pairing: daryl dixon x gn!reader
word count: 2.7k
summary: after slipping into daryl's bed during a horrible storm, he accidentally touches your butt in his sleep...but does wanting him to put it back make you a bad friend?
warnings: swearing, brief inappropriate touching, suggestive physical contact, daryl gets hard...twice...
a/n: this was supposed to be under 1k words but fuck me ig. inspo from this post <3
The sound of thunder booms across the prison yard, echoing off the concrete walls. Wind whips past the barred windows, infiltrating your ears with a deafening sound. Any chance to catch some sleep was long gone. The noise alone was terrifying, but then your mind was practically spinning at the mere thought of the barbed wire fences getting knocked to the ground. Fearful that walkers might infiltrate the cell block due to a reckless storm only causes your heart rate to increase.
A few minutes pass as you contemplate a plan of action. Rain splatters hard against the roof and somehow grows louder. Another violent crack in the sky makes you sit straight up. Within seconds, your chest feels tight with the type of pain that only comes from being overly panicked. Uneven breaths escape your lips as your thoughts focus on the only person who can calm you down; Daryl.
The moment your feet hit the cold floor, they’re carrying you in the direction of his cell. The door is shut for the night, but you ignore his silent warning sign that tells everyone else to fuck off. Daryl can be stubborn, abrasive even, but despite his unyielding attitude, there was an apparent soft spot for you. It was safe to say that there was some weird friendship brewing between you both. His occasional slips of empathy eventually built trust over time. Enough so that you’re positive he won’t mind this little midnight visit. Or so you tell yourself, anyway.
When Daryl stirs, your figure is hovering over him ever so innocently. Even in the dark room the man drinks in the sight of your beautiful eyes and long lashes. He almost mistakes you for an angel, under the influence he was dreaming this entire scenario. But the loudness of the storm brings him back to reality.
Then he’s wondering why the hell you’re in his cell in the first place.
“Fuck’s sake- wha’ the hell ya’ want?” Daryl mumbles angrily. The sound of his sleepy voice shoots a tingle down your spine; he sounded oddly cute despite being so pissed off.
“Can I lay with you?” you ask with a slight tremble. The shake in your tone was noticeable, making the man’s skin jump for a split second. He feared maybe you were hurt or worse, causing the protectiveness that has always settled deep within him to come alive.
“Why?” he rushes to ask, tilting his head to the side as he abruptly sits up. It seemed whatever had been bothering you captured his attention, tugging at the man like it was now his duty to come to your aid.
“I’m scared of the storm.”
Daryl rubs his eyes with the back of his hand, scoffing under his breath. He’s not even surprised you’re in his personal space for such a trivial reason. But somewhere between seeing you stand in front of him in that loose tank top and listening to those pathetic pleas, the man feels a rush of blood in between his legs. He hopes you can’t see the sudden bulge growing beneath his pajama pants.
Subconsciously, you brush loose strands of hair away from your face right as a flash of lightning clashes above the prison. He studies you for a moment, carefully considering the situation. He’s already very awake at this point, and so are you. The man knew damn well there was no way you’d fall back asleep by yourself. He exhales slowly as the thunder continues to reverberate forcefully outside.
Daryl caves in much sooner than he likes to admit. Maybe, deep down, he figures life is too short to push away this offer. To share the same bed with the only survivor at this camp who makes him double-take each time they cross paths…well, it was too good to be true.
He mumbles incoherent words under his breath and pushes himself to the side, pulling back just enough of the sheets to expose the now empty side of his mattress. He had never done this with you before, so he pretends that trying to find a comfortable position is of more importance than watching you crawl into his bed.
Daryl shifts restlessly before leaning back, slipping his hand behind his head as the pillow dips beneath him. Meanwhile, you try your best to ignore the flush on your face as you tuck your legs underneath the warm blanket and roll onto your stomach; your preferred sleeping position. You’re lucky the man happened to have another pillow with him. He shoves it in your direction half-assed. You murmur a small, “Thank you.”
Staying true to his typical, quiet behavior, Daryl only grunts in response.
A streak of lightning illuminates the room, then another shortly after. Daryl turns his head in the opposite direction of your own. Left to put your focus on something else, you decide to stare absentmindedly at the cell door instead. Watching and listening to the storm seemed to be an easier feat when there was a warm, sturdy body near you. Not just anyone, but Dixon himself.
Somehow, even in the midst of the chaos outside, you could just barely hear the way his breathing eventually steadied and softened into a rhythm that left you feeling…safe, protected. The atmosphere in the room isn’t quite comfortable, but it isn’t hostile either. You’re hyperaware of every little detail. Daryl’s scent is the most notable; it's intoxicating, deep in the woven threads of his blanket that it seems to completely surround you. The warmth of his body feels so natural despite neither of you ever being in this position before. Yet, you wouldn’t have asked for a better person to be with during such a scary night.
Time seems to move in slow motion for the next couple hours. Eventually, the torrential downpour let up only a bit. Thunder was rolling further in the distance, but remained loud and obnoxious. You hadn’t moved more than an inch at most from your spot on the shared bed. All that had changed was the way you eventually pushed the blanket down your legs due to the suddenly hot space. You blame Daryl for the way his body acts like a damn heater.
Still on your stomach, your eyes flutter shut. Flickers of day dreams cross your mind; images that weren’t quite real but didn’t feel like they were part of a made-up world either. However, even exhaustion couldn’t get you to ignore what comes next.
In the dark, something brushes against your bottom. A moment later, it rests there.
Whatever made contact with your body was warm, large, and has five digits that dig into the exposed skin under your shorts.
It only takes a few seconds to realize it’s Daryl’s hand.
Heat blooms up your neck. The rest of his body is completely still, resembling your own current physical state. Daryl inhales gently and lightly smacks his lips, mumbling a vague word in his deep sleep. The touch must be accidental, considering his breathing remains slow and steady, but your stomach pools with warmth at the touch. Whatever oxygen had been previously left in your lungs was stolen from you.
You can’t help but wonder…is this intentional? Did he know what he was doing in the first place? As you ask yourself these questions in your head, Daryl’s fingers settle further down the curve of your backside, practically slipping into the little crease of fat that comes between your bottom and the backs of your thighs.
A strangled gasp emits from your lips at the touch. Without much of a second thought, you ask aloud, “Daryl?”
The man next to you doesn’t seem to hear the call of his own name. All you get is silence in return. You repeat yourself as a rather feeble attempt to see if he’s truly asleep. “Uh, Daryl? You awake?”
Your eyes widen at the feeling of Daryl finally shifting in his sleep. His fingers squeeze you briefly before releasing again. The sheets rustle as the man stretches his legs, letting out a rather long, loud exhale. He whispers back, “Wha’?”
Your heart falls into your stomach. Shit, so he’s awake, now what do you say?
The question comes out before you have time to process it.
“Are you…touching my butt on purpose?”
You’re not sure you’ve ever seen the skilled hunter react so quickly before. Daryl immediately pulls his hand back as though he had been setting it on a hot frying pan this whole time instead. You can practically feel the embarrassment radiate off him. He sucks in a sharp breath and coughs afterwards. Out of shame, the man abruptly turns onto his side. The way he reacts makes you flinch. Briefly, you regret bringing it up in the first place…mostly because you actually miss the feeling, which comes as a shock more than anything else.
“Fuck, shit, ‘m sorry,” he mumbles, shoving his face into his own pillow hastily.
You take this chance to lift your upper half, resting your weight on your elbows to get a better look at him. The dark room doesn’t help the situation at all. You can barely see him, and it appears he’d rather keep it that way. His broad shoulders are all you can make out as he softly groans to himself.
Not that you can see, but Daryl’s freaking out. So much so, that he can't stop clenching his jaw. There’s nothing else he can do now but dig his own damn grave. The man fears he may have stopped breathing for a couple seconds at one point. God, now he feels like a piece of shit. He wonders, why are you still here? Why haven’t you left already?
Daryl Dixon can handle the end of the world like it's nothing. But this right here? God, he thinks he might actually have to run away from the prison tomorrow morning. Just up and leave so he doesn’t have to catch sight of your pretty face staring at him like he’s a freak from this moment forward. He’s already cataloging everything he needs to pack on his bike. The supplies, what necessary clothes he might need, where he’s hidden his extra knives.
Goddamnit, his stomach churns at the thought of leaving you behind. But he feels like he genuinely has to now.
Because, he wonders to himself, how do you fuck up that badly the first time you share the bed with someone? Not just someone, but you of all people.
Daryl’s complete stillness is torture. There’s still a heavy patter of rain outside, but no big storm could mask the awkwardness between you and your friend in this tight cell. You lick your bottom lip, pulling it in between your teeth. Heavy silence fills the void for many long, agonizing seconds. The tension is so thick, someone could cut it with a knife. The way Daryl shields himself…you hate it. Not once has he ever displayed this type of behavior specifically towards you before. And you’ll be damned if you let it continue.
“Daryl, it’s not that big of a deal,” you tell him, trying to keep your voice steady. The reassurance falls short, however.
“Fuck off,” he spits back. The venom in his words stings like a burn, but you choose to ignore it. You understand why he’s so upset. Had you been in his position, maybe you would have done the same.
Rolling your eyes, you scoff. “Daryl, I didn’t…I-I didn’t mind you doing that. Really.”
He stops breathing.
Anticipation builds in Daryl’s chest. It coils so tight, he swears he might snap in two. The possibility of touching you in that way again, it feels wrong…yet so right. His fingers clutch the bundle of sheets that rested in front of his chest.
Daryl finally turns onto his back once more, head lulling to the side of his pillow to get a better view of your beauty. Some of his loose hair falls forward and shadows his dark eyes.
“Fuck you just say to me?” he snaps, but there’s less agitation in his voice now. If you didn’t know any better, he sounds genuinely curious.
It’s not the exhaustion talking when you go to respond to Daryl. “I said I don’t mind. It wasn’t weird to me.”
“Then why did you-”
“Oh my gosh, Daryl just fucking put it back already.”
Both you and Daryl stare at one another, your pulses throbbing loudly. Your request hangs heavy in the air, so long that you’re scared that maybe you just made a fool of yourself in the end.
In reality, Daryl is speechless because he hasn’t heard anyone talk to him so directly about such an intimate topic. He doesn’t face trials such as this one very often, if at all. In a world as broken as this one, he’s meant to hunt, protect, and survive. His mind is constantly in fight mode. So when the voices in his head whisper to pull you in, to hold your body close to his own and never let go, his breath hitches slightly.
Daryl didn’t think he was deserving of this sort of treatment. He was as shattered as the rest of earth currently was. He wondered, what did he do to deserve you?
You sigh and tear your line of sight away from the man and turn towards the door instead, plopping back down on your stomach. It’s a poor attempt to hide your red face. You couldn’t stand the idea of letting him stare at you any longer, especially considering how vulnerable you felt.
You shut your eyes to try and escape the situation you put yourself in. Regret courses through your veins. Had you just stayed in your own cell, this would have never happened in the first place.
After what feels like ages pass, the man next to you stirs slightly. All you can hear at first is the creak of springs in the mattress under his weight. Then, his body slowly gravitates closer to your own. Your temporary heater was up against you once more, making it hard not to smile at the proximity.
Something restless disturbs the man all the way down to his core. Something so strong that he can’t believe what he does next.
Daryl’s hand comes back to your bottom. The contact causes an explosion of butterflies to erupt in your stomach. He doesn’t squeeze your delicate flesh, nor does he travel further down the seam of your shorts, but he keeps it held in one spot like he didn’t plan on letting go. A slow smirk curves your mouth, and you realize it’s difficult to hold back any sort of reaction. You feel your lips part in a near quiet, involuntary exhale.
He could tell you were content now, and for that he’s not quite sure what the hell this means between the two of you down the line. All because of his hand, there’s an obvious shift in the atmosphere now. Something neither of you can ignore.
“Fuckin’ weirdo,” he murmurs under his breath, pleased at the sound you had released a few moments ago. Daryl can’t help but tease you. It’s his form of retribution. You're the reason why his pants are constricting right now. While holding one of the most intimate parts of your body, Daryl allows his mind wander a bit, and it’s entirely your fault, of course.
“Shut up,” you hiss back at him, but Daryl can hear the smile in your voice. Before closing his eyes for the rest of the night, his gaze travels down once more. He takes a glance at your frame under the palm of his hand and gulps.
“Whatever,” he says flatly.
You try to contain the faint giggle that hiccups from the back of your throat, but you fail miserably. It makes Daryl’s heart skip a beat at the sound.
Somehow, later that night, the two of you slip into an unexpected position. Still asleep, Daryl had turned onto his side again, this time his other arm coming to wrap itself around your waist. Knocked out cold from the eventual exhaustion, you mirrored the man's position and pulled yourself up to your side, falling flush against his warm chest.
Both of you slept heavier than you had in months. Only when the sun finally rose and the rainclouds dispersed did the two of you finally awake and quietly acknowledge the change in your relationship. It didn’t require a label, but both of you realize that this isn’t something close friends do.
But you’d rather die to a walker bite than have to go another night without Daryl Dixon’s warm hands.
pairing: cecil stedman x fem!hybrid!reader
word count: 11.3k
summary: it's unfortunate that you, a hybrid superhero, just started your heat. it's even more unfortunate that cecil ends up being the solution to your problem.
warnings: superhero reader, hybrid reader, afab!reader, hybrid heat, perv!cecil, boss/employee relationship, power imbalance, fingering, unprotected sex, creampie, degradation, morally gray cecil stedman, minor stalking (if you squint), ethically dubious decisions
beta readers: @emocean-is-trash, thank you so much for the countless hours spent reading my cecil bullshit
𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐰𝐨
Cecil Stedman hates texting. Maybe it’s the old man in him, but he actually despises it.
With a life as disorganized and chaotic as his own, he desires a conversation either through his earpiece or face-to-face. Those forms of communication are more efficient, in his mind. For good reason, too. When he’s talking to someone in person, Cecil can accurately dissect body language, facial expressions, tone of voice, the whole nine yards. Is using his earpiece perfect? No, it can only get him so far, but it’s still much better than having to squint at a small screen, struggling to get his scarred thumbs to cooperate long enough to type out coherent words.
If somebody doesn’t have the urgency to pick up the phone and dial a number, or flip a goddamn switch on their high-level government owned headset, then the situation at hand must not be a drastic dilemma. At least, not one that Cecil thinks he has to concern himself with.
Does his rapid sense of urgency come off as rude, maybe even self-centered? Absolutely. These conversations can be used as weapons, according to Cecil. He doesn’t care about other people’s feelings. He doesn’t have the time to. His work at the GDA is business only. That’s all his life is built around now. Cecil barely survives the legal battles that come with managing superheroes. Not even legal fights, physical ones too.
Texting is a nuisance to Cecil, plain and simple.
So when you, the new superhero recruit, send him a text message at 2:00 AM on a Friday, Cecil flat out ignores it.
Well, at first, anyway.
He doesn’t even read the words when they pop up on his smartphone (one he really doesn’t care for, but it was purchased for him by the GDA, so he feels obligated to carry it around).
It was actually a miracle he even saw the notification in the first place. The phone was faced up towards the ceiling, discarded on one of the desks in the control room. His eyes had been glued to monitors, actively picking apart videos of Invincible’s fight earlier that day, the older man’s thoughts consumed with worry that the boy might end up like his father. When the screen lights up and a familiar ringtone chirps, all he sees at first is your name. With that, he immediately glances away and goes back to staring at the machines that hum quietly in the near empty room.
Ignoring your text was easy, but ignoring the way his stomach dropped was near impossible.
Maybe the age gap is to explain why you’re one of those people glued to your devices. Cecil is much older, so he genuinely doesn’t get the hype. On the other hand, you clearly do. You bother him all the time with random shit, especially over text. Any boundaries that the director tried establishing in the first place were long gone. Actually, there were none to begin with. That might partially be Cecil’s fault, but he likes to shift the blame to you as often as possible…which is all the time.
It’s more than your age, though. You don’t just do this for fun. It doesn’t help that you are practically all by yourself in this world. No known family, barely any friends. Even the other superheroes found it hard to hold conversation with you due to your lack of social skills. Which makes sense given how Cecil found you. What used to be home was the operating table that some fucked up scientist utilized to perform far too many tests on you. The same deranged experiments that resulted in your cat-like ears, tail, and claws.
It was quite the sight to see you unconscious on the floor after the GDA busted the lab. Debris was scattered around your naked feet, brushes of dirt splayed across your barren arms. Any furry part of your body was covered in a layer of filth. Cecil wasn’t sure what the hell to make of you at first. He couldn’t deny the fact you looked fascinating, though. A specimen he was completely unfamiliar with. It’s not often that GDA directors come across hybrids. Even though the original mission was meant to collect data on whatever the hell this scientist was producing, there was much difficulty in trying to pry his eyes away from your limp form. Cecil Stedman had no idea he’d be taking home a goddamn pet.
To make matters worse, Cecil was the first face you saw when you came out of your coma. The moment your eyes fluttered open and he met your timid gaze, Cecil knew he was fucked. Your face was already pretty enough, why the hell did you have to have beautiful eyes too? Seeing your worried expression under the bright lights, hearing the pathetic little whimpers that snuck past your lips, it only complicated things further for the old man. It was at this moment he realized that you weren’t like any of the others. No, not even close.
Despite being poked and prodded by multiple GDA personnel, he was the only person who didn’t treat you like livestock. You were never a science experiment to Cecil. He had faith in you, hopes for your future.
What he didn’t know, at the time, was that those dreams of seeing you flourish into a successful superhero came with a price. One that left his heart skipping a beat each time you’d reach out to him.
Cecil has genuinely lost count on how many times he’s told you to stop bothering him with these stupid texts. For one, he thinks they’re annoying. Another reason is that he doesn’t want you to rely on him for every little thing. He knows why you’re doing it; you’re alone. But, your life was never in any type of distress that was genuinely concerning; you just liked having someone to annoy. His reactions always make you laugh, so it was practically entertainment at this point, just something to motivate you to keep moving forward in this fucked up world.
That being said, it was completely normal for you to ignore Cecil’s protests and send message after message. What was unusual, though, was the timing.
Never in the last year had you sent him something this late in the night…or, early in the morning? Whatever, Cecil knew it was strange to begin with. That’s what made his stomach churn and mind consumed with irrational thoughts.
The command room’s atmosphere is chilling; the cold air seeping through the man’s expensive suit makes his skin prickle with bumps. The occasional beep from a distant monitor brings him back to reality. Cecil had been enjoying the brief quiet of his workspace given there were barely any employees present. Now, there’s this uneasy feeling settling on his shoulders and traveling down his spine. Any attempt to relax was completely out the window. You occupied his mind instead.
He’d been here all day catching up on Invincible’s stats as of late. Essentially, Cecil wanted to ensure there wasn’t anything he was missing that might come back to bite him in the ass. He had dismissed a handful of employees to go enjoy a quick break elsewhere just to enjoy some silence. Being surrounded by people for hours on end, he thought he deserved it.
