Jun 15, 2025
Commission for my pal @moonpaw!! I got to design a new outfit for their Pokemon OC ✨ Had SUCH a blast with this design!
(Commissions are currently OPEN)
seen from Israel
seen from Netherlands
seen from United States
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seen from India
seen from Canada
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from Aruba
seen from United States
seen from Brazil
seen from Israel
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seen from Saudi Arabia
seen from Azerbaijan
seen from United States
seen from Türkiye
seen from China
seen from Germany
Commission for my pal @moonpaw!! I got to design a new outfit for their Pokemon OC ✨ Had SUCH a blast with this design!
(Commissions are currently OPEN)
"Kai's good with kids!" slightly incorrect. Kai is good with stubborn, troublesome kids. Dudes been shown to be dogshit when solely interacting with pretty much all people younger than him except for Nya, Lloyd, & Wyldfyre
He raised Nya, but we know that girl. We've seen her. I know she was a NIGHTMARE kid. She has strong opinions, holds grudges, and does whatever she wants. I love her for this. I also know teenage Kai was fighting for his LIFE. Lloyd was Little Shit Extraordinaire, and he didn't have the bonus of being blood-related to Kai, so Kai had 0 incentive to like him. Even still, Kai heard a small child in distress and immediately Locked In and decided awesome, I'm protecting you forever now. Wyldfyre similarly annoyed the absolute shit out of him, but Kai had his Growth. He still threw hands with Wyldfyre but the difference here is he knew she could fight back. He clocked pretty immediately she had an impatient temper but had a very strong love for her tiny family of 2 (oh hey s1 Kai when'd you get here) and in NO time began flawlessly mentoring.
Kai is like a guy who went to a camp for troubled youths, grew up, then decided to become a counselor at that same camp. He can wrangle a teenage dirtbag out of an alley like a stray cat but if you put him in the same room as a fairly normal kid he's looking at them like this
BDUBS DAY! BDUBS DAY! BDUBS DAY! BDUBS DAY! BDUBS DAY! BDUBS DAY! BDUBS DAY! BDUBS DAY! BDUBS DAY! BDUBS DAY!
Anyone else ever think about how Eddie Munson and Casey Hartley are the same character
His Eri Senses are Tingling . . . . . . TIME TO CRASH A PARTY!!!
Upon seeing her, his smile grew WIDE, “Who gave Eri-chan a sword?”
⋆₊˚⊹♡
Your nerves are through the roof tonight—way more than usual. You made the rookie mistake of telling Vogue that Joe Keery was your celebrity crush… and, well, your team never misses an opportunity to tease you. So naturally, he’s the one you’re about to ‘arrest’ during your show tonight.
Adrenaline is high and your buzzing as you hold up the infamous fuzzy cuffs with a grin that’s 90% confidence, 10% panic. “You guys know I love to arrest people,” you announce, letting your voice drip with playful menace.
You glance around the audience, trying to steady your nerves, as you laugh a little. “I’ve heard there are some strange things going on in the crowd tonight.”
You think you’re slick but you’re not, word has already gotten out that he’s at your show. The crowd explodes with cheers and whistles and your stomach does somersaults.
“Well, let’s see if there are any troublemakers in the house tonight,” you continue, and the camera doesn’t even need a cue—it immediately lands on him.
There he is. Joe. Sitting a few rows back, flashing that effortlessly charming grin that makes your brain short-circuit.
“OH MY GOSH! HIII!” You croon, feigning surprise … stepping forward, letting the mic pick up the teasing in your voice.
“What’s your name?”
“Joe!” he shouts, a little too eagerly. Doesn’t matter, by the time the words leave his mouth, the entire arena is shouting it back at you.
You tilt your head, letting a slow smile spread across your face.
“Joe, huh? You’re looking… out of this world. Do you wanna be my Juno and make me go….. upside down?”
The crowd goes wild again, but all you can see is him, laughing like he knows exactly how much you’re melting.
Later that night, when you’re finally out of your costume and scrolling through your phone to decompress, you see a new DM request.
djotime: If that arrest was an official offer, I’d like to plead guilty. Also… upside down, huh?
drew starkey version here
Lesson Learned
Summary: Joel saves you from a creep at the bar. You repay him with how you see fit.
Word Count: 10.9k
Warnings: 18+. MDNI. P in V sex. Assplay. Age gap. Reader is in her 20s, Joel’s in his late 40s/50s. Reader is a teacher. Size difference. Slight dom/sub undertones. Dirty talk. Squirting. Panty sniffing. Choking. No Outbreak.
Banner: by @cursed-carmine
Authors Note: it has been a million and one years since I’ve written and i have never written for Joel before so be kind ! I would also love to practice writing drabbles bc this initially was supposed to be a drabble but I lost control lol. so send me and gnarly imagines you have about frank castle and joel miller (and fuck it even Arthur Morgan) and we’ll have a ball <3
ao3 link [coming soon]
Tequila has never been your friend.
The ritual of licking the grainy salt, shooting the shitty well tequila, immediately following with a soggy lime wedge usually led to a terrible burn in your belly and immediate regret— because once that tequila worked its magic, it usually led you and your burnt out group of teacher friends to order another round.
And then another, because fuck it you guys, we work with kids for a living! At least three of us here had a chair thrown at us this week!
And by the time the third round of that dark, shitty well tequila gets ordered, your brain is already becoming mush and you really don’t mind that your group is being the loudest in the small dive bar. In fact, you really don’t mind— especially when it catches the attention of the regulars who love to buy a group of pretty young girls their next round. A free drink is a free drink, and typically the men that hit on you and your girls know there ain’t a chance in hell any of you would give in to them. Sure, there are some that give it their all— “c’mon, my wife don’t got it any more”— or “give this ol’ man a chance, baby” — but typically with a bat of your lashes and the excuse of having a nonexistent boyfriend, they let up.
But that isn’t the case tonight.
Mike, you think is his name, can’t be younger than 50. He has a belly rounder than you’d ever seen and a nose as red as Rudolph’s. Surely, a sign of his drinking habits throughout the years. He’s bought the latest rounds of drinks after approaching your table, words already slurred and breath so horrifying you’re afraid that if he lit up a cigarette, his breath would catch fire.
But a free drink is a free drink, and your girls weren’t ready to tell him to kick rocks just yet.
You, however, were ready to tell him to fuck off.
It had been a long week. Between the usual troublemakers in your class and a surprise observation from your admin, your free time was being consumed by conference prep. Hours after school were being spent making copies, scheduling with parents, making sure the kids desks were neat… it was stressful.
And to top it all off, the fucker took it upon himself to plop his ass right next to you.
You know the type. He was probably on his third divorce, and spent a little too much time at the bar during his free time. It disgusts you to even think that this guy is probably thinking about what it would take to get you home.
With an arm slung around the back of your seat in the booth, he’s asking alllll about what it’s like to be a teacher these days. And much to your annoyance, your friends have begun not so secretly taking pictures—no doubt making it into the shared album by the morning.
“Now sweetheart,” Mike (or maybe Matt? You couldn’t keep it straight.) slurs, and your nose crinkles at the smell of the cheap beer on his breath. “M’tellin’ you. If had a teacher like you growin’ up—‘
God, there it was. Guys always think that line works, as if hearing it for the millionth time would finally land them on your roster.
“—Would’ve paid real close attention in class.”
Gag.
Your smile grows tight as you squirm towards the edge of the vinyl booth. “Alright!” You exclaim loudly. “With that note, m’gonna go get a Diet Coke. Somethin’ to wash the tequila down.”
“Baby I can go with ya—” Mike groans as he moves towards you, but you smile as sweetly as you can and cut him off before he can inch any closer.
“Jess, I’m sure Mike would love to hear about how that kid told you to fuck off last week.”
Mike snorts. “Names not Mike. S’Matt.”
“Matt, sorry.” You aren’t sorry. You’re already halfway to the bar as you say that.
Jess, who is the main instigator of the night out, is a social butterfly who isn’t scared of a damn thing. She can handle a few questions from Matt.
The Rusty Spur was usually packed tighter than a can of sardines, but tonight is bad. To your right is one bachelorette group cornered towards the end of the bar, sticking out like a sore thumb in their pink cowboy hats, multiple groups of guys dressed in business casual; shirtsleeves rolled up and collars unbuttoned—and to your left, at least a dozen frat boys hogging the pool tables, the scent of their cheap cologne making your lip curl in distaste.
And to your front, the line looks to be a million people deep. With a groan, you stretch to your tiptoes and attempt to look over the shoulders of the people in front of you. God, you just needed some Diet Coke to get rid of the taste of tequila out of your mouth and to clear your head. And to close out your tab, you suppose—your iPad and shower were singing their siren song to you right about now.
Given that you were currently more than a few drinks deep and growing more and more irritated by the lengthy line of tall frat boys, you rise to your tippy toes once again and tilt yourself to the left, attempting to get a look to see if any progress is being made to get to the bar.
God dammit, everyone is so tall!
Leaning juuuuuust a bit further left, another tall body rams itself into your side; and suddenly your center of gravity is just…gone. Your wedges fail you—you knew wedges were the wrong choice—and your body is falling faster than you can process.
“SHIT!”
Not only is your head pounding, but now your tailbone is pounding—and soaked in god knows what kind of liquid. With reddened cheeks, and tears of embarrassment forming in your eyes, you look up to see what asshole shoved into you; only to meet the eyes of fucking Mike.
Before you can push yourself off of the bar floor and tell him exactly where he can shove it, you feel a pair of hands grab onto your shoulders, gently lifting you up and onto your feet
“Hey, easy,” a voice says in your ear. Low, unbothered, with a slight drawl to his tone. Not slurred at all—unlike Mike who had been breathing down your neck for the last hour.
Slightly disoriented, you blink slowly; craning your neck to get a good look at the stranger, and your eyes lock on someone who is entirely unlike the other guys here. Not even close.
This boy… no… man… is tall. Broad, biceps being hugged perfectly by his t-shirt. Deep set wrinkles frame his eyes, but their deep chocolate shade is enough to momentarily make your tongue forget how to even form legible words. You’re pretty sure if you even tried to talk, nothing would come out. As if his eyes weren’t enough of a distraction, the scent of the bar was quickly replaced with a distinct aroma of wood pine and spearmint. It’s clear by the calluses on his palms and the slightly paint-stained shirt that read MILLER CONSTRUCTION, whoever he is, is a man.
If you hadn’t known any better, you’d think that your damn jaw was slack, drool pooling all around the two of you.
He’s still holding onto your elbow, unsure whether you’ll fall over again if he lets go of you. You’re sure you must look like a mess, but the stranger has an unreadable expression as he finally steps back, releasing his grip on your arm.
“You alright miss?” He reaches beside him to the bar, grabbing a napkin and politely handing it to you.
Texan, you think. Of fucking course.
“Mostly,” You grumble, accepting the napkin to wipe your hands. “This jackass won’t leave me and my friends alone. And now he just…”
You gesture to him, and the stranger rolls his eyes and turns his attention to Mike, who seems blissfully unaware that he just body slammed you to the ground. The stranger, whose expression remains unreadable, glances over at the perpetrator, visibly eyeing him up and down. If you had to guess, the stranger was thinking of a way to get this man kicked out of the bar.
“Matt.”
Mike turns suddenly, beer spilling over the sides of his pint glass—adding to the mess you had just landed on. His face of stupor quickly turns to a toothless grin as he recognizes the stranger who just pulled you up from the mess.
“Joel!” He instantly steps towards Joel, both arms wrapping around Joel's shoulders. From the way Joel tenses up as Mike slaps his back with one hand, it’s clear that Joel does not like him. “S’been a few weeks since ya been out, buddy!”
Joel gently, but with a firm movement pries his arms off his shoulders and takes a step back. “Has been, friend. You knocked this lady over.”
He says it evenly. With authority. He says it in a way that shows you that his moral compass wouldn’t allow this to happen on his watch, whether you were a stranger or not.
“Pssssh,” Matt breathes, waving a hand. “This….” He gestures to you, a look of disgust blooming in his eye, “bitch had it comin. Been buying her and her slutty friends drinks. Won’t even gimme a damn feel.”
As if things hadn’t gotten enough out of hand when you landed in dive bar liquids on a dirty hardwood floor, you’re now frozen in disbelief as this complete degenerate decides to insult you. And to a complete stranger—Joel—now involved.
If you weren’t red as a tomato before, you’re sure that now you’re going as red as a bad sunburn. If the fall hadn’t embarrassed you enough, now this fucker is really going for the gold.
That moral compass of his leads Joel to the most obvious next step. You watch half in horror and half in awe, as he takes two decisive steps forwards and grabs Matt by the collar, yanking him towards the door. Matt nearly topples over his own boots as Joel grabs him, a grunt escaping his lips. The pair brush past you as Joel easily pushes Matt towards the door.
Maybe it’s the tequila—but watching Joel move around a huge dude like Mike like it’s nothing—it’s really fucking hot. You’re moving with them before you even realize you’re walking.
“Time to go home, Matt.” Joel says evenly, giving him no other option but to follow. “We ain’t dealin’ with your shit for the rest of the night.”
Matt clearly isn’t happy as Joel escorts him out. “The FUCK, Miller?!”
Getting closer and closer to the door, the bouncer at the door sighs and stands when he notices the disruption. Clearly it’s not Matt's first rodeo with getting kicked out of a bar.
“Fuckin’ disrespectful is what you are,” Joel says flatly, shoving him towards the bouncer. “Matt’s at it again. Pushed the poor lady.”
“Shit man, one more time and you’re gettin’ 86’d from the Spur,” the bouncer groans, grabbing Matt by the arm. “Swear to god.”
The cool night air hits your face as a second bouncer swings the door open, following the pair outside to ensure that it’s handled. As the door swings back shut, your lungs deflate with a breath you didn’t notice you had been holding.
“Such a damn idiot,” Joel murmurs to himself, finally turning to you. His eyes dart down and up at you quickly; no doubt thinking about what a wreck you probably look like at the moment. “You okay?”
“Better,’” You reply, hiking your bag over your shoulder. “I—I—thank you. You didn’t have to do that. Joel, right?”
He nods, holding his hand out for you to shake. Those calluses on his palms once again meet your skin, sending a momentary spark down your spine.
“Yeah, Joel. And m’happy to. Matt’s been pullin’ shit like this for years. Ain’t funny nor cute.” He pulls his hand away, looking you over once again. The way he does it doesn’t feel like he’s checking you out; more like he’s looking to see if you’re hurt. “M’sorry about your skirt. I wouldn’t wanna know what’s been spilled on these floors.”
Your hands swipe the back pockets of your skirt; face turning to a wince when you feel the damp spot on your ass.
“It’s a good thing I own a washer and dryer, I guess.”
He huffs out a chuckle, the lines in his face deepening as he does so. You weren’t one to typically be enamored with someone older, but Joel is so… effortless. Soft, yet tough.
You introduce yourself, heart stopping for a moment as he repeats your name. Why does it sound so much better coming from him?
“I, uh, can I get you a beer?” You ask, thumb pointing to the bar. “You really didn’t have to—“
“—I’m okay, promise,” Joel interrupts, lip pulling into a small smile. “Like I said, Matt has been doin’ shit like that for a long time. Needs to learn his lesson.”
Just like Joel wouldn’t bend his moral compass, even for strangers, you weren’t going to back down now. Especially when the stranger who jumped in to defend you was hot.
“I don’t think m’gonna take no for an answer tonight.” You’re already taking out your card; feet moving you back towards the bar—the scene of the crime. “You had a Coors banquet, yeah?”
You’re half-expecting him to double down on his refusal and return to his seat at the bar, but to your surprise—he doesn’t.
“I did.” Joel replies, clearly amused by your forwardness. He follows you to the line, hands in his pockets as he does. Respectful. God, that’s such a turn on.
With the line beginning to thin out, you shift on your feet and look up at him. How did Joel know that asshole anyways? Asking him some questions wouldn’t hurt, especially since there’s still a line.
“How do you know Mike anyways?” You ask, tilting your head out of curiosity.
“Re-did his kitchen a while back for him and his wife. Was a pain in the ass then, still a pain in the ass now.”
“Wife, huh?” An amused laugh passes through your lips at the revelation. “Didn’t see a ring, and he definitely didn’t mention a wife.”
Stepping forward in tandem with you as the line moves, you note how he stands just close enough to hear you, but far enough to let you take the lead.
Joel shrugs nonchalantly. “And that doesn’t shock me either. Yourself and your friends are pretty. Sucks that he had to go and be an asshole about it, though.”
Pretty.
Joel thinks you’re pretty.
“Most guys are.” Another step forward to the bar. Not too far, now. Your inner monologue tells you to keep the conversation going, dammit! “So you do… residential construction?”
“Mostly residential, but we’ll take a few commercial gigs if it fits. My brother and I own the company together,” he explains easily. You’re just thankful that this stranger has either not noticed your flushed face, or is too nice to say anything about it. “It’s a good gig. What do you do?
Another step. One more person in front of you.
Keep it going.
Fiddling with your card in your hand, you answer, “I’m a teacher. Elementary.”
