrace of your strong, handsome, and loving husband for as long as possible.
Thank you so much for reading! I'd love to know what you think. Reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated. 🫶🏻
Ted Garcia's young girlfriend almost ruins his reelection campaign. He teaches her a lesson.
read it on archiveofourown. / click here for my main masterlist.
warnings: smut, established relationship, eddington movie fix-it, age difference (reader is somewhere in her 20s and ted is late 40s), d/s dynamics, brat tamer!ted, spanking, face slapping, daddy kink, rough oral sex (m receiving), fingering, unprotected piv, little bit of breeding kink, licking the browl, reader is afab and goes by she/her, vandalism, no c*vid because i don't wanna fuck with that, pet names galore, after care.
rating: +18.
word count: 4k.
fox says: hello friends, thank you so much for reading! based this whole thing off of this scene which has been plaguing my mind ever since i watched the movie. i wrote this in a way that i think most people will understand even if they haven't seen eddington, as long as they have the basic premise of the movie down; this takes place after the movie but i changed almost everything that happened bc lol yea. if this goes well i might revisit ted's character in the future because i had so much fun finding ted's character voice and writing for him. as always, let me know how we feel about this one!
entry for the ppcu ficless challenge hosted by @sunshinehaze1!
Ted stares at the laptop across from him with utter disbelief. He thought he was in the clear after Joe Cross became a vegetable, that the mayoral race was his, but it didn't take long for the man's mother-in-law, Dawn, to take his place in the race. She'd started her campaign clean, using the tragedy of Joe's injury and the death of her husband as a way to gather pity votes but once she realized the polls weren't tipping in her favor, she went the same slander route as her son-in-law. She calls him a predator with her full chest, using your age as "proof" of his sexual deviancy, which is almost funny considering she's the one that abused her daughter her entire fucking life.
Ted watches the woman's Facebook live all the way to the end before he slams the laptop shut, pinching the bridge of his nose. He's not getting any younger, and this sort of shit is what he thinks might give him a heart attack some day— If your antics don't make him keel over first.
"Fucking bitch." He mumbles under his breath, knowing he has to call his campaign advisor and find a way to fight back— Dawn's daughter's video exposing her is still out there, being played on repeat in every platform that Ted could afford, but it doesn't feel like it's enough.
His cellphone rings and he has half a mind to let it go to voicemail, but Ted knows better. It's well past midnight, and there's only one person that would call him that late at night: The new Sheriff, Michael Cook. The man is incredibly grateful that Ted appointed him as Sheriff, and it was damn handy to have law enforcement in his pocket; it hadn't been exactly a hard choice, considering the only other option was the racist hillbilly that would tank Ted's campaign to help Dawn get elected.
"Ted speaking." He answers and, before Mike can even speak, Ted knows this call is about you.
"Hey Mayor, how's it going? I uh… I got your girl here. Think you can come pick her up?"
"What are the charges?"
"None right now." Mike is quick to say, pausing for a moment before he adds. "Vandalism, if we were going to charge her with anything. Caught her spray painting Gunther's storefront."
Ted sighed, feeling a headache incoming. "I'll be there in ten. Thank you, Captain."
He doesn't need to see Mike's face to know the man is beaming at the mention of his shiny new rank.
"Always a pleasure, Mayor."
The car ride home is tense, to say the least. Ted is fuming, driving to his own home without even realizing he's doing it, but you don't seem one bit phased by it, knees drawn up to your chest, the ball of your feet on the seat— Ted has told you time and time again to not sit like that, that's dangerous in case of a car accident but, as always, you don't seem to care. He pushes your leg down twice before his patience finally wears thin.
"Are you trying to sabotage my election?" He asks. You stare out the window, but Ted can see you biting down on your bottom lip in the reflection of the window.
"He deserved it. The guy's a fucking fascist, Ted!"
"I'm not saying he isn't!" He snaps back, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. "But do you need to vandalize his store now? Do you have any idea what would happen to me if the voters found out it was you? If they found down I got Mike covering your ass? It's bad enough that you're—"
He cuts his sentence halfway through, jaw snapping shut hard enough that it makes his teeth clack, but the unfinished sentence is enough to piss you off, your head snapping towards him.
"That I'm what, Ted?"
He takes a deep breath, trying to stay within the speed limit despite how much he wants to floor the gas pedal. "Dawn's out here calling you my child bride and that's bad enough as it is. I would appreciate if you could keep your activism to legal actions until I'm in office again."
"Dawn is a fucking bitch." You mumble under your breath, but Ted can see the fight leave your body; he knows you understand, knows you recognize how hard those whole situation has been on him.
"I know she is, but I can't give her any more fodder, you know? We can't hand her the win."
He parks in front of his house, thankful that Eric is gone for the night. Ted loves his son, he really does, but Eric's going through a phase and the last thing he needs is another headache for the night. The two of you sit in front of his home for a moment, Ted breathing deeply as he tries to calm himself.
"What did you write? On Gunther's window?"
"Just called him what he is."
"Darling, what did you write?" Ted asks again, more forcefully this time. "Word for word."
"Fascist scum."
Ted can surely agree with that. He hums. "And how many letters that is?"
"What?"
"Count them. How many letters does it take to spray paint 'fascist scum' on his store?"
You stop, counting the words in your head before you answer— He can see the moment you understand where Ted is going with that, shifting in your seat, thighs pressing together. "Eleven. Twelve if you want to count the swastika I drew on the store's sign."
"You're going to go inside, strip naked and present yourself to me." Ted licks his bottom lip, fingers thrumming the steering wheel. "And then I'm going to spank you twelve times. Maybe like that you'll learn to behave."
He waits in the car for as long as possible, wanting you impatient and squirming by the time he walks inside his living room. Ted carefully toes off his shoes, sock-clad feet padding silently on the floor as he walks closer to the couch; you're on all fours, entirely naked with your ass jutting upwards, head pressed onto the cushion. He can see you're wet already, pussy glistening even if he hasn't touched you at all yet. He has half a mind to drop to his knees and eat you out, mouth watering at the sight but instead Ted walks over to the minibar without glancing back at you, pouring himself a dose of the hellishly expensive whiskey bottle he got as a gift from the governor. He leans back against the wall, watching you squirm in your position, turning your head to stare at him.
"Daddy, please."
Ted downs his drink before stalking closer to you, his body finally at ease. He moves slowly, deliberately, his hand coming up to squeeze the fat of your ass before giving it a soft slap just to watch it jiggle. You shift your weight, raising your ass higher into the air. Ted runs a finger over the seam of your pussy, the touch feather-light but he can see the way it affects you, a shiver running up your spine.
"D'you know your words, baby?"
"Green means I'm good, yellow if I need a break."
"And?" He pushes his middle finger just a little, the tip toying with your entrance before it slides away. You take a deep breath, hiding your smile on the crook of your elbow.
"Red if I need to stop."
"Atta girl." Ted nods, bringing the finger to his lips, licking the digit clean. He doesn't think he'll ever get over this, your sweet taste and your soft voice, the way your body seems to be always ready for him. "I'm goin' to give you twelve, and you're going to count every single one of 'em. You miss one, we start from the beginning."
He sits down on the couch next to you, legs spread wide as he pats his thigh. You crawl over him slowly, you body brushing over his hard cock in a way that is too slow to be a mistake; Ted pinches your side lightly, and you giggle as you settle across his lap, your plump ass sticking up. Ted runs a hand over your skin, squeezing the cheek before letting go.
"Why am I doing this?" He asks, the hand on your ass running all the way up your spine before it settles back down.
"Because I spray painted Gunther's store front?"
"Almost. Try again."
You hum, choosing your words carefully. "Because I did that before the elections, and it would be a bad look if someone found out it was me?"
"Exactly. And what do you say to that?"
"I'm so sorry." You tell him, but Ted can see from the reflection on the window that you're smiling. "I won't do it again."
Ted's hand comes crashing down against your ass cheek, the fat shaking as the loud noise echoes through the room.
"Count." He warns. "I don't think you sound very sorry at all."
"One." You say immediately. "I am sorry, daddy. I didn't mean to."
He slaps you again. You moan loudly this time, jolting in his lap. The friction against his hard cock is delicious, and Ted doesn't wait for you to count before he hits your ass again, feet planted to the ground so he doesn't grind up into you.
"Two and three." You gasp, body already more pliant on top of him. "I'm sorry, daddy, I am."
He slaps you three more times in rapid succession, not even letting you breathe between hits, the only sounds filling the room are of his hand hitting your flesh and the breathy moans you let out. You head falls forward, ass cheek already darkened and warm. Ted runs his hand smoothly over the tender flesh, his finger dipping into your dripping cunt once before he pulls it back, a trail of your own slick smeared over your ass.
"Do I gotta start over, babygirl?" He asks when you don't say anything. You instantly shake your head no, pushing your ass back into his hand. "What's your color?"
"That was four, five and six." You tell him, just a little out of breath. "Green."
Ted wants to lean in and kiss your skin but he doesn't, instead simply running his thumb over your flesh, giving you a moment before he goes back to it.
There are tears running down your cheeks by the time he spanks you for the twelfth time, but he can see the way your pussy clenches around nothing, slick dripping down from your body and pooling on his sweatpants; Ted figures you're probably a lot closer to coming than you should be, considering this is supposed to be a punishment. You're both breathing hard, sweat sticking Ted's curls to his forehead, palm tingling. By the time you count the twelfth hit, Ted leans forward, folding himself over you so he can kiss your shoulder, tongue lapping at a droplet of sweat that runs down your temple.