But then his phone is dinging, then once more. Twice in a row it alerts Cecil that there’s someone else on the other end that is in dire need of his attention.
Cecil walks away from the desk towards a holographic map to put distance between himself and the wretched smartphone. He hears it go off a third time as his fingers type away at a keyboard, opening a 3-D blueprint of Chicago. The glow emitting from the advanced technology could not hide the device resting in his peripheral. He couldn’t even focus on the casualty reports for more than ten seconds before he hears that goddamn smartphone go off for what he can only assume is the fourth or fifth time. What on earth did you want?
The older man contemplates his next decision once, twice, then a third time just for extra measure. While it might be imperative Cecil educates himself on the recent structural damages in the city, he finds himself silently admitting that curiosity of your current whereabouts was getting to the best of him.
He can’t believe how easily he caves into your obvious demands. Before he knows it, Cecil angrily grunts mumbled words under his breath as he returns to his previous spot at the desk. He reaches out and picks up the smartphone, unlocking it in an instant. Squinting in the dark room, he mutters the texts only loud enough for himself to hear. Then, Cecil’s heart drops within seconds.
All the texts were begging him for help. In rapid succession, you continue to spam him with frantic, panicked pleas. There was an easy pattern to follow right away; you were injured.
“cecil, PLZ i need help. i dont know what to do!!!”
“i know u can see these. plzzz cecil :((( help!”
“it hurts so bad”
“i dont know how much longer i can take it”
In an instant, he’s pulling up your coordinates on the monitor. That fateful day when his team discovered you all alone and exhausted to the point of passing out, he instructed his men to put a chip in the back of your neck. The process was pretty routine for other heroes he works with. If you, God forbid, tried running away at some point, he’d be able to track the movements. Your body was in enough pain at that time, that the insertion didn’t even wake you from your coma. Eventually, you did end up finding out about what he had done…and paid no mind to it at all. Cecil was a bit thankful you weren’t so mad with him. Sometimes the superheroes gave him pushback; the older man appreciated how docile you could be.
Despite the messages clearly indicating some form of danger, your coordinates showed you were well rested in the comfort of your apartment. It’s a tiny little place downtown, hidden from the rest of the city, but it worked to meet your needs. Cecil would have preferred if you just stayed at GDA headquarters instead, but he knew that you needed privacy at the end of the day. That being said, only a handful of workers at the facility even knew of it, one of them being Cecil himself. There are a multitude of security measures on top of that to protect you from unknown dangers. One of which being that anyone who enters the premises that’s neither you or him, an alarm would be triggered and GDA personnel would be informed immediately.
A totally normal precaution he definitely does for all the other superheroes…
The first question that crossed his mind was, had you been compromised? Were you in the process of being kidnapped, or worse? Then again, if that had been the case, you would have definitely tried contacting him via earpiece; there’s no doubt about that. Even when you want to bother the shit out of Cecil with these goddamn texts, you knew well enough that actual emergencies meant urgent communication.
Yet, here you are, spamming him instead.
Cecil fights the urge to roll his eyes.
For the next few seconds, Cecil opens a different tab and begins typing your full legal name in the search bar. The chip in your body not only keeps track of your approximate location, but it also acts as a sensor that transmits any strange spike in your otherwise normal health readings. The little box of text showed the latest update on your vitals. He cocks his head to the side, noticing how unusually all over the place they are.
You’re on extreme alert, perhaps just as much as you are when sent out on a mission. What stuck out to the man was seeing the accelerated heart rate; 115 beats per minute. That particular number was something he usually saw spike this high during your workouts. Next, he’s furrowing his eyebrows at the sight of your temperature matching that of a low-grade fever.
At this point, he’s growing more and more worried over your safety.
“Sir? Is everything alright?” a familiar voice asks from behind the director.
Cecil glances over his shoulder just long enough to see who was speaking to him, even though he already had a clue based on the voice. His sharp eyes observe the personal assistant standing only a few feet away, noticing how Donald’s arms were clutching a variety of thick portfolios. They’re filled with paperwork that Cecil will need to sign at some point tonight, but he can’t even comprehend taking time out of his schedule to do that right now. He’s entirely focused on you instead.
The director ignores Donald and continues investigating the monitor. He’s scrolling through anything else he might have missed from your health report. The screen gives him the same concerning numbers that had been plastered on there a couple minutes prior, as if he was hoping they would somehow go away and cease to be his issue. Cecil keeps looking at the logged data nonetheless, trying to find a pattern of some sort that might hint what you’re dealing with.
Meanwhile, Donald takes a careful step forward. He notices the name of the file a few seconds later, causing his eyes to widen ever so slightly underneath his sunglasses. He asks with a careful tone, “Is she in trouble? What’s her latest update?”
“I don’t know for sure. I feel like she’s just trying to annoy me,” Cecil explains, as though your pain was literally meant just to get on his nerves.
Another chime from the phone dings. The atmosphere between both men freezes for only a second or two. Cecil angrily picks up the device again and scans the notification.
“i don’t know who else to talk to about this. can u plz call me?”
Donald’s eyes seem to burn in the back of Cecil’s head. He wonders aloud, “Do you want me to…do anything, sir?”
Cecil pinches the bridge of his nose and exhales slowly. The tension in his jaw is still there despite his feeble attempt to calm down. “Fuck if I know.”
It doesn’t seem as though Donald is concerned about you. The distress in his voice feigns more worry for his boss than anything else, as if he is more concerned about the way Cecil was reacting than your health and safety. But then, he makes a comment that might explain the peculiar behavior.
“It could be something to do with her hybrid DNA, if you catch my drift, sir.”
Cecil did not catch the drift, actually. Because he’s an old man and needs these things explained outright. Obviously.
He likes order. He likes routine. He likes knowing what’s wrong with his superheroes without having to guess. So he blurts out, “What are you saying, Donald?”
“Just call her. I’m sure she’ll explain,” Donald replies with a soft sigh. He walks away to give Cecil privacy, only to turn around once to drop the stack of portfolios on the desk.
Those damn papers need to be signed. He knows that. Cecil knows better. But he keeps looking between the assigned workload and the text he just received from you as though, maybe, he has better things to do. He’s genuinely surprised he’s contemplating putting off his duty as the GDA director just to help you. Then again, aren’t you considered part of the job, considering he’s your boss?
It doesn’t take long to weigh the options. Cecil dials your phone number a few seconds later, holding the device to his ear while shoving his other hand deep into his suit pocket. The moment you pick up, his heart skips a beat.
“Oh, Cecil? Are you there? Thank God!” you express, gasping at the realization he was on the other line.
“What’s going on? Are you hurt?” Cecil asks. He musters enough courage to sound as careless as possible. Deep down, he’s anxious as hell to get an update.
“Well, yes and no? I don’t know how to explain this without it sounding…weird.”
Cecil raises an eyebrow, “Huh? Spit it out, kid. I don’t have all night.”
He notices your hesitation and grows annoyed, almost snapping at you again before you finally reply, “I-I think I started my heat.”
The anger dissipates, replaced by a different emotion; Cecil’s stunned.
His breath catches in his throat and he has to cough into his hand. The command room feels smaller, the air still, only the sound of his pulse throbbing in his ears. His mind races with possibilities as to what this can mean, how this affects your duties as a superhero. None of your workload matters now though. What matters is ensuring you’re safe, protected, and above all, going to survive.
“So? You’re on suppressants, aren’t you?” Cecil quips back.
He hears you take a deep breath. The brief moments of silence already tell him the answer, but the truth digs deeper in his chest, like he’d just been stabbed with a knife. “No, I don’t. When I left the lab a month ago, I told them I didn’t want those pills because I thought I could handle it.”
“And?...”
“I don’t think I can handle it, Cecil. I’m freaking out,” you explain, almost to the point of whining.
Cecil should have seen this coming. With all the experiments that fucking scientist performed on you, the director had been informed that it was possible that you would eventually experience some sort of heat cycle down the line. However, your hormones were already so all over the place, the GDA found it was best to suppress any of those risks of ovulation. So why the hell did you think you were enough of a big girl to take this on like a champ? Were you just trying to prove something to yourself?
Or, maybe, prove something to him.
“Kid, what the hell do you want me to do? Get the lab to give you those suppressants-”
“Yes! Please! That might help!” you exclaim miserably.
He sighs heavily, clutching the phone tighter than before. “You do realize that no one is in the lab right now, right? They’re all home or working on actual life-threatening problems. Did you not fucking see Invincible today? I have bigger fish to fry.”
He hates having to put you down like this, but Cecil needs you to understand the reality of the situation you’ve placed yourself in. The timing is horrible.
You exhale through your nose and say, “Please, there has to be something! I’m-I’m in so much pain.”
Hearing you admit that breaks his heart. But Cecil can’t get emotionally involved. He refuses.
“Take care of it like other people do.”
There’s a pause on the other end. Then, you question him, “What do you mean? How do other people take care of this?”
“You know exactly what I mean. It’s on those reality shows you watch all the time. Just figure it out and please don’t bother me again with this. I have bigger problems on my plate.”
“Do you mean…oh. Oh. That’s what you mean?”
He ends the phone call and discards the phone on the desk, face flushed a deep red.
It’s over. The phone call is done. Quick, simple, easy. Definitely for the best. He doesn’t need to actually help you through this. You’re a big girl, you’ll figure it out.
Well, he hopes so anyway.
But, what if you got confused about what he meant?
Shit, now he’s pacing back and forth, staring at his feet while that goddamn phone call plays on loop in his head. You sounded so weak and hurt in ways he could never imagine. The hybrid abilities came with both pros and cons. This is one of those situations where it was definitely a con.
But you should have known better. You should have asked for those pills the GDA used on you while they briefly kept you in testing. Cecil chalks up this entire situation as a natural consequence. Nothing more, nothing less. You’d find a solution to your problem and be on with the rest of your night.
Except, he keeps asking himself if you truly understood what he meant. Obviously you knew he meant just to masturbate, right? He couldn’t bring himself to say that out right. That would be so inappropriate to suggest to his employee. Therefore, he knew he had to dance around the idea instead. However, for a split second, Cecil’s heart drops at the theory that you might be going through with something else instead.
Should he…do something about it? Should Cecil call you again? Or should he…
An idea crosses his mind.
He knows he shouldn’t. He knows it would be overstepping.
Except…that’s the thing. There aren’t any lines to cross. There has always been a lack of explicit boundaries between either of you. Even when he’d tell you to stop bothering him, you kept up with it. You push and push, and he just lets you. If you’re allowed that kind of freedom with him, maybe he should be permitted to do the same.
The plan Cecil conjures up in his head isn’t the best, but how else would he know for sure one of his favorite superheroes was genuinely following his orders correctly?
Perhaps, for just a quick second, he could view your search history. He knew your phone was also owned by the GDA. He’d be able to hack it no problem.
All Cecil craves is to know what’s on your mind through the use of personal internet archives. It would give him an inkling as to what you might be doing this very moment, especially since he can’t see for himself what you’re up to. He briefly regrets not installing cameras in your living room…or bedroom, for that matter.
The mere thought of invading your privacy in this way results in Cecil’s eyes narrowing at the computer screen. He exhales slowly, licking his lips slowly as he weighs the pros and cons.
Cecil isn’t usually this much of an overthinker. He’s the type of man who follows his gut instinct. When that might fail him, or at the very least cause him to double-check his options, he mentally reviews past experiences in his head and picks a previously similar choice that seemingly worked out well for the situation at hand. Cecil will forever aim to achieve an accurate result, even if the means of obtaining such are morally gray.
He’s fucking dug into the depths of hell for some of the superheroes that work at the GDA. There was no part of their history left unturned by him and his team. Never before has he had to second-guess whether or not he should be looking up one’s search history. It’s not like there are any boundaries he can’t cross in the first place, right? There isn’t anything advising him to not do this.
Maybe Cecil tells himself that he’s just…curious about what you choose to do. That excuse falls thin just as quickly as it’s conjured up in his mind. Because then again, is he really being courteous in the first place when his mind has already pictured you in the different positions you might be in right now? One of which flashes across the front of his brain…
Cecil adjusts his tie once, then twice.
Why does the thought of you all flustered in a mess of sheets have him acting like a damn teenage boy?
His hand hovers over the mouse on the desk. He’s practically twitching just thinking about what to do next. Cecil glances at the keyboard in front of him. It’s begging him to follow through with his plan. It’s for your safety, right?
While the circumstances are slightly problematic, he ultimately decides on looking up your latest searches. He flies through all the necessary safeguards on the monitor, his fingers moving at a rapid pace. Right after logging into the appropriate system, Cecil purposely hunches over the screen to hide the evidence. Regardless of his pure intentions, Cecil has this strange voice in the back of his head suggesting that his subordinates would not exactly find what he’s doing to be a great choice.
He ignores that little guilty twinge in his gut and continues typing away. After sorting through a mess of files, Cecil discovers what he had been searching for all along. The monitor’s bright, white light shines across the man’s scarred, pale face. The little pop-up window displays your search history in a neat order from oldest to most recent.
Cecil’s eyes carefully scan what you had put into your search bar within the last five minutes. He’s thankful there’s even anything there to begin with, but he knew you better than most and figured you’d be glued to your phone.
Upon reading the text on the screen, Cecil’s heart drops. Another chill runs up his spine at the realization of what you’re getting yourself into.
“bad hybrid heat solution”
“best ways to relieve heat pain”
“does sex help with heat”
“hook up apps”
“sneaky one night stands near me”
The warmth in his blue eyes evaporates, replaced by a cold stare. Cecil’s blood boils.
He’s fucking livid.
The director was under the impression you knew better than this. Gosh, he was convinced you were smart enough to see the obvious red flags that come with doing something so reckless. There’s so many reasons why it’s a horrible idea. You’re putting your safety at risk just for the sake of relieving some pain.
Cecil’s head is throbbing at the thought of some complete stranger tending to your needs. He simply cannot let you go through with this.
Rarely does this man experience, let alone show, such raw emotion. A man with a chipped past like his own can’t display signs of weakness. But that’s what you are to the man; the reason he has the slightest loss of strength. Cecil hates that you are his kryptonite, because now all he sees is red.
The sounds of the command room dull away, replaced by a ringing in his ear.
Before he can process another thought, Cecil’s body is engulfed in energy and manipulated down to the cellular level. With your location at the front of his brain, his body rapidly reforms outside your apartment. He’s slightly disoriented when he comes out of it, and curses at himself for costing the GDA millions just because of his ridiculous emotions. Why did he feel so strongly about this to begin with? Regardless, there was no time for reflection.
He comes face to face with your apartment door. Its brown, steel frame has various dents from past tenants. The number twenty-two sits under the peephole in a gold font. Cecil doesn’t even bother raising a hand to knock. He simply stands there in the barren hallway. The noise of the city outside these walls continues, but Cecil doesn’t pay any bother to them. His eyes are glued to the door as he impatiently waits.
Maybe one minute passes, then another. He crosses his arms, leaning back against the wall opposite of the entrance. Suddenly, his ears perk up. He hears shuffling inside. There’s the sound of a zipper being pulled up, perhaps from a jacket or other article of clothing. Something heavy hits the ground, then there’s the sound of your feet stumbling around.
When the door swings open, Cecil clocks your genuine surprise immediately. Your pretty eyes widen with fear, but he also catches the faintest blush dusted across your nose and cheeks. The baggy clothes cover any cat-like features, but he can see the way your cat-like ears twitch under the hoodie of your jacket. The air goes completely still for at least five seconds. Then, he finally gives you the only order appropriate for the situation.
“Get your ass back inside, now.”
The world seems to stop moving at his words. Both bodies are completely still. Meanwhile, Cecil tries his best to ignore the rapid pulse in his ears. You remain quiet for a bit, apparently weighing how much trouble you’re likely already in. The GDA director doesn’t want to stand around and wait for you to figure it out though; you need to understand you’re already in deep shit.
“Are you fucking deaf?” he asks, “I gave you a direct order, kid.”
He catches sight of a clear shudder running down your spine. The man’s request implies that this is a mere warning of what is to come, but it’ll get a whole lot worse if you don’t obey him. With a shaky inhale, you tentatively step backwards, attempting to shut the door in the process.
Suddenly, with a loud bang, Cecil’s hand slams against it, making the door come to a complete halt right before the doorknob could click back into place with the frame. Your eyes widen, body jumping simultaneously. Completely unamused, he shoves himself into your private space without warning, closing it behind himself with another loud echo.
He crosses his arms again, ignoring how much this space smells so strongly of you. There’s barely any lights on besides one in the kitchen around the corner. In the dark shadows, he juts his chin towards you and snaps, “Tell me exactly what you were about to do.”
“ I don’t know what you’re talking about-” you stammer, composure chipping away with each word.
He cuts you off before you even have a chance to lie, because he knows that’s exactly what you’re about to do. “Shut and tell me. I already fucking know, I just want to hear you admit it to my face.”
The way he talks makes you freeze. You stay there, unmoving, taking in the underlying threat. Suddenly, anger takes over. With a displeased expression, you sneer, “You can’t be serious, Cecil. I’m in pain. Wh-What do you expect me to do?”
He quips back, “I expect you to act smarter. Going out at 2:00 AM for a one night stand with a stranger? You’re a goddamn superhero, you need to start acting like it. Getting in contact with an outsider, someone you don’t even know, to help you with your…your heat…it’s not-”
Cecil can’t bring himself to finish his harsh reprimand, because all of a sudden you’re bawling your eyes out. The tremble in your shoulders was a clear indication you wouldn’t be stopping anytime soon either. That alone makes his heart drop to his stomach.
“I-I-” you sputter, crying rather forcefully. Each tear that streams down your cheeks is a reminder of the fact he has essentially cornered you into this position since he won’t let you find a solution in someone else. You wrap your arms around your body and look towards the ground, “I don’t know what to do anymore, I’m so scared and it hurts and…fuck, I don’t know!”
For a brief second, Cecil closes his eyes, as though seeing you fall apart in front of him was too much to bear. He only faintly feels bad for this predicament; just a smidge.
He exhales and scratches the back of his head, awkwardly trying to figure out an appropriate way to go about this dilemma. He stares at you, gulping quietly as you continue to drown yourself in a burst of emotions.
Cecil steps forward to close the gap. He lifts his hand and hesitates, then allows his fingers to curl themselves around your shoulder. You’re warm to the touch under all these layers of clothes. You stop your anguish and shoot him a confused look, sniffling away any remaining tears.
He’s already decided what he’s going to tell you.
It’s just that once he says it, there’s no going back.
“Listen, you…you need to understand how dangerous it is to do something like that, okay? I can’t let you leave this apartment and risk your life,” he explains, absolutely sure that his argument is completely logical and not at all personal, “How about I try to get you something to help with the pain. You just have to promise me you’ll stay here, got it?”
Coddling a superhero after disobeying orders isn’t his usual motive. Cecil would rather someone shoot him in the head than be seen protecting you from what should have been natural consequences to your actions. You should be held responsible for any endeavors that clearly put your life on the line; for Christ’s sake, you’re an adult after all.
But there goes that lack of boundaries again.
You were different from the other superheroes he is in charge of. There was nothing that could change that truth.