“That makes sense.” His brows raise with a smile, and he steps forward with you. “Where at?”
“I don’t tell people at bars,” You reply quickly, but mentally hitting yourself at the delivery. “I mean—I didn’t—“
“—No, I get it,” Joel laughs, raising his hands in mock defense. “You don’t know me, I don’t know you. M’sure you’ve had this conversation enough times to learn what to say, and what not to say. I don’t take any offense.”
You raise a brow as if you don’t believe him, and Joel’s small smile turns to a grin as he leans down a little, doubling down on his statement. Like he knew you needed the reassurance that he wasn’t offended by your evasiveness.
“Promise.”
There’s that wood pine and spearmint smell again, taking over your senses. Is this what pheromones are? If so, they’re working overtime to make sure you feel his presence.
The group in front of you at the bar leaves happily with their drinks, and you’re thankful for the quick respite to regain your bearings as you order Joel his Coors and your own Diet Coke. And to ensure that you don’t drink further and make even more of a fool of yourself, you close out your tab.
Sliding the receipt and pen towards the bartender, you turn to Joel who surprisingly is still here with you in line, nursing the cold beer. Surely that means he’s not done with you just yet—because simply, you were too taken with him to be done yet, either.
With a quick glance over your shoulder, your group has already had their attention shift to the pool table; where Jess was currently getting a lesson from a kid with a backwards hat and no doubt a zyn in his lower lip.
They’d be fine without you for a few minutes,.
“M’gonna get some air—“ You say casually, twirling your straw against the ice in your glass. Keep it cool.
“Maybe I should come with, ‘f you don’t mind,” Joel responds coolly. “Need a cigarette after that.”
Biting back a small smile, you lead the way through the crowd towards the back enterance—taking your phone out as you do, you tap Jess’s contact.
Going outside for some air, brb
It takes her less than a minute to answer.
Atta girl, don’t worry about us. We’re nearby
be safe <3
Tucking your phone into your purse, you hold the door open behind you for Joel; sighing as you feel the night air cool off your body from the bar. Breathing in a breath of air, you turn to see Joel claim a standing table, setting his beer down and digging in his back pocket for what he needs.
”Ah, there we go,” He exclaims softly, lighter emerging from his pocket. “I know these are bad for me but—Matt’s a real ass.”
Leaning against the table he’s chosen, you don’t even notice the small smile you’re giving him as he strikes up the lighter, cigarette between his lips.
”What’re you smiling about?” He asks, but not in a teasing way—it’s playful, making you flustered all the while.
”I just…I haven’t…” You pause and think for a moment. Why were you smiling? You could blame the tequila. You could blame your friends for dragging you out. Or, you could admit to yourself that Joel…this stranger, who is probably older than your dad, is—doing it for you.
After all, he had called you pretty.
Surely that meant he’d want to feel… whatever this was out with you.
”I’m just floored, I guess. That you helped me. Lotta people these days wouldn’t have even said a word.”
Joel lets the smoke spill from his lips smoothly as he listens to you. He’s no stranger to helping others—his parents raised him right—and normally, he would have just let you buy him a drink as a thank you and he would have returned to his seat after the exchange. No harm, no foul.
But Mike really was an ass. Shoving a pretty young thing like you, then to top it all off, mouthing off about being a bitch—he felt bad for you. But he noticed right away the twinkle in your eye when he helped you up. It wasn’t just thankfulness. It was something else.
Joel was 50. Back in his 20s, he knew how to talk to women. It felt like second nature—do a late shift at the auto shop, hit the bars with his buddies after. But as Joel had grown into fatherhood and owning a business, his priorities shifted and he didn’t go out as much.
Didn’t date as much.
And definitely didn’t check out women that could be his daughter.
Your lips closed around the straw and his eyes dart to the movement, watching how the gloss stains the rim of it. Part of him feels…dirty, noticing the plumpness of your lips.
The other part of him wonders what it would feel like elsewhere.
“I guess I’m floored, too.” Joel remarks, watching your reaction to his response. Joel isn’t a creep. He knows what this could look like to you if you weren’t into it—he just wants to test the waters and gauge your interest. Your brow furrows.
”Why?”
Bringing the cigarette back to his lips, his eyes don’t leave yours as he thinks carefully about his answer.
”Guess m’floored that your boyfriend didn’t intervene before I could.”
In that moment, you feel something pass between the two of you. Curiosity mixed with lust, maybe. Joel's eyes are still locked with yours as the smoke clears—so you can really look at him and he can really look at you.
It feels as if he’s staring straight into your soul.
”I don’t have a boyfriend.” It’s the truth, and he knows it too. You aren’t dumb. You know why he’s asking. Your eyes flicker down to his left hand, and a feeling of relief and glee spreads throughout you when you notice he doesn’t have a ring on his finger.
God. What have you come to? Checking for a man’s ring. And getting excited when he doesn’t have one? He’s old.
You reach out wordlessly to him. He chuckles and passes the cigarette to you and watches you intently as you inhale softly, flicking ash to the ground as you exhale.
“I’m shocked,” He answers finally, breaking the silence. “Pretty, young, a great career…” A pause, as you hand back his cigarette. You don’t miss the way his eyes flick to your mouth. “you’re a catch.”
If this wasn’t flirting, you had to be the dumbest girl on the planet.
Before you can think of a response to Joel, both of your attention goes to the door; where Jess and your group come bursting through, the pool table boys en suite. Jess is practically hanging off backwards hat boy, and the rest are no doubt ordering the uber back to their respective apartments.
As if the two of you were in sync, you both turn at the same time to look at each other; as if trying to convey that neither of you were ready for the night to end. And truth be told…you weren’t.
Neither was Joel.
Jess pries herself off of the guy when she finally spots you, mischievous grin on her face as she looks at the scene before her.
“Hey—you good?” She says brightly. You’re thankful for Jess. She has a way of checking in that doesn’t come off as rude. “We’re all gettin’ ready to leave—but m’going home with…” Her voice trails as she looks back at the guy she just walked out with, and Joel stifles a giggle as she attempts to recall his name. You smack her arm playfully and she laughs.
”Well I guess it doesn’t matter. I uh—“ She smiles with a laugh, looking at Joel, and then back at you. “—I don’t mean to interrupt things. But Sammy needs a ride home. And I’m assuming you do too?”
“Yeah,” you answer, shaking your head; attempting to come back from reality. “I can uh-order an uber for Sammy and I—“
Joel watches as you fumble with your words, and he decides that if the night isn’t going to end here…he’ll just come to your rescue.
Again.
He has a feeling you won’t complain.
“If everyone’s okay with it, I can drive 'em home.” Joel offers with a shrug, flicking the cigarette to the ground. Jess eyes him with that fierce, older sister look she loves to give. To that, Joel pulls out his wallet and slips his ID out, handing it to her without hesitation. As if saying to Jess, test me. “Go ahead. Take a picture.”
Jess’s mouth hangs open momentarily, before shutting just as quickly as it came. She yanks her phone out and snaps a photo, handing it back to him.
”Alright Joel. If my girls don’t report right back to me in the morning—“ She starts, and you giggle as you cut in.
”—You’ll kill him yourself. We got it, Jess.” Gesturing to her toy for the evening, you add, “get back to your boy. We got Sammy. Promise.”
Jess hugs you tight, eyeing Joel over your shoulder. He’s desperately trying not to laugh, and even you can tell that, and you’re not even looking at him.
“Okay…” She says as she pulls back, taking one last look at the two of you. “Be safe.”
You all know she’s not talking about the drive home.
Joel is wondering what he’s gotten himself into when Sammy gets in the car.
Sammy, a kindergarten teacher, as she slurred several times—was upset that she saw her ex at the bar with another girl. You, being the kind friend that you are, opt to sit in the back with her for the ten minute drive to her house, holding her hair back and wiping the tears off her cheeks; occasionally looking at the rear view mirror.
What draws you in about him is that he seems almost impossible to read. You can’t tell if he’s amused, unimpressed, or just focusing on the road. Either way, your eyes always seem to find those brown eyes of his whenever you look for them.
Pulling into Sammy’s driveway, Joel steps out of the truck and immediately goes to Sammy’s side of the car; helping you get Sammy on her feet.
“I just—ugh!” She whines, completely unaware that it’s taking two people to get her to the front door. “He’s such a fucking—jerk! I gave him EVERYTHING!”
“I know,” You reply empathetically, grunting under the weight. “But he’s dumb and you’re so much hotter, Sam. Where’re your keys?”
She pulls away from the two of you, swaying unevenly as she digs around in her purse. Looking back at Joel, you smile sympathetically and say “I’ll get here inside—won’t be more than five minutes. I promise.”
He nods, holding back a small smile. Poor girl, he thinks to himself as he walks back to the truck. Reminds me of my friends back in the day.
Sammy is nearly inconsolable when you finally unlock her door and get her in—between gentle words of advice and picking out pajamas, you’re itching to get back to Joel.
“Can you pleeeease call me in the morning?” Sammy sobs, pulling the sheets around her.
“Of course!” You promise, finally catching your breath as your hands go to your hips. All your mind is saying at the moment is JoelJoelJoelJoel. “I put water by your bed and ibuprofen next to it. Get some sleep, ok?”
Blubbering out, Sammy weakly sits up to add, ”But he’s such—“
“—LOVE YOU!”
Locking her front door, you take a moment to breathe. Your back meets the door and your eyes flutter shut. Your skirt currently smells like shitty beer, your makeup is more than likely completely rubbed off, and you have an unbelievably attractive man waiting for you by his truck.
You can do this.
One foot in front of the other.
Wedges clacking against the pavement, you curve around to the truck where Joel’s waiting—back leaning against the passenger side door, hands in his pocket.
“Is she normally that—much of a handful?” He asks, not moving from his spot by the door.
”Sometimes,” you chuckle. “Can’t really blame a girl. He was an asshole, after all.”
“No you can’t.” He lets out a low laugh and shrugs in agreement. “You live around here?”
”Yeah, just down the block. Not too far now.”
”Good,” He answers, slowly pulling himself off the truck. Your eyes don’t leave his as he steps towards you, his hand ever so carefully reaching for yours; thumb swiping against the skin of your knuckles. “Let’s get you home.”
Game on.
You’ve never been more thankful that you live close by to Sammy than you are at this exact moment.
All it takes is exactly five minutes and Joel’s pulling into your driveway—one hand on the wheel, his other in yours; toying with your fingers the entire way, enjoying the low hum of The Strokes.
Normally, you would have attempted to fill the silence with meaningless conversation; talking about anything and everything to calm your nerves about the potential of what was to come—but there is something easy about the silence with Joel. You don’t feel the need to prove yourself, or pull out any…stops.
You’re just… you.
Not a caricature of a fetishized teacher, not a perverted version of a woman a frat guy always dreamed of. It’s refreshing and almost freeing.
Joel kills the engine of the truck as he pulls in, the warmth of his hand leaving yours to do so—and momentarily, you catch yourself wanting to be selfish and reach back for him, chasing that safe and warm feeling he’s been unknowingly feeding you, since he lifted you up from the floor.
He doesn’t say anything as he exits his side, making his way towards you. You feel as if you can’t breathe as he opens up your door for you—frozen with lust or fascination, you’re not really quite sure just yet—a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he offers you his hand. All while not saying anything, yet conveying that he knows what you’re wanting, no, needing from him.
Your hand finds his and he helps you down, fingers lacing together seamlessly as you take the lead to your front door; the heavy steps of his boots following.
Clunk. Clunk. Clunk.
You finally manage to make yourself break the silence as you climb the stairs to your door. He still hasn’t let go of your hand.
”S’me.” You hold up your keys, the sound of them jangling softly through the silence that’s been building between the two of you.
Joel doesn’t miss the way you haven’t even attempted to unlock the door. Just like at the bar, he isn’t ready to walk away from this. The flickering porch light is practically illuminating your face; lips still partially glossed from earlier, eyes twinkling with something he can’t quite place—desire? Curiosity?
Either way, Joel remains planted on the porch, thumb rubbing gently against your skin. The gears in his head are turning, and he thinks carefully before he finally speaks; those deep, brown eyes not leaving yours for a second.
“I uh, don’t do this—“ He gestures between the two of you, and you feel the heat flush your cheeks. “—Often.”
”I don’t either,” Your words come out more breathless than you intended them too, but you don’t care; not now.
He grimaces slightly, shaking his head.
”I trust that. But you—“ His hand leaves yours, but they move to brush down your bare arms, stopping at your elbows; electricity flowing in your skin as he does so. “—you are…you’re…”
“I’m…what?” You will your voice not to shake, but your feeble attempts don’t translate. Adrenaline seems to be pumping through you, your senses on overdrive as he’s still holding on to your elbows. His eyes still seem to be searching yours for something.
”Young.”
A beat of silence passes as you process his internal warfare—you hadn’t put much consideration to your respective ages; you, by definition, are young in comparison to him.
But that doesn’t mean that what he’s doing is bad.
By now your pulse is thrumming, and you force yourself to step forward—braving to be the one that makes the space between you smaller. You hear the way Joel’s breath hitches as you do so; your hands sliding up and over his forearms to his biceps.
”Joel…”
Now how was he supposed to walk away from this? Saying his name in that gentle voice of yours. How could he, when he felt the constriction of his jeans growing by the second?
“I—I don’t want you to go.”
Fuck.
Your hands keep travelling, the palms of your hands sliding to cup his cheeks in your hand. Even in wedges you could feel yourself leaning up on your tiptoes to try to be on his level; to make him really look at you. The rough scratch of his beard on your palms makes your breath quiver as his eyes don’t move away from yours.
”In fact,” you begin to say, letting your chest ever so gently press against his. “I want you to come inside.”
The audible breath that he lets out at your words tells you that he’s battling with his own self about your age; one half being the responsible part of himself, where he knows you’re better off with someone your own age, someone who could keep up with that libido every young person has.
The other half of him? The other half of him could only focus on how close your mouth was to his and how you could most definitely feel the hardness of his cock against your tummy.
You could tell that that half of him was close to winning—it just needs an extra nudge.
The hands that currently were cupping his cheeks brought them forward, ever so gently pressing his lips to his. It’s as if time stops, and the world around you stills as you register that he actually is kissing you back.
It lasts all but two seconds as you pull back a hair of a centimeter away, nose brushing against his as you gauge his reaction. All that can be heard is the gentle sounds of your breaths, and the hum of the porch light.
Joel’s eyes are still shut. He doesn’t say anything. Maybe you wildly misread his body language.
Just as thoughts of doubt begin to settle in and your body attempts to pull itself away from him—those big hands that pulled you off of the bar floor made its way to your waist and gave your body a gentle shove—your back meeting with the front door of your house. You would be embarrassed by the erotic gasp you made, but it’s really hard to care when a man like Joel is looking at you like he already knows how he’s going to take you.
”M’an old man,” His voice grits out, breath fanning against your face. “I ain’t exactly gentle—not when it comes to a pretty thing like you.”
“I don’t need you to be gentle,” You reply breathlessly, fingers digging into his shoulders. “I just want you.”
A beat passes as Joel searches your face. For what? You’re not entirely too sure— could be a second guess on your end, or searching for hesitation—any excuse he can give himself to walk away.
Another beat passes, and his grip on you tightens. Like the decision is final.
Your hesitation doesn’t come. And that’s enough for Joel.
His mouth is on yours before you can even think, that muscle in his mouth sliding eagerly against yours as his knee slides between your thighs; finding the part of you that causes your body to lurch in pleasure as he presses himself against your panties. A moan attempts to release itself, but it’s quickly swallowed as his hands slide around your hips to grab at your ass below your skirt. His palms are large enough to hold the cheeks of your ass whole, and the thought of that alone is enough to thoroughly dampen the cotton of your panties.
”Fuck,” The words barely come out as a gasp as you feebly attempt to dig your keys out of your jacket, mind becoming numb as Joel kneads the flesh in his palms. “Can’t find my keys—“
Joel moves before you can even finish your sentence.
Wordlessly, he quickly pulls himself from your body, knee falling from its position between your legs as his hands grip your waist and spin your body towards the door. God, were you really out of breath? The man has only groped you and you feel as if you’ve been edged for hours. His movements are quick and rough as he shoves his hand in your purse and quickly finds the keys, unlocking the door and pressing your body through the doorway. The wedges on your feet nearly cause you to become unbalanced as you spin back to look at the old man, and Joel is slamming the door shut, already making his way to you.
As if he was a predator going in for the kill.
“You’re fast,” you say—to him or yourself? You’re not too sure. An almost disbelieving smirk is plastered on your face as you take a step back, heart beating as he strides to breath the distance between the two of you. “I like that—“
Your words are swallowed by his mouth again, the stubble rubbing pleasantly against your skin as he groans into the kiss. Your hands wind themselves in his salt and pepper hair as his knees bend, lifting you with ease and encouraging your legs to wrap around his waist. An mmph escapes your throat as his teeth graze your lower lip, his biceps twitching as your nails dig into them.
“Bedroom?” He asks, his teeth dragging down your bottom lip. The look in his eye tells you that the man needs an answer now or he’ll take you on whatever flat surface is near—and won’t stop until you’ve both gotten your fill.