"You did great for me, sweetheart." He whispers, his hand dipping between your legs to find your clit. "What's your color?"
"Green." You grind your pussy into his hand, a high pitch keen escaping your lips. "Make me come, Ted. I need it."
Ted plunges two thick fingers inside, and you're so wet there's barely any resistance at all. He keeps his fingers buried to the hilt, unmoving.
"Is that the polite way to talk to your daddy?"
"Shit, sorry—" Your voice slips out of character for a moment, giggling before you find your bearings. "Can you make me come, please?"
He moves his fingers slowly, not crooking them just yet, giving you just enough pleasure to want more without it being enough to tip you over the edge. "D'you think you deserve it, sweet girl? 'Cause I think you've been too naughty tonight. Think I ought to come by myself tonight."
"But I already took my punishment." You whine, and Ted can see you're struggling to stop yourself from fucking back into his hand. "Pretty please, daddy?"
He pushes another finger inside, more carefully this time, and you moan loudly at the stretch. The two of you have been together for a while now, enough for Ted to be familiar with your tells and, when he crooks his fingers just the way you like, he doesn't need to see your face to know your eyes are rolling back, a sleuth of 'please' and 'right there, daddy' pouring out of your lips as he fucks you with his fingers, his eyes entranced by the rhythm in and out of his digits and the squelching sound they make. All it takes is a press of his thumb to your clit and then you're coming, your string of moans breaking halfway through as your pussy clenches around his fingers.
"Fuck, looked at you. Soaking." Ted pulls out slowly, rubbing his wet fingers all over your ´pussy, smearing you with your own slick. "Such a messy little cunt, is this f'me?"
"Always, daddy." You mumble, your body weight resting almost entirely on his lap not. Your arms stretch over your head, spine taut like a cat, and Ted knows you'll end up falling asleep if he doesn't move fast enough. He gives you a small tap to the back of your thigh and you raise yourself back to your haunches, kneeling on the couch as you wait for his next command.
"Let me grab you some water." Ted presses a kiss to the top of your head as he pads back into the kitchen, cock still rock hard and leaking in his sweatpants and even though he doesn't look back at you, he can feel your heated gaze the entire time.
"Thank you." You say softly when he offers you the glass of water, drinking dutifully as he stands over you.
You look thoroughly fucked out, even if Ted has barely started— your face is flush and glistening with sweat, hair sticking to your forehead, lips swollen from where you bit them and Ted can see the small tremor of your arms as you lean forward to place the empty glass on the coffee table.
"Did you learn your lesson?"
You nod at him but the glint in your eyes tell him otherwise. You've always been defiant, always enjoyed pressing Ted's buttons, and he should've known that getting you off would only encourage that sort of behavior.
"I learned that you're taking away my free speech righ—"
You never get to finish your sentence, Ted's large hand smacking you across the face hard enough that your head snaps to the side. He panics for a moment, thinking that maybe he hit you hard enough to draw blood, but you smile wickedly before you school your face back to the puppy dog eyes you like to give him.
"As I was saying," You continue as if he hadn't slapped you at all. "I learned that I am being silenced by the mayor of our great town. My free speech is being choked down by the for—"
Ted smacks you again, not as hard this time but just as loud. He doesn't give you a chance to recover, instead grasping your jaw and tilting your head backwards, his eyes boring into yours.
"Maybe I wasn't clear enough." He says, his body set aflame by the way you let your jaw go slack in his hand, mouth open and ready for him. "Maybe I should give you something that'll silence you. Give you something real to choke on."
He pushes his thumb into your mouth, and you suckle on it for half a second before you open your mouth again, ready to speak around his finger. Ted pulls his hand out of your mouth, giving you a final slap to the face; he can see you're still enjoying it, legs pressing tightly together, but your cheek is starting to redden and the last thing he wants is to actually hurt you. So, instead of allowing you to speak, Ted pulls his cock out of his sweatpants, so hard it borders on painful, and pushes it into your awaiting mouth in one swift thrust. You gag around him, your throat constricting over the head of his cock and Ted's eyes nearly roll back in their sockets; you grab his thighs, balancing yourself but also as a silent way to let him know in case you need him to stop. He waits for a second and, when you don't squeeze his legs, Ted brings both hands to the sides of your face, pulling your head back and gently starting to move you back and forth, fucking your mouth on his cock.
"Fuck, there you go— Not so bratty now, sweet girl." Ted mumbles, his feet planted on the ground as he moves your head around, pushing your nose to his pubic bone he allows you to pull back. "So pretty with my cock in your mouth."
He gets lost in the wet heat of your mouth, pushing and pulling the sides of your face to his liking, small moans escaping his lips whenever your throat tightens around the tip of his cock— Praises fall from his mouth mindlessly, talking about how pretty and sweet and perfect you were without even realizing, bringing up the thoughts that scattered throughout his brain during the daytime and he'd never bothered to share; you hands travel from his thighs to his ass, nails digging into his flesh, pulling him impossibly closer even when he's buried down your throat.
You're both sweating by the time he pulls you away, even if the work was done mostly by you. Ted grips the base of his cock harshly, trying not to come as he urges you to turn around— You lean forward, chest pressed to the back of the couch and spine arched towards him. He'll never get tired of this view, the expanse of your soft skin, the round of your ass — already bruising with the shape of his hand — and your pussy glistening at him, drenched from your previous orgasm.
"Look at you." Ted lines himself up, pushing just the tip inside. You're incredibly tight even after he opened you up with his fingers, both of you groaning at the intrusion. "Always taking my cock so well."
He pulls out then, tapping the head of his cock against your ass, pushing just an inch before he pulled out again. You whine, pushing your hips back while his cock is still notched to your entrance but Ted grips your hips, stopping you from impaling yourself on him.
"Ted, fuck— Please daddy."
"Beg."
You whine again, head thrown back, your hair spilling over your back. "Please fuck me. I need it. Need you."
Ted hummed, running the head of his cock ver your cunt, his precum mixing with your slick.
"Please daddy, give it to me." You go on when he doesn't relent, your voice pitching higher, needier. "Need your big cock inside me. Don't you wanna fuck me? Don't you wanna feel my tight pussy—"
Your sentence is cut halfway through when Ted plunges inside, knocking the air out of your lungs. His hands grip your hips tight enough to bruise, a moan of his own tumbling from his mouth.
"Goddamn it." Ted gives you a moment of respite before he starts using the leverage on your hips to pull you back before pushing you forward, you body pliant under his touch. "Tightest fucking pussy I've ever had. Drives me crazy, baby."
You can only moan, eyes glued to the window, watching your reflection and his, entranced by the way he makes you fuck him, his body still as you move against his cock.
"Love your cock. Love you." You tell him between thrusts, trying to breathe between moans. "Feel so full, so full of you daddy."
"Fuck— Say it again."
"I love you." You say, the sound of his hips snapping against yours almost drowning out the words. "I love you, Teddy, I do."
He growls at that, hand fisting your hair and pulling you backwards until your back is flush with his chest; the new position makes you clench around him, so tight Ted almost comes right there. His hands move to your front, grabbing at your tits, kneading them harshly as he plunges into you as deep as he can.
"I love you, baby." He groans into your ear. "Love you so much, my little troublemaker. Fuck— I'm not gonna last."
"Do it." You whisper, your hands coming to close over his, squeezing your own tits over his hands. "Come in me, Ted. Give me your babies, please daddy, wanna feel you—"
Ted knows it's irresponsible. He's got a teenager to care for, and impregnating his young girlfriend out of wedlock would look really bad with his voters, but the dreamy pitch of your voice as you beg for his cum pushes him over the edge, one last thrust before he's coming inside of you, teeth biting down onto your shoulder to drown out the keen threatening to fall out of his mouth. He hates coming first, always makes a point to give you two or three orgasms before his own, but it's been more and more common with his age.
"Lean forward." Ted asks, pulling out carefully and dropping to his knees. You obey instantly, body slumping forward, your hand coming up to grip his hair at the first lick at your cunt. He can see you clench around nothing from this angle, still stretched from his cock, his spend leaking out of you; Ted pushes it back in with his tongue, his taste and yours mixing together— he eats at you like a man starved, ignoring the pain on his knees as he sucks on your clit, his nose pressed against you. It doesn't take you long, screeching and pushing your cunt against his face until Ted is drowning in you, moaning around your clit, his hands on your thighs keeping you steady. He doesn't stop until he feels you shaking, your hand blinding tapping him in the ear when the stimulation becomes too much.
He's familiar with your aftercare routine, wrapping you around the blanket he got as a gift from the Santa Lupe sheriff; he doesn't think that's what the sheriff had in mind with the gift but it works for the both of you, the blanket soft and patterned in your favorite colors. He brings you water and snacks — Pringles and grapes, the latter being an insistence from him to get at least some vitamins in you —, sitting with you on his lap on the recliner and reading a chapter from your favorite western novel.
"Y'know," He tells you when it's obvious that you're not really paying attention to the story. "I don't think Gunther renovated his license to sell firearms this year."
You hum, confused and a little out of it. "So?"
"He could be fined, or even go to prison if anyone found out."
"Sounds like bad luck for him." You say, but there's a small smile tugging at your lips.