“What can we do? I don’t have anything that can, well, you know,” you trail off, mind drifting to the throbbing discomfort in between your legs.
Cecil has to force himself not to stare at the way you so obviously press your thighs together. Despite the strong willpower, there’s still a faint rush of blood somewhere it shouldn’t be.
Goddamnit, he’s so fucked for this.
But it would be cruel to leave you without at least offering some form of help.
He tells you, “Go lay down, I’ll figure something out.”
The older man watches as you take in a great big breath. There is no immediate change in your appearance, given your eyelids are still so puffy and your breathing remains uneven, but it only takes a few more seconds til you meekly nod and step backwards. As you turn to walk towards your bedroom, Cecil notices your tail has snuck its way out of the baggy clothing. It appears limp, apparently tucking itself under your frame. He’s not sure he’s ever seen it so slack before. Usually, you’re swinging that thing around like it’s a toy.
It’s only more of a confirmation of how under the weather you truly are.
Cecil needs to help you, and fast.
He waits until he hears you round the corner, and only then does he pinch himself on the wrist. The little nip at his weary skin tells him he definitely is in your apartment, helping you with your heat, finding a solution to your problem because how else would he be spending a Friday night. This isn’t a dream. Or is it? No, the thunderous pound in his chest from his accelerated heart rate was enough to convince him that he was not hallucinating this ordeal.
Cecil needs to act like this is normal.
Because he’s sure that others in his position would do the same.
Right?
He’s just helping you, that’s it. So like a wild dog trying to pursue prey, he scouts your apartment for anything that could be of use. What exactly was he looking for? He didn’t even know himself, but Cecil figured that he would come across some item that would give him an idea. He likes to think he’s smart enough to come up with something on the spot like that.
So when he finds absolutely no resources of value in your space, he begins to freak out.
There aren’t any medications in your cabinets that would help with such specific symptoms. Actually, there’s a lack of any drugs in this place to begin with. He dives into drawers, underneath couch cushions, even behind furniture to try and find literally anything that might help, but he comes up dry. The only thing that he assumed might be of help was the hairbrush left on your bathroom counter. Its large handle could be of use in ways that Cecil really tries hard not to imagine, but then his mind wanders and he’s red in the face.
He doesn’t want to give up. Especially on you. This is his mission right now and he’ll be damned if he fails. But before long, Cecil approaches your bedroom and knocks softly. He hears your frail voice telling him to enter and doesn’t waste another second.
Standing in the doorway, he finds you sat upon your mattress. The blankets have been shoved to the furthest corner of the bed, sheets in a tangled heap. Only a couple pillows are left, as the rest had been discarded on the floor. Cecil notices rips in the fabric of the fitted sheet. They’re all in the shape of familiar claw marks he has seen during your missions time and time again. However, what makes his breath hitch is the little wet patch on your pants.
It’s so obvious. You’re a goddamn mess.
Cecil has to physically mold himself to the fucking floor to not overreact.
But then, he smells it. There’s a very specific, lingering aroma in your room that he can’t quite place at first. It’s musky, completely rich in a way that makes his spine tingle. The odor is overwhelming on levels Cecil swears is giving him sensory overload.
Then, it clicks.
It’s the scent of your arousal. Your desperation. Your heat.
At this point, he’s trying so hard not to inhale deeply and let himself get carried away.
“Did you find anything?” you ask, eyelashes clumped together from your previous crying session.
“Uh, n-no I didn’t,” Cecil explains, averting eye contact by staring at other parts of your room, “I already told you the lab won’t have your pills ready for a little while longer. We have bigger problems to deal with right now.”
“It’s fine, I get it,” you huff, pushing out your bottom lip.
That little pout was going to be the death of him.
“You haven’t tried to, I don’t know, do it yourself?” Cecil asks, sparing a very quick glance in your direction only to look away again.
Without missing a beat, you wave your fingers in the air. Moonlight from the window makes your sharp claws glisten. “Does it look like I can?”
“Shit, sorry, I knew that,” Cecil’s eyebrows furrow together, momentarily forgetting how unnaturally long and edged your nails are, “you seriously don’t have anything to use to get yourself off? Nothing at all?”
“Cecil-” you begin, posture suddenly straightened at his implication.
“Kid, I know it’s fucked up for me to say this shit in the first place, but you put me in this position.”
Your cheeks flush a deep red. He wishes so badly he knew what on earth was going on in that head of yours. “So what should I do?”
Cecil pauses. Hair on the back of his neck raises as he realizes he simply does not have an answer for you. He sighs and drags a hand down his face, closing his eyes to think over what to tell you.
Then, he takes a step back. Not that he wants to, but because he thinks he has to. Maybe this is in your best favor, because what else is there to do anyway?
“You’ll just have to deal with it. You got yourself into this mess, you can suck it up.”
The grimace on your face makes him wish he could take away all your suffering with a simple snap of his fingers. You look down at the heap of blankets and sheets at the edge of the bed, completely lost knowing the only person you thought could save you ended up leaving you high and dry.
Cecil doesn’t wait for a response. What he told you makes him feel guilty enough. So with that, he simply edges away from the door and closes it behind himself, pausing a while to replay this entire situation in his mind. Those wide eyes stay at the front of his brain. He can’t get that look off his mind. But this is what’s for the best, right?
He’s just about to walk away for good, maybe return to his duties back at the GDA, when suddenly he hears you cry again. Those deep, shallow breaths are loud as ever despite the bedroom door being completely closed. His morale cracks and he’s left almost grinding his teeth at the mere thought of you sitting so pathetically in there, all by yourself in agony.
Fuck.
Seconds pass as impatience begins to grow heavy within his ribcage, weighing him down like an anchor, leaving him completely stuck in place right there in the middle of the hallway.
He’s supposed to be the one who supports you, the managerial figure who protects you from conflict out in the field of superhero work. But right here in this small, downtown apartment, Cecil Stedman does not find himself battling with an alien or evil scientist; he’s experiencing an internal fight with his responsibilities as GDA director. Realistically, he should just evaporate out of here and leave you to find your own solution.
But no, Cecil can’t do it. He can’t leave you like this. It would go against his role, his job, his ethics. He can’t even believe he was so annoyed with you less than an hour ago. Truthfully speaking, it was all a front. Cecil could never be mad at you, or so he likes to think. Perhaps after tonight he just might be. The way he’s acted in the past was to protect his image, a very purposeful act to convince himself that he didn’t care about you more than a boss should for their employee.
But he does care for you. So much so that he wants to make you feel better as soon as humanly possible.
It’s at this moment Cecil wishes he was a superhero himself, with a specific power that could get rid of this misfortune.
Then again…perhaps he doesn’t need to be a superhero for what you desire.
Once more tonight, an idea crosses his mind. It’s completely wrong, perhaps morally gray, but if he didn’t go through with his earlier idea, he would have never stopped you from hooking up with a stranger. So he thinks he has to be doing something right.
Right as Cecil reopens the door, his heart jumps. You’re still obviously crying, but something else catches his eye sight; you’d discarded some layers of clothes, now only covered by pajama shorts and a thin t-shirt. You rest against the only pillow left and stare absentmindedly at the ceiling. Not only that, but your hand slows down from its previous motions against your clothed cunt. You’d attempted to get rid of your issue to no avail. Shooting him daggers, your voice trembles with obvious desperation.
“The fuck do you want, Cecil?” you spit at him.
He narrows his eyes at you, and only then do you go quiet. He continues traveling towards the middle of your room with an intense stare. Even though he hadn’t spoken a word yet, it was like you could tell his sudden impatience and annoyance had since disappeared. This makes you sit up straight and clutch the sheets. The sound of thread ripping underneath your claws makes his jaw tense up.
“It’s really that bad, huh.” Cecil’s tone isn’t accusatory. It softens slightly. Still, your cat-like ears perk up at the change.
With a quick sniffle, you reply, “Nothing I can do helps. It still hurts. I just want it to stop!”
Cecil is about to give you a snarky response when he catches sight of how bad your bottom lip tremors. Your voice wavers as the distress of the situation finally begins to catch up to both of you. This was serious, and there was only one resolution that Cecil could think of to make this gut-wrenching experience go away, even if it’s just momentarily.
Cecil slowly approaches the side of your bed and sighs. While admiring your beauty in silence, he shakes his head and mutters something under his breath.
Before he can think better of it, his hand ghosts over your cheek. His thumb wipes away at the tears that continue to fall. His slight tenderness is enough to send your heartrate skyrocketing, and he swears he sees you press your legs together a moment later. You place your own hand on top of his to anchor him in place. Never had he been so intimate with any of his superheroes, let alone you. But Cecil doesn’t give a shit how out of line this is. He continues to hover quietly.
“...Cecil?” you whisper.
He can’t tell if it’s the tone of your voice, or the way you said his name like a prayer on your tongue, but Cecil suddenly grasps your hand and yanks you up from the mattress. You stand on wobbly legs and follow him.
He guides you to your desk in the corner of the room. Before you can ask what he’s planning, he places both hands on your waist and lifts you to sit on the edge of the piece of furniture. A small squeak leaves your lips at the sudden movement. Then, he’s caging you in, moving both his hands on either side of you and pressing them deep into the wood. His expression is hard to define due to how low he bows his head.
“Cecil?” you ask again. When you get no reply other than a deep inhale, your fingers poke his arm. “Can you at least look at me? I feel like I’ve done something wrong…”
Your soft tail comes up and wraps itself around his other arm, and only then does he finally look directly at you.
His pupils have engulfed the blue of his eyes. His Adam's apple bobs in his throat as you tug on him, gently using your tail to pull him closer. He stumbles into you, moving to rest his forehead against your shoulder. The contact causes your breath to hitch and tail tighten around his limb.
He practically mewls your name when he begins to say, “It’s nothing like that. It’s…fuck…”
His words begin husky and end barely at a whisper as he breathes in. He shudders at your sickeningly sweet scent, something he already wishes to never go another day without. Instead of flinching when your hands grab his back, he draws you in. As your claws pierce the material of his suit, he emits a sharp breath from the feeling of his skin being poked, grip growing tighter as a result of the sting. He would rather experience it than risk the chance of letting you go.
It’s from that moment onward that Cecil seems to make his final decision.
“Fuck it. Use me.”
Your eyebrows raise in response.
“Use…you?”
He leans back, staring intently as his fingers leave the desk and clutch your knees. He spreads your legs apart and stares down at the obvious arousal coating your thighs. Cecil licks his bottom lip before resuming eye contact. The look on his face is almost unrecognizable, like he’s gone feral.
“Use me,” Cecil murmurs your name in a sultry tone, “use my fingers.”
“What?! I-I can’t- fuck, this is wrong-” you begin to explain but the reasoning falls short the moment his hand comes in contact with the curve of your sensitive pussy. The gasp you release makes him nearly groan and he’d barely done anything yet.
“C’mon, kid, use me. It’s the only way to make you feel better,” he mocks, fingers digging deeper into the shorts that cover your most vulnerable body part. He leans forward, lips hovering near your earlobe when he whispers, “Take these off, sweetheart.”
Without hesitation you follow his instructions, tail losing its grip around his arm at the same time your hands fly to your shorts to tug them down. The clothing is gone within seconds, but your shirt remains with two obvious mounds he knows damn well are your nipples poking through. Cecil doesn’t even bother assisting, he merely observes.
A slight flare of amusement lingers on his lips. There’s something indulgent in the way he watches you so carefully. It’s as though he anticipated you would act like this.
"Eager," he says in a quiet, satisfied voice.
The pajama shorts, along with your soaked underwear, pool around your ankles. Your desperation is on full display now. Cecil spaces himself for only a couple seconds so that you can discard them on the floor.
Heat rushes to your face and you let out a small whimper, “What? What’s funny?”
The man nearly combusts at how fast you spread yourself for him. He sees you properly now, and a knowing smile pulls at his lips.
You’re fucking beautiful.
Cecil clicks his tongue, the weight of his gaze on your pussy makes you whine. He shushes you by settling between your legs. The moment his fingers graze the hot skin of your inner thigh, you groan softly under your breath. His other hand rests comfortably on your waist to anchor himself in place. He whispers in your ears once again, “Pretty funny this is the one time I asked you to do something and you actually listened. Didn’t have to repeat myself.”
You ignore the teasing and bite your lip, palms sliding up the front of his suit and locking themselves around his neck. If only slightly, you accidentally jerk your hips forward when he inches closer to the fat crease between your thigh and lower stomach.
Cecil knows this is painful for you. Waiting longer than necessary would simply be inhuman of him. So with that, his middle finger toys with your wet lips, grazing your clit. The stickiness of your arousal immediately coats him. He presses a kiss to your shoulder the moment he pushes past your entrance and curls his slender digit inside your heat. It’s no surprise that your increased body temperature feels rather unnatural, but he knows he must be doing something right the moment he feels your legs quiver.
All you can do is moan in response, hugging him tighter into your chest like your life depended on it. With a sharp inhale, you mewl, “Oohhhh, fuuuuck me-”
Cecil shuts you up the moment he’s slipping his finger in and out of your cunt at an agonizingly slow pace. There’s a brief pause in your words, then you’re moaning again and he swears he’s high off that sound alone. He can already feel your gummy walls tighten around him and he’s barely done anything yet. The glossy sheen that covers his hand triggers a large outline to form in the man’s trousers.
“Was this what you needed, sweetheart?” Cecil jokes while smirking. He shoves a second finger inside without warning. The action makes you gasp and arch your back ever so slightly.
“Please!” you cry out.
He picks up the pace and starts to stretch you, which only prompts you to dig your claws deeper into his shoulder blades. The roughness of his movements emits a pitiful cry from your pretty lips. The same ones Cecil wishes to kiss. His belt buckle knocks against the wooden desk as he absentmindedly thrusts towards your soaking heat. Fuck, he’s already getting carried away. But the feeling of your wet folds at his fingertips, the moans that echo off the walls, and how hard you cling to his frame makes him damn near dizzy.
The director’s hand, the one not busy fucking your cunt, travels from your waist to your lower back. Once you notice the small change and look towards him, eyes blown out from nothing but pure lust, Cecil collides both your lips together in a messy, heated kiss.
This action alone stirs the tight knot that had been forming deep in your belly. Your sudden orgasm washes over your body like a drug, a strong tingle starting in your spine and trickling all the way down to your toes. Your fluffy tail shoots upwards towards the ceiling, twisting and turning like it had no true destination. The near silent scream sent directly into his mouth, alongside the contraction around his digits, gives Cecil the confirmation that he had done exactly what he needed to do.
But he was far from done with you.
His jaw aches from how hard he devours you. You’re thrown off guard but continue to kiss him back nonetheless, cupping his face like he’s something delicate, careful not to scratch his scarred cheeks. The man curls both fingers inside you harshly, pushing against that spongy spot that makes you so, so sensitive. Still coming down from the first high, you practically yelp, “Cecil!”
He ignores the plea. Sure, it would be smarter to slow down, but he doesn’t care. He’s too far gone. All he can think about is making you come again just from his fingers alone.
Cecil adjusts his hand so that his palm comes into direct contact with your clit, digging into the little nub while his digits rub that sweet spot repeatedly. Each little hair that grinds against his surface reminds him of how cute you really are even during such lewd activities. Before fingering you senseless, he made sure to stare eagerly at the trimmed strip of fuzz above your pussy. Somewhere deep down, Cecil had a feeling you kept yourself groomed in this way, like the good girl you are.
He pulls away from your mouth, stumbling forward to grip the desk so he does not lose balance. Cecil stares into your eyes as he increases the speed. He hums in time with his thrusts. “You can do it, I know you can. One more time for me.”
“Fuck!”
Perhaps embarrassed from how easily he’s able to control you during such a vulnerable state, you shove your face into the crook of his neck, sniffling and crying from the intensity of your second orgasm. Just as the first time went, the impact makes your entire nervous system shake and you practically vibrate in his palm, tail brushing against his leg in the process.
He eats all of it up. Every single second, because he’s not sure when the hell he’ll ever get to see something so beautiful again.
Cecil slows his movements and takes a few seconds to play with your overly sensitive self, poking at the tender walls and listening to your whimpers. He’s so pleased with the mess he’s made of you. After letting you catch your breath, he slowly trails his soaked fingers out of your cunt and places his hand back down on the desk, just on the other side of your thigh. He leans in closer, lips hovering above your own. You continue to hold his face and look back at him like you were being treated exactly how you needed to be, like he had done something right.
He could close the gap. Right here, right now. Kiss you again and again like he was meant to, because at this point you feel so close to heaven that Cecil might be convinced the two of you were supposed to cross paths in life. Maybe he could stay here in this same spot for the rest of the night into the bleeding hours of dawn, fingering your sweet pussy and inhaling the scent of your arousal.
But then your hands leave his face.
And all of a sudden Cecil’s belt buckle comes undone.
His eyes widened out of surprise. Straightening his back, his hands grab your wrists and halt you from being able to move further. You stare back at him out of surprise, and maybe even genuine confusion.
“What the hell are you doing?” he snarls, failing to nudge you away from his trousers. Your superhero strength definitely was not helping at this time.
“...you…don’t want to fuck me?” you ask with furrowed eyebrows and flattened ears.
Cecil’s heart drops into his stomach much harder than any other time earlier this night. Both your bodies grow rigid, too overwhelmed to move. The old man’s heart hammers and there’s a temporary loss of focus for only a few seconds.
How dare you speak so vulgarly to your superior…because, truly, it only makes him want to drill you. But then he’s reminded of how unethical that would actually be.
“I’m not doing that,” Cecil begins to protest, tilting his head to meet your worried gaze, “I've already violated so many GDA rules. I’ve stepped out of line. You don’t need me to-”
“Yes I do, I need you so bad. I’ll just be in pain the rest of the night if you don’t help,” you plead, urgency laced in your voice.
He lets out a small gasp at your words. That goddamn imaginary boundary, the one that never truly existed in the first place, had already been crossed, if one could even argue that. Cecil replays what he did tonight and realizes that he has tattered your work relationship to a degree that couldn’t be fixed. He’s fucked. Well, both of you are.
What’s going to happen if the rest of the GDA finds out? How would the public react? Shit, how are Cecil’s superheroes going to treat him? They already hate his guts most days of the week. He’s never exactly been on their good side. If they catch wind he’s fucking the only superhero he’s been subconsciously doting on for the last year, they’ll freak out.
However, something else overpowers these anxieties. All the outside commotion, those oddly specific sounds of this criminal-ridden city, have been nothing but white noise since Cecil appeared on the other side of your apartment door. He’s not sure he can recall the last time that has ever happened. You are like some sort of magic spell, drugging him into a cloudy psychosis where you do nothing but plague his thoughts.
So when Cecil looks down at your hands, still resting on his belt buckle, and then glances at your puffy folds leaking that slick juice, his throat goes dry.
Maybe you do need a thick cock afterall. More specifically, Cecil Stedman’s. Because it’s to help you with your heat, right? And what kind of director would he be if he left you to writhe in agony the rest of the night?