“Down the hall and to the left.” Your words come out more desperate than you’d have liked, but it’s hard to remain neutral when a man like Joel’s cock is hard against your core.
The heavy clump of his boots echo down the hallway as he strides in the direction you gave him, and luckily for you, you know for a fact you’re stocked on condoms.
With a swift kick of your door, Joel drops you on the bed without missing a beat of hesitation, watching you as you prop yourself up on your elbows; looking up at him through those long lashes of yours, as if saying, come on, ol’ man.
Tongue darting out to lick his lower lip, Joel takes a moment to really look at you.
That little skirt that caught his eye at the bar is now currently hiked up and under your ass, and Joel can catch a faint glimpse at the pink patch of fabric hiding between your thighs. Your breasts are rising up and down at a quick pace, matching your breath—as if you were attempting to predict what his next move might be. God, the fact that he can render you breathless shouldn’t turn him on… but it does. Oh, it does.
“Jesus, girl,” He mutters, taking a quiet step towards the edge of the bed. “You have no fuckin’ clue what you’re doin’ to me.”
Your thighs clench at his words, watching the way he sinks to his knees in front of you. His fingertips graze the skin of your calves and travel up past your knees, causing your stomach to tie itself in knots out of anticipation.
“You should show me,” the words come out as barely an exhale, but you don’t care. His fingertips cause a shiver to travel through your body as they reach your hips; pointer fingers digging into the band of your panties—pulling them downwards, ever so slightly. “Touch me, Joel, please.”
Instead of replying to your plea, Joel opts to press his lips against the crook of your knee, basking in the whimper you give him as he tugs the fabric down slowly. Joel might be an impatient man, but when it comes to giving, he could take hours if he so pleased. Letting his lips travel up and over your knee, your teeth dig into your lower lip as he carefully licks a line up the expanse of your inner thigh—stopping where your panties were stretched around your thighs.
“Lift up for me, baby.”
Really, it’s sick how quick you obey his command. Hips lifting, you nearly burst when he easily catches the fabric between his teeth and pulls.
When he tugs them down your legs and off your body, your eyes widen in awe at how he pulls them to his face, eyes fluttering shut as he brings them to his nose and inhales. Pulling them away from his face, he wads them in a ball and pockets them—as if it were a trophy.
Your hand runs through the soft curls of his hair as he does so, tilting his face up to look at you attempt to find the words capable of describing your arousal—but nothing comes.
You don’t need to say anything.
He knows what you want.
Joel leans forward, his right hand following the trail of his lips as his left slides up and over the arch of your body to grope one of your breasts firmly; allowing his lips to close around the bundle of nerves at your center.
He lets out a hum against your core, soaking up the way you let out a strangled gasp from low in your throat. Joel feels fucking high as he catches your pebbled nipple between his fingers, pinching ever so slightly as the tip of his tongue traces against your clit.
Sweeter than sin, he thinks to himself, finally allowing himself to pull his gaze away from you.
Flattening his tongue on your clit, his name falls from your lips like a prayer as he laps at you—letting the scruff of his facial hair scratch at the most sensitive parts of you.
”Joel,” You gasp sharply, back arching against his touch. His hand on your breast flattens and moves quickly to your lower stomach, pressing down—like he’s telling you to stop your squirming. “Fingers, please, God-“
He gives you a gruff mhmmm before sucking gently on your clit, letting his index and pointer fingers rub over the wet slick of your lips—ever so lightly letting them dip into you.
”Yeah?” He responds lowly to your moan of desire. “You wanna feel me inside of you, don’t you?”
“Please! Joel—please,” your words are a desperate plea. “I want it. Please.”
He sinks his digits in juuust enough to breach you, and it’s just enough to numb your mind. Joel’s lips curl into a pleased smirk as he keeps them there, memorizing the way your head tilts back and your pulse ripples through your neck.
”I want you to ask me real nice n’ pretty, baby,” He asks, the Texan drawl making it all the more erotic. “C’mon, ask.”
You’ve already asked. Joel is well aware of your desperate pleas, but a deep part of his ego is fed when you beg for him.
Tightening your grip on his hair, you give a feeble attempt to even your breath as you reply, “I need to cum, Joel. Please.”
And that’s good enough for him.
His digits sink fully into your sex as he envelops your sensitive clit, causing your already numb mind to completely shatter. The knot in your stomach that has been tied since the moment he kissed you has been pulled entirely too tight, body shaking and arching as his fingers move deftly against your walls. The soft squelch of your cunt around his digits are more than enough to make his dick fucking hurt in his jeans, and he knows that once you cum like this—he’s going to bury himself in you.
He’ll make sure you won’t forget it.
He’ll make sure you don’t forget him.
The tension in your body is too much, with every sensitive part of you being dominated by Joel. Your cunt, your body, your mind feels euphoric as you feel his fingers grow slicker with each thrust—and that knot that’s been forming snaps.
Joel groans in pleasure as he feels your walls tighten and tighten, and a hoarse laugh escapes his throat as your arousal drips off his chin and his fingers— a sign that he’s done his job. A sign that he’s done his job well.
Licking a line up your stomach, his rough hands are quick to yank your top off your body, mattress dipping under his heavy weight as his mouth finds yours. Joel groans into your mouth as you taste yourself on him, your shaking hands working to take his belt off. When the metal buckle hits the ground, Joel pulls back to yank his worn shirt off his body.
You can’t remember the last time you actually felt yourself salivating over a man in your bed—but it’s hard not to when a man like him is over you. You knew at the bar that he wasn’t like your normal type—no. He’s solid muscle, yet soft in the middle with a healthy line of hair trailing down to his jeans.
Brown eyes not leaving yours, Joel yanks his jeans down along with his briefs—watching your eyes trail from his to his cock.
”Holy shit,” you breathe softly, watching him stroke himself. “S’not gonna fit.”
Joel watches as your face cringes, realizing you hadn’t meant to say it out loud. But you did, much to his amusement.
”We’ll make it fit,” He assures you, pulling you closer to him by your waist. You let out a breathless laugh as he guides the thick head of his cock between your folds. “You got a condom?”
“Yeah,” you reply, already reaching for your drawer. “Just gimme a sec—“
Your words are cut off by a sharp inhale, feeling his tip press in, ever so slightly. Bracing himself against the headboard, a smug look is plastered all over his face as he watches your movements slow—already overwhelmed by a small part of him.
”C’mon, sweetheart,” He taunts, his hips pulling away from you—god, the man was a tease. “Get that condom.”
“M’workin’ on it,” You reply with a breathless laugh. Grabbing the little tin packet, you rip it open with shaking hands as he mouths at your neck. “S’hard when I got you teasin’ me.”
”I ain’t doin’ such a thing.” He answers, teeth grazing your pulse as you grip him in your hand. Rolling the condom on him, you feel your stomach flutter as you realize that to fully grip him—you needed two fucking hands to fully accommodate his girth.
It’s a good thing he worked you open with his fingers, and it’s even better that you have an unopened bottle of lube for emergencies.
With the condom fully on, Joel cups your cheek, thumb running over your plush lower lip. Eyes trailing over your face, it’s a stark contrast to his earlier, rushed movements. It’s as if he’s memorizing you and this moment—and deep inside of you, you hope that maybe…just maybe, this didn’t have to be a one time thing.
As if he can see the gears in your head turning, Joel leans forward just enough to graze his lips against yours, watching as your eyes flutter shut.
“You tell me if anythin’ hurts, sweetheart. You got that?” His words melt through you, and all you can muster up in a nod. You trust him.
And with those words, he doesn’t let you adjust—he sinks his cock into your needing cunt.
All nine inches of him.
If you thought his mouth was erotic, it’s nothing compared to what he had hiding in his jeans. Echoing his sentiment before he came inside of your house, Joel Miller isn’t gentle, no. Especially not when he’s got you under him; one orgasm deep already.
He wastes no time driving himself into you, every moan and strangled gasp that you let out encouraging him to make you fucking take it. With every thrust there’s a spot deep inside of you being hit, a place that makes you well aware that you’re gonna feel him the next morning.
”Yeah?” He grits out, pulling your legs over his shoulders; effectively folding you in half. “You like that, baby?”
”Yes!” You gasp, the new position making you somehow even more sensitive. “Joel-yes!”
Joel moves his hand to close around your throat, and it’s not enough to fully choke you, but it’s more of a reminder that he’s in charge—and that you’re gonna do what he says.
“Look at you, takin’ it like a fuckin’ champ,” he praises, reveling in your half lidded eyes. “N’here you were, worried it wouldn’t fit.”
The blatant teasing makes your stomach jump with a strangled laugh, and he lets out a hot moan at the feeling of you tightening. Joel knows that he’s got the stamina—but with the way you feel? He might not make it as long as he’d like.
And he’d be damned if he didn’t get to enjoy every angle of you.
“Turn the fuck over.” He grunts, but he’s already doing it for you as his hands find your hips and he manhandles you to your knees. Hands finding the flesh of your ass, you let out a squeal as he gives a sharp smack, leaving a handprint on the curve of the skin there.
What you expect is Joel to push his length into you again. What you don’t expect?
You don’t expect him to spread your asscheeks, leaning down to lick over your slick folds again. With your cheek smushed against the satin of your pillowcase, you bite back a moan as his tongue swirls around your clit; his hands sliding down the expanse of your back.
“Could eat this pussy for hours,” He says, catching his breath. Joel kisses the flesh of you ass as he lets his fingers rub against your folds, listening as you mutter a mess of a response. Leaning back down, he flattens his tongue against your lips one last time, before sitting back on his knees—pulling your hair into a makeshift ponytail.
Neck arching back, it feels brand new as he pushes his dick in you, fucking you like he’s a man starved. The pain of your hair being pulled is welcome, and all it does is make your spend drip down the apex of your thighs as he commands you. Gripping the headboard in front of you with one hand, your other hand has a mind of it’s own as your digits move to rub at your self— which only turns him on even more.
The hair in his hand travels to your throat, tilting your head back so you’re forced to look at him.
”What a nasty fuckin girl,” He pants, his mouth ghosting yours. “You gonna cum like that? Gonna cum on my cock?”
”Mmph, you’re—you’re huge, Joel!” You reply desperately, your movements quickening as you feel another orgasm building. “Can feel you everywhere.”
”Everywhere?” His words echo yours as an idea comes to him—one that he’s sure a pretty thing like you wouldn’t object to.
Your breathless mhm makes him release his grip on your throat, watching as your face drops to the sheets—and he makes his move.
Your whole body shivers as his hands spread your cheeks again, and a glob of his warm spit falls between the crack of your ass. Fisting the sheets in your hands, you know that if you said stop—he would. But something deep within you knows that you don’t want him to stop. Even further—you’re welcoming it.
Sliding his cock back into you, he barely gives you time to adjust to his size once more before the pad of his thumb dips between your cheeks, sliding against the tight muscle as he continues fucking into you.
His thumb coats itself in the warm spit he left moments before, massaging the rim of your ass as he looks for any sign of discomfort. Looking over your shoulder, all he can see is your jaw slack in pleasure, eyelids fluttering shut as your body involuntarily presses backward to him—as if saying I want it.
And oh, you do.
Joel slows his hips, seating his cock inside of you to the fucking hilt— the head of his cock kissing that spot deep in you. You know he’s trying to ease the inevitable stretch, and holy, does it relax your body. All you can think about is how fucking huge he is and how this will live in your spank bank forever—
Your mind goes up in flames when his thumb breaches the rim of your ass, thoughts coming to a complete and utter stall as he doesn’t stop until his thumb is properly hooked in your ass.
Looking at the sight of you below him, Joel knows that he’s only a few fuckin’ pumps away from finishing.
A thin layer of sweat coats the both of you, and he can’t quite peel his gaze from where the two of you are connected—your cunt hugs him just fuckin’ perfectly, and the damn needy thing is practically crying for him.
Your spend has already dampened the sheets below you, and drips down the apex of your thighs as his free hand squeezes the flesh of your ass—and you tighten at the feeling of him everywhere.
”You ok?” His voice is strained now, and you know that he has to be close. His thumb stays firmly inside of you, his cock pulsing in anticipation.
“Yes,” You nod furiously against the sheets, not even caring that your precious satin pillowcases are covered in makeup. It’s hard to care about much of anything when a man like Joel is splitting you open. “S’good-feels amazing.”
”M’almost there, baby,” Joel presses his chest to your back, lips finding your shoulder blade. “Makin’ me feel like a damn teenager.”
“Me too,” you reply, turning your cheek to try and chase his lips. “Keep goin’, please.”
Pulling himself away from your skin, Joel catches his lower lip between his teeth as he settles on his knees—giving your ass one last squeeze of encouragement before pounding back into you.
It’s as if his thumb inside of you lights your skin on fire. The sex was already fucking amazing just due to the size of him, but now? With his thick thumb seated inside of you?
You feel full.
The quick and sharp sounds of your flesh slapping against each other, and short breathy moans is enough cause your cunt to tighten one last time—effectively soaking your sheets as he talks you through it.
”Oh,” He growls, feeling his thighs dampen. That certainly has never happened before—and he feels as if it’s a badge of honor. “Look at you, girl. Fuckin’ comin’ all over me. Dirty little thing likes havin’ her holes filled.”
His words barely register in your brain as you attempt to ground yourself on your sheets. He’s still ruthlessly pounding into you still, but pulls his thumb out of you to fist your hair in fist once more.
“Where do you want it?” Joel's words come out as a hiss, but it’s all he can manage now. The sight of you squirting on him was his one way ticket to finishing. “Tell me you where you fuckin want it, baby.”
”My tits,” The words spill out of your mouth faster than you can process it. “Cum on my tits—please—“
With one last brutal thrust, you feel your body be man handled to your chest as Joel—eyes dark with lust—climbs your body, condom getting tossed to the side. It’s a blur as you bat his hands away from his cock, taking him in your own fist. Bracing himself against your headboard, he lets out a deep groan as he spurts those thick, white ropes across the expanse of your breasts.
His breathing his ragged as his eyes flutter shut; reveling in the orgasm that just rocked his fucking world. He knows that he’s definitely going to wake up with his back thrown out the next morning, but he can’t find it in him to care as he collapses beside you, finally turning his head to look over at you.
What a fucking sight you are.
Makeup messy, hair in knotted curls with his cum painted on you, Joel laughs softly to himself.
“What?” You say with a shy laugh, chest still rising and falling fast.
“M’a lucky guy.” Joel says it as if it’s obvious. The small but powerful compliment turns your cheeks even more red than they already are.
“Ditto.” You reply, hiding your face in your hands as you bite back a smile.
Sitting with a groan, Joel looks back at you over his shoulder as he pulls on his jeans.
“Lemme get you a washcloth. Where’s your bathroom?”
Maybe it’s his age. Maybe it’s the guys you’re used to dating. But in your years of hookups and relationships, it’s few and far between to have aftercare—and it makes those butterflies flop in your stomach as you direct him to where it is.
When Joel returns, you clean yourself up as he locates his discarded clothes from earlier. God—the two of you had made a mess of the room. You’d have to add wash sheets to your to-do list after he’d leave.
Tossing the damp cloth in your hamper, you grab your old robe off the back of your door and tie it loosely around your body as he slides on his worn-in work boots. For you—small talk as a guy leaves your house was always the dreaded part of a hookup. The silence was awkward, and there were always half assed lies about for sure callin’ ya tomorrow.
Spoiler—they never did.
But the silence with Joel doesn’t feel awkward. It feels comfortable, almost. You don’t miss the way he gives you a genuine smile as he stands, leaning down to kiss your temple
”Walk me to the door?” He asks gently, his hand sliding down the satin of your robe. His brown eyes that were filled with lust not even ten minutes ago were now softer, more gentle.
”Of course.” You answer, leaning up on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek.
You take the lead as you walk him down the hallway and to the front door, tucking your hair behind your ear as you reach your destination. Tugging on his flannel, Joel clears his throat as he looks down at you. He’s not quite sure what you’re thinking, but he feels like you’re a strong woman—and that no matter what he says, or where he leaves this—you won’t object.
He can’t tell if that intrigues him, or if it scares the hell out of him.
“I uh—never was really good at this type of thing,” Joel finally says, gesturing between the two of you.
”What, sex?” You quip, a teasing smile pulling at the corner of your mouth. “Cause I have a pretty solid statement against that.”
”No,” his words come out as a laugh. “I mean—talkin’ to women. Keeping relationships. All that stuff.”
Joel notices the visible confusion in your expression, and groans at himself—only proving his point to himself. He never was good at words.
”What I’m tryin’ to say is…m’a pretty busy guy. I got a kid. Own my own business.”
Kid. Figures. He’s definitely the age to have one.
”I can’t promise a lot but… I uh, wouldn’t be opposed to seeing you again.”
His hands find his jean pockets as he finishes his explanation, toying with his truck keys in his pockets as he braces himself for whatever you might say—could be a rejection. Could be a laugh. Whatever it will be—Joel braces himself for it.