"Tell me about it. It would be a shame for him if someone was to call city hall about it. Anonymously, of course."
"Of course." You giggle, pressing a small kiss to his neck. "Would do a lot more damage rather than some spray paint."
"And it's legal, too. We're not allowed to say whoever made the complaint, so nobody would ever find out."
You snicker at that, sharing a conspiratory smile with him. "I love the way you brain works, Ted Garcia."
"And I love you, princess." Ted confesses against your hair, big hands sprawled over your thighs, the whole world forgotten outside of that small moment.
Maybe he wouldn't win the election. Maybe someone would find out about what you did, maybe Mike or Guy would talk and it would be the sort of scandal he couldn't come back from.
But you'd be happy, and that was all that mattered to him.
BRB *vigorously shakes spray paint can* I need to do some vandalizing in Eddington...😏
HOLY HOTNESS, BATMAN!!! This was so fucking delicious! UGH. My brain malfunctioned! 🤤 like... HULLOOO???!!!
"Maybe I wasn't clear enough." He says, his body set aflame by the way you let your jaw go slack in his hand, mouth open and ready for him. "Maybe I should give you something that'll silence you. Give you something real to choke on."
The way I need Mayor Ted mad at me is concerning.
Thank you so much for participating in the challenge!! Another Ted fic for the PPCU! 🙌🏻
Summary: It was supposed to be nothing more than a simple reconnaissance mission. Get in, get out, report back.
Things don't go according to plan.
A/N: Written for @sunshinehaze1 and her first challenge —the PPCU fic-less writing challenge. Thank you for organising Kat. I got the lovely Marcus Moreno and Kat gave me the trope of hurt and comfort (which as you can see from the tags, I took very literally).
Having picked up Marcus, I decided to resurrect reader with the nickname, Renegade, from a previous challenge with Marcus (Like Oil And Water).
You don't need to have read it to pick up this one.
I hope you enjoy!
Word count: 3k (near enough)
Graphics by @/saradika-graphics
Masterlist
It was supposed to be a simple mission. Just a straightforward retcon job. No need to interfere, no need to get hurt. Just watched and report back—nothing else.
But that didn’t stop the nagging, gnawing feeling that you had.
You tried to voice your concerns to Ms. Granada as she handed you both the assignment.
She looked at you across her large office desk, with those piercing dark eyes. Even her perfectly glossy symmetrical bob shimmered with outrage.“This is just retcon, Renegade,” she said brusquely, batting away your concerns as though she was swatting an annoying fly. “I trust you and Marcus will not let your relationship interfere with this mission?”
You looked to your left at Marcus. Marcus Moreno—leader of The Heroics, your boss, your team leader, the man you spent your night curled up against—shifted in the chair next to you.
“We are professional,” he said, as he defensively crossed his arms, squared his jaw, and stared across the desk at Ms. Granada, giving her the kind of look she was giving you. “When have we ever let our feelings come into it? We do the job expected of us.”
You looked at him—properly looked at him. In that moment, he was firm, solid, and real, and it filled you with a deep sense of pride. But not just pride; something else, something deeper. Something you were only just beginning to understand. The very beginnings of something raw and honest—something beginning to unfurl its petals in the face of loving warmth.
Ms. Granada chewed on her tongue for a moment, as though she wanted to respond, but her respect for Marcus was too high.
You could almost read the thoughts running through her head about you. Joining The Heroics as a brilliant strategist, you were stubborn and with a rebellious streak, borne of previous trust issues. Quite frankly, you had earned your moniker of Renegade with some of your past behavior. Your frequent clashes with Marcus’ discipline and by-the-textbook rule play had seen you butt heads on many early missions.
But one day, all of that changed. The to-ing and fro-ing. The back and forth. The fractious banter. It all came to a fateful head when you both came to the realisation that you complimented each other so well.
Opposites attract—that's what they say, and as it turns out, it was true. Those frustrations towards each other belied a simmering tension.
You were the ying to his yang. The north to his south. The sun to his moon.
Marcus, meanwhile, was learning to be more flexible in his approach to life, and you were enjoying every moment of showing him how—both professionally and personally.
And in return, you found his boy-scout sincerity unexpectedly intoxicating—sweet, steady, and impossible to resist.
“We are,” you replied, gritting your teeth.
“I truly believe, Marcus,” she said with a wave of her hand, to let you know that you were dismissed, “but you on the other hand—”
“Have never let us down,” interrupted Marcus, turning his head towards you.
You smiled at him, ignoring Ms. Granada's formidable presence. “I never will,” you assured him. “But, these plans do not make sense—”
You frowned at the holographic images that floated in front of you, flipping through them one by one. “And we think this place is empty?”
“Yes,” she affirmed.
You frowned, swiping the plans away, before standing up to take your leave. You might be a renegade, but your gut instinct was rarely wrong.
Heroics Intelligence had identified a Shadowspire Directive base on a remote Pacific island—potentially abandoned, but Ms. Granada had wanted absolute confirmation. Your orders were to report back on your findings.
It was your job to provide the comms and Marcus was the eyes on the ground—reporting his findings back to base.
“What a beautiful place,” you sighed as the twin jet surveillance craft discretely circled the tropical paradise, as you looked for a landing site. “Looks more like an exclusive tropical getaway than an enemy hideout. Look at that beach and the golden sea.”
You pointed out the scenic view below as the craft hovered. “I'd love to go on vacation somewhere like this.”
Marcus stepped up behind you, as he adjusted his tactical vest and rested his hands on your shoulders. His fingers caressed the skin at the nape of your neck and you shivered at his touch. “Then let's go somewhere.”
“Really?”
“Really,” he said, voice low enough that it was almost lost beneath the hum of the engines. “When this is over, we’ll pick a spot—no missions, no comms, no guns. Just sun, sand, and quiet.”
You leaned into his touch and his words. “I'd like that. A lot.”
The craft jolted as you began your descent. The coastline grew larger and the golden waves broke against cliffs that hid potential secrets. The illusion of paradise was replaced by the reminder of why you were here.
“You ready?” you asked Marcus as you spun your chair around to face him.
“I am,” he replied with a smile, as he adjusted his gloves.
“Be safe out there,” you said, looking up at him.
God, he looked good.
He smiled down at you before pressing his lips onto your hairline. “Always,” he said, his lips curling up into a soft smile, the one he reserved only for you.
With that, he stepped out of the craft and began the trek across the island. Your senses prickled uncomfortably as you watched him leave.
Hours passed. Marcus had located the Shadowspire Directive’s base, about a mile south of your current position. You monitored communications through a series of screens and a direct radio link. So far, your instincts had been wrong—the place was deserted. There were no viable threats present and you began to relax.
“Come in Moreno,” you said into your headset. “Report status, please Over.”
“All clear here. Over,” came the response over the radio.
“Affirmative. Return to base, please. Over,” you replied.
Silence.
“Moreno, repeat — return to base. Over.”
A quiet fear gripped you as it always did when your operatives went radio silent, even if only for a few seconds.
Finally, he responded. “I've found a secret access panel. Over.”
A prickle of fear tickled at the base of your neck.
“Do not engage. Over.”
A small, knowing chuckle filtered through your earpiece. “Come on, Ren,” he whispered quietly, almost teasing. “Aren't you the one always telling me off for playing it safe?”
His voice dropped lower, “Don't you yearn for more passion. Less rule book?”
“Moreno,” you admonished playfully. “Are you flirting with me on a mission? Isn't this against protocol?”
Another shiver passed over you—not one of fear, but of heat, sharp and sudden, at the raspy sound of his voice.
“Uptight much?" he replied, with a hint of mischief in his voice. “Alright Ren, I'm heading back now.”
Before you could reply that Ms. Granada would likely see you fired if you stepped a toe out of line, there was a loud explosion.
It reverberated through your earpiece, sending shockwaves through you.
Then—
Silence.
Deafening silence.
Panic and fear rose up in your chest. “Moreno! Moreno! Come in. Do you read me? Over.”
You tried in vain to reestablish the connection, fingers trembling as you switched frequencies on the panel, listening desperately for any sign of life.
“Moreno!” You could hear the signs of panic in your own voice. “Moreno! Come in. Dammit.”
Flipping into emergency mode, you sent out an SOS to The Heroics headquarters, before scanning for Marcus’ last known location. Grabbing your tac vest, medikit and weapon, you moved on shaky legs towards the door.
It's okay, you told yourself as you ran swiftly through the sparse forest. He's okay, you repeated. He's okay.
It became your matra as you ran. Tripping over logs and brambles, which bruised your skin and snagged your tactical suit, you moved through the undergrowth as quickly and quietly as you could.
Panting and out of breath, almost doubled over, you reached Marcus’ last known position at the perimeter of the fortress.
It was a large imposing building—you knew that from the schematics, but in real life it loomed large and imposing at the head of the cliffs. Tall turrets and round towers.
One of the turrets had been blown apart.
Black smoke billowed upwards.
That's where Marcus is.
Pressing forwards, you ran towards the building, tapping your wrist-control as you sprinted. One last push through the barrier of exhaustion, you thought about nothing but reaching Marcus.
Find Marcus alive.
You weaved through a labyrinth of corridors, onwards and upwards towards the remnants of the tower.
Finally, the stairs leveled out and a cool breeze hit your face. Where there should have been a wall, there was nothing–just an open view of a cloudless azure sky.