Cecil is completely stunned for a brief period of time. Then, he lets out a very slow breath and lets go of your hands to grip your bare thighs. As he speaks, his look is deadly serious.
"You always act like a slut, or is it just for me?"
You smirk, tail swishing back and forth behind you. “Just for you.”
He nods towards his bulge, eyes shooting back up to meet your own. “Well, go on then.”
Your hands are pulling the belt off right away, operating at a speed nearly as quick as you did earlier when you were discarding your pants. Before you can even unzip the article of clothing, Cecil reaches for your thin shirt and pulls it over your arms and head, finally catching sight of the hard nipples that had been poking the fabric earlier. He cups your breasts, pinching your precious skin as you pull him in for another kiss using your tail.
Cecil hears you purr under your breath in between each movement. The cold air in the room seeps through his boxers once his trousers finally begin to wiggle past his crotch. Cecil doesn’t separate from your mouth as he helps you with the burden of taking off his garments. He hooks his fingers around the waistband of his briefs and tugs them down above knees.
His throbbing cock nearly smacks his lower stomach the moment it springs free. Cecil stops the assault on your lips to look at your face, admiring your reaction to how large his member appears. A little whimper sneaks past your lips at the sight. He swears he could replay that sound on loop forever and never get bored.
Cecil’s thumb caresses your cheek, noting that you can’t tear your gaze away from his cock. “C’mon, sweetheart, this will help.”
Suddenly, his fingers are digging into your side and pulling you to the very edge of the desk. Your ass barely hangs over the side, but the discomfort doesn’t even matter because Cecil’s gripping his length and hovering over your pussy. The moment he glides his mushroom tip through your wet lips, though?
Fuck.
He is so, so fucking hard.
You give the man a miserable moan, whining like you were some sort of wounded animal. Your legs wrap around his lower half so he can only move forward, which is exactly what you begin to beg for. He watches the way your tail wraps itself around his wrist as though to encourage him to work at a faster pace.
“Yes, yes, yes, please put it in me,” you pout, completely in awe at how girthy Cecil is. You just know from the sight alone, he’d fill you up in all the right spaces.
Cecil loves watching how you arch your back to his touch. He experimentally rolls his hips a few times, cursing to himself at how fucking wet you are. It oozes out nonstop, covering him in enough slick that he’s positive he could just slip it in now and have no problem. He slowly rubs his tip against your clit just to earn another whimper from you. He travels down your folds, stopping right at the hole that aches to be filled. He’s thankful for the little glimmer of moonlight that shines a perfect light on your pretty pussy.
Actually, Cecil can’t believe this is still real and very much happening. His jaw twitches from restraint, trying to soak up this moment and prolong it for as long as possible. But then he hears you whine again and knows that at this point, he’s just being a dick.
“Cecil, please fuck me, I can’t wait much longer,” you huff, extremely worried with how many seconds had passed since he started teasing you.
“Fine, fine, whatever you say,” Cecil says sarcastically, mouth forming into the shape of an ‘o’ when he finally pushes inside.
You cry out in surprise, eyes rolling to the back of your head as your cunt finally feels that satisfying stretch. Each inch that drives deeper into you causes you to forget to breathe momentarily, your fluffy ears fluttering at the top of your head from the overwhelming sensation. Cecil, on the other hand, actually stops breathing all together.
Because how the hell are you this perfect?
You’re so snug around his member, taking him like a good girl. Cecil grunts and tightens the grip he’s resumed on your hips. He throws his head back once he’s completely inside you, relishing in the feeling. He exhales, “Fuck, you’re so tight.”
“Cecil,” you gasp, your inner walls contracting around him just from the compliment alone, “need you to move.”
While Cecil is used to being the one to give out commands, his heart skips a beat at the way you so eagerly ask him to fuck you.
A low, possessive growl crawls up from the back of his throat and he finally gives you what you’d been craving all night. He draws his hips back and thrusts forward, over and over again. He’s so deep and both of you are a mess as a result.
“Uh, uh, uh!” you moan in time with each blunt thrust. Your entire body shakes, causing various items discarded on the desk to fall to the floor.
“Always knew you were a slut. Fucking knew it,” the older man groans, staring at how you take him so well. Cecil fucks you on his cock with the type of energy he didn’t know he still had within him. It was the kind of vigor he was sure was left behind in his younger years, seemingly alive now that he has you caged here on the desk with nowhere to go but to continue pushing against his long, thick shaft.
The rhythm of his punishing strokes pushes air from your lungs. Your tail has since left his arm and now lazily sways side to side next to you, ears completely flattened while you practically drool. You cry out, “Hng- oh- holy fuck!”
Cecil can’t seem to stop. He keeps drilling into your pussy to the point he swears you’re dripping on the pile of clothes near his feet. Each time his cock splits you in two, it’s thorough, but messy. Harsh, but necessary. Everything he does is as desperate as you.
Once Cecil somehow musters up enough energy to quicken his pace, you fall backwards onto the desk and groan loudly. The movements make your breasts bounce, causing Cecil’s cock to twitch. With the intensity increasing, it’s no surprise the two of you approach your orgasm fairly quickly, but he’d be damned if he didn’t get you to finish before himself.
Cecil doesn’t stop moving. With a thin layer of sweat building on his forehead, one of his hands leaves your hip to rub your clit in constant circles.
“Ah!” you yelp. Cecil’s finger expertly swivels around the bundles of nerves like he knew exactly what movements were going to make you melt like putty. Your head lulls to the side, eyes closed as you focus intently on the rhythm of his hips snapping against your own. Accidentally, you murmur, “so-so fucking big, holy shit.”
Cecil hears the comment anyway and it boosts his ego to a new level. He smirks and mutters back, “Yeah? Who knew you needed my cock to feel better.”
“Sh-Shut up, Cecil, please I’m so close!” you exclaim, looking back at him with the most fucked out face he’s ever seen on anyone.
Cecil presses down harder on your clit, narrowing his eyes. He leans towards you, listening at how your breathing is beginning to grow more labored and uneven. He growls, “Come for me, sweetheart.”
The words trigger an explosion within you. Your walls tighten around Cecil’s cock, which was still rapidly ramming into you at an extraordinary speed. The orgasm tears a low scream from you, your entire body going limp on the desk from the sheer intensity of it all. He begins to pant, chasing his own high moments later. His hand leaves your clit to play with your breasts, squeezing the warm flesh. He praises you, “Yes, just like that. Fuck, you’re gonna make me come.”
“Hng, please, need it,” you beg, staring at him with flushed cheeks.
Cecil is completely worn out, which doesn’t surprise him, so he quickly resorts to laying on top of your body, suit pressing against your hot and sweaty skin. His lips attach themselves to your neck, sucking like he was marking his property. He whispers, “So pretty like this. Could fuck you all night, you know. Just might have to.”
Your claws clutch his shoulders, puncturing the fabric. You gasp at the mere idea, pussy clamping around Cecil once again. He comes moments later, spilling into you and pumping you full of his seed. He knows he’ll regret doing that in the morning, or maybe even minutes after this, but right now he doesn't care. It seemed you didn’t either. You actually moan at the action, grinning at how the warm liquid seeps past his member and down your bottom.
You faintly feel Cecil smile against your neck.
You’re both quiet for a moment, panting ever so slightly. Cecil’s grip on your entire body finally eases. He pulls away and looks down at the mess he’s made; you, laid on the desk, red and full of him. Your eyes are droopy, either from drowsiness or lust, he wasn’t sure. Your hair is evidently knotted as well, a true sign of getting fucked nice and hard.
Cecil momentarily worries he’s in worse shape, but before he can even take a glance in a mirror, he hears that all too familiar ring in his earpiece that work is summoning him. Now.
Then reality settles back in and Cecil realizes just how fucked he is.
pairing: shane walsh x afab!reader
word count: 2.4k
summary: seeing shane come home in his uniform really gets you goin
warnings: mean-dom!shane, coarse language, unprotected sex, creampie, sucking on dog tag, officer roleplay, pet names (‘little girl’ used twice)
After waiting hours on end for Shane to come home, you finally caved and went through the motions of your typical nighttime routine. Silk pajamas, face wash, lip mask, the usual. Nothing extravagant, but enough to make you feel as though you have a decent self-care routine. Well, dating a cop, you kind of needed one. Otherwise you’d start getting premature stress wrinkles at such a young age. That was especially the case tonight considering how late he was from his shift. It was going to take some time adjusting to his wacky schedule. This was an easier feat when you still lived in your quaint apartment the next town over.
The two of you had just moved in with one another not even a full week ago. There’s still boxes to be unpacked and furniture to be put together in other rooms of the house. All jobs that Shane can do on his day off, you assume. Instead of being productive in any way that is actually beneficial to your living situation, you opt to sit on the couch and play a chick flick in the background. Not that you were really paying attention; doom scrolling on your phone and a large glass of wine was of more importance.
The only dim light besides the television was the lamp to your right. It illuminated the comfort and safety of your recently bought home. You knew Shane made it his own space the moment he hid different weapons practically around every corner, all for you in case of emergency. Still, you made no movement to get up and grab the shotgun when you heard someone walk through the front door. Your mind knew better; it was your man finally coming home.
“Was it another homicide?” you ask aloud, still looking at your phone.
Heavy boots tread across the hard wood floor for only a moment, but then you hear them retreat back. Probably to take them off before he gets into the living room to see you. This makes you smile softly. It’s the little things that really make you and Shane work so well together.
His scent enters the room before he does; sweat, tobacco, and something similar to that of warm amber. You shoot your head up the moment Shane finally stops in front of the television. His highly alluring profile makes you chew on your lip.
He answers your question in that husky tone of his, “Nah, some asshat decided to run on us during a traffic stop. He was quick, too. We got ‘em going eastbound on- now why in the hell are ya lookin’ at me like that?”
It’s not your fault he looks so good. It’s entirely his.
The man’s uniform catches your eyes first. The subtle, silent visual that he is a protector of the community. Not only that, but it stands for authority; this alone makes your pussy throb.
Then your gaze gravitates to the way his arms bulge out the sleeves, practically making the fabric want to rip. It’s enough to make your mind wander to images of the man using his strength to squeeze your waist, or pick you up and fuck you right here against the wall.
Something about his badge stands out the most. Seeing his official status plastered right there on his tight, sturdy chest triggers a familiar movement somewhere between your thighs. Within seconds, you already know a pool of slick is going to start pooling in your lacey underwear. All from looking at your boyfriend in his uniform.
“Shane, I-”
“Yea’?” he asks, slightly impatient.
That’s literally all it takes. You’re kinda easy like that, you suppose. He silently agrees.
A mere fifteen minutes later, you’re bouncing on the man’s lap while his thick cock grazes that very tender area inside your pussy. He’s got a real joy in his eyes watching you move up and down atop his muscled thighs. Whereas you had originally got worked up from seeing him in his uniform, he was eating up the sight of you being so pathetic for him. The way you surrender your body to him is never a decision you regret. You always love these moments; this one especially so.
Shane still has the uniform on. The top buttons are undone, pants pushed down to the spot right below his knees. Your fingers run themselves over his upper torso, sometimes brushing along the edge of his badge and name tag. His dark-hooded eyes stare intently at each move, his thick, warm digits digging themselves into your hips to encourage you to keep moving. You feel the man’s cock pulse the louder you moan.
“Fuck, sweetheart, didn’t know you liked getting so messy like this,” Shane teases, moving his right hand to toy with your clit. It’s so wet from how hard and fast you ride him, which only makes the man whistle and smirk, “like it when a cop tells you to ride him, huh?”
“Nng, ye-yes, fuck.”
Shane runs the pad of his finger in slow circles. This time, instead of moaning loudly, you begin to arch your back and release a wretched whine. The action causes your chest to push against him, the badge poking your breast. You suck in a sharp breath and he notices instantly. The way your eyes widen was a dead giveaway. You attempt to hide your face, but it’s to no avail.
He already saw how the uniform affects you once. Now, he’s just reliving it again.
“Aw, babygirl, you fallin’ apart on me?” he purrs in your ear, nipping at the sensitive skin in the crook of your neck. He inhales deeply, and whispers something about how sweet you smell. For a split second, you take note of the way he snaps his hips towards your cunt like he’s hungry for something more. A faint smack echos in the room from his balls tapping your abused pussy. He groans in time with you, a bead of sweat trailing down Shane’s temple.
He takes pleasure in how you gasp so innocently, taken aback by his lewd commentary. The grip on his shoulders tightens by a fraction. Meanwhile, you contract harder around his length. You mewl, “Come-Come on, Shane. Stop teasin’.”
“Ain’t gonna,” he murmurs, pushing you away from his chest so he can admire the white ring that begins to build around the base of his cock.
“Gettin’ tired,” you softly cry, struggling to force yourself up and down. The strain in your thighs isn’t horrible, but definitely not pleasurable. Shane doesn’t care though.
“Just a little more, babygirl. You can take a little more, can’t you?”
His voice strangles to get those last few words out. Shane throws his head back and conjures up a porn-like moan in the process. His thick member twitches inside you, indicating he’s already close. Your palms find themselves anchoring onto his chest for stability. As you rock your hips back and forth, sometimes moving them in circles just so you can feel his girthy tip rub the special spots deep within, you gasp, “Officer Walsh, my pussy can’t take it ‘nymore.”
“Oh, yea’? Well ain’t that too bad, ‘cause I’m pretty sure the only way you’re gettin’ out of trouble, little girl, is if you let me cum inside this tight pussy. You’d let me do that, right?”
The man’s perverted question rolls off his tongue like second nature. To no one’s surprise, the words work like a charm on you. Like muscle memory, you start to bounce yourself on his lap once again and choose to ignore the pain. Even when your body feels on fire, the desire to make this man cum deep inside clouds your usual way of thinking.
The wet warmth around Shane’s cock was already sending him into highgear, but now that you had resumed your quickened pace, his hands began running up and down your sides. The pads of his digits are hot to the touch. On occasion, they tense up and pinch your flesh. Then he stutters out more encouragement to keep you moving. It was like he couldn’t tell which part of your body he wanted to squeeze the most.
Your focus shifts from watching the man’s expressions to his thick neck. Nearly every time your drenched hole comes crashing down on his length, his Adam’s apple bobs furiously. Beneath the man’s uniform is the glint of his dog tags. They’re barely noticeable, but somewhere in between listening to his beautiful sounds and bulging veins touching your walls, your hand has a mind of its own and suddenly touches the material.
Shane notices and looks you in the eye. Your pace begins to slow down. He asks, “Whatcha’ got there, huh? Care to explain yourself?”
The dog tag is fully exposed now, held in your grasp. The stainless steel chain somehow makes his whole ensemble even hotter. You’re positively drenched at this point. Then he goes and asks a question like that, as if you’re getting interrogated.
It’s hard not to moan back a response.
“Can’t help it, Officer,” the statement is short and leaves room for more.
“Was gonna tell you that you have the right to- oh, fuck, remain silent, but I don’ think that’s gonna be the case here in a minute,” Shane says as you continue to inspect the military tag.
“Huh?”
Shane sinks further into the couch, moving his bottom down the cushion to put you at a higher angle. Without having to ask further, you already knew what was to come next. You’d stopped moving all together in anticipation and planted your knees into the soft upholstery, looking away briefly because eye contact seems dangerous at a time like this. You can’t decide whether to stare at his badge or the chain.
However, before Shane begins moving, he takes the dog tag out of your fingers and promptly shoves the little stamped tag into your mouth, observing the way it bottoms out so nicely on your tongue and how quick you are to taste the steel on your buds. Your lower half wiggles around and your cheeks flush a deep red. Shane’s cock twitches again, then he says, “Yea’, just like that babygirl. Suck on my dog tag for me, ‘kay?”
“Mmh, yes, Officer Walsh,” you hiccup, eyes glossing over with a glaze Shane always associated with your climax. He knew you were close, and so was he.
The man wastes no more time and begins thrusting up into your soaking cunt, making the entire room fill with the sound of skin slapping on skin, harmonious sounds of deep pleasure, and his chain rattling in the process. His hips jerk hard the longer he watches you suck on his dog tag, like it was meant to be there.
“Yes, just like that. You’re so hot, honey, don’t stop,” admiring the arousal leaking out of you onto his crotch and the crease between his thighs. He already needed a shower after his shift, but fuck, he loves knowing that you’re part of the reason, too.
“Hmph, yes, right there,” you quiver in his lap, “so close!”
“Me too, honey. Officer Walsh will be done with you soon, don’t you worry,” he reassures, still pounding so deep in your pussy.
The room reeks of sex, and truly it was secretly Shane’s favorite way of breaking in the place. He already made a comment a couple days ago about fucking you raw on every piece of furniture in the house; apparently the couch was first pick.
Your body begins to shake as the orgasm approaches quicker and quicker. It looked as though you were right on the edge, so Shane continued talking in his raspy voice to push you towards release. “Cum for me. Cum for Officer Walsh like the good girl you are.”
All you can do is hum in agreement, nodding quickly and shutting your eyes tight as you chase your climax. Not long after, the knot in your stomach comes undone and your entire body vibrates from the intensity. Your pulse beats rapidly in your ear as you convulse on the man’s cock once, twice, three times in a row, producing a primal reaction out of your boyfriend.
Shane’s hands tighten their grip on your waist. He begins to pick your body up and down in time with his thrusts, practically using you like a doll. You huff, “Sh-Shane! Fuck, I mean, Officer, please cum in me!”
“Shit, shit, shit, you’re gonna make me cum- fuck!” he exclaims loudly, crying out of complete bliss. You can feel the way his cock pulses his load inside you over and over again, making a mess of fluids that you will have to clean up later.
Your eyes widen at his reaction, momentarily taking the dog tag out of your mouth so that your lips can quirk into a sweet grin. Shane shudders more, likely from how hard he just finished, then slowly slumps to the point you lean into his chest and rest your head on his shoulder. His uniform is damp from all the sweat; not to mention his pants are probably heavy with both your fluids. All in all, his reaction is satisfying to no end.
“Honey, that was…wow.” Shane musters after some silence passes.
“Yeah…hot as hell.”
He presses his lips to your cheek, your jawline, then finally manages to hold you in a position where he can kiss his lips. The two of you taste one another with vigor, as though the last twenty or so minutes wasn’t an entire scene out of some porno. His tongue swipes against your bottom lip, pushing past once you grant him entry. You both fight for dominance only a couple seconds before Shane starts taking control. His hands clutch your bottom, kneading the thick flesh and causing you to groan.
“Shane,” you murmur, only to be pulled back in for another hungry kiss. You giggle against his lips, then break apart to tell him, “babe, we gotta shower. Please. I feel gross.”
“Hm,” he says, rolling his semi-softened cock inside you, “I think Officer Walsh needs another round. Can’t seem to figure out if you’re off the hook yet, little girl.”
“Was I that bad, officer?” you ask in a sultry tone, pointer finger trailing the stubble on his cheek.
“Honey, I think that was the wettest you’ve ever been. Really. Need you so bad.”
His breathing is suddenly very heavy again, and just a few seconds later, you feel his member grow inside you. How the hell was he wanting another round after all this? Not that you’re opposed…
“Fine. But you’re fucking me in the shower.”