To his shock, none of his made-up scenarios happens. In fact, your captivating smile never leaves your face.
”I’m not looking for a promise either, Joel,” You say, hugging yourself. “Here—give me your phone. If you ever need company, just give me a text. No hard feelings if not.”
He obliges your request, pulling his phone out of his back pocket and handing it over. It doesn’t take you long to type in the digits and hand it back to him that beautiful smile still on your face.
“Don’t be a stranger, Joel.”
Leaning down to kiss your temple one last time, Joel pulls away and replies,
”I’ll see you around, sweetheart.”
Three Weeks Later
You don’t hear from Joel after that night.
And honestly? You had been too preoccupied to sit and cry about the fact that the best fuck you’ve ever had never texted you.
You were deep into report card season, candy filled holidays, and planning upcoming parent-teacher conferences. You were lucky if you left work two hours after contract time—you knew if you brought home any work it wouldn’t be done.
The great thing about teaching? Getting to celebrate and talk to parents about the growth their children have made so far, and how they can be supported at home. It was a feeling you loved—you loved seeing parents light up at their students work, and you loved hearing about what your student gets up to outside of school.
Especially when they’re students like Sarah Miller.
Sarah is nothing below an outstanding student, and her bubbly personality makes her a great friend to others in the classroom. If you could have a class full of Sarah Millers, your life would be perfect.
And her Mom? She’s amazing.
Always bringing in treats for the class on holidays and volunteering when needed, her mom is a powerhouse. Which is exactly why you’re slightly disappointed when the office puts her call through to your classroom—ten minutes before her time slot with Sarah.
”Hello!” Her chipper voices sings from the other side of the line.
“I am so sorry—but I can’t make it in today with Sarah,” She explains, apologetic as all hell. “My boyfriend just got rear ended in the town over, needs a lift.”
”No worries at all!” You reply, fingers flipping through Sarah’s work portfolio. “Do we need to reschedule?”
”Not at all, actually! Sarah’s with her dad today, and he has no problem taking my place today. I just wanted to give you a heads up!”
Huh, you think to yourself. You always had assumed her boyfriend was Sarah’s biological dad, but maybe you missed the detail. Sarah, while an amazing student, is a chatterbox. She loves to chat your ear off when you have any spare second, so maybe the detail got lost in the myriad of stories she tells.
”That’s perfectly fine,” You answer, jotting on a sticky note to make extra copies for mom. “I will send a copy of her folder with her next week!”
Hanging up the phone, you walk to your meeting space to straighten the stacks of work as you wait patiently for Sarah and her dad to arrive. She’s the last conference of the day, and because of her high grades and outstanding work—there wouldn’t be much to report.
As thoughts of what your Friday evening might look like after Sarah’s conference, the little girl sprints through the door with an excited squeal of your name—enveloping you in a tight hug that she always gives you at the end of the day.
”Hey kiddo!” You squeeze her back with a bright smile, pulling her back to steady her.
“You’re with Dad today?”
”Yes!” She exclaims excitedly. “He’s lookin’ at the art we made last week in the hallway!”
”Oh really?” You answer, putting your hands on your hips. “Well, I’m sure your dad will be even more impressed when he sees some of your latest multiplication quizzes.”
Sarah giggles in excitement as you turn your back to her, grabbing her work portfolio off the table. Just as you’re about to look back at Sarah, a voice you’ve been dreaming about for three weeks shatters your thoughts when he says,
”This is quite a classroom you got, baby girl.”
Your body goes cold as you turn to look at him. Joel, who has his hands shoved in his pockets, and that same MILLER CONSTRUCTION shirt he had on that night you met at the bar—this time, a heavy carhartt jacket on his shoulders, boots replaced with Romeo’s.
The look on his face as your eyes meet is one met with first, shock—then being shaken back to reality as Sarah tugs on his wrist to pull him closer to where her work is.
”Dad—this is my teacher! The one who always does art on fridays!”
You’re a professional, you scold yourself, and Sarah’s smart! Don’t look fuckin’ scared!
”You must be Mr. Miller,” you say coolly, attempting to regain your dignity. Reaching out to offer your hand, you ignore the way his palm lights a fire in your veins as he shakes it firmly. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”
Joel lets his hand linger for a moment in yours, letting the shock wear off as his lip curls into a smile.
”It’s nice to meet you as well, Miss,” He answers gently. “Sarah’s told me quite a bit about you throughout the last few months.”
”Well—I can’t wait to share how much growth Sarah has made,” you manage to reply, letting your hands drop from one another. “Shall we get started?”
”Let’s do it,” Joel gestures to the table. “And I uh—have a few questions to ask you at the end, if that’s alright.”
Returning the small smile on Joel’s lips, you have a feeling this won’t be the last time you see him.
In fact, you have a feeling this school year is about to get a whole lot more interesting.
shot, shot, shot, shot!
what happens when the four love and deepspace men get drunk and jealous? there's only one cure and it's in between your legs!
━ ✧.˖ PAIRING: sylus, zayne, xavier, rafayel (separate) x female reader (afab)
━ .ᐟ✧ GENRE: smut, porn with very little plot
━ ✧.˖ TOTAL WORD COUNT: 15.7k
━ .ᐟ✧ GENERAL CONTENT WARNINGS: mdni, explicit sexual content, mentions of alcohol, recreational drinking (characters and mc), jealousy (guys + mc), drunk characters (guys + mc), use of Y/N, pet names, unprotected sex, never pulling out, fluff/crack/banter, individual content warnings below with their respective fics
━ ✧.˖ LINKS: original inspo | ao3
A/N: SURPRISE ITS HERE EARLY! oof another fic for all four guys? who is she? but actually after this i likely won’t be writing for all four guys like this again, or at least for a while. if i can somehow get better at writing fics that are 1-2k then ill start doing scenarios with all four again! i tried to keep this one short and they’re still all 3-4.3k per guy…this scenario was originally based off the one video of the drunk asian guy! see the clip above under ‘links.’
enjoy guys!! i’ll be taking a much needed break but may write slowly in my own time :) just depends how i feel, how much inspiration i have! i’ll still be on tumblr but will mostly be on my twitter <3 until next time bbs!
THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL NEVER POST MY FICS ON OTHER TUMBLR BLOGS. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND ON AO3.
✦ . ˖ ✧ .ᐟ ˖ nsfw | minors dni | 18+ only | minors dni | nsfw ✦ . ˖ ✧ .ᐟ ˖
━ .ᐟ✧ WORD COUNT: 4.3k
━ ✧.˖ WARNINGS: mdni, explicit sexual content, sylus refers to reader genitalia as ‘she,’ public sex, sex in an alley, standing/against the wall sex, finger sucking, choking, outdoor sex, voyeurism, needy sylus, drunk sylus, jealous sylus, use of pet names, mentions of guns, tiny bit of violence, cumming in coochie, panties over cummies
━ .ᐟ✧ LINKS: original inspo | video (how sylus kisses you in this)
Luke and Kieran watch the way Sylus’s eyes track you under the strobing lights of the nightclub. It wasn’t out of the norm for their dear boss to be obsessed with knowing a certain Hunter’s whereabouts. But this was excessive, even for him.
The way he’d already shattered two glasses with the force of his fingers, his eyes scarily unblinking as they trailed your every movement. The club manager didn’t dare kick Sylus out, apologizing to him as he’d cleaned up the glass from Sylus’s feet. But Sylus was too distracted to even notice.
The pair of troublemakers supposed it had to do with the fact that some sleezy drunk had his hands all over your bare thighs. They knew if Sylus had his way, that very man would be unconscious on the floor in half a second flat. But of course, when it came to you, Sylus was helpless as he was whipped, giving into your every desire, even if it physically pained him to do so.
And you had ordered Sylus not to intervene, not when you were undercover, trying to get classified information from the powerful men that frequented this very nightclub in the N109 zone. So he was left at the bar, quite literally fending thirsty women off left and right, watching the way you pretended to laugh amongst the unsuspecting targets. He tried to distract himself from the men who so clearly were thinking of ten different ways to fuck you.
A privilege reserved only for him.
So the twins, who had so enthusiastically begged to tag along, devised a plan to help Sylus take his mind off planning literal murder.
Really, they were trying to help!
But maybe they should’ve stopped after the fifth drink. When Sylus’s cheeks flushed the same shade of red as his eyes, ebbing all the way up to the tips of his ears.
And they definitely should’ve stopped after the tenth drink. When Sylus’s body started to move on its own accord, his Evol practically parting the crowd of drunk and sweaty clubbers to get to you.
But at that point there was no stopping the formidable man from taking what he wanted. And what he wanted, what he needed, was you.
Honestly, you nearly breathe a sigh of relief when you feel Sylus’s familiar Evol wrapping around your wrist, yanking you backward and away from the disgusting man trying to feel you up. You’re so happy to feel his strong arms around you that you don’t notice how atypically clumsy his Evol feels, like grasping for something when blindfolded.
“We’re leaving.”
Sylus’s words are dominating and commanding, ‘no’ not even a fathomable possibility. But there’s a slight waver in his gruff voice that makes you raise your eyebrow at him in question.
The idiotic man before you wraps his clammy hands around your waist, pulling you back, “Hey man. We’re in the middle of something.”
You look up to see Sylus’s crimson eyes, trained on the way the man’s fingers dig into your bare skin, burning with something dangerous, the air around him crackling with an erratic and sinister energy, and you know you have to defuse the situation as quickly as you can.
You bring your elbow to the man’s groin, digging hard. He groans pathetically, wilting to his knees. Truthfully, you didn’t have to elbow him that hard, but you’d become nauseated with how disgustingly he’d been looking at you, touching you, for the past thirty minutes.
“No, we’re really not.”
With that, you slip into Sylus’s side, his large arm wrapping possessively around your naked shoulders, your hand resting on his abdomen. Sylus’s lips quirk up, deeply satisfied with the way you can bring men twice your size to their knees before they can even blink. His girl.
As the two of you make your way out of the crowd, you start to notice the way Sylus’s movements are unusually sluggish, his feet trudging one after the other. Considering Sylus was always poised and elegant, you instantly knew something was amiss. When Luke and Kieran fall into step behind you, you turn to the two masked men.
“What happened?!” you hissed at them, “What happened to ‘Watch Sylus? Easy peasy lemon squeezy?!’” Your fingers are raised in air-quotes as you recall their confident words and uncontrollable giggles when you’d tasked them with keeping Sylus in line, knowing he’d have a hard time watching you faux flirt with other men, no matter how self assured he was.
Kieran is the first to speak, clearing his throat as the four of you exit the nightclub, the night air ruffling through your hair, “Well, you see –”
But he’s cut off when Sylus roughly grabs your chin, pulling your eyes up to his.
“Hey. Look at me.”
Your eyes flicker to his, surprised by his demanding, yet needy, words. Sylus smiles when you look up at him, his eyes, as unfocused as they were, beaming down at you.
His rough fingers caress your cheek, burying his face into your hair, inhaling your intoxicating scent, “Beautiful.”
The scent of alcohol on his breath is so strong you nearly wince. Luke and Kieran seem to notice your realization at the same time, their eyes widening as you start to yell in disbelief.
“Is he drunk?!” you demand, your arms wrapping tighter around his waist, Sylus in a world of his own as he mutters incoherent mumblings into your hair, shifting his weight onto you.
The twins grin at you sheepishly, raising their hands in surrender. Luke speaks, “Well, in our defense, boss never gets drunk –”
“Yeah! Boss is such a heavyweight –”
“So we thought, a few drinks might loosen him up –”
“You should’ve seen him! He was thiiiiiis close to commiting a crime –”
“So really, you should be thanking us!”
The twins finish rattling off, looking at you with puppy eyes.
You sigh, unable to feign anger at them, “How many drinks did you give him?”
“Umm…what was it Kieran…like…eight?” Your eyes widen as they scratch their chins.
“No…no, it was definitely closer to…like twelve?”
“Well we also gave him those cute little drinks with the umbrellas, he seemed to really like those!”
“Yeah and they had little chunks of fruit in them! Maybe that cancels out the alcohol?”
“Yeah! And the one with the olives too! Plus, boss always drinks like a bottle of wine a night!
“So we thought…a few mixed drinks…couldn’t hurt anyone!”
Your head spins as you try to keep up with their conversation, digging through your purse to find the unopened half bottle of water you’d brought. You quickly unscrew it, bringing it up to Sylus’s lips.
Sylus looks surprised when the cool plastic touches his lips, but once his hazy eyes focus on you again, he visibly relaxes. The sharp vermillion hues in his irises melt at the reflection of you, softening into the most beautiful carmine pools of red wine.
His hands come over to cup yours, holding your fingers affectionately in his as you tilt the water back so he can drink. You have to tip toe upward so you can follow his grip, his gulps greedy and eyelids shut in relief, the sensation of your hand cupping his jaw feeling like his own personal heaven.
With the plastic at his moistened lips, his eyes flutter open to look at you, his lids heavy with intoxication. Even though his eyes swim with a murky tiredness, they glow when they watch you, glimmering with a star-struck adoration. His intensity stares you down, a knowing heat piercing right through you. The very same heat that has seen both your naked body and soul.
The moment feels hot and strangely intimate. It definitely felt illegal to have Sylus looking at you like that while Luke and Kieran stood behind you.
He’s so distracted by you, eyes never leaving yours, that nearly a third of the water splashes onto his chest and the pavement floor. He drinks so enthusiastically that you almost want to giggle at how submissive he looks, drinking so obediently from your hands, eyes following your every move. Fortunately the pair of whispers behind you remind you that, even if Sylus stares at you like he’s ready to mount you right then and there, you are not alone.
When the bottle drains, he crumples it in one hand, tossing it to the nearest waste bin.
As it hits the metal trash can, you tear your eyes away from the way Sylus heatedly watches you, turning back to Luke and Kieran, “Are you two insane?!”
The twins look positively offended.
“How did you even convince him to drink so much?”
“Well, he was so distracted watching you that he just downed anything we put into his hands...”
You bite your lip, realizing how difficult it must’ve been for Sylus to sit back and just watch. But he did it, for you.
“Y/N.”
You try to ignore the way Sylus is stroking the bare skin of your shoulders, fingers coming dangerously close to your neck. His ruby eyes beg for your attention.
“Sylus might drink a lot, but he drinks wine –”
“Y/N.”
“Not hard alcohol! Look at how red he is! You guys, this was recklessly irresponsible!”
“Y/N.”
Sylus pulls you forcefully back into his arms, his head dipping into the crook of your neck, teeth nipping at your pulse. Through the darkness of the night, you pray Luke and Kieran can’t see the way Sylus whispers into your ear.
“I need you.”
You fight the shiver that threatens to unleash through your unsuspecting body, his hot breath washing against your skin, the contrast of the brisk night air making you all the more sensitive. His fingers hold you in place, his hard body pressed into your own.
You sigh, trying to brush the arousal away, “Let’s get you home, yeah? We can –”
He nips at your earlobe, eliciting a squeak from your lips as he gruffly demands, “Now.”
Before you can protest further, Sylus’s eyes direct to the twins in front of you, the pair of them snickering to themselves knowingly as he dismisses them, “We’ll meet you at home.”
–
You didn’t even make it to your car.
Far from it, you found yourself pressed into the cold brickwall of a nearby alleyway, not fifteen feet from where Luke and Kieran had left the two of you. Sylus’s lips are latched onto yours in a furiously passionate embrace, his hands alternating between grabbing torridly at your waist and threading into the back of your neck, weaving into your sweat-dampened hair.
Your arms are wrapped around his neck for support against his torridly forceful kiss, his head tilted to the side to give him full access to your mouth, your lips, your tongue.
He doesn’t even stop to breathe, opting to inhale your breath as his own. His tongue forcefully explores every inch of your open and willing mouth, and you struggle to keep up with his excitement. His fingers massage your neck, grabbing eagerly at every part of you he can reach.
Sylus has always been passionate, but this was something else. It felt as if the alcohol in his blood amplified everything tenfold, leaving his cock thicker than ever against your shivering abdomen. His hands roam down your naked back, pulling at your waist again, pressing your body harder against his erection that leaks against his underwear.
Sylus’s head tilts to the other side, your face moving opposite his to instinctively receive his unbridled passion. He cups the back of your head again, shielding you head from hitting the wall, the force of his kiss pushing you against it violently.
He pulls away briefly, panting into you, his canines grazing into the soft skin of your ear, “You’re going to be the death of me, little dove.”
You want to question him, but his lips are back on yours in an instant, consuming you once more. His fingers grip your jaw so tightly, funneling all the emotions he’d held back, while watching you on the dancefloor with other men, into the way he holds you against the wall. Into the way he devours you.
He gives you a brief second of reprieve, pressing his lips into your neck, voice coming out husky and sulky, “I don’t enjoy seeing you with other men.”
You gasp as he pushes you impossibly deeper into the wall, teeth simultaneously digging into the curve of your neck. Your fingers thread up into his hair, tugging to ground yourself as Sylus sucks your soft skin.
“M-sooorry,” you slur, as if you’re the one who’s drunk, “B-But I got the information I – nnghn – needed.”