“Marcus! Marcus!” You yelled as loudly as you could. “Marcus!”
He had to be alive.
Panting heavily, you turned on your wrist scanner and began to search for a heat signature amidst the wreckage. Hoping against hope that you would find signs of vital life.
Your fingers fumbled with the controls—whether out of fear or desperation, you didn't know, until finally, the scanner clicked into life. You swept it through the smoking rubble that had once been the tower.
A beep. An audible beep.
It cut through the silence like a beacon of hope.
Sprinting through the broken doorway, you barely noticed the sparks raining down from the exposed wiring or the strong acrid smell. Your focus was Marcus.
And there he was, lying on the floor of the smoking wreckage, a single katana blade embedded deeply in his chest.
“Marcus!” you yelped, sinking down onto your knees next to him. Then quietly, more cautiously, “Marcus, can you hear me?”
“It was….a trap,” he wheezed, his voice feeble and weak. “Caught me by surprise.”
“Shhh,” you whispered, as you fumbled in the medikit. As you worked, you assessed him. He was losing blood at a rapid rate. His skin was pale and gray. His breathing was growing shallower with each passing minute.
“It's okay,” you reassured him, even though it felt like a lie. “It's all good. Stay with me. Stay awake. Help is on the way.”
Marcus tried to move, but the effort drew a sharp gasp from his throat. You pressed a hand lightly to his shoulder.
“Don’t,” you said firmly. “You’re going to make it worse. Just stay still.”
In a daze, you began to pack around the blade wound with gauze and bandages. Holding it firmly in place to staunch the blood loss.
He groaned loudly as you tied the bandages tightly around his chest, the pain spiking through his body. His bloodied hand twitched, reaching out for yours. Your own, now blood-stained hand, gripped him tightly, as you interlaced your fingers with his.
“Tell Mama and Missy—tell them that I love them.” His already fragile voice faltered as he tried to say the words.
“No, Marcus,” you whispered and shook your head, tears now dripping at the realization that he was preparing to say goodbye. “I won't tell them anything. You will tell them yourself. When you get back to headquarters.”
You hoped you sounded more confident than you felt. Hoping against hope that this was the truth, because right now, you were having a hard time convincing yourself that this would all be alright. That he would make it through this.
His grip on your hand faltered. He was fading. Losing consciousness. His eyes rolled back into his head.
“Stay with me, Marcus,” you whispered as you lightly stroked your fingers across his clammy forehead. Reassurance that somehow he would stay with you.
He opened his eyes, using every ounce of concerted effort to focus his brown eyes on you. One last look.
“And you, my love. It was—”
You choked back a sob at his endearment.
His words were interrupted by the whir of machinery floating in through the gaping hole in the wall.
Drones.
You looked up and recognised those drones. The Heroics medi-drones.
“It's okay, my darling,” you whispered as Marcus closed his eyes once more. “Help is here.”
The drones descended, their mechanical arms unfolding, as their scanners swept across his body. They beeped softly at each other.
“Subject identified. Vital signs—critical.”
“Stabilization protocol—initiated.”
You backed away to give them room to work, even though every fiber of your being cried out for you to stay by Marcus’ side.
You watched the medical ship take off in the distance as you made your way back to your own aircraft, wishing that you were there to sit with Marcus, but someone had to pilot the Heroics jet back to base—and as Ms. Granada liked to remind you, you were a professional with a job to do. And it was with a heavy heart that you punched the coordinates into the controls. As the engines rumbled beneath you and rose to a deafening roar, you felt helplessness. Unable to help and unable to wipe the images of Marcus from your mind.
LavaGirl had promised to keep you up to date with the situation, as you piloted in silence—deep in thought.
No news is good news, is what they said.
And every time that the comms sprang to life, you grabbed for it, only to be told that there was no change.
You were halfway to the medical wing before Ms. Granada intercepted you.
“Debrief first,” she said, her tone leaving no room for argument.
You hesitated, glancing down the corridor toward the hospital rooms. Hopefully, Marcus was somewhere behind those doors.
“Can it wait?” you asked impatiently. “Marcus—”
Her expression didn’t falter as she cut across you. “No. Not this time.”
With a quiet sigh, you followed her back toward the briefing room, every step taking you further from where you needed to be.
The debrief went on longer than you expected, and far longer than you wanted it to. Your answers were clipped and stilted—you had no interest in being there, sitting across from Ms. Granada.
At last, she leaned back in the chair, studying you for longer than usual. Then with a sigh, she said, “That'll be all.”
When you looked up, her expression had softened into something close to compassion.
You didn't wait to be dismissed twice.
As the door hissed closed behind you, with only one destination in mind, you began to quickly retrace your steps toward the hospital wing.
You paused outside the glass doors, to catch your breath and regain your composure. Your hand hovered over the sensor panel.
As the doors slid open, the room was quiet and sterile. The bed was empty—devoid of covers. Devoid of life.
Your stomach sank like a stone.
No. Not Marcus.
You felt your legs tremble and weaken, threatening to give out underneath you.
Please. Not Marcus.
The walls of the room seemed to close in around you, sucking the air out of your lungs. They burned as you gulped for air.
The darkness bloomed from all sides, stealing your vision.
You choked back a dry sob. Chest heaving with pain.
Not. Marcus.
“Ren!”
A familiar voice reached out to you through the panic.
“Ren. Are you okay?”
Your breathing slowed.
Marcus?
“Marcus?” you gasped, trying to recover from the shock. “My Marcus?”
Marcus’s hand found yours, warm and comforting. The world snapped back into place — color bleeding into the edges of the dark, the sound of your own heartbeat no longer deafening in your ears.
You opened your eyes to look at him. He was covered in cuts and deep purplish-blue contusions. His life-threatening wounds were hidden under swathes of bandages and a robe. He was sitting in a wheelchair, looking frail. But he was here.
He was here. Really here.
Relief washed over you.
“Yeah,” he said softly, his thumb rubbing soothing the back of your hand. “Your Marcus.”
You let out a shaky laugh. “I thought— I thought you were… gone.” The final word came out as a whisper.
You bent down and wrapped your arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace. Holding onto him as though to tether him and prevent him from ever leaving you again.
“I had to go for a scan,” he said softly as you loosened your grip, just enough to look at him. “But I’m here now.”
“Yes… yes, you are,” you sighed, taking in every detail of his face — every cut, every contusion, every reminder of what he’d been through.
You leaned in again, slower this time, as if memorizing him all over again.
“I don't know how to thank you,” he murmured into your hair. His voice was thick, laden with emotion. “Your strength. Your words. Your love. They kept me going when I thought I wasn't going to make it.”
You tilted your head, brushing your lips against his beard, working your way delicately and gently towards his lips.
Marcus groaned into the kiss.
“You liked that?” you asked, pulling back momentarily.
“Pain,” he admitted with a hint of embarrassment. “I hurt literally everywhere.”
You arched an eyebrow. “Everywhere?”
“Pretty much,” he said, smiling through the wince.
You leaned in just enough for your breath to brush his ear. “Guess I’ll have to check for myself.”
He laughed softly, then groaned again. “That sounds medically necessary.”
“Completely,” you said, tracing a playful line along his collarbone. “Carers orders. And when you're well enough, I prescribe a vacation. Sun, sea, sand, surf, and you.”
(Firstly, my sincerest apologies for taking so long to read this. I took an unintentional break from Tumblr, and I'm playing catch-up.)
This was so, so, so lovely!!! Beautifully written and so immersive. The fear and angst Ren felt were so palpable. You could feel Ren's relief when Marcus was ok. 🥹 Ugh, and I just loved the switch to the flirty banter at the end. Wonderful, wonderful, wonderful!!! ❤️
Thank you so much for participating in the challenge. I'm thrilled to have another Marcus Moreno fic available in the PPCU! 🫶🏻
Pairing: Agent Jack “Whiskey” Daniels x Ice Nymph f!reader
Summary: Jack encounters you in the frozen forest after he lost contact with the Statesman. Crossing into your territory has already sealed his fate, but not before you have your way with him.
Warnings: 18+, MDNI. mild dubcon, face sitting, unprotected PiV, reader has hair long enough to cover shoulders, it doesn't end well for Jack. sorry. Please let me know if I've missed anything!
a/n: this was written for @almostempty and @gothcsz incredible EAT! Challenge. I received the beautiful moodboard above and this prompt. I hope I did it justice. This is my first time dabbling in fantasy/mythical fic. I would LOVE to know what you think! Thank you so much to my lovelies @ak-vintage and @peepawispunk for the beta reads! 😘
word count: 2,288
ao3 | ml
Destined to live out your days to protect this land, you've encountered many men who have met their fate in these woods in the years you've inhabited them —fools who dare to cross into your territory. They've ignored the warnings of a mythical creature who can control ice and snow, leaving this area in a perpetual state of bitter cold. Always underestimating you, each one thinking they're smarter than the last and can outwit you. They make their way in but never find a way out. Doomed to meet the same end as those who came before them.
It's peaceful out here in the quiet, bitter cold. You alone rule this land and control its environment. Keep it inhospitable to unwanted threats, predators of all forms, especially humans. It's when these cocky men disrupt your peace and think they can overpower you that you rightfully take your vengeance on them. You do what you have to do to protect yourself and your land.