“Deal.” he says while trying to fight back a playful grin, diving back in for another heated kiss on the now ruined couch.
pairing: sirius black x afab!reader
word count: 5.1k
summary: as lily’s younger sister, you’d always had a small crush on sirius. the same night you’d been wide awake out of worry for his safety, sirius sneaks into your bedroom for a quick hello. feelings bubble quickly and hit a boiling point.
warnings: some angst at the beginning, coarse language, age gap, heavy making out, hickeys, fingering, praise, nicknames (‘pretty girl’ used once)
a/n: inspo from this request! hope you enjoy, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated!
Trying to catch sleep was pointless. Minutes ticked by endlessly and bled into the late hours of the night. Like clockwork, the moon would be a bystander as you tossed and turned in the sheets restlessly, anxiety building in your chest and making your jaw ache with tension.
This had simply been the routine as of the past week. Barely any sleep, absolutely no dreams, then after finally passing out for a couple hours at most, you’d find yourself waking up to sweat on your brow and a racing heart.
It’s his fault. He’s the reason you’re such a mess. Sirius Black has escaped Azkaban and was currently on the loose, last seen somewhere in the shadows of a pub only a few towns over from your cottage.
Each night since hearing this news was agony. He was your role model growing up, you suppose. The relationship you two had was tight-knit, something beautiful you wished to rekindle ever since he had been taken away. Knowing he was so exposed right now, possibly on the verge of getting himself killed at any moment, crushed your soul.
The clock struck two in the morning. You’d attempted to fall asleep roughly five hours ago, but of course the endeavor was deemed useless.
The latest Daily Prophet report loomed heavily at the front of your brain. The magical text kept flashing in your mind; ‘Black still at large’, ‘everyone remain calm’, ‘Aurors on his tail’.
The last photograph you had of the man, before he was arrested, lies in the palm of your hand. The moonlight behind the thin curtains sheds enough light to showcase Sirius’s young face.
He looks much different now, according to the mugshot that’s plastered all over the wizarding world. Every witch and wizard across the country knows his current appearance. However, you can only recognize the wizard who took care of you when you were younger.
Being Lily and Petunia’s younger sister had its feats. Without surprise, Petunia treated you horribly. It felt as though life at home resembled a prison similar to the one Sirius had found himself in these last thirteen years. It wasn't anything as bad as Lily, considering she was the first witch in the family before you came along. The bullying followed nonetheless. At any given moment, your oldest sister took liberty in putting you and Lily down into the dirt, both literally and metaphorically.
It was absolutely humiliating how she treated you.
Sirius was always there for you, though. Even at times of being frustrated with the rest of the world, or feeling inadequate to other witches in your immediate circle, Sirius somehow managed to offer the right amount of support. His security protected you from what might have been the lowest points of your life.
He knew this, too. The older wizard was much aware of the importance of his role.
You can see that in the moving photograph now. It’s a memorable group picture from your youth; you, Sirius, Remus, Peter, Lily, and James, all seated on a porch watching the sunset. Sirius had his arm wrapped around your shoulders. Right before this photograph was taken, Lily and James were playfully fighting. The conversation still feels clear as day; their voices overlapping one another practically screeching about who took a better picture with their camera. You sat there on the steps, watching everything unfold. Sirius whispered a joke in your ear, something about how hot James' face was getting.
It was true. The man’s cheeks were a tad bit more red than usual.
This picture was one of the best keepsakes you held onto over the years. You show Harry the photograph any chance you get. Being his newly appointed guardian these last few years, since you were too young to care for him when he was a newborn, you’ve adjusted to bringing up the past on frequent occasions. In a way, it gave the two of you an opportunity for growth. To build your emotional strength and keep moving forward. This picture…it meant the world to the both of you.
It was one of the last times you’d taken a picture with your sister before she was…
A stray tear rolls down your cheek. It’s easier to reminisce on her memory nowadays, given it’s been over thirteen years, but some moments are still harder than others.
This is one of them. Mostly due to the fact your mind was occupied with worry about Sirius.
Of course it was. Why wouldn’t it be? Just the thought of him makes your heart skip a beat.
You can’t help it. Although you were quite some years younger than him, you still harbored a silly childhood crush. Perhaps it never truly went away, but you didn’t pay any bother to it once you grew into a young adult. You had a few short-lived experiences dating a mix of wizards and muggles. However, they were never exactly what you were looking for in a relationship. Deep down you craved the touch of another.
Even at a young age, you figured Sirius would be the one. It’s just unfortunate how things ended up changing so drastically.
Sitting against the headboard of your large bed, you adjust your position so that you pull your knees to your chest. Your eyes scan the bedroom, particularly towards the door across the way. You calmly gaze at it to ensure no candles were lit on the other side, meanwhile your ears listened closely to the potential sound of floorboards creaking in the night. It’s instinctive for you to do so now, even though Harry is currently safe at Hogwarts. There was just something about tonight especially that triggered this rather interesting response out of you. As though something was about to happen.
It’s not like you fully expected to be startled by tapping on the window, however.
Maybe your intuition knew something was coming your way. Before you realize you’re not alone after all, there’s a rapid thump, thump, thump, on the glass.
Your head whips in the direction, trying hard to make out what was on the other side.
The tapping continues. It’s not anything inconsistent to suggest it may have been a branch causing a noisy collision against the glass.
No. It’s definitely human. Someone using their finger to purposely garner your attention. And at any moment now, they might attempt to break in.
Your breathing becomes ragged. The heartbeat in your ear accelerates and deafens any other other noise around you. Through the thin curtain is the outline of someone’s head. Assuming this is a violent intruder, you can’t help but wonder if this is your last night on earth alive.
Because why else would they be outside your bedroom window in the middle of the night? Obviously to inflict harm, right?
But then, for a split second, you see the faintest silhouette of an all too familiar tangled curl. One you’d just been staring at within the moving photograph in your hand.
Your body moves before your mind can even make a final decision. Upon pulling back the curtains and opening the window, you see him standing there in his ripped Azkaban uniform.
Sirius Black in the flesh. Surrounded by the looming night sky and a chorus of nearby crickets. His face mimics that of your own; complete, utter shock. Then, relief.
With your mouth agape, and completely flustered into a state of shock, you attempt to piece together words to question him. “This-This- what are you? Huh? S-Sirius, is that actually you?”
His slender fingers firmly grasp the ledge and he hoists himself into the room. Somehow, the action was surprisingly a bit graceful on his part despite the circumstances. He’s only on his knees momentarily. Then Sirius pushes himself up and, with shaky hands, immediately closes the window and curtains.
Finally, he pulls you into the tightest hug possible. Your mind erupts with a million questions, but they can be ignored for now just so you can enjoy the bliss of being able to physically touch one of your oldest friends.
“My love, my love, it really is you, isn’t it? So grown up now, my goodness,” Sirius exclaims with a waver in his voice. His hot breath hits your neck and sends a tingle to your core.
One hand cradles the back of your head, the other rubbing your back. You melt into his embrace. Still in disbelief, you continue, “Sirius! Oh, what are you doing here? How did you find me?”
“A story for another time. I hate to say that I cannot stay long,” he murmurs into your ear. His raspy tone digs beneath your flesh and triggers a flurry of goosebumps along your arms. Sirius can practically feel the chill coming from your much smaller frame.
Before he can say anything else, you clutch the man’s biceps and look him in the eyes; the same ones that you’d been wanting to see for years now.
“S-Sirius, this can’t be real,” you almost tear up, “I was just- I was just thinking of you and…and then you showed up…why are you here? What is going on?”
He notices the way your body trembles out of either excitement, fear, or a mixture of both. Sirius, being the gentle giant he was, carefully walks you to the edge of your bed and sits you there. He encourages you to light a nearby candle using your wand, as he did not want to explain himself in complete darkness.
The wizard refuses to keep your brain occupied with worried thoughts. Without waiting another moment, he jumps into explaining what has been going on in his crazy world the last few weeks.
You notice Sirius purposely avoided the part as to how he escaped Azkaban, but you didn’t particularly care enough to force an answer out of him. The remainder of his story felt like a blur. Some moments were long and drawn out, others swiftly mentioned as a means of additional context for a later chapter of events. It was difficult to believe most of what he mentioned. However, even despite such a crazy journey retold through either a plethora or lack of detail, it strangely did make sense at some point.
Especially the part about Peter. It truly all made sense now. At this time, you went quiet and stared at the wall. Poor Lily and James…they had no idea. You never truly believed Sirius to be capable of the crimes he supposedly committed all those years ago. The gut instinct you’d held onto it ended up being the truth.
After wrapping up his story, Sirius noticed the photograph on your bed, discarded from earlier when you helped the wizard sneak into your room.
He whispers, “You really were thinking of me, weren’t you?”
Your gaze drifts to the photograph next to your figure. Picking it up, you sniffle and nod slowly. “Uh, yeah, I was. Kept thinking about how you were on the run and…yeah.”
Sirius decides to observe the photograph for himself. He doesn’t seem to visibly unravel at the little glimpse into the past, unlike you. However, the wizard keeps glancing back and forth between the picture and your frame.
He mumbles slowly, “My, you’ve grown so much. I wish I could have been here over the years and…not locked away.”
You swear his eyes drift to the silky nightgown you’d been wearing during this entire interaction. But then his stare remains on your face. Is the room warm all of a sudden, or are you just in a daze that Sirius is even here in the first place?
Opting to wait a few seconds to process what he said, you clear your throat and reply, “Well, you’re here now…”
Sirius hums. It isn’t a good hum either. Even though you haven’t had a face-to-face conversation with this wizard in years, you’d recognize that noise from anywhere.
He gulps and exhales heavily.
“As you know, I’m trying to find Harry. I had an inkling he is currently protected behind the walls of Hogwarts, but on a hunch I came here to see if he was perhaps in your care,” Sirius sighs, eyes falling to the floor. He stares at his dirty clothing; you don’t mind his appearance one bit. You hope he knows that.
“He needs to see you Sirius. And soon,” you mumble, wiping away a stray tear that managed to escape.
Truly speaking, it makes sense why he is in such need to contact Harry. The boy deserves the truth about what happened. It’s only a matter of time before things turn into something nasty.
Still, the slightly selfish part of you wishes Sirius would remain a bit longer. Knowing you and your antics, he can tell your mind is occupied with such thoughts. Sirius discards the photograph on a nearby nightstand. The action causes you to stare intently into his dark orbs.
The silence between you two is heavy. The realization that Sirius was meant to leave soon killed you. You’d been desperate to see him for so long.
Only for it to be taken away again.
Staring at him in this quiet atmosphere makes your heart skip a beat. He doesn’t even know it, but the man’s attractive smile is still very much alive and teeming with joy at this very moment.
You can’t help but wonder what has him grinning so hard. Maybe he’s just so excited to see you again.
You are, too.
Sirius interposes the space between your thighs. His leg nudges against your own as they dangle off the side of the bed. The wizard’s eyes never falter from your stare. He refuses to turn away. Rather, his warm palm cups your tear-stained face instead. Feeling his fingers stroke your cheeks was pleasant; instinctively, you craved for more.
“I had to see you, love,” Sirius continues, his eyes appearing weepy as he recounts the events that led up to this exact moment, “just needed to check on you before I was on my way. You know I can’t stay long. The Ministry of Magic is not far behind.”
“Well, at the very least, can you make me a promise?” you ask.
“What is it?”
You lean further into his touch, heart beating rapidly in your chest. Something glistens in your eyes; warmth and affection. He catches it briefly and the realization makes Sirius catch his breath. Unknowingly, your gaze lingers to the man’s lips, then his jawline, and finally his dangerously handsome chest you craved to see more of.
In the quiet, you look up at the wizard and whisper, “Please come back to me. I wish to see you again. Alive, preferably.”
Sirius chuckles, still brushing his thumb back and forth along your warm skin. “I give you my word.”
His voice and manners make you smile in spite of the situation at hand. Sirius takes a step back in time for you to stand, wrapping your arms around his neck so you can pull him into a tight hug. He reciprocates immediately and holds you by the waist. In the crook of your neck and shoulder, he hums, satisfied with the close proximity between the two of you.
You’d missed this. Just earlier you wished so badly to be held in his arms once more, and by your utter surprise, exactly that happened tonight.
Both of you feel one another relax. Your muscles lose their stiffness and each of you exhale gently in the silence. When you pull back, Sirius looks down at you lovingly.
The peace, the tranquility, the heat ruminating between your chests, it all comes crashing down in one distinct moment. The digits that clung to your frame just above your hips tighten their grasp by a fraction. Your arms, previously dangled around Sirius’s neck, grab hold of his jaw instead. Without having to apply even an ounce of legilimency, each of you knew exactly what was to come next.
The history of your friendship, mixed with the new memory of tonight’s reunion, dissolves into something much more meaningful. The wizard who was once your role model and mentor leans forward and swiftly collides both your lips together. The act catches you by surprise. However, you do not hold back a soft grin and kiss him right back.
He yanks the front of your body flush upon his own, humming in time at how easily you melt under his touch.
Your fingers can’t seem to make up their mind; one second you clutch his face and press further into his mouth, moving your lips like it’s a race against time; the next you are tugging at the curls right at the nape of his neck and groaning gently under your breath. Sirius does all the same, except he slowly inches you backwards.
You almost don’t recognize the fact he’s laying you on the bed until you are underneath his figure. The entire time you were too focused on the taste of his mouth; Sirius is a blend of smokey, salty, and perhaps hints of something a bit on the sweeter side, like melted brown sugar from a pastry.
One hand pushes into the mattress on the side of your head, stabilizing his weight so he hovers above you. The other runs up and down your side only a few times, then caresses your thigh in a way to subtly encourage you to wrap your legs around his lower half. You do so without a second thought.
Each of you exhale little moans and whimpers as the kiss progresses into something heavier. At first you worried this was all a dream, but the acceleration of your heart confirmed it was real. Your hands touch the visible parts of his chest, making Sirius groan deeply. The sound alone triggers a sharp pulse in between your thighs.
“Too damn pretty,” Sirius murmurs through the wet exchange of your lips, squeezing the flesh closest to your bottom, “so good for me.”
The praise goes straight to your core and sends a tingle down your spine. Instinctively, you arch into his touch and mewl. The silky slip you’d put on earlier in the night begins to ride up your legs and pool at such a vulnerable spot. Sirius notices immediately and huffs pathetically, staring at the wet spot on your underwear.
“Oh, love, this all for me?” he teases, removing his hand from your warm thigh to poke at the slick near your clothed entrance.
“C-C’mon, Sirius, stop teasing me,” you mumble, trying to pull him back down by his shoulders.
He closes the gap for a bit longer, brushing his tongue along your bottom lip. He explores the inside of your mouth with dominance, drinking up all the sounds that emit from the back of your throat. He hugs your waist again before pressing the palm of his hand against your covered cunt.
The contact releases a slew of moans and whimpers on your end. Sirius pulls away to stare at your shuddering figure, eyes hooded and heavy with the type of desire you only see in romantic films.
“Love, as much as I want to stay here and fuck your sweet pussy into next week, I need to get going…” he trails off at the sight of your composure falling apart due to his words, “well, then again…”
“Wait, what? Please, Sirius, I need you before you go. It hurts,” you plead the man. The heel of your foot rubs the back of his leg, a quiet plea to convince the wizard to take you right then and there.
“Oh, Godric- you know how to make it hard to resist,” Sirius sighs, admiring the growing wet patch.
He kisses you, hurried and without care for the way you squirm beneath him. Sirius grinds his lower half on your soaking cunt which causes you both to moan simultaneously. His bulge is thick and heavy in ways even your mind couldn’t imagine in your wildest dreams. It just makes you crave him more and more. The sound of smacking lips and gentle groans was perfect in every way. Then, he leaves a trail of pecks under your jaw to the spot where your neck and shoulder meet.
Just barely, his teeth sink into the exposed skin. You gasp and mumble, “Oh, oh yes, right there!”
He complies and pulls more of you into his mouth and sucks a dark hickey in under a minute. It’s at this exact moment you begin to play with the idea that Sirius was submitting to some sort of carnal urge to mark you. The more you moan at his canines abusing your clean skin, the harsher he bites. For a wizard on the run, this is the least likely thing he should do so as to eliminate any trace of his recent whereabouts, but he hushes your apparent concern by explaining, “Just one right here, love, then I’ll be done.”
Well, it’s better than nothing. It’ll be something you can look back on in the coming days and nights. The wizard rolls his hips in a slow downward motion, directly onto the bundle of nerves beneath your underwear. Any previous concerns go directly out the same window he climbed through earlier, your eyes rolling at the motion.
Although Sirius promises just one hickey, he did not elaborate on how small he’d make it. His mouth hovers to the left only by half an inch. Then, he presumes to suckle your pristine yet hot and sweaty skin, pulling the flesh between his lips to leave a bruise large enough for anyone to notice.
Out of surprise, you whine, “Ah! Oh- fuck!”
Your hands anchor onto Sirius’s shoulders. The ragged, dirty fabric is clenched between your fingers as you attempt to grasp something for stability. The bedroom walls surrounding you felt as though they were moving; was that the magic of having kissed someone as beautiful as Sirius, or was this house actually tilting in your peripheral?
Regardless, a true answer didn’t matter. What plagued your mind at this time was any attempt to convince Sirius to fill your hole with his large cock. You silently wished to have his length inside you, which you repeatedly felt grind on the special spot between your thighs.
A heavy blush dances across your cheeks. You cry out, “Please, n-need you so bad.”
“Darling, if I stay any longer, we’d be at it for hours,” Sirius explains, sucking one more hickey into your neck. So much for just one blemished mark. More and more seconds pass, making your cunt clench around nothing. The stray hand gripping underneath your thigh grows more tense. However, hearing him remain adamant about not fucking you was actually hurting you; emotionally, anyway.
The sound of your cry gives the wizard an opportunity to suggest something else. It’s a change of plans that meets both your needs. “I have something in mind, love, don’t worry. Can I touch you? Yeah? You’d like that?”
“Please, need you now,” you moan, pressing yourself against his groin.
He curses under his breath, eyelids pressed shut momentarily to try and gain composure. “Here, love, take my fingers, alright?”
He doesn’t give much else of a warning. Before you know it, Sirius coats his middle and ring finger with his own spit and pushes the fabric wrapped around your bottom to the side. He’s evidently appreciative of how easily you spread your legs for him. With the underwear nudged away, he is able to swirl the pads of his fingers around your fluttering cunt.
A decent pool of slick coats his digits. He sucks in a sharp breath, adjusting his other hand so that he now leans on his elbow above your head.
Sirius doesn’t lean in to kiss you. Instead, he keeps a decent distance so that he can watch your facial expression when he slips his middle finger past the clad underwear inside your cunt.
Something flashes on your face. Sirius recognizes it in your fuck-me eyes; you’re already begging for more and he’s barely even started. You arch once again, whining softly, “Please…”
You gasp at the feeling of a second finger being added not long after the first. His digits stretch you almost immediately. He caresses the sensitive spot deep within your cunt. With a gentle curl of his fingers, you end up throwing your head back and squeezing your eyes shut.