Sylus growls into your skin, “I knew you would. You’re a force to be reckoned with.”
His thumb presses against your bottom lip, eyes glazed over with a drunken hunger, “And you always have me at your mercy.”
It isn’t long before he has your back arched into his abdomen, the front of your sweat slicked body pressed into the cold alley wall, his cock buried in your wet gummy walls. Your panties are pushed messily to the side, your skirt hiked up to your waist.
Sylus’s fingers are shoved into your mouth, claiming to try and minimize your sounds so passerbys don't hear the filthy things he was doing to you. In reality, he was just addicted to your sweet mouth wrapped around him.
His other hand holds both of your wrists, locking them against the small of your back, leaving you absolutely at the mercy of his thick cock ramming in and out of you.
“S-so damn beautiful,” Sylus is almost slurring, having gotten more drunk the longer the alcohol sat in his stomach. The acoustics of the dark alley made his body pounding against yours all the louder and more sinful.
His thrusts are sloppy, the alcohol making it harder for him to maintain control. But that only serves to arouse you more, the sight of Sylus’s hazy eyes when you crane your neck back to see him, the sweat sticking to his flushed skin.
You can only moan, the pads of his fingers pressing down into your tongue. The loud drunken giggles of people passing by make your eyes widen, but Sylus doesn’t stop, only going faster.
“Never gonna let another man touch you, ever again,” he moans into your ear, as he ruts angrily into your g spot, his fingers pressing tiny bruises into the fat of your hips. He’s ten times handsier when he’s drunk, almost as if the alcohol makes his muscles itch, your body his fixation..
He spins you around suddenly, nearly making you lose your balance, his cock entering you just as quickly as it had slipped out. Sylus is desperate to see your beautifully hooded eyes, the faces you make when you come undone for him.
You grip the thick muscles of his neck, admiring his damp and exposed chest. The buttons of his shirt had been yanked open in the drunken shuffle, leaving little to imagination.
“H-Hey,” Sylus mutters, the faintest hint of a whine beneath his words, “Look at me.” His thrusts, sloppier than ever, never stopping.
You grin, despite how blissed out your mind is becoming, at his adorably needy behavior. As you let your eyes lose themselves in his, you stroke his jaw lovingly.
“Tell me,” he pants, his cock twitching as it presses insistently into your walls.
“Nngh — T-Tell you what Sy?” you coo breathlessly, nails digging into his sweaty skin, trying to distract yourself from the no doubt filthy brick wall pressing into your exposed back.
“Tell me how I make you feel,” Sylus’s jaw tightens dangerously.
He thrusts especially hard and deep when you don’t respond, capturing your wrist and pressing it into the wall above your head, effectively trapping you against the wall, “Tell me.”
You squeal, biting your lips, “Sylus! F-Feels s’good. N-No one else can — hng — make me feel like this!”
Sylus’s glossy ruby red eyes flicker, his fingers finding your clit pressed against his pelvis, “Yeah? You love my cock, don’t you sweetheart?”
You want to smile at how adorably needy his words are, the alcohol fueling him with the rare desire to be validated. Instead you just nod vehemently as he plays with your clit, “I dooo!”
Sylus grunts, struggling to breathe as you tighten around him. He grabs your cheeks in between his fingers, squeezing them firmly until your moans are muffled, “Shhh, we wouldn’t want someone to find us, would we little bird?”
You nod obediently, but your body responds instinctively to his words, your abdomen fluttering in excitement at the thought of being caught in such a compromising position, with the revered leader of Onychinus no less.
Sylus chuckles darkly, his every nerve receptive to your tiniest micromovements, and especially the excited way your pussy clamps down on his erection. His lips come down to kiss your jaw sweetly, contrary to the mean way he bullies himself into your cunt.
When he reaches the space beneath your ear he presses a tender kiss there, whispering huskily, “I can feel the way you’re tightening around me. Do you like the idea of someone watching us?”
Your eyes widen at him, and that’s all the answer he needs.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I would love to give them a show. Especially that man who had his hands all over you, hm? What was his name?”
“I-I d-don’t – hah – remember,” you wheeze, holding on as he bounces you into the wall, the sound of drunk bar patrons growing louder.
Sylus smiles darkly, his red eyes glowing in satisfaction, “Good girl. This pussy belongs t’me, hm?” His words come out in a purr, slightly sluggish with intoxication.
You can’t speak, opting to nod as eagerly as you can, your brain muddling against the pleasure of your joined bodies. Sylus chuckles at your wordless agreement.
“My precious dove…can’t even speak?” he coos, fingers still splayed out against your poor quivering clit, the wet sounds of his furious ministrations echoing throughout the dark alley. He leans in close to your ear.
“That’s okay, sweetheart. She’s so loud she might as well be answering for you,” he grins, clearly talking about your soaked and squelching pussy against his demanding thrusts.
You’re about to retort when you hear another group of people passing by the alley. Your hands fly up to your mouth, forcing your uncontrollable moans away. Your eyes squeeze shut as the patter of feet gets closer and closer, fear and excitement taking over.
“Ah-ah,” Sylus tuts, “You know better than to hide your beautiful sounds from me.” Your eyes widen when his words sink in.
Your hands fly to Sylus’s broad shoulders, but it’s too late to push him back. His hands find the globes of your ass, lifting you off the floor, guiding your legs to wrap around his waist. At this angle Sylus can fully bounce you on his cock, using you however he wants. At this angle, the swollen tip brushes right into your cervix. At this angle, it’s physically impossible for you to muffle your cries.
Your nails dig into the ropes of his shoulder muscles as you squeal. Sylus only grins as the sound of feet falter, right in front of the alley.
You try your best to whisper, “Sy-Sylus, please. Th-they’ll hear.” But it was pointless. Even if you could hold back your whimpers, the echo of his arousal dampened pelvis slapping against the space where your thighs met your ass bounced off the walls of the alley like a resounding bell.
“You say that…” he murmurs, fingers coming back down to your clit, balancing you in just one arm, “But why is she getting so tight?”
He’s right, and there’s no denying it. Sylus is well acquainted with your body, knowing exactly what excites you, what you don’t like, what you love.
The heavy footsteps gradually fade, likely too drunk to hear anything than the pounding of distant EDM music. Sylus hears you sigh in relief, releasing a bated breath, but your cunt stays as tight as ever around him. It drives him insane.
Nearly getting caught has only pushed both of you to the cusp of your orgasms.
“Close, dove?” Sylus whispers into your ear, one hand pressed into the wall, the other bouncing you on his quivering cock.
Your head is thrown back as you nod, gasping for your next breath, “Y-Yes! So cloooose Sy!” At this point you don’t even care who could possibly hear you, only able to focus on the angry way Sylus’s cock twitching inside you, stroking your g-spot, begging to paint you white.
“M-Me too, Y/N,” Sylus’s uncharacteristic stutter, driven to madness by the alcohol and you, makes you clench down, hard.
He hisses, hips stuttering, teeth clamping down on your shoulder, tongue subsequently coming out to lap at the space where he bit down, soothing your skin.
The push of pain, the pull of pleasure, it’s just enough to tip you over, careening down the cliff of your orgasm. Your head falls back, eyes rolling with them, body fully preparing to show Sylus just how much you loved him.
But Sylus has other plans, squeezing your cheeks in between his fingers, directing you to look at him.
“Hey. Look at me, please.”
His commanding words remind you that he’s very much still intoxicated, making him adorably needy for your attention.
When your eyes level with his, his red eyes sparkle happily, like a puppy getting its ears scratched, “Hello, my love. Show me, hm?” The duality of his lovable desperation and his downright malevolent plunges into your cervix blurs the lines between pleasure and reality, sanity and madness.
You nod eagerly, holding his intense eye contact, while you burst at the seams, spraying all over his still clothed abdomen. Sparks of white hot electricity travel through every one of your nerve endings while you cum on him.
Sylus gulps, in awe of the way you sing for him, shame thrown to the wind. If anyone were to walk by, they’d hear the way you screamed for his cock. Hear the way your body made him gasp for his next breath. How he grunts with each rope of cum that he dumps into your waiting hole, each sloppy pump filling his vision with bleary stars.
As he cums, he whispers brokenly into your ear, “C-Can never get enough. I love you, sweetheart.” One of his big hands comes up to clamp around your throat, his fingers pressing down forcefully as he erupts inside of you.
“Ngh…I love you Sylus,” you murmur against the pleasure of your constricted air flow, clinging to him, truly like an injured bird.
Sylus kisses your lips tenderly as you both come down from your highs, his fingers carefully laying your panties back in place. When he sets you on the ground, you nearly collapse, your legs quivering from the way they’d been locked around his waist. His arms are back around you in an instant, holding you steady. His cum flows out of you like literal tears, but you can only clamp your thighs shut and pray your pathetic soiled panties can catch the streams of his milky seed.
He guides you carefully out of the alley, pressing affectionate kisses into the crown of your head as he holds your waist protectively. You’re so dazed you hardly notice that your skirt is still ridden up, until Sylus gently pulls it back down, smoothing the rumpled fabric with his large hands.
The sounds of two far too familiar voices greet you when you emerge from the backstreet.
“Are you guys finally done?”
“Do you have any idea how long we’ve been waiting?!”
Sylus groans, running his hand down his face, “Didn’t I tell you two to go back to base?”
And though you’re thoroughly mortified at the idea of the twins having walked into your…situation, you can’t help but smile at the way Sylus handles Luke and Kieran. Like a father reprimanding his children.
“Well we did —”
“But then you guys didn’t come back for a while —”
“So we thought maybe something happened!”
You shake your head at their frenzied explanation, the smile stretching on your lips as you watch the twins move their hands animatedly in their defense, “You guys are impossible.”
Luke gasps in exaggerated earnest, “How can you say that after what you’ve put us through?”
Kieran nods in agreement, shuddering dramatically, “Yeah! I feel like I just walked in on my parents…”
“You two better watch yourselves before I confiscate your guns again,” Sylus sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. But you can see the corner of his lips fighting an amused smile.
Luke and Kieran simultaneously gasp, their reaction making it seem like Sylus was a father grounding his children, taking away their toys. You burst out into giggles, hugging Sylus’s side to keep warm as you watch the comical situation unfold.
“There’s no need for you to do that, Sy,” you murmur, looking up at him, admiring the way the moonlight frames his face. Sylus peers down at you, his face softening, before nodding curtly.
The twins snicker. Luke uses his hand as a shield in front of his mouth to whisper to Kieran, pointing to Sylus behind it, “Whipped.”
You shoot them a smile, a deceptively innocent and sweet grin, “I’ll gladly confiscate them for you.”
There’s nearly a cartoon puff of smoke left behind when the twins scurry off, desperately clutching their holsters and begging for mercy.
Sylus chuckles as he watches them run off, his arm slung over your shoulder, pulling you closer to his side as he presses a kiss into your forehead.
“Truly a force to be reckoned with.”
━ .ᐟ✧ WORD COUNT: 3.8k
━ ✧.˖ WARNINGS: mdni, explicit sexual content, drunk mc and xavier, pre-established relationship (but not first time), public sex/voyeurism, sex on the dance floor, standing sex, fingering, dancing without leaving room for jesus, grinding, jealous!mc, not a content warning but xavier is wearing tight black shirt and jeans…….MMMMMM, unprotected sex, handjob through clothes
━ .ᐟ✧ LINKS: original inspo | pics (how xavier and you make out in this)
The thumping beat of club music pounds in your ears, making it difficult to hear even your own thoughts. But you really didn’t care, too intoxicated and having too much fun dancing with Tara in a throng of sweaty club goers.
The both of you had requested today off, wanting to see an up and coming DJ at the Linkon Lounge. You’d started the night off at your apartment, getting dolled up in your wispiest lashes and outfits that made you feel strong, confident, and beautiful. You’d shared a couple shots of tequila before slipping on your heels and scrambling out of your apartment, in a fit of tipsy and hushed giggles.
Coincidentally enough, you ran into Xavier on your way out. Your blonde-haired partner was in the apartment lobby, grabbing his mail, when you and Tara bumped into him, literally. If it weren’t for Xavier’s quick reflexes, his forearm darting out to wrap around your waist, you definitely would’ve ended the night before it began, with an ice pack in your hand rather than a fruity drink.
And that’s when Tara had invited Xavier out with you. Truthfully, you were sure Xavier would say no. The club definitely wasn’t his scene, and he undoubtedly had plans to have a cozy night in. But you were pleasantly surprised when he blurted out ‘yes’ before Tara could even get the words completely out. Tara knew Xavier wanted to come to keep an eye on you, and she was all too happy to play matchmaker.
You hadn’t seen Xavier for what felt like at least fifteen minutes. You assumed he went off to the bathroom, or maybe to order some more drinks. Before long, you started to worry.
“I’m gonna go look for Xavier! Will you be okay?” you practically scream over the music, pulling the side of Tara’s face to your mouth so she can hear you better.
“I’ll be here!” she yells, pointing at her phone, “Text me if you can’t find me!” You nod, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek.
You push your way out of the crowd, apologizing profusely as you’re met with the displeased looks and groans of drunk patrons.
Eventually you make your way to the edge of the dancefloor, scouring the area for Xavier. You had a difficult time focussing your eyes, stumbling about, but did your best to look for the enigmatic Hunter.
You quickly check the line at the bar before deciding to check the bathroom. It’s then you catch the glint of familiar platinum blonde hair, Xavier’s body leaned up against the wall near the public water fountains.
You gulp at the sight of him, his head leaned back to rest against the wall, his hands folded across his chest. The musky sweat of the enclosed space made his black fitted t-shirt cling to his biceps, his skin glistening with sweat under the pulsing LED lights.
Even from this far away, it’s clear Xavier is drunk. His eyes are hooded with intoxication, his throat bobbing with shallow breaths.
You’re about to approach him when the groups of people in front of you shift, and you see a girl latched onto Xavier’s bicep. The two look far too cozy, Xavier not doing anything to push her off as she speaks animatedly up at him, her eyelashes batting seductively.
It’s not like you and Xavier were dating…but it was clear there was something deeply intertwined about the two of you. That, and the fact that you’d been intimate several times. But you had to admit, you’d never made things exclusive.
You turn on your heel, thoroughly perturbed at the sight of Xavier with someone else, making your way back to where you’d left Tara.
You’d just broken into the crowd when a firm hand catches your wrist, stopping you from pushing further. You turn back sharply, ready to throw your fist back, only to be met with the sight of Xavier, in all his flushed and handsome glory.
“Where are you going?”
You fight the urge to smack him, jealousy a true green-eyed monster, instead just feigning ignorance, “What? I can’t hear you!” You gesture wildly with your hands to emphasize your point. You turn away from him, starting to tug your wrist away again when he pulls you back, hard.
He twirls you effortlessly into his chest, his strong arms wrapping around you, secure and unrelenting. You look up at him in question. He leans down, and your breath catches as his lips come an inch away from yours. But he doesn’t kiss you, instead whispering into your ear.
“I asked where you were going. Didn’t you see me?” his breath is warm against your ear, the smell of alcohol invading your senses over the pounding music.
“You looked busy. I didn’t want to intrude,” you try to keep your voice level, but you can tell it comes out petty. You hope through the deafening music, Xavier can’t hear how sulky your voice is.
Xavier looks confused in his drunken state, but shouts into your ear, his tone genuine and endearing even amidst the music, “You’re never intruding.”
You sigh at his sweet words, tiptoeing up to speak to him and trying to be nice, “Who was your friend?”
Xavier looks even more bewildered for a second, before realizing the implications of your words, a lazy smile painting his features. He holds you close, one hand on the small of your back, the other coming up to touch your cheek.
“Not my friend. She couldn’t find her friends and wanted to wait with me.”
You roll your eyes. Xavier was too sweet and unassuming for his own good.
“Yeah, I’m sure.”
Xavier chuckles, “You don’t have to be jealous, I only have eyes for you.”
Your cheeks flare amidst the flush of alcohol on your cheeks at his words, and before you can speak Xavier is leaning down to kiss you. You squeak in surprise, but respond to his lips, kissing him back.
Xavier kisses you slowly, gently, and tenderly. You can barely even hear the music around you, the musky people bumping into the pair of you. All you can feel is Xavier, lips on yours, his hands stroking your bare skin, his hardening erection against your stomach.
He pulls away for air, his lips swollen and wet from your passionate kiss. Your ears pound in excitement at the way Xavier looks down at you, hungry and wanting more. You hook your arms around Xavier’s neck, pulling him down until your foreheads brush against each other.
“Dance with me,” you whisper loudly against the music. Xavier’s eyes shine with excitement, and he nods, his hands gripping your waist as you start to sway to the music.
You turn around so you can watch the flashing lights, the alcohol making them look like a light show. You feel much bolder with the liquid courage running through your veins, so you grind back into Xavier, your rear molding perfectly against his crotch.
Xavier hardens so quickly against your movements, your body feeling so perfect against his. The alcohol makes everything feel much more fluid and raw, his body responding excitedly.
He too is fueled by the courage of intoxication, his hands roaming from your hips to your stomach, just above the fat of your cunt. He can feel the way you shiver at his touch, and he decides to dare further.