It would be merciful to kill them quickly. But what's the fun in that? You have desires. Desires which they can meet, if only for a moment. You'll take from them the pleasures which you seek before you introduce them to their inevitable fate, regretting ever crossing your path.
A part of you wished you didn't enjoy it as much as you do, but this was the price you had to pay for survival. It's your destiny, your legacy. And no man will ever get in the way of that.
A snap of a twig interrupts the calm of the fading day, drawing your attention to the treeline.
A broad figure appears. A man dressed in a navy snowsuit, a rich contrast to the stark white snow that blankets the forest. His leather shoulder holsters hold two pistols strapped over his broad frame, and a cowboy hat atop his head. His Romanesque nose flanked by rosy frostbitten cheeks, and a thick mustache sits atop plush lips.
You watch intently as he trudges through the feet of heavy snow, and clouds of breath swirl in the air with each exhale. He's the most handsome being that has entered your territory in a long time. You can't wait to have fun with him.
Jack lost track of Eggsy & Galahad during the commotion of the shootout near the abandoned cabin. With heavy legs, he treks through the thick snow between the colossal spruce trees. The heavy snow was weighing down their sagging branches. He's on his own, and the hope of finding a clear path out of the woods diminishes by the second. Every turn he takes looks the same as the last.
He stops, frozen, when he sees you just past the treeline. His blood runs cold, not expecting to see anyone this deep into the forest—the wind howls and whistles around him, birdsong since gone quiet.
His shock is palpable; the faint smell of sweat wafts in your direction—a salty musk of fear and arousal, a delectable combination. You watch him closely as you await his next move. The furrow of his brow signals an internal debate. Unsure if he should approach you or turn around.
"You look lost there, cowboy."
He tips the front of his hat and begins to speak, apprehensive, yet polite. "Ma'am, I don't mean any trouble." His voice was laced with a syrupy southern drawl. He takes a cautious step forward with his hands raised, palms facing you, and continues. "Name's Jack. Agent Whiskey, with The Statesman."
He pauses in step and speech when you tsk in disinterest, as if this information means anything to you. "I'm just trying to find my way and get back to my team."
You scoff at his naivety. "No one makes it out of these woods."
His eyes flit from side to side, sizing up the situation, trying to devise an escape plan. He was warned about you during the mission's briefing. Ginger had told of how men would vanish after getting lost in these forests. Never to be heard from again.
Comms went down about an hour ago. His last check-in with Ginger was over an hour ago. This deep in the woods, the GPS signal on his tracker was all but a faint blip. His only hope of survival relies on The Statesmen sending out a rescue team to find him based on the last known coordinates of Eggsy and Gallahad, assuming they were able to make it out themselves. For now, he'll have to lean on his years of operative training to find a way out of this situation. "I've heard stories about you."
"Only good things, I hope." A sneer across your face.
He huffs a laugh. "I wish I could say that were true."
"Aw, that's a shame. My reputation precedes me."
You stand before him in a thin layer of fabric. Unfazed by the below-freezing temperatures of the Swiss Alps. Thick locks cascade down your shoulders over your white lace dress. The icy wind whips your skirt up with a passing gust, showing off your shapely legs.
You huff a laugh to yourself as you watch his eyes sweep over your body. Amused at his ogling. This is how it always begins. It never takes long for your charm and beauty to disarm them. Your beauty becomes their weakness. You draw them in like a moth to a flame, unable to turn away from your allure. It's how you like them best, on their knees. Men are always so easy to tame. It would be cute if it weren't so pathetic.
He had been a Statesman long enough; he could handle a mythical creature. He steels himself, the corner of his lip turns up in a smirk as he strides closer to you. You delight in his cockiness. Little does he know, you've taken down worse men. This would be a cake walk.
Before he can get any closer, he's stopped in his tracks by thick poles of ice that shoot up through the snow, encircling him. He maneuvers his electric lasso from his belt loop, and he whips it around his back. It freezes immediately and shatters in midair before he can whip it through the ice poles.
His second escape attempt proves just as fruitless. Removing the pistols from his shoulder holster, he begins to fire. The bullets freeze and ricochet against the ice poles. You watch with amusement as he flails inside the ice enclosure, dodging his own bullets.
You scoff. "Stop fighting it."
Whiskey grows tired and finally relents. He takes a sharp inhale, and the cold frigid air burns his throat. Rendered defenseless, he drops to his knees in submission. If he submits, maybe you will show him mercy, and he can make it out alive. His death will come quickly if he keeps trying to fight you, unable to maintain his strength in these frigid temperatures.
Satisfied that you have him under your control, you step toward him. With your arms extended in front, you aim a strong gust of wind toward the enclosure, causing the bars of ice to shatter around him.
Standing directly above him, you slide your icy finger along his sharp jawline. "You men are all the same. Never listen." Annoyance coats your voice, "Always think you're smart enough to outwit me. Strong enough to overtake me."
Moving further down his neck, your finger leaves a trail of gooseflesh in its wake. You chuckle when he shivers under your touch. "But it always ends the same."
The snow has melted beneath him, and moisture seeps through his snowsuit fabric. He winces in pain as it freezes on the navy threads, and the rocks below cut into his knees.
With the sun disappearing behind the trees, the temperature falls fast as the moon climbs into the sky. His teeth begin to chatter; the temperature-rated snowsuit no longer a match for the frigid temperature in your presence, so you encourage him to undress. "Skin to skin will help regulate your body temperature."
He's desperate for warmth and a chance at being closer to you. He slowly unzips his suit, pulling it down over his shoulders, shimmying past his hips. Before he can finish, you push him down onto his back. Flakes plume around his frame as he falls into the snow.
You hover over him, your fingers dancing along the bottom hem of his thermal shirt. Forcefully, you rip it apart, baring his solid chest to you. His chest is smooth except for a trail of coarse hair that teases right above the waistband of his boxers, which you yank down to free his penis.
You fist the hem of your skirt into your hands, straddling over his body. The warmth of your center hovers over his waist. His eyes go wide as you pull the dress down your shoulders, and the weight of your breasts tumbles out of the fabric.
You lean forward, splaying your body across his. He winces when your pebbled nipples brush against his bare chest. You're freezing, but somehow he feels his body begin to warm.
Fear and arousal compete for dominance. His cock, now painfully erect, presses against your thigh. The precum that leaks from his tip smears against your inner thigh. "Seems like you're enjoying this, cowboy."
Through muffled breath, Jack relents, "It's hard not to with a gorgeous creature such as yourself."
"I'll say. It is definitely hard." You snicker, pleased at the effect you have on him.
Unmoved by his charm, you forge ahead, seeking your pleasure. You want to get the most out of your time with him. Once he cums inside you, your fun will be over, but not before you have a chance to ride his exquisite nose.
You shift yourself up his slender frame. A temporary stretch along your inner thighs as they bracket his broad chest and shoulders.
His mustache brushes against your pussy as you maneuver above him. You have him right where you want him, his body pliant for you. His submission quickly turns into active participation. The desire to taste your sweet nectar overwhelms him. You feel his gloved palms flatten against your ass, his fingers dimple the soft flesh, and he pulls your body down until your lips meet his.
You begin a steady rhythm, grinding your clit on his nose while his tongue laps up your arousal. Long flat strokes followed by short kitten licks. Thrusting the tip of his tongue in and out of your pussy.
You writhe on top of him, dangerously close to your peak. His fingers grip you tighter, encouraging you to grind harder. The drive to get you off supercedes his fate. If he's going to die today, he may as well die happy.
When his tongue begins to move faster, your hands bolt down to his hair. He groans into your pussy when your fingers grip tightly on his dark locks and tug. It vibrates through your core, and you rock your hips faster. His tongue meets your increased pace as your orgasm draws closer until it finally takes over your whole body. His name roars through you in a wail, echoing through the still forest.
You lazily slide down his solid chest, trying to catch your breath. His gaze never leaves yours. The trail of his saliva and your arousal you left in your wake quickly freezes over.
When you reach his cock, the warmth of your pussy envelops his length. You begin to tease languorous strokes up and down his shaft, trying to extend your pleasure as long as possible. Both of you moan in unison each time the tip of his cock brushes against your clit. You watch as the lines of his face shift in response to your movement on top of him. Your arousal still coats his mustache.
You shift your body and grip his dick, hovering over the tip. He hisses as you slowly slide down his length, inch by inch, until you're fully seated. With his hands on your hips, you begin a steady pace as you ride him. You lean forward, your breasts in his face, and he pulls a nipple between his lips, suckling—the warmth of his tongue lathes over your pebbled skin.
As you continue to move above him, his heart rate increases, and his blood vessels constrict. He feels warmth roil low in his belly. He's trying to hold back. Doesn't want to come too soon. Doesn't want this to end. When will he ever have the chance to fuck a mythical creature like you again?
You feel your orgasm build, rising further to the surface with each pass of his cock through your walls. Your pussy clenches around his length as the tip of his cock kisses that sweet spot inside you. He feels you getting closer and grips your hips tighter, and he shifts below you. With his feet flat on the forest floor, he begins to thrust into you at a relentless pace before he spills inside you and you flutter around him.
Snow begins to fall. Large fluffy flakes that pile up around you as you both come down from your high. You watch as ice crackles over the length of his body, his rapid breath slowing as it trails up his thighs, over his slim waist, and broad chest. His breath becomes labored as it skates up his neck, lips frostbitten, and his fucked out face frozen in time. Eyes wide, lips parted in an "o" shape, and beads of sweat frozen in tiny ice pellets along his temples.