Just the sight of you falling apart makes Sirius release a deep groan. He smirks and teases, “Yeah? How do you feel, darling?”
“Oh- yes, please, I’m already so close,” you admit, slightly embarrassed. To be fair, you never thought you’d be in this exact position; Sirius pinning you to the bed as he finger fucks your pussy. But you are loving every single second.
Your hands shift away from his shoulders in order to grab his biceps. Sirius originally moved his fingers in and out at a slow pace, then grew faster like the crescendo in a beautiful song. Except the only music echoing off the bedroom walls is the repeated stroke of his fingers spreading slick across your inner thighs and filthy moans from your pretty lips.
You immediately get lost in the motion of his two fingers savoring your special spot. Each thrust makes your walls flutter around him. Sirius asks seductively, “C’mon, pretty girl, need you to cum for me. You can do that, right?”
He can tell you’re close. Just the nickname he gave you made your hole clench around him. He groans, leaning forward to capture your mouth in another heated kiss. During this, Sirius fastens the pace of his hand to something quite unbelievable; he moves so quickly that you’re absolutely positive he’s flicking droplets of your wetness onto the sheets.
Your entire body feels as though it’s been engulfed in fire. The core in your gut tightens. The wizard whispers something to himself, but you know it’s about how badly he wants to see you fall apart on his digits. All you wish to do is be good for Sirius, show him you can listen to his command. That, and you’ve been chasing a release since the moment the two of you exchanged tongues.
“Ah! Right there, right there!” you exclaim loudly, legs beginning to shake from the intensity of your high.
It doesn’t take much longer after this for Sirius to feel your body collapse into the mattress. Your face contorts into pleasure the exact moment you cum around his hand. The both of you are each in total disbelief that you managed to find your release so quickly.
Sirius milks your orgasm out for as long as he possibly can, playing with your clit and folds ever so slowly. “Yes, just like that. So good for me.”
He presses soft pecks to your cheeks and thoroughly admires how fucked out you look. He mumbles something about how he wishes he could stay long enough to see you fall apart from his cock.
He tenderly removes his hand from the stickiness between your thighs. Still staring you in the eyes, he brings his wet fingers to his mouth and eagerly licks each of them carefully. Sirius sighs, then whispers, “Taste like heaven, love.”
However, you can barely pay any mind to his words. At a loss for breath, you’d finally come down from your high and realized just how sleepy you’d become. Laying there through small sighs and slow blinks, your entire mind and body craved rest. Your lips continued to tingle like mad, though, as if they were also shocked they’d been the same ones to kiss Sirius Black.
Sirius crawls off your body. In the faint light of the nearby candle, you can see a large bulge in the front of his uniform. As much as you yearned to ride him til dawn, you also wanted nothing more than to pass out.
His tone suggests something mischievous. Sirius coos, “Poor thing. Didn’t even get to fuck you with my cock and you’re a mess. Let’s get you to bed.”
“Mmm, okay,” you mumble, nodding meekly, blatantly ignoring the way Sirius indirectly makes fun of your limp state. He’s just proud of how well he was able to take care of that unbearable throb between your legs. That, and how sweet you taste on his tongue. You catch sight of the wizard licking his finger again, desperate to explore the remnants of your cum.
He adjusts your lacey underwear and nightgown so that everything is appropriately covered. Moments later, he manages to pull you closer to the headboard so that he can lay your head against a pillow. The sheets and blanket come next and engulf you with warmth.
“I promise to be back soon, alright?”
“Please? Need to see you again,” you mumble beneath the covers. The candle is almost out, so all you can see is the dark outline of his shadow. His earthy scent lingers around the bed, though. You wish to smell him all the time, not just for one night.
At this thought, you faintly recall the marks on your neck from earlier. At least he’s left you with a parting gift, you suppose.
“Let me take care of my business first. I don’t want to drag you into this mess,” Sirius smooths the frizzy hairs atop your head with careful hands. He inhales deeply, chest pushing out beneath the Azkaban stripes, “I will find you again. I promise you that.”
You barely remember saying goodbye to him. Sirius kissed you once more, a smile dancing on his lips the entire time. He whispers a soft, ‘goodnight’, and leaves the same way he came in, closing the window behind himself.
The next morning, you’ll find yourself no longer staring at the photograph of Sirius. Instead, your gaze remains stuck on the hickeys along your neck and collarbone. Everything about last night was perfect, beautiful even. You understand why he couldn’t remain in your cottage; it’s only a matter of time before Aurors appear before your door requesting you admit where Sirius ran off to.
Nonetheless, you will continue to worry about him the next day, the morning after that, and pretty much all the weeks to come. That won’t really ever go away as far as you’re concerned. He means a great deal to you.
However, you’ll never speak a word to anyone about the fact he was here. You’ll clutch to this memory for years to come, only something for you and you alone to reflect on. As strange as it occurred, you’ll cherish this memory forever. All you can hope for now is the ability to continue this journey with Sirius in the near future.
Thankfully, he doesn’t make you wait long. Only a few weeks pass before you hear that familiar tapping on the window once more.
pairing: daryl dixon x gn!reader
word count: 3.1k
summary: while chatting with carol one morning, you admit how you used to set your friends up on dates before the world went to shit. daryl happens to enter the conversation at the perfect time.
warnings: coarse language, implication of family loss, small age gap (5-7 years), daryl being both a jerk and cutie patootie at the same time
a/n: dividers by @designlikenonsense <3 reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated! also sorry this is like mostly proofread but not 100% lol
Doing laundry before the fall of society was tedious enough. Had you known that after this deadly virus you would have to do the chore by hand, you would have been a little more appreciative of the washing machine in your house. Until further notice, you would have to keep up with the pruned fingers and achy arms. It’s annoying, but at least you have pleasant company to pass the time.
The sun beats down on both you and Carol in the prison yard. Laundry had been washed earlier that morning and hung to dry on a makeshift clothesline near the garden. Wafts of lavender detergent drift through the air as you begin the task of carefully taking down each article of clothing. While in the middle of folding, Carol began making comments about how much she missed electricity. That little comment ended up creating a whole conversation about what life was like before all this. How quickly the things everyone took for granted were snatched away. At the very least, there were memories to dwell on in the meantime and many more to create in this new world.
Carol bends over to set a pair of jeans into a laundry basket. Her soft eyes squint in the harsh sunrays. She continues complaining about what she misses the most from before this shitshow.
“I miss being able to order pizza on a Friday night, when I could just curl up on my couch and watch a movie,” she explains, amusement playing in the corners of her mouth just at the mere thought. “It was especially fun when Sophia would pick the movie. She always had a knack for choosing something hilarious.”
Glancing back at her, you nod along, “Yeah, my siblings always picked the movie. I never had a choice.”
“Oh,” her head cocking to the side, “you had siblings?”
“Yeah, a couple. I don’t talk about them much since, well, ya know,” your words trail off, but you try to stay positive nonetheless, “sometimes it felt like I had a third sibling. My sister’s boyfriend was so close to our family over the years.”
Carol steps towards the other end of the clothesline to begin taking down pairs of socks. With the distance closer than before, she takes an opportunity to further the conversation into more personal territory. Not that you mind; the two of you had been close since the quarry, but never had much of a chance to talk about your past life.
“How long did your sister and her boyfriend date?” she asks, shoving a clothespin in her mouth for a moment to pile more socks into the basket.
“Almost five years. I’m pretty sure they were going to get married one day,” you grin thoughtfully. Carol mirrors you and smiles, causing your chest to erupt with warmth.
“That’s sweet,” she replies, “were you dating anyone before? I don’t think I’ve ever asked.”
Your fingers reach towards a pair of drying athletic shorts. They’re warm to the touch under the heat of the sun, but you feel like your cheeks might be hotter. You briefly tense your shoulders, but force yourself to relax them just as quickly. The question didn’t bother you, but you felt a bit embarrassed at your lack of dating history.
Moments later, you sheepishly giggle while telling her, “Not really. I had some flings that would last a few months, then dissipate into nothing a while later. I think I had more luck setting up my friends than I did with myself.”
She hums quietly, leaning down to pick up the basket from its spot in the grass. Just as Carol comes back up, she spots a familiar figure walking across the yard.
Daryl’s arms swing back and forth with each step, his eyes set on you the closer he gets. Carol can’t help the little chuckle that slips when she speaks. “Ha, maybe you would have some luck trying to get this guy with someone.”
“Who?” you ask, then glance at the only other person at the prison who probably has just as little dating experience as you.
Daryl’s eyes flicker to Carol the moment he approaches the clothesline. He clears his throat and tells her, “Rick wants ya. Somethin’ about an upcomin’ run.”
The intimate conversation comes to an end. Carol almost hesitates to leave at first, perhaps wanting to tease Daryl some more, but she opts to bite her tongue instead and wanders off with a quick wave. Even if she didn’t mention anything else, she had said enough from before that captured his attention.
“What was she sayin’ ‘bout me?” he asks without hesitation.
“Oh, ya know, the usual,” you joke, angling yourself to lay a pair of leggings in the basket you hauled outside, “that you’re a total chick magnet and you c-”
“The fuck? She didn’t say that,” Daryl calls your bluff, clearly not enjoying the sarcastic jab to his name. Well, not that he cared much for the reputation he was creating here at the prison, but why was it any of your and Carol’s business?
You roll your eyes and laugh. “No, she didn’t actually say that.”
A few seconds of silence pass.
Then, “So?”
“So what?”
“The hell were y’all sayin’ ‘bout me?” he quips again.
At this point, you’re genuinely shocked he’s still pressing. You decide honesty is probably best just to get him to calm down, otherwise he’ll continue to throw his little temper tantrum. Not that he’d call it that, but that’s what it’s conjuring up to be. Keeping your focus on the laundry, you continue, “Well, I was talking to Carol about how before all this I would set my friends up on dates. I was pretty good at it, too. She told me maybe I’d have luck trying to get you with someone.”
Daryl doesn’t laugh.
You turn your body towards him to catch him staring intently. The obvious annoyance that was previously in his system has now subsided. Instead, he looks…embarrassed? He crosses his arms, lips pressed into a thin line. While rolling his shoulders back, Daryl scoffs, “That’s stupid.”
“Yeah, I- wait, which part? When I said I used to set up my friends, or when Carol said I could set you up with someone?”
He snaps back, “Both.”
You scoff back at him, stepping towards the man to poke him in the side. “C’mon, you’ve been in my position at least once before, right? You ever played wingman for one of your buddies?”
“Nah, can’t say I have,” he shrugs, absentmindedly stepping backwards to avoid further physical contact. You choose to ignore it.
“Oh, I see,” you smirk, meeting his gaze without any waver, “you were the one your friends set you up with some fancy lady. Right?”
The moment you make the suggestion, eye contact is broken. Daryl scratches his chin, causing you to briefly stare at his large hands before getting pulled back into reality. “Neither. Didn’t care for tha’ shit.”
His admission is shocking, to say the least. Daryl was a handful of years older than you. Not that you wanted to label him as old, but you were confident that he had at least some form of experience due to his age. Perhaps only slightly more experience than you, if anything. Any time you had joked in the past that he had never been with anyone was nothing more than that, a joke.
Now you begin to wonder just how much truth there is to those little banters you’ve shared with Maggie and Glenn.
“Why not?” you ask, setting the last article of clothing in the basket. You pick it up, but make no initiative to walk away. It was obvious your full attention was on Daryl. Yes, you were being very nosey, but surely he didn’t mind. If he did, he would have walked away by now.
“Tha’ was never my thing, ya know.” he explains carelessly.
After a brief pause, you ask, “Well, what do you think of it now?”
“Wha’ do ya’ mean?”
“You know, like, being in a relationship in general. The world has gone to shit, there isn't much else to do, so why not?”
Daryl narrows his eyes, but all you do in return is stare back at him awaiting a response. However, he doesn’t budge; not even an inch. After many long seconds, you realize he simply was refusing to answer your question. The sudden boost of confidence during an attempt to get him to open up slowly depletes. You glance down at the basket full of folded laundry due to the awkwardness. Daryl absentmindedly scratches the top of his head, clearing his throat a little. After waiting what feels like years for any sort of reply, you huff under your breath and begin the trek back to the cell block to put away clothes. It only takes a couple steps for Daryl to fall in line with you.
Small mushroom caps squish beneath your worn shoes, a sign that spring was ending and summer was on its way. The damp moisture that hangs heavy in the air was another indication that the hotter season was about to begin. Subconsciously, you rest the laundry basket on your hip for just a moment to brush away beads of sweat against your forehead. Maybe you missed air conditioning just a little more than your old washing machine. At least that way you would have been cooled off while washing these items by hand.
You barely last a few more steps through the field before Daryl reaches out and takes the basket from your grasp, carrying it in his worn hands like the task was always meant for him in the first place. You mutter a small, ‘thank you’, and continue to walk in silence. Right as the two of you hit the pavement, he finally opens up. “Never cared ‘bout that shit before, why care now?”
“I guess it’s just weird to me that it’s pretty much the end of society and you have no interest in…well, I don’t know, forget it,” you shrug, trying to drop the conversation that was clearly going nowhere.
“The hell you implyin’?” he snaps, stopping completely in front of you. That snarky look on his face makes you bite your bottom lip for only a moment.
With crossed arms, you look around the prison yard. A mix of strangers and people you practically consider family mingle about the occupied space. Despite the Governor’s efforts to destroy this safehaven, life grew here. Not only that, but hope as well. With that in mind, you explain your thought process. “Tomorrow isn’t guaranteed. Nothing is anymore. While I was talking with Carol earlier I realized, why not have someone at my side? Explore my options.”
“Pft,” he scoffs, “not many options for ya to begin with.”
You scowl, “Easy for you to say. There’s, like, loads of women here. I bet you’d find someone faster than me.”
“Waste of time,” he says, beginning to walk back towards the prison, still holding the laundry basket.
For some reason, this gets on your nerves. Why can’t he tell you’re just trying to make the most of whatever numbered days you have left? Daryl always manages to steer conversation in the direction of something negative. Sometimes, you feel like it’s purposeful. Annoyed, you belt at his backside, “Whatever. Have fun being lonely!”
Daryl clearly doesn’t care. He’s gone like nothing happened, seemingly taking over your laundry duty for you in the meantime.
In the following days, he watches from afar as you try to get with someone worthy enough for romantic endeavors. You dragged on conversation with almost every single man there with purpose. Truly, you were only trying to piss off Daryl to prove a point. However, you also genuinely wanted to just have someone to call your own. That conversation with Carol seemed like fate. It was a reminder that even though the rest of society has fallen, you can still make most of what time you have left now. Daryl just didn’t understand that, did he? You already struggled to find yourself a worthy man in the previous world, there was no way you’d fail now.
However, things don’t work out in your favor. Because why would they?
Most of the men at the prison treat you like you are their sister. It would be strange to try and hit on them within any capacity. You already know that these guys feel the same about you, so it’s not like you are butthurt about it. This just means that the dating pool dwindled down to…single digits. This realization was a bit shocking, but you weren’t going to give up so easily. You wanted to prove to someone, more specifically Daryl actually, that you were able to find someone that kept you happy, safe, and loved.
There were only a couple men that caught your eye. After a personal conversation with each, you quickly realized why they were still single in the first place and decided things would not work out.
At this point, it had been at least a few days since your conversation with Daryl. You know he’d been watching from the sidelines the entire time. He was always there during a failed introduction or unsuccessful attempt to flirt. He never said a word, never approached you after the fact, but his unwavering gaze sent a flood of anger through your body. Knowing your friend watching you continuously go through the motions of trying to date was frustrating.
This was the case one afternoon after walking past Daryl’s cell. You had just come from outside to avoid talking with one of the men you definitely did not want to converse with any further. Inside the cell block, you were able to lose the composure even just a little bit. With slumped shoulders and clenched fists, you walked past Daryl’s personal space just in time to see him sitting on his bed, re-lacing his boots.
He glanced up and noticed your seemingly annoyed body language and huffed out a small laugh. You’d been under the impression you would be able to go back to your own cell without issue. Obviously he had already decided to push your buttons for a reaction.
“Any luck, or nah?” Daryl calls out, carefully stepping on your nerves in a way that only he could manage.
Your body comes to a halt and you exhale slowly, upset because you should have expected the man to tease you. He could never pass up an opportunity to put you down even when you’re already at rock bottom. With a quick turn on your heel, you whip around and approach the man’s cell door, leaning against the cool metal bars with crossed arms. “You tryin’ to piss me off or what?”
“Jus’ wanted to ask how it’s goin’,” Daryl explains, a small quirk in his lip indicating he was fully enjoying this moment and wanted to drag it on for as long as possible.
“Shut the fuck up.”
“Nah.”
You huff and roll your eyes, tempted to walk away, but something convinces you to stay. “I should be asking you that.”
“Huh?” Daryl asks, pulling his boot back on.
“How’s the dating life going for you? Oh, wait, that’s right. I forgot Daryl Dixon loves being all by himself. You’re gonna die alone with that crossbow, you know that?”
Daryl goes completely still. He slowly lifts his head, hair falling in front of his now darkened eyes. “Why ya actin’ like such a damn bitch?”
“Becuase you’re pissing me off! Why would you ask me how things are going when you already know the answer? You’re just teasin’ me for…for wanting something good in life,” you explain mildly annoyed. Then, in a softer tone, you continue, “You know, for a guy who says he likes being alone, you sure do follow me around.”
Daryl’s jaw tightens, eyes narrowed at the implication. Just the way he looks at you sends a flurry of goosebumps up and down your arms. You’re not even sure what you meant by the comment other than pointing out the truth. You weren’t exactly wrong, it’s just that you don’t know why he always keeps an eye on you either.
He shifts his weight on the bed, slowly standing up. Daryl takes a few steps in your direction, puffing out his chest in the process like he was trying to prove something to you as much as you had been trying to do these last few days.
Then, after a couple beats of silence, he murmurs, “Funny. You complain a lot for somebody who keeps lettin’ me.”
Your heart drops at his comment. Well, he isn’t lying. That’s what you took by surprise. Or maybe it was the fact he had called it out so plainly. Your brows lift in response, “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you don’t,” Daryl replies, scoffing under his breath. He’s unconvinced, and maybe you are too deep down. He abruptly squeezes past you a second later, but you don’t ignore the way his hand gently touches your side as he walks away. It was soft and fleeting, but it sent a tingle down your spine.
“Daryl?” you call out to him before he’s gone outside. Your back is still facing him.
“Wha’?”
“Promise to follow me around again later?”
Now it’s his turn to huff and puff out of annoyance. For a second, you worry he won’t reply. But then he reluctantly sighs and says, “Whatever.”
Later that night, when you’re sitting in your cell cleaning the dirt from underneath your nails, a shadowy figure invades the space in the cell doorway. His scent hits you first; musky, earthy, a bit of tobacco. The smell makes you grin softly.
“Can I come in?” he asks slowly, eyes darting to the floor and his dirty shoes.
“I guess…asshole,” you mutter, barely smiling.