His strong hands wander up, until they cup your breasts through your sheer dress. He rests his chin on your shoulder, whispering into your ear.
“Is this alright?”
You crane your neck backwards to nod at him, eyes flickering to his lips. Xavier leans in to kiss you again, one hand still playing with your nipple, the other reaching up to hold your throat against him gently. The two of you kiss so passionately, so messily, that you hardly notice the crowd of equally drunk and horny people around you.
As you kiss him, your hand comes backward to cup the back of Xavier’s head, grabbing at his soft blonde locks. Your body continues to rock sensually into him, relishing in the way his hard erection sits between the slit of your ass.
Looking up at him through your wet eyelashes, you whisper, “M-More. I want more.”
Xavier groans, looking around, trying to find the quickest way out of the crowd. But you can’t wait, too aroused by the way Xavier’s shirt clings to his muscles, the way his cock fights against his jeans, straining to be with you.
The alcohol dares you to be bolder than you normally would ever be. You grab his wrist, bringing it down to the hem of your minidress, guiding his fingers to slip under it.
You can feel Xavier stiffen behind you, eyes darting around to make sure no one is watching. But he quickly realizes quite literally no one cares about the two of you, too focussed on the music, too focussed on their own partners, to even spare you a glance.
So he follows your lead, his hands roaming under your dress, digging into your soft thighs. You moan into his ear, your head laid back on his shoulder.
With his palm so close to your cunt, you grind right into his open hand, wanting more friction, more of him. Xavier groans at your enthusiasm, quickly forgetting about the people that are packed around you like sardines. He feels something damp against his fingers, making him all the more desperate to have you.
“You’re wet,” Xavier whispers sluggishly into your ear, “Is this all for me?”
You groan at his words, your muscles twitching with anticipation. You try and look at him, the back of your head still resting on his thick shoulder. Your hand grasps at the back of his neck, forcing his eyes to drift down to you, the azure blues flickering to your lips before they come back to your gaze.
“Touch me, please.”
Even under the strobing lights of the club you can see Xavier’s eyes darken, his jaw tightening. His eyes flutter shut as he leans down to kiss you.
At the same time, his finger gingerly dips into your folds, moving your panties to the side. At first he just rubs up and down with his middle finger, enjoying the way you moan into his mouth. But it becomes far too unbearable, not being inside you.
He slowly dips his middle finger inside of you, hissing when your little hole sucks him in tightly.
“Is this okay?” Xavier asks, wanting to make sure you’re alright. Your eyes dart around lazily, making sure no one can see Xavier’s hands underneath your dress.
You nod, your eyelashes fluttering shut as Xavier starts to pump in and out of you. The energetic music makes everything feel more surreal, only the occasional jostling of people bumping into the pair of you reminding you of exactly where you are.
Xavier’s index finger finds its way inside you, his thumb rubbing at your slippery clit. He alternates his free arm between shielding you from people pushing as they pass by, and cupping your breast through your dress. In all your writhing, your ass continues to grind against Xavier’s cock. Under his jeans, he’s leaking so profusely that your body rubs around the slick, creating a sticky mess.
Xavier pumps inside you, enjoying the feeling of you wrapped so tightly around him, the feeling of risk and wrong.
“Please – Please don’t stop,” you pant, looking up at him with starry eyes.
The look of complete and utter bliss on your gorgeously flushed face makes Xavier bite his lip, “I’ll never stop, angel.”
You clench down hard on his fingers at the endearing pet name, one he so rarely called you. It makes you writhe against his hot and hard body, pressed firmly into you, like a puzzle piece.
With your back still turned to him, you reach your hand back to where his bulge presses into you. With careful hands, you cup the massive swell of his manhood, biting your lip when he moans into your ear, teeth grazing against your earlobe.
You rub him enthusiastically through his jeans, enjoying the way he writhes under your touch, his cock straining through the tight restraint of his pants.
“You’re evil,” Xavier groans, pressing kisses into your neck, trying to contain the moans he wants to make for you.
You lean your head back, staring at him through hooded eyes, “Should I stop?”
Xavier holds you tight, almost crushing you, to keep you from stopping.
“No. Never.”
You giggle, turning back to the club stage, watching the DJ perform, hands finding their way back to Xavier’s crotch. His pants are heavy and breathy by your ear, fingers scissoring in and out of you furiously.
Soon enough, the feeling of just your plush body against his isn’t enough anymore. He needs more.
With his fingers never pausing, he asks, his voice smooth and sultry, “I need to be inside of you, is that okay?”
“Please,” you whisper huskily, grinding against his fingers, “I want you.”
You can feel Xavier shifting behind you, pulling out his cock. He feverishly pulls your panties down just slightly, so that they rest under your cheeks. He lifts your dress, enough to give him access but making sure you’re still covered. He would rather die than let anyone see your precious body.
As the music comes to a peak, the beat building alongside your release, Xavier slips his erection into you. You’re thankful for the heavy bass of the drop because you quite literally cannot hold back the scream that rips from your lips as he pushes himself into the hilt.
One of his hands travels from your waist to under the front of your dress. When he finds your clit, he pinches down hard.
“You’re so cute,” Xavier hisses into your ear, picking up his pace, “Were you jealous earlier?”
“N-No! Don’t know what you’re talking ‘bout,” you whimper, your fingers gripping the arm he has buried between your legs.
“Mmm,” Xavier hums, clearly not convinced, “That’s alright, Y/N. You have nothing to be jealous of, ever.”
“I-I’m not – I wasn’t!” you gasp, forcing the words together as Xavier’s cock nearly finds its way into your throat. But at this point you knew he could see right through you.
“Would travel through time and space for you,” he murmurs, words full of a boundless affection, “I only see you.”
He puts all that same adoration and passion into the way he fucks up into you, holding you protectively in place, making sure no one so much as brushes against you.
Your moans are strangled when his cockhead angles into your g-spot, cutting off the drunken confessions on the tip of your tongue. Xavier’s girth was always something you had a hard time getting used to, and taking him standing was infinitely harder. Your inner thighs burned with the strain of how fully he stretches you out.
Xavier’s hand comes over to cover your mouth, his smile pressed against your throat. The alcohol makes Xavier irregularly chatty, his inhibitions lowered completely, “You’re so loud. Does it feel that good?”
Your eyes are rolled back mesmerized by the flashing lights, unable to discern what comes from the nightclub’s light show and what comes from the pleasure of Xavier’s poignant thrusts. You do your best to nod, your teeth sinking into Xavier’s palm to keep yourself conscious.
You’re nearly doubled over now, your jelly legs unable to hold you up, with only the support of Xavier’s strong hand against your cunt and his other arm wrapped around your chest. He holds you up as securely as he can, his own intoxication growing having not drank any water since you’d arrived at the club.
“Are you okay?”
Xavier’s head snaps up to see a club patron in front of you, a concerned look on his face as he kneels down to be eye-level with you. Xavier squick readjusts to make sure you’re covered.
Your eyes widen, trying to straighten up, “F-Fine!” You nearly scream as Xavier continues to thrust into you, his movement much more conspicuous but somehow more intense.
“Are you sure? You don’t look so good.”
You want to be kind, but you can really only focus on the way Xavier continues to fuck you, not even caring that the good Samaritan in front of you was this close to realizing what was happening. The fact that you were still very much drunk did not help.
“N-No, I’m fine,” you squeak, eyes rolling back when Xavier hits your g-spot. You can’t see him but you just know he’s enjoying the position he has you in. He smirks in satisfaction, grinding into your ass, his thick length nestling into your every nerve.
The man looks skeptical, especially at your unfocused hooded eyes, “Do you want some water?”
He’s about to reach out to touch you, when Xavier yanks you back, both arms wrapped protectively around you, “She’s fine.”
At Xavier’s harsh tone, the man recoils, looking up, almost as if he’s just noticing Xavier. He nods awkwardly before disappearing into the crowd.
Xavier resumes his vigor, kissing your neck and whispering, “Mine.”
“Now look who’s jealous,” you giggle languidly, gasping when Xavier drives into you harder.
“Not jealous. It’s just the truth,” he murmurs, tilting your head back to kiss you, fingers back on your clit.
His tongue explores your mouth excitedly, your pleasures quickly reaching a peak after coming close to being caught. Your body convulses around him, wanting him to push you into the oblivion of ecstasy.
“Always so tight,” Xavier groans, “I-I won’t last long like this…”
You squeal, your sounds drowned out by the vibrating music, “Ngh – me too Xavier.”
“G-Gonna cum,” Xavier gasps as your cunt strangles him, ripping away from your lips and panting for air.
You crane your neck back to look at him, your eyes wide with wonder and desperation. The blissed out look on your beautiful face makes Xavier groan, his hips stuttering into his climax.
“Cum for me, Xavier,” you beg, impossibly close as well, “Want to feel you.”
Xavier shuts his eyes, his body following your every command. His cock explodes inside you, filling you with a hot warmth that spreads all the way to your fingertips and toes. Xavier doesn’t speak as he cums, only suckling hungrily at your neck, moaning and whimpering into your bruised skin.
He keeps thrusting into you, even as his cum starts to leak out of your hole, wanting you to come undone too. Even when the overstimulation starts to border on pain, he refuses to stop.
His cum makes it so there’s zero resistance, only the pure pleasure of his cock against your throbbing gummy walls. Soon, you’re cumming too, screaming into the pulsating music, your climax crescendoing with the drop of the song. The symphony of it all, the alcohol, the threat of being caught by any one of the dozens of people around you, makes it one of your most intense orgasms yet.
Your body instinctively clenches down as you release, making you cream all over Xavier, a mix of both your arousals. Xavier watches in awe at the beautiful way you cum, for him. It’s enough to make him pump a few more ropes into you, even as his dick throbs sharply in protest.
Xavier hugs you to his chest tightly, holding onto you for support as his cock quivers inside you. You can feel his chest heaving against your back, shifting as he slips out of you and redoes his zipper. Xavier puts your panties back into place, pressing a faint trail of kisses along your shoulders.
Suddenly, the crowd feels suffocating and icky and you desperately want to be somewhere quieter with Xavier. You pull him out of the crowd, nudging throngs of drunk and horny patrons out of the way as you make your way to the bar. Xavier follows you sluggishly, his fingers barely closing over yours as you guide him out..
When you reach the bar, you order a water and turn to Xavier worriedly, cupping his cheeks in your hands.
“Xavier,” you urged, “Are you okay?”
Xavier’s eyes flutter open, his eyes slightly rolled back, “M’okay. Just sleepy.” You giggle, patting his face gently, realizing the haze in his eyes is a mix of intoxication and post-sex bliss.
“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, you’re always so sleepy. Especially after…”
Despite Xavier’s eyes remaining closed, he smiles and mumbles as he leans against the wall next to the bar, “Can’t help it. You drain me.”
You blush furiously, despite it being loud enough where no one can hear you two. The bartender hands you a glass of water, and you bring it up to Xavier’s lips. Xavier’s eyelids flicker open, his long eyelashes fluttering as he takes in his surroundings again, like he’s so intoxicated off the alcohol and you that he can’t make sense of his bearings.
You take his chin into your palm, tilting him up gently so the water doesn’t spill. Xavier drinks obediently, not letting a single drop go to waste. His position against the wall makes it so that you tower a few inches over him, so he has to look up at you through his eyelashes. With each gulp of the icy water he never breaks eye contact with you, staring at you with all the awe and devotion in the world.
His hands gently grip your wrists, nuzzling into your hand. The way he watches you makes you want to squirm, his eyes glimmering under the flashing lights. His azure eyes feel like they hold the weight of an entire galaxy, but in reality it’s the reflection of you that makes his eyes sparkle with the brilliance of the stars.
“Hey! There you two are!”
You whip your head around to see Tara excitedly hurrying over to you as Xavier finishes the last of the water.
You turn to her, “Tara! I’m sorry, I found Xavier but then we got…caught up.”
She smiles and shakes her head. There’s a knowing mischief in her eyes, as if she doesn’t believe you, “It’s alright! I made some friends.”
She looks at Xavier. Even though you no longer hold up the empty glass to his lips, he still stares at you with the same starstruck look, a post-orgasm mist over his entire face.
“Why does he look like that?”
Your cheeks burn and you scramble to find an excuse, “Oh, he’s fine! He’s just drunk. And sleepy. Very sleepy.”
Tara grabs your chin, tilting it up in a squint, inspecting you. You’re about to ask what’s wrong, if maybe your false eyelashes came off, but when you look down at your shoulder you see exactly what she’s looking at.
A bright red, purpling bruise. In the exact shape of Xavier’s lips.
“Oh, I bet he’s sleepy.”
━ .ᐟ✧ WORD COUNT: 3.7k
━ ✧.˖ WARNINGS: mdni, explicit sexual content, drunk zayne, needy zayne, jealous zayne, couch sex, booby sucking, pretty vanilla tbh, slightly sub zayne, zayne begs a lot, prone bone, doggy, choking, making out, cumming in coochie, mentions of birth control usage, zayne is a lightweight
━ .ᐟ✧ LINKS: original inspo | video | art (credit to @roschea-arts)
You stumble into your apartment, nearly tripping over the threshold as Zayne’s heavy arm slumps over your shoulder for support. You kick your heels off, briefly bending down to slip Zayne’s shoes off, before you lead him to sit on your couch.
“Sit here while I get some water for you, okay?” you whisper worriedly against Zayne’s nearly unconscious face, pressing a kiss to his heated and clammy temple. Zayne doesn’t respond, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he takes a shallow breath, nodding gently.
Well, this was definitely not how you’d expected tonight to go.
When you’d invited Zayne as your date to the annual UNICORN hosted Hunters’ Association Banquet, you expected it to be a relatively uneventful night. You never expected your raven-haired surgeon boyfriend to get drunk. In fact, you’d never seen him so much as tipsy since you’d known him.
And that was something Zayne intentionally made sure of; alcohol was not something he indulged in, ever.
Except when you’re so busy socializing all night that he gets unbearably bored, curious, and desperate for your attention.
So that’s how he ended up absolutely plastered off two cocktails. In his defense they were deceptively fruity and sweet, the rims coated in thick crystals of sugar. Truly his kryptonite.
So when Zayne grabs your wrist while you’re talking to a fellow Hunter, spinning you gently to his hard chest, you’re completely taken aback.
“Apologies. Can I steal my girlfriend for a moment?”
Your colleague, standing before the both of you, looks flustered at Zayne’s commanding voice, nodding fervently before he turns to leave. His face is pale, not realizing you’d brought a guest to the banquet, much less a guest that looked as handsome and imposing as Zayne. You whip around, eyebrows raised, to face the surgeon in question.
His face is uncharacteristically red, the tips of his ears burning so adorably bright. The first few buttons of his shirt had been undone, the collar disheveled, like he’d pulled at it until the enclosures gave way. What’s more, the tension that colored his words, alarming and unusual.
“Zayne? What’s wrong?” you reach up to touch his cheek worriedly, gasping at how warm his normally chilly skin was, “Are you not feeling well?”
Zayne releases your wrist, instead capturing your hand on his jaw with his own palm, pressing you deeper into his cheek. He practically purrs into your touch, nuzzling into your hand warmly.
“You feel nice.” His voice is low, almost a rough whisper against the cheerful laughter of the night.
It was very unlike Zayne to be so blatant with his affections, especially in front of either of your colleagues. In this case, the packed banquet hall of UNICORN’s annual Hunter’s banquet, filled with curious and nosy onlookers, peering at the two of you embracing in the middle of the party.
Perhaps the bustling activity became too overwhelming for Zayne, especially given that you had been pulled every which way to discuss your recent mission successes. You’d hardly had a chance to make sure he was doing okay.
“Did you want to leave? I can —”
Zayne pulls you closer to him until your bodies are pressed together tightly, his slender fingers holding your waist in place. You squeak in surprise, blushing as you try to ignore the prying eyes of your colleagues as Zayne strokes your cheek, fingers playing with your loose strands of hair.
“Who was that?” Zayne’s voice is deceptively calm against the top of your head as he breathes in your familiar scent, masking the demand and restraint lurking just below the surface. Your pheromones calm him down slightly, making him feel much more at ease.
“Who was who?”
Zayne bends down to reach your ear, his normally calm and stoic voice much more shaky than usual, “That man, who was making you laugh. He seemed friendly.”
Zayne’s words tickle your ear, making you shiver. It’s then you can smell the alcohol on him, as he leans down to whisper in your ear, the bitter scent of vodka mixing with the faint smell of his cologne. Suddenly the questions of his irregular behavior clicked.
You lean back to look at him in shock, “Zayne?! Are you drunk?”
Zayne looks sheepish, his hazel eyes still intense, “No. I don’t – hic – don’t think so.”
You want to laugh at his incriminating hiccup, the surgeon undoubtedly intoxicated. That fact is only confirmed to you when you tip-toe up to peck his lips and taste the bittersweet trace of alcohol on him.
“You were so busy, I got curious and decided to...indulge. Just this once,” Zayne admits, his eyes never leaving yours as he holds you close.