It's a shame he had to be so cocky; you think you would've liked to keep this one.
Thank you so much for reading! I'd love to know what you think. Reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated! 🫶🏻
npt for folks who engaged in my WIP Wednesday post for this fic: @baronessvonglitter @inept-the-magnificent @kedsandtubesocks @half-moon16 @kotourasan123 @emeliepastelskiesxox @crumbs-from-the-algonquin (please let me know if you'd like to be removed.)
(sry i'm many months behind pls feel free to fire me or send me to an icy grave etc etc etc, but i'm glad i waited til i could give this my full attention bc hellll yeah)
i love the imagery in this so muchhhhhh and need to find this man in the forest and fuck him to frost immediately please and thank youuuuuuuu
A man dressed in a navy snowsuit, a rich contrast to the stark white snow that blankets the forest. His leather shoulder holsters hold two pistols strapped over his broad frame, and a cowboy hat atop his head. His Romanesque nose flanked by rosy frostbitten cheeks, and a thick mustache sits atop plush lips.
!!! NEED THAT MAN
Before he can get any closer, he's stopped in his tracks by thick poles of ice that shoot up through the snow, encircling him. He maneuvers his electric lasso from his belt loop, and he whips it around his back. It freezes immediately and shatters in midair before he can whip it through the ice poles.
eeeeeeek it's so cinematic i can see it heheheh
Removing the pistols from his shoulder holster, he begins to fire. The bullets freeze and ricochet against the ice poles. You watch with amusement as he flails inside the ice enclosure, dodging his own bullets.
likeeeee whoops nice tryyy
"Skin to skin will help regulate your body temperature."
OOP
He's desperate for warmth and a chance at being closer to you.
yeah he issss
You hover over him, your fingers dancing along the bottom hem of his thermal shirt. Forcefully, you rip it apart, baring his solid chest to you.
YEAHHH GET IT
You want to get the most out of your time with him. Once he cums inside you, your fun will be over, but not before you have a chance to ride his exquisite nose.
mhmmm yep yup i'm listening
When you reach his cock, the warmth of your pussy envelops his length. You begin to tease languorous strokes up and down his shaft, trying to extend your pleasure as long as possible. Both of you moan in unison each time the tip of his cock brushes against your clit. You watch as the lines of his face shift in response to your movement on top of him. Your arousal still coats his mustache.
ugh PLEASE YEAH PERFECTTTTT
Snow begins to fall. Large fluffy flakes that pile up around you as you both come down from your high. You watch as ice crackles over the length of his body, his rapid breath slowing as it trails up his thighs, over his slim waist, and broad chest.
i too would like to keep that ice sculpture for personal reasons !!!
thank you so much for playinggggg i love this sm <333
eeeep! Wednesday!!!! If they gave out awards for fic reblog comments, you'd win them all!!! 😆 this had me giggggling!
I'm so happy you enjoyed it! 🥹 This was such a beautifully curated challenge that you and Kat created. The prompts and moodboards were just delicious! thank you for pulling it together.
Pairing: Professor Marcus Pike x plus sized f!reader
Summary: You return to school to complete your degree in pursuit of a career change. You did not expect to fall for your Art History professor.
Warnings: 18+, MDNI. reader is in her late 30s/early 40s, wears dresses and skirts, switching POV, public sex (fingering), Marcus is still rocking his revenge beard (FU Lisbon!), no use of Y/N
a/n: We're going to pretend Gustav Klimt's The Kiss is at a museum near you. And security? What security? This was written for @baronessvonglitter's Noun-iversary Challenge. My apologies for posting late. The prompts I received were a museum, a princess crown, and the lyric "I think you're too divine for my human mind" from Soulmate by Mac Miller. Big time thanks to my beloved @peepawispunk for the beta read! 😘
word count: 4,597
ao3 | ml
You've been stuck in a stuffy office job for nearly twenty years, climbing from an entry-level role to your current position as Marketing Manager. However, you're tired of the corporate culture and want to pursue something more fulfilling. Something you can be proud of, rather than just shilling for capitalism and enriching the C-suite of your company while you and your coworkers do all the work.
After your divorce, you decided to use some of the money from your settlement to invest in yourself by returning to school. You've enrolled at the local community college because you need to earn more credits before transferring to the university and earning your Bachelor's degree.
That's how you find yourself wandering the halls, trying to find the room where your Art History class is held. You're already running late. The last meeting of the day ran over at work, and you hit every single red light on your way to school. You stop another student and ask for directions, and they point you toward the right hallway.
As you approach the room, you hear the professor speaking to the class through the closed door. You slowly turn the handle, but the door emits a painful squeal as you push it open. A cranky old hinge in desperate need of some WD-40 thwarted your feeble attempt to avoid disrupting the class.
When you cross the threshold, you feel twenty pairs of eyes on you. But yours are fixed on the broad-shouldered man behind the lectern at the front of the room. With an apologetic wince, you mouth a meek "sorry."
He pauses at your interruption, "You haven't missed much, but I'd ask you to prioritize being on time in the future."
The wave of embarrassment sweeps through you as you hear the low murmur of whispers and snickers from your classmates circulating around the room. You spot the nearest available seat at a table in the front row. You'd do a proper facepalm if the slap against your skin didn't cause another disturbance. This is going to be a long semester.
"As I was saying," the professor resumes. You feel the heat of his gaze as he watches you settle in, arranging your textbook and laptop in front of you. "I'm Professor Marcus Pike. I'm a retired FBI Special Agent. For the last decade, I worked in Art Crimes, and I was looking for a change of pace. I got tired of chasing white-collar criminals, so now you're stuck with me." A low rumble of chuckles spreads throughout the room.
The next couple of hours pass quickly. Professor Pike reviews the course syllabus, outlines his expectations for the class, and discusses the coursework. He follows his introduction with a lecture on the first two chapters of the textbook. You listen closely, jotting down detailed notes. You're eager to learn, even if this course is just an elective. It's important to you for your overall GPA.
Alright, that's it for tonight," his rich voice booms across the room. "I'll stay around for a bit in case anyone has questions. Otherwise, I'll see you next week.
You pack up your belongings, waiting patiently for your turn to speak with Professor Pike, who is currently engaged in a conversation with another student. He's leaning against his desk, arms crossed over his chest, legs stretched out in front with his ankles crossed. His eyes are fixed on the young man, fully engaged in the discussion. You notice the polite head nods and smiles exchanged between them, but you're unable to hear what they're talking about.
Not that it matters, though. You're too focused on him and his handsome face, as well as his beautiful body. The slope of his nose accents the sharpness of his profile and the scruff covering his chiseled jawline. Even the curve of his spine is hot, somehow. It makes your lower back tense up, and you wonder if he'll regret standing in this position for too long.
He's wearing grey slacks, and in this stance, you can see a faint outline of a bulge. You notice the matching blazer draped over the back of his desk chair. On top, he's wearing a crisp white button-up shirt with a red tie.
He's dressed very formally to teach a night class. You guess he hasn't gotten used to civilian clothing after working in the FBI for so long., or maybe he's one of those guys who likes to "dress to impress" and wears suits all the time. You hope it's the former. Your experience with the latter hasn't been great. Men who are so obsessed with themselves and their appearance that they wouldn't be able to find a clit with a flashing neon sign, with arrows pointing at it. Navigating dating apps has been tough since your divorce, having to filter out men like that.
When the other student leaves, you gather your things and head toward him. He's turning to step behind his desk when you catch his attention. "Professor!" Your footsteps quicken as you try to reach him before another student intercepts. You're eager to get home and take your bra off after a long day of work and the last two hours of class. "Excuse me. I--"
He lifts his head from gathering his papers and books scattered across the desk, slipping them into his messenger bag. A soft expression appears as he notices you. "Yes?"
"Hi, um…" you stumble out. "I just wanted to apologize for being late to class tonight. It won't happen again."
"I appreciate the apology." He smiles at you and continues packing his bag.
You nod, grateful he doesn't seem like the kind of professor who punishes on the first offense. "I'm really looking forward to your course." you confess.
"That's good to hear. I hope it meets your expectations."
It was the last night you showed up late for class; you made it a point to arrive 10 minutes early. You leave work early on Wednesdays, with your boss fully aware and supportive of you declining meetings that start after five p.m. Professor Pike took notice. He appreciated your efforts to arrive at class before it started. He had a feeling your tardiness the first night was just a fluke.
He also began to take notice of your attire. You'd come in wearing a flowy dress cinched right below your breasts, highlighting your beautiful curves. Or you wore a tight pencil skirt that hugged your hips and thighs, tapering just above your knees, paired with a button-up blouse.
It killed him. Every. Fucking. Time. Thankfully, because you arrived early, he had time to gather himself before the rest of his students showed up. He needed that time to recover after he was taken aback when you entered his room, with your stunning figure.
You never moved from the front of the classroom. It seemed like, with your attire and your legs stretched out in front of you under the table, you were doing it on purpose. A real test of his resolve every Wednesday night.
He could tell you were older, at least a decade and a half older than the average age of his other students. Your papers were always submitted on time, sometimes even a day or two early. You were fully engaged in every class. He could tell you had read the chapters beforehand, just as he requested in the syllabus. From your seat, he could hear the faint tapping of your laptop as you took detailed notes during his lecture. Your cellphone was nowhere in sight. He noticed you only retrieved it from your purse at the end of class.