“Fuck off,” he spits back. He stays still for a moment, then carefully enters your personal space.
After days of somewhat avoiding one another, being with Daryl suddenly makes sense. Like the remaining puzzle piece finally got set into place. He brings that perfect amount of safety, happiness, and perhaps without having to say it outright, love.
He sits on the bed with you. The gap between your legs is minimal, causing your heartbeat to accelerate slightly. After you pick up a book from nearby, you rest your head on Daryl’s shoulder. Too focused on the storyline, you miss the way he grins.
He silently promises to be there for you from now on. He just won’t ever admit that to you verbally…at least not yet.
pairing: cecil stedman x afab!reader
word count: 4k
summary: after a night out at the bar, you accidentally text your boss instead of your friend for a ride home. weirdly enough, he complies?
warnings: intoxicated!reader (only in the first half, not during the smut), perv!cecil, reader flashes cecil twice, boss/employee relationship, age gap, protected/rough sex
The bar’s lively atmosphere attracted you earlier in the night when it was still warm outside. Sticky humidity and a cool, strong cocktail happened to be the best combination for an eventful evening spent with your friends. However, during the multiple rounds of drinks and countless hours spent dancing in front of the DJ, you had to step outside for a breather and quickly realized just how chilly it was. Taking a glance at your phone to check the time, you cursed under your breath. It was far past midnight; you should have been home by now for work tomorrow. The last thing you want to do is show up hungover and sleep deprived at the GDA. Your accounting buddies would be so pissed.
One of your friends exits the club-like atmosphere from inside. She stumbles in her wedges, leaning against your body for stability. Through her half-lidded, glitter-covered eyes, she slurs heavily, “Wh-What are you-you doin’?”
“Texting Clarissa. Need a ride home,” you murmur back, sticking your tongue out the corner of your mouth as you clumsily attempt to find your other friend’s contact in your phone. Only a minute or two later, you successfully find it and type out a drunk message. Something about where you are, how cold it is, and that you need a ride is eventually typed. Then, you hit send and slide the phone back in your pocket.
The rest of your friend group comes outside to ensure you’re not alone. None of them plan on ending their night so early, but they’re all completely understanding of your situation. Still, you all enjoy one another’s company nonetheless. The music blares from the outdoor speakers so that people can continue swaying to the fun beat. Conversation carries on like normal. Somebody cracks an obnoxious joke which causes you to slap their arm, only to stumble back on the pavement a bit. You’re slowly beginning to realize just how much the alcohol is having an effect on you. How much longer until you’re home?
A while later, you take your phone out to read through any new notifications, only to see none. Twenty minutes have passed. Did Clarissa even see the text? Do you need to try and reach her again?
Those two questions don't linger on your mind for long. You’re sucked back into conversation and then the next five minutes are a blur. Someone makes a comment about buying a round of shots. Since you hadn’t left the bar yet, it actually seems enticing-
Someone shouts your name from behind. It’s the tone of someone unfamiliar, completely unrecognizable from voice alone. At first, you’re sure it’s your drunken state that mistakes a stranger calling you from the luxury car nearby. You know almost instantly that you’re wrong once the same friend from earlier says your name, followed by, “Is this- Is this guy your ride or somethin’?”
The streetlamp is almost too luminous when you turn over your shoulder. The sleek, black vehicle also has tinted windows, so of course your drunk feet eagerly step forward to see who is calling your name. With enough luck on your side, you manage to approach the car without falling face first into the concrete. The window scrolls down some more, making you bend over to peer inside.
There’s an older man behind the wheel with thinning hair atop his head. The aging lines on his skin indicate that he definitely has some years on you. What takes you by surprise is his unnatural stare. Perhaps without meaning to, or entirely on purpose, he leaves you feeling as though you’ve done something wrong. Fuck, are you supposed to know him?
“Yeah?” you ask wearily, scared to hear what he might say.
He squints his blue eyes, eyebrows furrowed together. He puts the car in park, then exhales angrily. “Are you ready to leave or what?”
“Who…who are you?” you ask cautiously.
“Tell me you’re joking,” he scowls deeply.
“What? Tell you th-that I’m joking? I don’t even- oh. Shit. Okay. You’ve gotta be- no. No way this is happening,” you whisper the last part.
Upon staring back at the man, who had his eyes on you from the second he pulled up, you nearly collapsed regardless of the liquor in your system. In such a drunken state, you hadn’t realized you’d been peering at the one and only Cecil Stedman, fucking director of the GDA.
Why is he here?
“To pick you up…kid, do you not remember the text you sent?” Cecil replies.
Shit, you must have asked that out loud.
The blush across your cheeks is as bright as his headlights. For some long moments, the two of you just gaze at each other, but you catch the way he barely glances at your outfit choice; a tube top and denim shorts. He must not appreciate the clothing because he hums under his breath, then scoffs while looking away. His wrinkled hand hovers over the clutch. Before he can consider leaving, you start rambling.
“I didn’t text you! I text my friend Clarissa! She’s supposed to be here, and-and I was just waiting- why the hell are you here? Okay, I am so confused right now.”
“And intoxicated to high heavens. Jesus Christ, just get in the car. I don’t want to waste any more gas on this trip than I already have,” Cecil practically growls.
The lingering excitement from the night out is gone instantly. Cecil managed to make you feel so bad in a matter of literal seconds. You hadn’t worked with him one-on-one very often considering you’re one of the employees that manages financial things, but you’re fairly positive he has this effect on many workers at the GDA. Still, that doesn’t at all explain why the hell he is here in the first place.
Maybe it’s the alcohol in your bloodstream making these words come to mind, but the liquid luck encourages you to blurt it out before it’s too late. “Cecil, why are you here? Just answer my question and then I’ll get in the car.”
He cracks his knuckles, broad hands holding the steering wheel a couple seconds later, then he rolls his eyes. “Well, I- Listen, I’ll tell you that once you’re in the car.”
“That’s not how this works.”
“I’m this close,” he pinches his fingers, evidently losing his patience, “to leaving you here in the cold. Get in. Now.”
Something about the way he talks makes you wonder how close you are to losing your job, too.
The nightlife behind you continues in the midst of this awkward standoff. The city is only just starting to get more lively as drunks walk up and down the street, shouting about anything at the front of their minds. As anxious as being in a car alone with Cecil makes you, there’s also this uneasy sensation creeping up your spine if you were to stay. All your friends already went back inside for more drinks. The possibility of them coming back outside to stand around for another twenty minutes for your new driver is unlikely. It might be safer to be with this man over anyone else. Especially considering his status; if anything happened to Cecil, the entire fucking government would apparate to his location within seconds.
With a small huff and pouty lip, you cave in and open the car door, getting into the passenger seat clumsily. For a moment you almost forgot you’d been drinking. Cecil clearly did not. Despite the angered attitude, he patiently waits for you to settle comfortably before shifting gears. He begins speaking after he veers off, although you did not give him the directions yet.
“Here’s the deal. I guess I…I…I don’t know you well, but your reports with our finances are always clean and organized. Your name pops up a lot when Donald and I review recent documented transactions. When we have someone that good on the team, I want them to feel recognized. I guess you can consider this a ‘thank you’ for all your hard work.”
“...so this isn’t a pity pick-up?”
“What? No. What the hell does that even mean?” he asks.
“You’re picking me up ‘cause you pity me.” you reply, still slurring words.
“I don’t think that’s the case. I wasn’t doing much before this so I thought, why not go for a drive with a drunk girl.”
The comment makes you laugh a little too hard. He doesn’t reciprocate. Still, you continue the banter with a giggle bubbling in the back of your throat. “Didn’t know you were into weird shit, Mr. Stedman.”
“Excuse me?”
“Sorry.”
Then it’s quiet again. Your mind replays his excuse. So he recognized your good work? Wanted to spend some time with you and found this was the perfect way to do so? It strangely made sense. Or maybe you think that because you’re not sober.
“Oh. I…appreciate this, by the way. It’s just, well, it’s really weird- okay wait, back up. I still don’t know how you even knew I was at the bar. Did I not text Clarissa?” you brush stray hairs out of your face, capturing Cecil’s attention for a couple seconds. He observes the movements with sharp precision, but you’ll be damned if he didn’t sneak another glance towards your chest. It’s practically spilling out of the top at this point.
“You’re still on that shit? You text me instead. Must have been the wrong contact,” Cecil explains cooly, slowly losing his annoyed tone. The man shifts his weight in the seat, resting his right arm on top of the console between you two. It feels rather natural for whatever reason.
Sure enough, you pull out your phone, muttering to him with confidence that you definitely did not text the wrong number.
You most certainly did. Well shit.
“Cecil, I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to! I thought this whole time I’d been texting my friend,” you rush to get the words out as fast as possible.
“It’s really not that big of a deal.”
“I’m embarrassed beyond belief. So, yeah, it is.”
This makes Cecil crack the smallest fraction of a smile. Okay, maybe he isn’t that much of a dick after all.
You sigh and cross your arms, staring out the window. He’s headed in the direction of your apartment, which makes you want to ask him how he even knew your address, but you figure he probably looked it up in the system. Damn, was he at work when you texted him? Now you feel even worse. Then again, he could have easily ignored this entire situation. He obviously craved to spend time with you…right?
While earlier you had been quite energetic and loose around your close friends, now you lost some of your spirit and grew a bit quiet. Not that it was intentional. However, what else do you say to the guy who is basically your boss? Cecil was the exact same for the remainder of the drive. He kept to himself and didn’t turn on music as a means to fill the quiet. The atmosphere wasn’t tense though. That came to be some sort of relief.
What you didn’t realize until you were only a few blocks away from your destination was the fact Cecil kept glancing at you at every stoplight.
More specifically, your outfit. Again.
Did he…like what you were wearing? No, there’s no way that was the case. Cecil was so serious. His interactions with those around him are business only, which was kind of the case now. He said so himself; this is merely him repaying you for all the hard work you’d put into the company as of late. He wouldn’t have done this otherwise, or so you’d like to tell yourself anyway.
Is it messed up that you secretly hoped maybe there was more of a motive to his actions tonight? Are the cocktails making you think this right now, or were these thoughts always here?
Your head tilts to the side as Cecil smoothly parks the car in the lot outside your complex. Since it’s the early hours of the morning, no one is outside, making the area look a bit barren and scary. Subconsciously, you wonder if the older man might be nice enough to walk you to your door. But you figure that won’t happen. This alone is a crazy enough experience.
“Thank you. For the ride, I mean,” you state with a loopy grin.
“No worries. Again, take this as a ‘thank you’ from me. I feel like you deserve something better than this though,” Cecil huffs unamused, trailing off a bit.
What does that even mean? Whatever the last comment implies leaves you flustered. That, and a familiar throb starts beating between your legs. No way you’re getting horny right now. That would be ridiculous.
But your body betrays you and suddenly you’re pressing your thighs together in the seat of his car. The sensation is joined by a familiar knot coiling in your gut. Fuck, you need to get out of here and fast.
It takes three tries before you can grab the door handle and push it open. You release a soft groan in the process, and you swear Cecil sucks in a breath. Once you’re standing outside on the blacktop, you sway back and forth. You shut the door and notice Cecil is pushing down the passenger side window again.
You stumble only once more before casually resting your elbows on the edge of his door where the window had just disappeared. The metal presses cooly against your hot skin. You can’t tell if you’re warm from the drinks or something else. Still, you resist the urge to shiver in the chilling breeze.
Cecil rests his thumb and pointer finger along his jawline, observing what was to come next out of you. Which also, apparently, included another look at your chest. You’d lost count at how many times he had done that just in the last fifteen minutes. His longing gaze tricks you into biting your bottom lip while sparks of pleasure are sent elsewhere.
“Can I pay you for the gas? When I’m sober, I mean,” you say, hoping he’ll accept the peace offer.
“No, I don’t need it,” he whispers your name, looking you up and down.
Well, that’s a bit frustrating. This man just took time out of his night to help you and wouldn’t let you repay him? There has to be something that would suffice. Flickers of solutions cross your mind, one of which makes your heart skip a beat. He must notice there’s something brewing within you, because he gives you a combined look of confusion and intrigue.
Well, you already had enough alcohol in your system, right?
“You sure there’s nothing I can give you?” The question feigns innocence.
In the dark shadows of the parking lot, you almost fail to capture the way Cecil’s throat bobs. He coughs into his hand, then replies, “Uh, no, no I’m okay. We can just leave it at this. You should get inside.”
“If I can’t pay you back with cash, can I show you these?”
“Show me what- oh!” he exclaims loudly.
He barely had time to react before you dug your clumsy digits into the edge of your tube top, pulling down the thin fabric to release your mounds from its confines. Heat blooms up your neck as the nearby breeze caresses your perky nipples. The fact you were showing them to Cecil though, of all people, makes them harder than you anticipated.
Not that you really thought this out. You just figured why the hell not. The sober version of you is going to die of humiliation in the morning, you already know it.
Cecil turns his head, sputtering out something incoherent. Your heart falls into your stomach. Before you can even adjust your top, the man emits a strangled gasp. He’s still looking away as he asks, “What the fu- why did you do that?”
You push out your lip slightly, whining loudly. Why didn’t he appreciate this kind gesture? A treat for all his troubles? He should be excited to see a rack this pretty. They’re damn perfect in your personal opinion. Surely he agrees. “C’mon, don’t act like you didn’t wanna see ‘em.”
“Because I-I didn’t!” Cecil attempts to argue back, but the waiver in his voice was enough evidence that his words were betraying his true intentions.
You blink your eyes a few times, trying to gauge how much honesty there was to his statement.
“You’ve been staring at my boobs all night. Thought maybe you’d like that,” you huff stubbornly.
His jaw clenches. The older man finally sneaks a peek in your direction, somewhat relieved to see you’ve taken care of yourself in the meantime. Only a fraction though. “You can’t just flash me like that.”
“Cecil,” you pout pathetically, “I’ve already embarrassed myself once tonight by texting you instead of my friend. Can you just pretend for just a moment you liked seeing my tits so I can walk out of here with one goddamn success from tonight.”
He just stares at your face instead, abruptly confused. And he is…blushing? There’s a clear red heat across his cheeks and nose. You’re not sure you’ve ever been in a situation with him like this before. How often is it that this director gets so thoroughly flustered? Pride swells in your chest.
He doesn’t say anything right away. You’re absolutely positive you’ve just lost your job. Despite being wasted, you make a mental note to update your resume tomorrow afternoon. Then, Cecil relaxes further into his car seat while staring at the parking lot ahead of him. He rests his left wrist on the edge of his steering wheel, completely swept away by his hard thoughts. He inhales slowly.
Then, he cocks his head in your direction. His eyelids are heavier than usual and you don’t think it’s from a lack of sleep. He doesn’t offer any sort of smile or smirk. Rather, he drops his chin downward once as a way to indicate he wants something. With a miniscule quirk in his jaw, he says, “Well, we can’t have that. I guess we have to do this over again. C’mon, sweetheart. Show me.”
That’s all you have to hear before abruptly pulling down your top again, smiling hard as the man clearly enjoys the view. This time, with permission, Cecil doesn’t break down on how wrong this all is. Instead, whatever strength left in his being is out of the vehicle and gone with the wind. The man licks his lips, savoring the sultry image in front of him as he could. You squeeze your boobs, running the tips of your fingers across your sweet nipples. It almost makes you moan. The longer he takes you in, groaning to himself while staring so intently, the stronger your core twists and turns into an all too recognizable knot.
Earlier, you were in disbelief at the idea of being turned on by this man.
Now, you wanted to ride him all night long and see how many times you’d be able to milk him dry. Quite the turn of events tonight has been.
Without warning, the sound of passersby echoes from around a corner. You hastily cover yourself up and clear your throat. You have to remind yourself why you’re here in the first place; Cecil had just dropped you off. It’s been a while since he originally pulled in. At this rate, you should be in bed already.
Cecil exhales, his hand coming down to adjust the hardened length outlining his dress pants. Your eyes trail to watch the movement, merely observing his bulge and guessing how large he might be. This wasn’t how you thought the night would go, but you feel like a damn messy employee for wanting more out of your boss.
“Are we even now?” you playfully tease, giggling in the process.
Cecil shoots you a look, one you can’t determine. “I, uh, don’t know. Might need to see you in my office tomorrow so we can review the number of violations this has crossed.”
Any other time, you would have thought the man was genuinely concerned about your position at the GDA. But now, with the sexual tension ruminating thick in the air, and a knowing smirk playing at the edge of his lip, you can tell what this might imply.
You’d be proven correct the very next day.
Work was only slightly annoying with the minor headache lingering in the back of your skull. You’d chugged multiple water bottles just to make it past noon. Unintentionally, you’d found yourself continuously staring at the clock. You’d been waiting for something, literally anything to happen. It was inevitable, especially considering how you acted last night. Each time you were reminded of your drunken state, your cheeks flush furiously without fail.
You don’t regret it though. The alcohol just might have landed you a dick appointment with one of the scariest men at the GDA.
Cecil happened to enter the designated lunchroom only five minutes after your break began. He made a comment about coming into his office later to drop off those monthly reports.
Nobody batted an eye. Perhaps that was for the best, too.
That’s because you didn’t have any real paperwork to drop off. Both of you knew that. So it was no surprise Cecil had his way with you the moment his office door was closed.
Cecil has you pressed against his desk, your dress pants pooled around your ankles in a wrinkled lump as he thrust into you from behind. With each harsh drive into your weeping hole, the man somehow sinks deeper and deeper without missing a beat. One hand squeezes the flesh around your hips, the other pushes your head against the wood so you don’t budge.
He lets out a pleased sound at how your walls flutter so tightly around him. Beneath the man’s tough exterior was an absolute monster. You didn’t think he’d go so hard on you, let alone for so long. How many minutes had passed? It feels like you are falling down a dark pit of uncontrollable pleasure all from the man’s attack on your cunt.
“Uh, uh, uh,” you moan softly in time with his movements.
“Should’ve done this a while ago,” Cecil murmurs mostly to himself, “you are so fucking gorgeous.”
A particularly sharp thrust nearly blows all the air out of your lungs. Slick pours from your pussy all over his pulsing cock, covering Cecil from tip to the bulging veins at his base. You try so hard to say something back to him, maybe a comment that runs along the edge of both cocky and flirtatious, but every word is a jumbled mess. Instead, you moan a string of curses, practically drooling the harder he ruts into you. Your body trembles from the intensity of your third orgasm in the last fifteen minutes.
The director just chuckles to himself, looking down at the tight space where both your bodies meshed together. To him, it’s like a piece of artwork that deserved to be put in a museum. He continues mumbling small comments here and there the longer he fucks you.
“Didn’t think I’d ever get to do this.”
“Yeah, just like that. Take it.”
“Damn, you’re so hot. Haven’t- fuck, haven’t told you that enough.”
If you had to guess, the man rather missed being this intimate with someone and hadn’t experienced such in a long while. It was the only excuse you could come up with in your mind that explained the reason behind the torment on your body.
“Right there, yes, yes, yes!” you exclaim, eyes rolling back as he changes the angles of his hips and begins pivoting his cock right on that sensitive spot.