You don’t speak, in shock at the way his words are slightly whiny and sulky all at once, something you never heard from Zayne. Zayne was never one to be jealous, and much less to actually show that jealousy.
Zayne’s eyes lower, glowing at you in a soft regret, “I’m sorry.”
You giggle, resting your head on his chest, arms wrapping around his waist. For that brief moment, you forget all about the watchful eyes around you, only able to focus on the man you loved before you.
“How many drinks did you have?”
He pauses, looking genuinely deep in thought as he tries to recall the night, “Two, no…maybe three.”
You grin wordlessly. Zayne never drank, so he was undoubtedly a lightweight, that was no surprise. But you would’ve thought it would take more than three drinks to knock the formidable man off his ass.
Zayne’s jaw clenched as he admires how beautiful you look tonight, his wandering alcohol-fueled desires pushing him to want to see much more, “Would it be alright if we called it a night?”
You nod, peering up at him, “Of course, are you not feeling well from the alcohol?”
Zayne averts his eyes, clearing his throat. His neck bobs against his undone collar, his tie hanging loosely around his chest.
“I’m alright. I just…want to be alone with you.”
By the time you arrived at your apartment, Zayne had gotten considerably more drunk, the alcohol being further absorbed into his bloodstream.
You hurriedly bring him a cool glass of water, standing in between his thighs, over his limp body. Zayne’s head is thrown back against the cushion of your couch, already having yanked off his suit jacket and tie, the articles of clothing strewn over the arm of the seat, his neck and collar exposed. His snowy pale skin is splotched red, practically radiating a wave of heat.
Your fingers cup his sharp jaw, tilting his chin up, shifting to hold his heavy head in the palm of your hand, stroking his cheek lovingly. Zayne’s eyes flicker up to yours as you tilt him up, his glasses slightly fogged up from the heated crimson flush on his cheeks. His eyes light up when they meet yours, his eyelashes fluttering as he fights to keep his eyes open. You bite your lip, trying to keep your wide smile at bay. He looked so utterly adorable like this, looking up so affectionately obedient like this.
You bring the glass gently up to his lips, encouraging him to drink. Zayne obeys, lips latching onto the edge of the cup as you tilt it forward, gently nudging his chin upwards with your other hand.
His eyes flutter open at the feeling of your touch, his golden emerald irises trained solely on you as he drinks, refusing to look away. He’s so focussed on you that dribbles of water stream down his chin as he gulps down the entire glass, falling onto his collar.
His eyes never leave yours as he chugs the entire glass of refreshing water, the whites of his eyes shining in the dim lighting of your apartment. If anyone else saw the way Zayne looked at you, they’d swear they could see hearts reflected in them as he drank from your hands. He looked at you as if his entire world spun around you, the center of his universe.
When you pull away, Zayne’s eyes still don’t leave yours. Instead, they appear to become more intense, more fiery.
“Zayne? Do you want more water?”
He doesn’t answer. You’re too distracted by the incensed pools of peridot when Zayne yanks you onto his lap, lips capturing yours hungrily.
–
“Ngh – Zayne!” you moan, pulling away from his demanding and bruising lips. Zayne grants you a brief break to breathe, but his fingers firmly hold your hips in place atop his erection that strains against his buckled pants, the two of you nestled deep into the couch cushion.
He gives you a second before he’s yanking your chin towards him again, soft mouth crushed against yours in an instant. Your lips are captured gently between his teeth, his hunger for you insatiable. The taste of alcohol is still faint on his tongue, and he wants nothing more than to overwhelm himself with the taste of you.
You’re completely engulfed by him, the ferocity of his mouth against yours, the warmth of his breath against your tongue. Zayne’s jaw alternates, side to side, trying to give himself the best access to you he can possibly get. The cool touch of metal grazes against your cheeks, his glasses pressing against you in the vigor of his embrace. He groans in frustration into your mouth, forcing himself to briefly pull away.
Before you can even question him, he’s yanking his misted up glasses off by the temples, tossing them onto your coffee table without a second glance, without a single care. His eyes are hooded with desire, his glasses no longer obstructing you from him. They shut sensually when he leans back in, lips parting as his glasses clatter louding against the table.
He says nothing, smashing his lips into yours once again. You can vaguely feel the distinct bump of his nose, pressing into your skin, when he grabs the back of your head, pulling you harder against his all consuming hunger.
His tongue is unbelievably tender against yours, despite how urgently and desperately he devours you. His fingers press into the divots of your arched back, his arms are completely wrapped around you, bringing you into an affectionate embrace as he continues to consume you whole. His fingers stroke up and down the half exposed expanse of your back, enjoying how soft you feel against his big hands.
You grind down onto his cock as you try and match his passion, your panties sticking to your soaked folds. Your thighs are spread so widely against his legs, that the dampness smears against his dress pants, your dress doing little to hold anything back.
Zayne hisses at the delicious pressure, lips leaving yours to gasp into your ear, his hot breath caressing the sensitive skin.
“D-Don’t,” he gulps deeply, alcohol and anticipation making him trip over his words, “Unless you're willing to take responsibility for the consequences.”
You shiver at his words, leaning in to kiss his reddened earlobe, “And if I am?”
And that’s how you find yourself naked, sweaty, and writhing on your back, under the pressure of Zayne’s half naked body on top of you, his cock ravaging every inch of your poor cunt.
Zayne is a mumbling and moaning mess above you, droplets of sweat beading on his bright red temples, his damp hair dangling below his forehead. His unbuttoned dress shirt flies wildly, his thick muscles twitching every time his lower half drives into you like a madman. If it weren’t for the sweat lining your back, you’d undoubtedly be pushed around the couch like a ragdoll under Zayne’s furious passion.
You can barely see Zayne’s eyes, his dangling bangs obscuring much of his frantic face. You do your best to sit up, your chin on your chest, watching the way Zayne’s glistening body jackhammers into you, his rhythm erratic and desperate.
Trying not to drool, you watch his abdominal muscles twitch, his briefs and dress pants hanging off his hips. He’d been so eager to bury himself inside of you that he didn’t even take off his clothing, instead pulling his cock out from under the top of the waistband of his briefs. It’s so heavy and thick with excitement that the restraint of his brief’s waistband is no match for it.
“M’sorry,” Zayne mumbles, so slurred you barely even hear it through the clinking of his undone belt, hanging off his waist.
“Wh-what?” you pant, tugging at the sweat-soaked shirt that clings to his back.
“Didn’t mean to get so intoxicated,” he pants breathlessly, almost sounding guilty, “I’m sorry.”
Your heart clenches at the vulnerability shining in his eyes. You know he’s not used to letting himself feel his emotions like this, to really give into his needs and desires.
“Zayne, don’t apologize,” you whimper through the pleasure, stroking his cheek, “You’re allowed to let go sometimes.”
Your words nearly make Zayne snarl, his pelvis slapping into your ass, his hands elevating hips, your thighs wrapped tightly into his sides.
“You’re so good to me,” he rasps, eyes rolling back as his praises make your body instinctively clench down, “I–I love you.”
“A-ahh nghn – love you s’much Zayne,” you squeal as he thrusts even deeper into you, his confession only increasing the passion he feels for you in the drunken moment.
You’re surprised when you feel his damp hair pressing against your forehead, his cool lips brushing a soft kiss onto it, deceptively gentle compared to the way he ravages your wet heat.
“M’always thinking about you,” Zayne moans, voice muffled as he kisses your forehead over and over, unable to keep his lips, his hands, off of you.
“I think about y’too Za–ayne,” you pant, trying to focus on forming coherent words through the shape of his erection being molded into your core. You knew just how vulnerable the fog of alcohol had made Zayne and wanted more than anything to reassure him.
But his cock stretching you out, nearly the width of a clenched fist, made that so difficult.
“You looked – you look ravishing tonight,” he slurs, kissing down your cheek and onto your neck, “Had a hard time tonight, watching you – hic – be the most beautiful girl in the room.”
Your chest flutters and you blush, clenching onto him, “H-Hardly.”
Zayne’s eyebrows furrow, giving you a pointed thrust, making your breasts jiggle at the force, “Look at what you do to me.”
His fingers cup your breast forcefully, squeezing down on your poor nipple, “You know I’m not one for jealousy…”
“But even I am not immune when you look like that, giving everyone but me your attention.”
“Sorry, my love,” you murmur, trying your best to speak through his frantic thrusts, “You know you’re the one I come home to at the end of the day.”
Zayne’s eyes darken with satisfaction, his fingers twirling your nipple in between them, “I suppose. But does that give you the right to let men flirt with you shamelessly all night?”
“Zayne, they weren’t —” But apparently protesting was a mistake, because Zayne only starts to hammer into you harder.
“They were,” he growls drunkenly, letting his emotions take control for a split second, “But I can’t really blame them, not when you look like this. Not when you feel this perfect around me.”
You whine at his words, his simultaneous threats and praises making it impossible for you to think straight.
“I-I’m soorry,” you find yourself apologizing, wanting to please Zayne, “Won’t do it again, I’ll b-be good!”
“No need to – hah – apologize, my love,” Zayne groans, “Not when I plan on reminding you exactly who you belong to tonight, all night.”
Your body convulses around him, knowing just how much stamina Zayne has, just how serious his slurred words are. Zayne’s hips falter, his body buckling into you.
“You’re s-oo tight,” he groans brokenly, letting his head fall down to your chest, “All for me, right?
“Allll f’you! Only you!” you cry, your fingers gripping onto the back of his shirt when his teeth close over your nipple, nibbling gently. You claw at his back, desperately wanting to be able to touch his bare skin, but his white dress shirt is in the way.
“That’s my girl,” he moans, words muffled by the way his tongue circles around your hardened peaks, suckling like he was trying to find the antidote to intoxication, “So good for me.”
As his thrusts grow sloppier, you know he’s coming close to his end. But you’re surprised when he pulls out suddenly, leaving you feeling empty.
“W-Why?” you demand, leaning up on your elbows in protest. Your eyes widen, almost salivating, when you see the way Zayne is gripping the base of his cock, the thick head red, angry, and ready to burst. He curses, forcing himself to take deep breaths, desperately trying to hold his orgasm back. He was learning that alcohol significantly decreased his normally endless supply of stamina.
“Don’t want to – ngh – finish yet,” he pants, hooking his arm under your back and flipping you over so that your back faces him, your hips arched slightly off the couch. He quickly takes off his pants that are pooled by his knees, his briefs still clinging to his muscled thighs.
You squeak in surprise when you feel the wet smack of Zayne’s cock against your ass, the surgeon hissing at the painful yet arousing sensation. The sting helps to keep him from exploding right onto your beautiful body.
“Ngh – Zaaayne!” you squeal when Zayne shoves himself back into you, parting your cheeks to give himself better access. You claw at your couch as he picks up his speed, rhythm still unsteady.
“I’m sorry,” Zayne apologizes, his words bordering on frenzied babbles as he pounds into you, his heavyset balls slapping against your clit, “M’sorry, love. Let me make it better.”
He leans down, pressing a trail of kisses down your spine, his pelvis rippling against your rear. His veiny forearms cage you into the couch, his foot lifting to step onto the cushion, right by your waist. With his leg raising as leverage, he can truly jackhammer into you.
Zayne goes absolutely feral in this position, his fingers coming up to grab a fistful of your hair, tugging gently as he bounces up and down on your ass. The sounds of skin against skin, drunken moans, and moist squelches resounds like a symphony in the early morning lighting of your apartment.
His grasp tightens in your hair, his other hand kneading the plush of your ass as it ripples against his thrusts. His voice lowers, throwing his head back with a moan, “Been waiting all night to have you like this.”
“Oh-oh God!” you cry when he thrusts into you, particularly hard and deep, making you see stars, “Zayne I-I can’t – I’m so close!”
Zayne hoists you onto all fours, gently lifting your upper body by your neck so that you’re pressed firmly against him with your knees holding you up. He kneels behind you, wrapping one arm around your waist while the other secures your neck against his chest.
“Me too, angel,” Zayne pants into your ear, his breath hot and moist. You can feel the truth in his words, his thighs shaky against yours, his thrusts erratic.
“Please, let me cum in you,” Zayne rasps.
“When have I ever denied you?” you respond. Zayne came inside you nearly every time you two were intimate, ever since you’d started birth control.
“It’s a waste, if it’s not inside you,” Zayne slurs, “You’ll take it, right?”
When you don’t respond, too wrapped up in the bliss of it all, Zayne’s hand descends to pinch your nipple. The power of his thrusts, the tease of his hands, his aura. He commands authority,
“Tell me you’ll take it all, for me.”
“I will, I will! P-please Zayne, give it to me!”
Zayne groans, grip tightening against your body, hugging you for dear life, “That’s my girl, that’s it, just like that.
Zayne has always been vocal, but his drunken ramblings have taken it to another level. You clench down, ready to come undone to the sound of his filthy praises.
Zayne is close behind you, hands kneading your breasts, balls slapping against your clit, “It’s coming Y/N, take it. Take it for me, please.”
You scream in response, cunt spasming around the last of his messy ruts. Zayne’s own strangled groans mix with the sound of wet flesh slapping against each other. You can feel every beautiful ribbon of white hot cum painting your insides, coating every inch of your waiting womb.
Zayne’s skin often felt ice-cold, but his cum always came out so hot and heedy. And now, with the flush of alcohol still clouding his circulation, his milky ropes of seed nearly made you feverish.
Zayne slumps against you, his body spent, drained bone-dry. The weight of him against your quivering muscles is too much, and your thighs give out, sending you crashing into the couch. He catches you before you can slam face-first into the carpeted floor.
He sets your limp body gently into the couch, shrugging off his white button-up.
“Zayne,” you murmur groggily, savoring the image of his muscles peaking through his open shirt, “Come cuddle.”
The corner of his lip twitches, “I will, sweetheart. Let me clean you up first.”
Using the clean inside of his shirt, he carefully wipes off the slick that collects at your inner thighs, before it can pool onto the couch. Your legs are putty in his hands, Zayne cleaning you with the utmost care and tenderness.
When he’s done, he settles beside you on the couch, shifting you so that your neck rests on his forearm. He holds you close with one arm, the other drawing lazy circles into your stomach.
Zayne turns his head to the side, pressing a kiss into your temple, “Thank you. For taking care of me tonight.”
You can tell by Zayne’s calm and steady tone that he’s sobered up quite a bit from the orgasm, the control returning to his deep timbre.
You giggle, nuzzling deeper into his arm, the hairs of his underarm tickling your shoulder, “I hardly did anything.” In the comfortable silence, your eyes start to flutter closed.
“You did more than you know,” Zayne whispers, the tender smile in his voice unmistakeable. You simply nod, muttering incoherently as you fall into a deep and sated slumber.
“You are everything.”
━ .ᐟ✧ WORD COUNT: 3.9k
━ ✧.˖ WARNINGS: mdni, explicit sexual content, car sex, publix sex/slight voyeurism, sex while pulled over in da passenger seat, bottom raf, riding, face sitting, rafayel is a MUNCH, oral f!receiving, jealous raf, drunk rafayel, protective rafayel, somewhat mentions of violence, unprotected sex, no pull out ever
━ .ᐟ✧ LINKS: original inspo | pics 1 | pics 2 (both rafayel's car)
The night road ahead of you is peacefully calm, the drive back to Rafayel’s house a peaceful and scenic trip. There's very few cars beside yours, well Rafayel’s, on the main roads back, likely because it was close to 2am.
You were honestly having way too much fun driving Rafayel’s car, thoroughly enjoying the purr of the beautiful Benz. You didn’t have the opportunity to drive many cars, let alone a Gran Turismo.
Your fingers tap gently along the rim of the steering wheel, admiring the elegant LED lights that kept you awake. Rafayel had the car’s interior lights set to a blushed lavender color, ever since you’d said it was your favorite setting. It reminded you of the pink in his cotton candy eyes.
Your eyes flicker to your right, briefly checking on Rafayel as he groans beside you in the passenger seat.
He sat with his arm propped up against the passenger side window, his head resting on his palm. His breathing was still shallow, his eyes closed in a restless and light sleep. The alcohol was no doubt making it difficult for him to rest.
You sigh to yourself, trying to think back to how the night had ended disastrously with him so damn drunk.
Rafayel had invited you as his date to one of his endless art exhibits, a few cities over from your home. Only this one was special.
When they’d unveiled his starring piece, a beautiful oil painting on a massive canvas that nearly reached the ceiling, you nearly fell to your knees.
Because Rafayel had painted the most exquisite portrait of you.
You, surrounded in ribbons of coral and seaweed, the most colorful globs of intricate paint surrounding you, a mosaic of sea glass. You, dancing in the endless sea of pastel turquoise. You, in Lemuria. His home.
Rafayel had painted you countless times before, you were his muse after all. Even if he never admitted that openly to you. But this was different, he’d never so openly shared you with this world before. Never wanted to open himself up like this, to anyone, to you.
It was beautiful as it was magnificent. It made you feel like the most beautiful person in the world, more gorgeous than you’d ever felt in your entire life. The way he’d put paint to canvas and created literal magic.