It was exhausting how many times he had to remind the other students to put their phones away. Every time he did, his eyes met yours, and you exchanged knowing glances as if to say, "kids these days, amiright?"
He somehow managed to get through the semester without embarrassing himself by doing anything inappropriate. It wouldn't look good if he made a move on a current student, regardless of how age-appropriate they are, especially since he wants to be invited back next semester.
Once he submitted the final grades, he felt now was as good an opportunity as any to reach out.
I hope you are doing well! I wanted to let you know that you earned an A in my class. I thought you'd be interested to hear this before the grades are officially posted.
It was a pleasure having you in class, and I appreciate your participation and engagement with the coursework and lectures.
I wish you much success in your ongoing pursuit of your degree. Please reach out if you're interested in pursuing a career in the arts. You have a talent, and I believe you could be a valuable asset to the community. I can connect you with some people in my network.
Regards,
Professor Marcus Pike
-
Your phone buzzed while you were at your desk, alerting you to a new email. You look down at your phone and are surprised to see the name on the notification. Your heart races. God, even just seeing his name makes you feel weak. It was from Professor Pike, but it was sent from his personal email address. Since he was an adjunct professor, maybe he wasn't used to using the school email.
You click on the notification, eager to read it. Your smile widens as you read his praise. You're excited to learn you earned an 'A' in the course because you worked your ass off. Juggling a full-time job and part-time course load is no easy feat.
You haven't decided on your major yet, so you're grateful for his offer to connect you with people in his network. Meeting with others in the field of study would be invaluable to help you narrow down your decision. You draft your response.
Thank you for reaching out. I appreciate you sharing my final grade for your class. It was one of my favorite classes I took last semester.
Thank you for offering to connect me with your network. I haven't decided on my major yet, and meeting with others in the field would be helpful as I determine my next steps.
I have to ask: Is it appropriate for a professor to contact a student through their personal email? 😉
Cheers.
-
You hedged your bets on whether your question (and the emoji) was appropriate. It might have crossed a line, but you chose to take the risk. What did you have to lose? He's already submitted your grades for the semester, and the idea of spending an evening swiping on dating apps felt torturous.
You earned every bit of that A. I saw how hard you worked. I'm glad you're willing to take me up on the offer to connect you with some of my colleagues. I think you'll enjoy talking to them.
I need to respond: I think it would be appropriate since you're a former student. 😉
Regards,
Marcus
-
After exchanging emails all week, the flirting becomes more obvious with each message. The mutual attraction is clear. Now that the boundaries of the student-teacher relationship no longer hold him back, he finally asks you out. He invites you to his favorite art museum, of which he's a member. There's a new exhibit he'd like to show you.
You've agreed to meet Marcus on the steps in front of the museum. It's a sunny day, and you've picked your favorite sundress, which hits mid-thigh. You wanted to keep your look casual for your date, so you slipped on your trusty white Chuck Taylors. You feel comfortable and confident.
Marcus spots you from the bottom step. A vision in your sundress, he's glad he's wearing sunglasses to hide his gawking eyes. The dress fits you perfectly—an empire waist, thin straps, and a flowing skirt that shows off your shapely legs. You look effortlessly sexy and adorable in your white sneakers.
He waves when he sees you survey the crowds around the entrance, looking for him. He's on time, but you arrived early, full of nerves. This is the most potential a first date has had in a long time; you want it to go well. You smile when you finally spot him, and your nerves begin to settle now that he's there.
He climbs the stairs two at a time, eager to reach you. His eyes catch the briefest glimpse of your thighs when a gentle breeze lifts the hem of your dress. He can't wait to get his hands and mouth on the soft skin there. He can't dwell on that thought for too long; he doesn't want to hide a raging boner in public.
You drink him in as he ascends the stairs. He's dressed in dark jeans and a light blue button-up shirt that complements his golden skin tone. The sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, revealing his toned forearms. He's so gorgeous, in a casually disarming way.
He greets you with a gentle kiss on the cheek as he lightly places his hand on your waist. You breathe out a sigh inwardly at the loss of warmth when he pulls away. "It's good to see you. Should we head inside?"
You nod and follow the direction of his arm, which guides you to the large doors. You feel the faint heat of his palm through the fabric of your dress as it rests over the small of your back. He reaches out when he's a few steps from the door, the veins in his hand bulge as he grips the handle, and he opens it for you.
"Thank you." You smile softly at him as you pass. He returns your smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
Marcus buys tickets for the current exhibition and leaves a twenty-dollar bill in the donation box. He has previously mentioned that he has visited this museum often and is eager to show you around.
You both decide to start at the exhibit on the British Monarchy. Neither of you is interested in the Royal Family, so you breeze through the exhibit on your way to the next gallery, only taking a quick glance at the sparkling princess crown resting atop crushed velvet inside a glass case.
You speak softly as you walk through the different galleries. Each is decorated with a collection of portraits, landscapes, artifacts, and sculptures that represent the era or theme. He notices how you take the time to read the plaques of each piece of art, excited to be with someone who shares his passion for art.
Marcus can't help but find ways to touch you. You're absolutely irresistible in that dress. He brushes his hand along your lower back as he walks behind you to stand next to you. He rests his hand low on your hip to squeeze past you when he moves to look at another painting. His pinkie finger brushes yours before he takes your hand in his as you walk together. You smile at him as his large hand wraps tightly around yours.
When you reach the gallery featuring 20th-century Central European artists, the large painting that serves as the room's main focus comes into view. Your neck cranes and mouth drops open as you step closer, taking in the rich colors, shapes, and textures that cover the canvas.
Marcus comes up behind you, "Are you familiar with this one?" His broad chest is so close to your back that you can feel it warm your skin.
"Yes," you nod excitedly, "It's one of my favorite paintings."
"Mine, too," he hums. "Klimt painted this in the early 1900s. It's the last painting of his Gold Period. The post-Victorian society saw it as pornographic."
You scoff. "But they're fully clothed?"
"Yes, they are," Marcus smiles at your disbelief. "Love, intimacy, and sexuality were common themes found in Klimt's works. Depicting a man and woman together in art was very rare back then. So this couple intertwined in a sensual embrace was considered scandalous by many critics."
Marcus explains, "He left the identities of the couple in The Kiss ambiguous. Some historians believe it depicts the moment when Orpheus caresses Eurydice for the last time before losing her forever." He rests his hands on your hips and continues. "Another theory is that it is Klimt himself with his long-time companion, Emilie Flöge."
You hum as you lean back into his embrace. "Orpheus and Eurydice is so bittersweet. As a fan of happy endings, I'd like to think it's Klimt and Emilie."
"I'm a hopeless romantic as well," Marcus reveals. He squeezes your hips gently and presses his lips against the exposed skin where your neck and shoulder meet. The whiskers of his beard tickle as he drags his tongue along the column of your neck.
He slides his palm over your belly. "Professor Pike," your breath hitches, "what are you doing?"
Your heart is racing, pounding in your chest. "Doing what you want me to do. Am I wrong?"
You shake your head, realizing that you and the couple in the painting are in similar embraces, a reflection of the artwork itself. The realization makes your head spin.
"Use your words," he growls lowly. "I know you know enough of them. I've read your papers."
"No, you're not wrong."
"So, what are we going to do about it?" Marcus teases. "Hmm?"
"Touch me."
"But I am touching you, dear."
You whimper. His thick fingers dig into your soft flesh, wrinkling your dress in his grasp. "Please, professor."
His growl is louder this time. It's like you've unleashed something feral within him. He doesn't realize how little he cares about being called "Professor." But when it's uttered from your lips? Oh, does he fucking care. The words travel straight from your lips to his dick. It twitches at the thought of you calling him "Professor" in his bed, while his tongue is deep inside your cunt.
He pulls you into a secluded hallway. Once there, you scan the area to ensure you're still alone. His left palm presses flat against the wall behind you—his face mere inches from yours.
The soft din of the museum fades in the background, drowned out by your racing heart and his shaky breaths. After what seems like forever, he finally leans in to press his plush lips against yours.
His kiss completely consumes you. It's better than anything your imagination could have conjured up. Magical. Fireworks. Butterflies. Lightning bolts. You name it, you feel it. From the top of your head to the tips of your toes, it felt like nothing you've ever experienced before.
His lips begin to trail down the nape of your neck. "I've wanted to do this since the first night you walked into my classroom." He pants out in between kisses as he moves over your collarbone.
Your hands cradle the back of his head, "Me too."
"When you came in late," he continues, "in that tight black skirt and button-up blouse?" He shakes his head at the memory. "Fuck."
You can't believe he remembered an outfit you wore months ago. You barely remember what you wore yesterday. "I had to come straight from work." You purr as his lips trail along your jaw, leaving soft nibbles with each pass.
He groans, "Is that why you were late?" He feels you nod. "I wanted to take you over my desk right then and there."
His words, huffed out through hot breaths, brush along the sensitive skin behind your ear, sending shivers down your spine.
It took everything in me to stay focused on my lecture," he continues between kisses. "I looked forward to every Wednesday night. I couldn't wait to see what skirt or dress you'd be wearing. I had a perfect view of your sexy legs underneath the table. Which kept me behind the lectern most of the class because you had me so turned on."