This new direction causes a loud squelching sound to repeatedly echo off the walls. This alone sends Cecil into overdrive. He lets go of your head to hold your hips against him, starting to lose rhythm. He gasps as his climax approaches quickly. “C’mon, one more for me.”
“Nng!” you groan, clenching around him hard enough to confirm he pushed a fourth orgasm out of your poor, abused pussy.
The older man isn’t far behind. He focuses entirely on the ripple of your ass each time he pushes himself forward. The sight is enough to make him hiss out something incoherent, then falter inside you, spilling into the condom he made sure to put on before wrecking you.
“Holy fuck-”
“My God-”
You both muster words at the same time. The two of you struggle to catch your breath. Given you finally had a moment to calm down, you finally recognized just how hot and sticky you were against the wooden piece of furniture. Not that you’d have it any other way.
Cecil gradually pulls out of your wet heat, making commentary about how soaked you made his cock. It only makes you blush. He begins to tidy himself up with tissues and a quick wipe from the back of his hand against his forehead. But then you turn around and ask him a question that nearly makes his heart drop.
pairing: perv!daryl x afab!reader
word count: 1.9k
summary: daryl hadn’t believed in angels until that fateful day on the outskirts of oceanside. the way you laid in the warm sand seemed heaven-sent, hair splayed around your head like a halo while the sun hit golden rays of light against every exposed inch of your body. he thinks you’re untouchable, a piece of art too delicate to taint with his dirty fingers. so Daryl does what he thinks is best; he watches from the shadows.
warnings: nude sunbathing, voyeurism, male masturbation
There is never a supply run or inventory trade that can ever go completely smooth. This was especially true after the war with Negan. Without fail, there is always, at the very least, a small hiccup.
Daryl Dixon doesn’t visit Oceanside often for a variety of reasons. He likes to think that after the countless lives lost from the recent battle, he’s better off sticking to his duty guiding the Saviors and rebuilding communities from the ashes of death and decay. One of the other reasons being that travel to Oceanside is long and tiresome. It isn’t always worth a trip despite reliance and trust between these safe havens being what these survivors need most right now. Daryl swears up and down that more often than not, having to go to Oceanside is an unnecessary hassle.
However, he does have at least one reason he enjoys the occasional ride to the beachy front. Even when he’s sunburnt to a crisp, dehydrated and in need of rest, his senses perk up the moment he sees you on site.
His guard drops for a few seconds and safety is no longer at the front of his brain. All he can focus on is you and what you’re doing. Actually, the only reason his guard comes back up is so he can protect you from potential danger. Not that any highly dangerous scenarios have ever happened during these visits, but he’s always alert in case they do. The outpost isn’t perfect and definitely has its flaws, but you are literal perfection in his eyes. No amount of bullshit from supply runs or trading deals could ruin time spent with you. Well, time as in just standing in your vicinity. He still hadn’t gathered enough courage to properly speak with you yet.
Except, this might be the first time he’s been to Oceanside where things have somewhat gone sideways. Not from an ambush or argument between groups of people. The single factor that directly implies this supply run has genuinely been ruined is due to the fact he can’t see you anywhere.
He tries so hard to only focus on the task at hand. Daryl helps the women carry boxes upon boxes of ammo and other weapons so they can defend themselves. In turn, they offer Daryl and the other men with him baskets of food and bottles of medication they’d picked up from nearby stores. It is just what the communities back home need at this time. Thirty minutes pass of sorting through the recently donated materials when Daryl realizes he still hasn’t seen you.
He can’t help but wonder where you are. What you might be doing. Who you are with, especially. It isn’t any of his business. Daryl knows damn well he should be concerning himself with the responsibility of this supply exchange instead. However, he can’t ignore the warm feeling bubbling deep within his chest that he can only recognize as possessiveness. He barely knows you and yet he’s extremely bothered at the fact the only person he looks forward to seeing at Oceanside isn’t even here.
Not very long after arriving, the hunter starts to realize that this barter is coming to an end. In a little while, he won’t have reason to linger once supplies are packed in trucks and remaining tasks are complete. So without time to think through his plan, Daryl suggests to the women that he can set up some extra hunting traps along the outskirts of their safe haven. He uses the excuse that they seem low on meat that isn’t just fish. Without surprise, they eagerly agree to his suggestion and allow him to take whatever necessary materials to create these traps.
Daryl isn’t even sure why he thought of this idea. He angrily mutters under his breath that this is actually kind of stupid to do in the first place. Maybe deep down, he was just praying he’d run into you during the process.
Which does end up happening, but not in the way he had originally hoped.
The layers of bushes and tree branches hide many things. They almost successfully conceal lurking walkers eager to bite into a fresh meal. The shadows stow away important resources that the communities can use too, such as sharp rocks for arrows, or dry grass meant for basketweaving. Despite being so used to blending in with the scenery of forests and nature itself, Daryl felt different about this time walking through the grounds. His intentions were pure from the start of wandering these parts of Oceanside, that his exploration around the little nooks and corners was nothing but virtuous. Well, he did have a slight ulterior motive under his belt. Not that it really matters now. After ten minutes of walking, he swears nothing will come out of this. Just another stupid run gone wrong.
Originally, he didn’t intend on traveling so far in this direction. His route was partially aimless as he was just trying to find great spots to set these traps. It just so happened that his tracking skills led him near the north side of Oceanside where the beach and woods collided with one another. Through the leaks of light and small gaps of foliage, Daryl spots something lying on the nearby shoreline. Daryl would have missed the unusual shape had the color of something bright orange not caught his line of sight. He carefully avoids a large pile of dried leaves as if he might give away his secret location, even though the wind was already particularly noisy today, and carefully inches closer and closer towards the smell of salt air and the sandy strand. He wasn’t sure what on earth he was viewing at first, assuming maybe it was a body washed up from a bad storm or something worse.
He was partially right. It definitely was a human, very much alive as well.
But then that same body, which had been laid near the ocean waves, triggered the man to suck in a sharp breath. His right hand, which had been holding some bound rope, nearly drops the tool when he recognizes the person laid on that obnoxiously colored beach towel.
It was you. The only person Daryl had been looking forward to seeing today.
All by yourself, soaking up the sun, swimsuit discarded to the side. You’re nude, comfortably relaxed on your stomach and resting your head atop your crossed arms. The ocean wind has tangled knots into your hair, but it frames your face like a halo nonetheless. Daryl sees two round curves beneath your chest, definitely your breasts being smushed between your body weight and the beach towel. However, his eyes travel to a different, similarly round part of your body, and he can’t believe someone so perfect still exists in this fucked up world.
The entire scene blows his breath away.The earth stops spinning for a few seconds, or at least Daryl’s world does. He hesitates to do anything else other than just stand and stare. The man switches from silently asking himself where you had gone, to what on earth you were doing here by yourself tanning with no clothing at all. Is this a skit? A prank of some kind? Were you going to shoot your head up here in a moment and laugh at his perverted staring?
Shit. He’s staring at you and you don’t even know it.
The guilt weighs heavy on his conscience. He shouldn’t be doing this. Fuck, this is messed up. He blinks few times, turning his head to look elsewhere. His lungs tighten and there’s a rapid pulse thumping in his ears. The forest reminds him of why he is here in the first place. The purpose being he was helping Oceanside by setting up traps. Now, he feels like a piece of shit for stalking you during a time of such vulnerability. That just isn’t fair to you, even if he did want to see you so badly from the start.
Daryl decides to walk away. He tells himself that he has to before you catch him. It doesn’t even take three full steps before the hunter realizes there’s something wrong with him.
There’s a throbbing pain straining against his jeans. He looks down, peering at the damn near painful bulge that has grown in the span of probably thirty seconds just from staring at your naked body. No wonder he’s so uncomfortable; he’s hard as a rock.
This shit doesn’t happen often. Actually, Daryl can’t even remember the last time he got this hard. His mind is always in survival mode, never allowing the man to be comfortable long enough to relax and jerk off. But then there’s you. Of course, of all people, you’re at fault for being the reason he wants to shove his cock down your throat and cum on your pretty cheeks and eyelashes.
The surrounding woods feel smaller around Daryl. The moment he stops walking away, he pauses and glances over his shoulder. You’re still there, eyes closed, unaware of the man that stood only so many feet away in the depth of the trees and bushes, watching you. It almost hurts to continue standing here, purely because all he craves is to touch himself. To relieve this problem you’ve caused.
Daryl knows he isn’t perfect. He’s a mess. He’s already very much aware of the fact he is nothing but scum left in the ruins of this corpse ridden world. Or at least that’s what he has convinced himself of. Years of trauma and a lack of healthy relationships will do that to someone. He doesn’t deserve to have your attention, your patience, your praise. So if he can’t talk to you upfront, maybe he can just watch from afar.
Well, he came out here for more than one reason, right? The idea that he was helping Oceanside with these traps wasn't false, there was just a little more to it than that. To try and see you, no matter what the circumstances might be. If you aren’t aware of his presence, how harmful might it be that Daryl sticks around just a while longer?
He positions himself behind a thick tree trunk, shoulders digging into the rough bark as he continues to peer up and down your exposed body. Each part of your skin hits the sun like a gorgeous painting. His shallow breathing distracts him from any other noise in the woods. There could very well be a walker that jumps him from behind any moment now. That didn’t matter though. What mattered was you, laid there in the sand completely innocent to the man who was beginning to unzip his pants and palm his member through the fabric of his boxers.
Daryl can’t bring himself to jerk off. He needs to go home soon. He’ll need to return to his duties as a leader, a fucking role model to some dipshits called the Saviors. But he’ll continue to squeeze himself for a good while just to jog his memory of what you looked like under the bright sun. When he’s in bed later that night, fucking his hand and muffling his moans by biting his lip, he’ll secretly hope he’ll get to taste you one of these days. It won’t actually happen, he knows that, but a man can dream. He'll wonders what an angel sent from heaven tastes like on his tongue. The thought alone sputters ropes of his cum across his stomach and chest. He’s never felt so dirty before, but doesn’t regret it one bit.
pairing: rick grimes x gn!reader
word count: 1.8k
summary: it's only been a little while since you and rick have made things official, which means there's only been a few times you both messed around with each other. you decide to give rick a nice surprise late one night; the sloppiest head he has ever received.
warnings: swearing, oral sex receiving (male), head pushing during oral, unprotected sex, creampie, minor slut shaming, minor dom/sub elements, size difference (rick is HUGE ok), bulge kink, references to reader's body being generally smaller than rick
a/n: this was originally written for @imallenthealienfr as a priv request but i tweaked things to fit rick x reader! hope yall enjoy!
Rick can’t bring himself to blink, let alone breathe. His mind feels like complete mush due to your warm tongue running along the bulging veins of his member. Deep down he’s wondering, how on this earth did he not suggest you do this sooner? Since moving to Alexandria, the two of you had truly only messed around a handful of times. Things have started slow, cautious. Rick didn’t want to do anything that might scare or break you.
But then you fucking pull out this trick and suddenly he’s putty in your hands. Had he been missing out this whole time?
The answer is yes, yes he has been missing out.
Leaning against the headboard of the shared bed, Rick peers down at the sight in between his legs; you’re on your stomach, half undressed and mouth full of big, heavy cock. There’s drool dribbling down your chin and pooling in between your fingers. It’s obvious you can barely fit half of him in your mouth, but you don't mind. You suck away like your life depended on it. The tip of Rick’s cock bulges out the side of your cheek like some provocative porno that will now be seared into his mind for eternity.
With a heavy gasp, Rick jerks his hips forward and listens to the way you gargle harshly. You pull your mouth away and inhale deeply for only a quick moment or two. It doesn’t take long to catch your breath. Smirking playfully, there’s a certain glint in your eyes that tells Rick he’s in for much more. The man relaxes further into the pillows and sighs heavily. There’s a bead of sweat pooling near his temple.
“Fuck, you taste so good,” you murmur, licking him like a lollipop.
You were going to be the fucking death of him.
He never tears his gaze as you part your pouty lips and shove him back into your mouth. The way your tongue hugs his cock so perfectly, mixed with how fast you manage to bob your pretty little head, Rick actually gets pissed off wondering where on earth you learned this. Clearly you held experience. How dare you pleasure a man that wasn’t him.
But then all those jealous thoughts are out the window right as you push your head down to the base of his cock, nose almost colliding with his curly hairs, causing his flushed tip to hit the back of your throat. The man’s eyes damn near roll to the back of his head, and yet you don’t fucking move. You just continue to choke on him like it was a casual affair.
Genuinely, going to be the death of him.
Rick groans, his fingers reaching forward to grasp locks of your hair. As if he’s punishing you for being too good at giving head, suspiciously good actually, he holds you in place and grins at how quickly you gag. The obscene sounds that spill past your stuffed lips make him crave more. He’s already so close, which isn’t a surprise, but he also knows that if he shoots his load down your throat now, he’s not sure he’ll have enough energy for anything more than this…and Rick is in desperate need to fuck his significant other into oblivion.
The man finally lets go a few seconds later. You pop off his cock, gasping for air and choking slightly. A string of spit connecting from his slit to your bottom lip glistens in the moonlight shining through the window.
“C’mere baby. Need you.” Rick whispers in a sultry voice.
The remainder of your clothes that clung to your sweaty figure were torn off within seconds. Then, you’re sitting on his lap like you belonged there. Rick’s rough, calloused hands knead the skin of your bottom like it’s some sort of prized possession; which it is, to him at least. While sitting on his lap, the ex-sheriff leans forward to give you a passionate kiss. Both your chests press against each other, giving you an opportunity to feel all the heat he radiates. Just that alone makes you smile.
The two of you move in time with one another, tongues swiping across each other’s lips to gain access to your mouths. Like a tango, you both trade saliva in between heavy panting. You moan softly, making Rick’s already wet cock twitch.
By the time you’re stretched out with the help of Rick’s thick fingers, you lower yourself down on him at an excruciating slow pace. Like earlier, Rick’s hands simply can’t stay off you and manage to glide all over your smaller frame, a silent way of encouraging you to take your time. He was a patient man.
No matter how often the two of you played beneath the sheets, your hole was always far too tight for either of you to handle.
Or, perhaps, Rick was just too large.
The stretch was damn near painful. Through the slightly numbing sensation, you can’t help but mewl softly and whine. Despite being one of the strongest defenders in Alexandria, and a respected member of Rick’s band of survivors, this proved to be the one and only feat that was fairly difficult to overcome. But Rick isn’t stupid. He can feel you fucking gushing down your thighs onto his lap right now, evidence you are thoroughy enjoying every second of the discomfort.
“Doing so good for me- fuck. Yes, just like that, nice and slow.” Rick encourages. He winces, not from being hurt, but from how goddamn tight you are. He lets his thumbs dip into your hips, pinching the fat there which makes you almost yelp. It’s a small action to remind himself this isn’t a fever dream. “Go at your own pace, baby. Take your time.”
If only Rick knew how close you are to cumming right then and there.
You finally sink all the way down and wrap your arms around Rick’s neck. While letting out a deep moan, you throw your head back and close your eyes, blushing like crazy. Your walls begin to twitch around the man’s cock, causing Rick to accidentally thrust upwards. The way you gasp makes him think he did something wrong. “You okay? Should we stop?”
“N-No!” you plead, biting your bottom lip. It takes some shifting around to grow more comfortable. You gasp once more, staring back at Rick with an expression that reads your mind is just as mushy as his own. Finally, after many seconds pass, you begin to lift yourself up. Then, you push back down and exhale deeply.
Rick was so fucking deep.
“Gosh, baby, you take me so well,” he whispers with that thick country accent that sends a tingle straight to your core, looking downward to watch the way both your bodies connect. He guides you up and down, smiling the whole time. “Always such a nice surprise to feel how tight you are ‘round my cock.”
“Oh, fuck!” you moan loudly. Rick groans under his breath once you begin to pick up the pace, suddenly slamming down harder than before. You take this opportunity to push your hands on his chest for stability. The way your cunt embraces him so eagerly catches you both by surprise.
You squeeze him like a vice each time you let gravity pull you down. Given how easily he begins to slide in and out of your wet heat, Rick digs his heels into the mattress and starts to snap his hips upwards. He has given up allowing you to go at your own pace; it was time for him to take over.
The two of you emit the most pathetic whimpers, which encourages him to keep going. You can’t hold back the noises because he was so goddamn deep. Meanwhile, Rick is a whining mess from the sight of that bulge that keeps protruding below your belly button each time he moves. He might cum just from seeing it.
Both parties are a mess on the bed. Whoever was staying in the same house was probably pissed off from all the noise. Not that it was either of your problems right now. The bedroom walls echo the sounds of huffs, cries, and skin slapping against skin repeatedly. There isn’t ever a moment of silence in the midst of the lewd actions. At some point, Rick dominates you and switches positions so that you’re back on your stomach, the side of your face pushed into the mattress. Your poor frame is so weak underneath his strength. All you can do is choke out a wrecked sob, begging your boyfriend to keep going. “Don’t stop, don’t stop!”
Rick holds you by your hips and leans forward, sensually kissing your spine as he continues to pummel your drenched hole. “You’re so perfect, you know that?”
“Nng- fuck, I’m so close, please,” you sputter out. You can’t even comprehend what Rick just said, too focused on trying to reach an orgasm.
While Rick continues to pump himself deeper and deeper, there’s an increasing amount of pressure that accumulates in both your cores. As he picks up speed, his thrusts become unsteady. Both of you moan in unison. When you push back against the man, Rick lets out an audible sigh that is half growl, half groan. Out of reflex, he tightens the hold he held on your waist. He moves his head from your back and shifts upwards, kissing the shell of your ear.
“Taking me so well,” he whispers, his teeth grazing your earlobe, “gonna make me cum so hard, baby.”
Your breath catches ever so slightly at the dominating tone. Rick’s motions never soften; if anything, you could tell Rick was almost at his peak from how intense he rams into you. The next time he speaks, his breathing is evidently more labored than usual. “So-So good for me. Taking my cock like a good slut.”
Those are the words that end up tipping you over the edge. With wide eyes and mouth agape, your release makes you tremble and shake, spurting droplets of slickness onto the sheets below. Your entire body convulses from the powerful orgasm, making you moan loudly and clench hard around Rick.
You feel the tremble from his cock as he cums at the same time, making a mess out of your poor, abused body. Rick fills you without a second thought. The action triggers heat to bloom across your face, but you secretly loved it. You each exhale blissfully, completely caught up in the now peaceful moment. It takes a long while before anyone moves. Once he finally controls his breathing and slowly pulls out, Rick admires the way his seed drips down your flush thighs.
He immediately praises you, “Fuck, you did so good for me, baby.”
Completely dazed, and also trying to catch your breath, you offer him a ditzy smile. “That-That was so hot, Rick.”
The man smirks to himself, slowly crawling off the bed to find anything to clean his messy partner. As he comes back with a wet rag, he can’t help but admit, “Honey, that head you gave me? That was a…damn good surprise.”
A beat passes, then he continues, “Give me an hour and maybe you can do it again.”