It appeared others thought so too. All the patrons attending the gala that night clamored around the oil canvas, press snapping photos, writers grabbing at Rafayel, trying to get anything for their tabloids.
It was nothing out of the norm. You’d become quite used to the glitz, glamor, and madness that came with being his girlfriend.
What was unexpected, was the attention you got, as the subject of the painting.
The people who wanted a piece of you, the stunning woman in Rafyel’s newest piece. Rafayel did his best to keep you comfortable, shooing away the throws of people trying to get even a morsel of anything from you.
“Rafayel. It’s okay. I can handle it,” you give him your best reassuring smile, “Go mingle with your guests, I’ll be fine.”
Rafayel looks reluctant, his arm wrapped firmly around your waist, unwilling to let go. Eventually you convince him, with the promise of a reward later if he listened, to go speak to the serious sponsors and buyers that demanded his attention.
“Never should’ve painted that damn thing,” he muttered as he walked off, looking back at you as Thomas dragged him off. He should’ve known sharing you with the world would have driven him insane.
So you spent the rest of the night trying to be as sociable as possible, not wanting to upset any of Rafayel’s guests. After a few hours you finally found a free moment, finding yourself in front of the portrait once again. Most of the people had cleared out, giving you a chance to really admire the masterpiece.
Rafayel was undeniably talented, maybe the most gifted artist in the world, you’d always thought so. But the way he painted you here was more than just art.
It was his heart on a canvas. And his heart, his entire world, was you. Every fiber of his soul, woven together into a tapestry of lustrous colors, each one depicting a different memory.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?”
You turn your head to the stranger’s voice, coming face to face with a handsome man, clad head to toe in the most luxurious brands. He stands so uncomfortably close to you that you can smell the nauseating cologne wafting off of him. And yet it’s his aura that makes your skin crawl uncomfortably.
He fills in your awkward silence, eyes looking you up and down, “Definitely not as beautiful as the real thing.”
You really don’t know how to respond to the stranger’s boldness, in shock at how forward he’s being. Your relationship with Rafayel was no secret, the paparazzi having photographed the two of you publicly many times. And you’d walked into the gala on Rafayel’s arm.
“Thank you,” you say curtly, offering a small smile, trying to return your attention to the display.
“I’m going to buy it, you know. And then maybe after, I can buy you a drink?” when his hand lands on your bare shoulder you flinch back, ready to resort to your tactical training. The thought of this man buying a portrait of you makes you nauseous.
Before you can give him a piece of your mind, he’s falling backward with a surprised yelp.
“Hands off the art,” an all-too familiar voice snarls, as he stands between you and the man. You’re too shell shocked to realize Rafayel is clearly drunk, his charismatic voice drawling muddily.
“Don’t touch me,” the man snaps, “I bought this piece, I legally own it.” The way he says ‘piece’ makes your blood boil, the misogyny dripping off his words.
Rafayel, drunk as he might be, catches on too. Fire burns in his eyes, matching the heat of his Evol. Thomas isn’t far behind, looking at you with desperation on his face, begging you to help him defuse the situation. Rafayel was spontaneous enough as it was, there was no telling the lengths he’d go to when he was intoxicated, especially when you were involved.
You reach your hand out, grasping Rafayel’s fingers and gently pulling him back towards you.
“He’s not worth it,” you whisper when Rafayel’s head snaps to you, his eyes softening instantly when they land on you. Rafayel spares the man, rubbing his wrist with a grimace, a glance. You wrap your arm around Rafayel’s waist tugging him close to you and trying to lead him out of the nearly empty gala.
Rafayel takes a deep and shaky breath, before nodding slightly. As he turns to leave with you, he glances back to the man and Thomas, his chin raised.
“It’s not for sale.”
“B-But I already wrote the check,” the man blew up, face red with anger and disbelief.
Rafayel smiles, a fake and genuinely terrifying smile, “I don’t care how many checks you write. You’re never looking at her again.”
It’s enough to even send chills down your spine.
With those words, Rafayel exited the gallery with you on his arm, you rubbing soothing circles into his back. It was rare Rafayel got full blown drunk; you’d seen him tipsy numerous times, but he was always careful not to cross the line into completely losing control of his inhibitions.
As he slumped in the passenger seat of his car, he briefly explained just how he found himself so shit-faced.
“Everyone was taking your time,” he slurred, breathing heavily. The alcohol made him bluntly honest, much more so than he’d normally be about something like this.
“Oh, Rafayel…” you giggle, bending over to latch his seatbelt in, “I know, it’s usually you getting the attention, it must have been weird to share it. I’m sorry.”
Rafayel scoffs, his head resting on the window, “S’not why I was upset. I don’t like sharing you.”
You bite your lip to fight the smile that threatens to sneak its way onto your face, “Why didn’t you just come back?”
“Was trying to distract myself. Didn’t want to disappoint you,” he mutters, his eyes closed and his arms folded across his chest as you start the car, “I know you wanted me to talk to the annoying old farts.”
And then he promptly dozed off, like a precious little baby.
You were about 15 minutes from his place when Rafayel stirred awake from the mere feeling of your hand on his thigh. It was far too dark to see the tent growing in his pants, all from your fingers stroking his sensitive thighs, even when he was unconscious.
“Hey,” you murmur softly, giving him a smile when you see the movement in the corner of your eye, “You feeling okay? I have water in my bag.”
“P-Pull over,” Rafayel slurs, still clearly drunk. His eyes are glued to your palm on his leg. Not even he knows why the innocent touch has him so worked up and feral.
“What?!” you exclaim in a mix of disbelief and shock, “We’re so close to home –”
“Pull over,” he urges you again, the strain between his legs growing painful, “Please.”
His urgency makes you nervous, and you quickly find a secluded area you can pull over, turning your hazards on when you do so.
“Do you need to throw up?” you turn to him worriedly, grasping his thigh tighter in your fingers and rubbing soothingly, unsure of what to do.
Rafayel groans at your unknowingly innocent actions, rubbing his hand down his face, which only makes you worry more.
You undo your seatbelt so you can sit on your knees and face him, your hands still rubbing up and down his thighs, hoping to make him feel better.
Rafayel takes that opportunity to undo his own seatbelt, hoisting you out of your seat and onto his lap. You try to muffle your scream as he effortlessly carries you onto his lap, cramped between his body and the front dash. It always surprised you just how powerful Rafayel’s body was despite his toned and slender build.
“Rafayel!” you squeal as he sits you on his lap, “What are you doing?!”
He doesn’t speak, only looking up at you with big wet eyes. He spreads your thighs so that they cage his own legs, his hands resting on your sumptuous hips. Despite his strong and possessive hold, you’re still able to twist around to grab your tote bag, pulling out a plastic water bottle.
“Don’t need to throw up,” he mumbles, looking up at you through his long and dark eyelashes, “Jus’ need you.”
With his hand on your back he pushes you down until your chest is flush with his, capturing your lips in a feverish all-consuming kiss. The bitter and sharp taste of alcohol is still strong on his tongue, his lips impatiently messy and insistent. Rafayel rocks up into you as he loses himself into your embrace, his very clear and prominent erection begging for attention.
“R-Raf!” you pull away, even at his whiny refusal, hands still tugging at the clothing at your hips, “Did you really make me pull over for this?” Your eyes dart around nervously, making sure there’s no cars around you. But it wasn’t necessary, Rafayel’s windows were so tinted that even if you had your nose pressed to the glass you wouldn’t be able to see much.
“Come on, at least drink some water while we’re pulled over,” you untwist the cap of your reusable water bottle.
“No,” Rafayel pouts at you, the rose flecks in his eyes glow as he looks up pleadingly at you, “I don’ want water, wanna kiss you.”
You can’t help but laugh, despite the risky and precarious situation you find yourself in. That situation being Rafayel’s very excited crotch.
“Don’t laugh,” Rafayel broods, his bottom lip jutted out, shiny with a sheen of saliva, “I wanted to be with you all night, ‘specially when everyone was getting your attention.” He presses his chin onto your shoulder, inhaling the scent of your body wash and pressing wet kisses into your neck.
“Wan’ my reward now,” Rafayel slurs, his wandering fingers hooking under the thin strap of your evening dress, slipping it off your shoulders.
“You’re drunk Rafayel,” you reason firmly, even though your body is already betraying you. Your thighs squirm, widening instinctively for him, excitement pooling at the apex of your legs.
“Sooo?” Rafayel’s head fall backs onto the headrest, “Just give me a taste, please?”
You want to keep a level head, deny his insane request, but his hard body against your pliable one makes you desperate for more. Besides…the windows are almost completely blacked out and you were in a very secluded upper-end neighborhood, where all the homes had nearly miles of yard between them.
“Fine…” you concede, “But only if you drink some water.”
Rafayel’s eyes practically radiate, nodding eagerly and raising his lips to the cool bottle. His sudden willingness is comical, and you smile fondly at him as you help him to drink. Rafayel’s fingers squeeze against your waist, your soft skin making him grow thicker and hotter by the second.
His body unconsciously grinds against you as he drinks the water, eyes open wide with a faux innocence, staring right at your heated and flushed cheeks. He’s so focussed on admiring the irresistible look of desire on your face as he relentlessly rocks into you, that he doesn’t even feel the cold streams of water trickling down his shaky chin.
His fingers trace delicate and intricate shapes into your waist, eyes hooded at the feeling of your heat against his throbbing member. His eyes never leave yours as he finishes the last of the water, looking up at you through his thick purple eyelashes. His eyes shine brightly, the pinks in them accentuated by the LEDs of the car, watching you with a vast sea of desire.
Just as you remove the bottle from his lips, Rafayel lowers the angle of the passenger seat, as far down as it can possibly go.
You shriek in panic, clutching onto Rafayel as the chair dips suddenly, limbs flailing wildly. Rafayel takes that opportunity to lift your thighs, hoisting you nearly to the top of the passenger seat until you’re kneeling with his face in between your thighs.
“R-Rafayel!” you yelp, gripping onto the leather backseat for balance, thighs squirming at the feeling of his warm breath fanning against your exposed lips. The slick that had pooled in your panties makes you much more sensitive to his heated pants. Practically dripping onto his face.
“You promised a taste,” he mumbles, all consumed by the way you glisten against the dim indoor lights of his car. He doesn’t let you get another word in before he’s pulling your panties to the side and licking a fat strip up your slit, all the way to your clit.
“Ngh – Raf!” If it weren’t for his strong hands on your thighs you would’ve crushed him with the way your knees buckled and you nearly fell on top of him.
Rafayel doesn’t speak, only a filthy string of wet slurps and strung out moans audible, this tongue writhing against you, positively starved. The way he makes out with your cunt makes your muscles melt, your body nearly melding into the seats.
Rafayel can feel your shaky legs struggling to keep you up and he pulls your hips down, guiding you to sit on his face. In your surprise, you fall completely, a choked sob of bliss ripping from your mouth when Rafayel completely engulfs your weeping cunt into his mouth.
You're a babbling mess of the most lewd cries, your thighs clenching unbearably at the pleasure Rafayel’s tongue forces into you. You try not to put too much weight on Rafayel, but he only pushes you down, wanting you to crush his skull.
“Tastes so sweet,” Rafayel moans into you, the vibrations of his praises reverberating through every single one of your nerve endings. As he eats you with a relentless excitement, his eager nose strokes along your folds, gathering your arousal with every stroke.
“And it’s all for me,” he whines in the most pussy drunken voice you’ve ever heard from him, likely from the heavy intoxication, “No one else's, just mine.”
You can tell he’s still reeling from the encounter at the gala, with the man who’d wanted to buy the piece he’d painted for you. Just reassuring himself of things he already knew to be fact.
“And you’re mine,” you gasp through the sparks in your vision, wrought with pleasure. You do your best to keep your nails out of the expensive leather upholstery, tearing at Rafayel’s skin instead.
He grunts with the sting of your scratches, the pain fueling his excitement, which he funnels into the way he devours you, slurping up every single drop that pools down your lips.
With one hand on your thigh, he palms himself through his dress pants, jerking furiously.
It isn’t long before he yanks you away with a desperate gasp, carrying you back down onto his lap, “Need to be inside you now, ‘kay?”
The ears ring with the whiplash, the pleasure being yanked away suddenly, staring at Rafayel with dumbfounded wide eyes. You barely register when he takes his bare cock out, rubbing it up and down your absolutely drenched folds, your dress bunched to your waist.
He holds himself firm in his fingers by the base, squeezing down as he rubs up and down your glistening slit, peering up at your rosy cheeks.
“Baby?” he huffs, sounding faraway, “Can I?”
You barely even register your nod, your body moving on its own volition. Rafayel grins, lining himself up and not wasting another second before sinking himself into you, his favorite place in the entire world.
Your face is stuck in a perpetual oh as Rafayel sinks all the way into you, his veins especially prominent in his intoxication. You can almost feel them throbbing as they squeeze against your tight walls, his hips flattering when he feels himself hit the soft walls of your g-spot.
“Ngh – I love you, Y/N,” Rafayel moans, his arms coming up to wrap around your back, pulling you tightly against his torso.
You nuzzle your head into Rafayel’s chest, needing the support as he starts to rock into you, bouncing your body off his lap with the strength of his thighs.
“O-Oh God,” you whimper into his chest, letting him man handle you against himself, too overwhelmed by the way he’d made you feel with his tongue, and now his cock.
‘J-Jus’ like that, baby,” Rafayel mewls into the crown of your head, taking in deep lungfuls of your scent. His arms are wrapped so tightly around you that you almost can’t breathe, but you only want him to hold you harder, tighter.
You can’t even be bothered to care that you’re fucking in such a public area, the risk of getting caught just a faraway thought. The only thing you can find yourself caring about is the way Rafayel drives deeper into your guts, forcing you to look at him as he buries himself into you.
“Hah – pretty girl,” he breathes out, his body slowing. You realize the alcohol must be making him tired, and you force your weight onto your knees.
“L-Let me, Raf,” you whisper, sitting up as much as you can until your head brushes against the car roof. Rafayel watches you with wondrous eyes as you begin to ride him.
“Oo-oh shiit,” he groans, mesmerized by the way you roll your body into him, “You're so perfect, Y/N. Just like that, please don’t s-stop.”
You whimper, biting your lip and trying to control the way his cock has your body screaming for release. You lean back onto his knees, one hand grappling at the window for leverage, the other cupping his balls.
Your hand is met with the wet condensation of the frosted window, the mixture of yours and Rafayel’s torrid breaths fogging up the interior completely. It’s such a sensual sight that you clench down on Rafayel, thinking about the passion of this moment, in the confined space of his favorite car.
Rafayel lets out the most delicious string of moans and expletives as you gently massage his balls in your fingers, fondling them delicately, “Oh God, that feels so good, you feel – angh – amazing.”
You throw all your energy into rolling your hips against Rafayel’s pelvis, wanting to use him until you were utterly spent.
“So big Raf,” you wail, struggling to keep up a rhythm as his size splits you in half, “I-I’m soo clo-ose.”
“Fuuck, me too,” Rafayel grunts, his neck craning back, back arching slightly at the way you ride him so filthily, “Don’t stop, I’m almost – ngh – there.”
His lewd words are your last straw, your hips stuttering as your cunt coils tightly around his length, your body orgasming so intensely through your tightly shut eyes. You desperately hope no one is nearby, because the muffled screams coming from the inside of the car were sure to be audible.
“You love me, right?” Rafayel slurs, his eyes wet and on the verge of coming undone, needing your words to be the final push.
“I love you Raf,” you gasp brokenly, still bouncing on his lap, “Soo-oo much!”
Your vice grip on him has Rafayel seeing stars of his own, the blinding pleasure signaling his own release. As he cums, he brings you back to his chest in a heated embrace, babbling into your mussed hair.
“I love you, I love you, I love you,” comes his strangled mantra, the words overflowing from his wet puffy lips, “My Queen.”
You whimper as Rafayel fills you with rope after rope of his hot seed, it already beginning to seep out of your hole and down his still hard length. He gives you everything he has, the soul nearly being sucked out his body through his cockhead.
Rafayel digs his nails into your back as you overstimulate him with your languid thrusts, urging you to stop.
“N-No more,” he whines, holding you in place, “You’re trying to kill me.”
You still your hips with a chuckle, listening to his rapidly pounding heart, “I would never.”
Rafayel strokes your hair, holding you against his body, his cock softening and slipping out of you. You wince at the feeling of how much dampness leaks out of you, sitting up and trying to cup yourself so it doesn’t leak all over Rafayel’s seats.
But Rafayel holds you back down, “No. Stay.”
“Rafayel, it's going to ruin the seats!”
“I don’t care,” he mumbles, his voice still sluggish from the alcohol, nuzzling his face into your chest as he hugs you to keep you from moving.
“You care, you love this car. I love this car,” you whine, trying to pull away and keep the slick from spilling everywhere, but he doesn’t relent.
“Just say you love the car more than me,” he sulks, his bottom lip protruding.
You glare at him, before deciding to tease him and play along, “I love the car more than y–”
Rafayel covers your mouth with his hand, squinting at you, “If you finish that sentence I’ll scream.”
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