You laugh off his confession. "You can't be serious, Marcus?"
He smacks a wet kiss on your lips, "Baby, I wouldn't joke about something like that. You're a fucking knockout!" He grips your hips to pull you closer, "Do you feel this? This is what you do to me." His hips rut into yours, and you feel his erection twitch below his jeans.
You feel your body warm, and arousal floods the gusset of your panties. Between his intimate history lesson of The Kiss and feeling the evidence of your effect on him, you've never been more turned on.
His fingertips tease along the hem of your dress. He tugs gently at the fabric and twirls it between his fingers. "I really like this one on you." He looks up at you with a wide grin.
"Thank you." You lower your head to your chest, not used to receiving so many compliments.
He clicks his tongue and curls his index finger under your chin to lift your eyes back to his. "Are we being shy now?"
He slides his thumb over your bottom lip. Your lips curl around it, pulling it into your mouth as you shake your head. "Good," Marcus replies.
Your tongue swirls around his digit, tasting the saltiness of his skin. Eyes half-closed as they hold his gaze, and you draw it in further until your lips reach the last knuckle.
He lifts his other hand from the wall. His warm palm rests on your shoulder as his fingers slide under the thin strap of your sundress before it moves over the side of your breast. He holds it there, feeling the weight of it in his hand. His thumb stretches across the fabric to flick over your nipple, bringing the sensitive bud to a stiff peak, causing a moan to slip past your lips.
He smiles, satisfied with your response. His hand travels down the side of your torso over your ample hips. His eyes flick up to yours, "You ok?"
You nod, his thumb still in your mouth.
"Need your words, baby."
"Yes." You mumble, "I'm good."
He glances down the hall to check if you're still alone before slipping his hand under the hem of your dress. You watch the movement of his hand beneath the flowy fabric. The only thing visible is the sinewy landscape of corded muscle and veins along his forearm. You whimper at the warmth of his hand as it smooths over the silken skin of your upper thigh, excruciatingly close to where you need him most.
His finger traces the edge of your panties from your hip bone down to your core. He slides it underneath the thin fabric, brushing it along your pussy lips before the thick digit breaches your slick seam. Your walls clench around him, pulling him further into your soaked cunt.
"Did you know you could get this wet just by looking at a work of art?" he teases with a questioning gaze.
He moves your panties to the side to uncover your pussy fully. You let out a strangled moan when he inserts a second finger. "It's…" trying so hard to form a coherent thought with his thick fingers inside you. "S'not just the painting."
"Then what is it?" His fingers press deeper, brushing against that spongy spot you can't reach without the assistance of a toy. "Hmmm?"
"It's because of you, Professor."
He chuckles lowly, "Is that right? All I have to do is talk about a classic painting, and she just drips for me?"
You nod. His thumb rubs over the swollen nub of your clit. Your fingers dig into his shoulders at the sting of pleasure. You're sure to leave marks with how tightly you squeeze into his flesh.
His pace quickens, circling your clit as he pumps his fingers into your drenched cunt. Your arousal soaks his knuckles. You rock your hips, matching the rhythm of his thrusts. Between the foreplay of the Klimt painting and the thrill of being finger fucked in public, your climax quickly approaches. Your walls begin to flutter around him.
"Come on, baby," he whispers softly into your neck, "I can tell you're close."
Your head drops forward, and you bite into his shoulder to silence your moans. His fingers fuck into you, faster, and your walls clench them in a vise grip. His chest pressed against yours to keep you upright, knees buckling as he works you through your orgasm.
He kisses you sweetly across your face while you catch your breath. "You good?"
"Incredible. I've never done anything like this," you laugh nervously.
He removes his fingers and adjusts your panties before pulling his hand out from underneath your dress. With his eyes affixed on yours, he lifts his hand to his mouth and licks his fingers clean with a low hum, savoring your arousal. Satisfied he hasn't missed a drop, he releases them from his mouth with a wet pop.
"Neither have I." With a blissful sigh, he pulls you close and confesses,"I think you're too divine for my human mind."
"Did you just quote Mac Miller?" you tease.
The corner of his mouth lifts into a smirk, and he winks. "I have to stay up to date with what the kids are listening to these days. Besides, 'Soulmate' is a great song." His eyes soften as he squeezes you tighter, "And I hope I'm closer to finding mine."
How is this man even real? He knows what he wants and goes after it. And he wants you. Unrestrained in expressing his admiration and praise for you.
It's been a long time since you've felt desired. Leading up to your divorce, your ex could barely muster a compliment. Your bedroom had been dead for over a year. There was no effort at affection, and any attempt to initiate was rebuffed. Eventually, you gave up, tired of feeling the sting of rejection.
Now, in just one afternoon with Marcus, you've discovered what you've been missing all along. The attention and care you craved, poured over you without any hesitation.
Even if this doesn't go anywhere, Marcus has shown you how you deserve to be treated, and you'll accept nothing less. You're not one to get ahead of yourself, but you feel that this could be the start of something real. The idea of spending a lifetime with this intelligent, charming, sexy man makes you giddy.
-
You walk in stride with each other back toward the front of the museum, and he takes your hand in his. "So, if I had to rate my professor, I'd give you five stars," you quip.
He bursts out laughing. Another patron shushes him as his laugh echoes through the museum. "Smart ass." he whispers, pinching your hip.
"Well… I did get an A in my Art History class. So, I am smart." You tease with a coy smile, trailing your finger down the ridge of his aquiline nose before you tap the end of it with your finger, "And I do have a nice ass."
A low groan rumbles in his throat, "Let's get you out of here, and I'll be the judge of that."
You squeal when he grabs your hips and guides you toward the exit. Once outside the main doors, he spins you around to steal another heated kiss.
When he finally releases you with a strained exhale, he asks, "Your place or mine?"
Thank you so much for reading! I'd love to know what you think. Reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated! 🫶🏻
npt for folks who engaged in my WIP Wednesday post for this fic (let me know if you'd like to be removed): @bergamote-catsandbooks @half-moon16 @ak-vintage @arcane-fox @stitch-away
Hi. So, I'm popping my 'hosting a fic writing challenge' cherry with a silly idea. 🫣 There are a lot of Pedro characters who don't receive as much attention within the fandom, and I thought it would be fun to create a challenge to help generate more fic for them! To put some methodology behind this, I searched AO3 character tags and compiled a list of characters that returned fewer than 500 search results (as of 10/6). The characters included in this challenge are listed below, along with their current AO3 fic count. *I used AO3 for ease of search because the tags are more consistent*
This challenge is open to everyone! That includes YOU! 🫵🏼
If you'd like to participate:
Send me an ask with a number between 1 and 22 (characters are not in the same order as listed below), and I'll provide a character for you. There is no limit on how often a character can be assigned.
The world is your oyster when it comes to your fic's content. All themes, tropes, reader types, and pairings are welcome. Please tag your fics appropriately. No RPF, please.
If you'd like a prompt, let me know in the ask, and I can spin for a random trope.
due date: whenever. But if you need a deadline (like me), it's 12/31.
challenge tag: #ficsforthePPCUfic-less
please @ me when you post your fic and use the challenge tag
Reach out with any questions. I hope you'll consider participating!
-Kat 🫶🏻
🏥 Charlie (SNL - LA mush mouth) - 0
💒 Renaldo (SNL - Vow Renewal) - 2
🌊 Juan Badillo (Graceland) - 3
⚖️ Nathan Landry (The Good Wife) - 8
🧛🏼 Eddie (Buffy the Vampire Slayer) - 13
👨🏻🏫 Mr. Ben (SNL - Fan Cam Assembly) - 20
😷 Ted Garcia (Eddington) - 24
🐎 Silva (Strange Way of Life) - 27
🏔️ Comandante Veracruz (Burn Notice: The Fall of Sam Axe) - 30
✋🏽 Shane "Dio" Morrissey (NYPD Blue) - 34
🥵 Lucien (The Uninvited) - 39
📼 Clint Flood (Freaky Tales) - 43
💵 Harry Castillo (Materialists) - 112
🤑 Maxwell Lord (WW84) - 169
🎥 Javi Gutiérrez (TUWOMT) - 261
🩸 Max Phillips (Bloodsucking Bastards) - 267
🦸🏻♂️ Marcus Moreno (We Could Be Heroes) - 301
🥼 Reed Richards (F4: First Steps) - 363
⚔️ Marcus Acacius (Gladiator II) - 378
🗡️ Pero Tovar (The Great Wall) - 400
🧎🏻 Dave York (Equalizer 2) - 462
💊 Dieter Bravo (The Bubble) - 462
tagging some mutuals for visibility and reach (let me know if you'd like to be removed): @80ssong @half-moon16 @baronessvonglitter @ak-vintage @bergamote-catsandbooks @iknowisoundcrazy @peepawispunk @kedsandtubesocks @lotusbxtch @inept-the-magnificent @mandaloriankait @cosmickid-inmotion @sin-djarin @burntheedges @whocaresstillthelouvre @justagalwhowrites @almostempty
Kat! I love your challenge idea! Let's give these boys some love! I'd like my favorite prime number 19 please! (Don't ask, I could go on about how amazing 19 is.)
Mallory!!! Heck yeah! I'm so happy you want to join! ❤️
#19 is none other than Dave York. (19 may have just become my favorite prime number too! 🤭) I can't wait to see what you come up with for this guy.
