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the-boy-meets-evil · 2 months

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on second thought | jww

(where your roommate, wonwoo, has an interesting solution to all your bad dates. nothing can go wrong with two friends crossing a line, can it?)

pairing: wonwoo x f.reader genre: roommates/friends to fwb to?? | smut, tiny bit of angst if you squint rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni word count: 6.5k warnings: there's some plot here but it's mostly smut, multiple sex scenes (some quickly referenced), roommates who enter a fwb agreement, kissing, fingering, oral (f. receiving), protected sex, multiple orgasms, use of actual lube, some scratching, after care, mentions: masturbation, kitchen sex, teasing, overstimulation, edging, i think that's it.

authors note: happy birthday to my bby @wongyuseokie! i'm thankful to have met you through nets. i hope you like some wonwoo to celebrate. thank you to @wonwussy for helping me with a title, you're a savior. this is unedited because i only started it yesterday so sorry in advance. also tagging: @aaniag @gyuminusone

Another disappointing date. Another man who couldn’t even seem to let you finish a sentence. Was so intent on proving how well he could provide for you that he forgot to treat you like a person. So intent on establishing his dominance that he tried to order for you at the overpriced restaurant with too-small portions. So irritated that he paid for your dinner and drinks only for you to leave separately from him and refuse his offer to drive you home. There was no way you were letting that man know where you lived. Is it really asking too much just to have a decent date? You aren’t going to let anyone try to tell you that your standards are too high. You’re really just asking for the bare minimum.

That’s why you’re sitting on the counter in the kitchen of your shared apartment, spilling your guts to your sympathetic roommate. His hair is messy, sticking up at odd angles in some places because he’s been playing video games for hours. Probably streaming at some point. You admire that he’s able to do something he loves to fill up most of his days. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and you try not to find it so endearing. But, you fail at that. He really is impossibly cute sometimes.

“Do you want a bite of this?” you ask instead, holding out the instant ramen you made as soon as you got home.

“No, I ate earlier,” he answers.

“An actual meal or a Wonwoo meal?” you challenge and he rolls his eyes.

“I ate real food. Go back to bitching about your date,” Wonwoo says.

“I don’t know, maybe I was being too harsh,” you say.

“He sounds like a fucking nightmare,” he disagrees.

“Ugh, maybe I just need to redownload one of those apps,” you whine. Wonwoo raises an eyebrow at you. “Don’t look at me like that. I hate fucking on the first date, but I’m so pent up that I need to release it somehow. I’m going insane.”

This makes him laugh, at least. It releases a little bit of the tension, too. You’ve lived with Wonwoo nearly three years and were friends for years before that. Nothing is secret between the two of you. Not anymore. The first time you realized he caught you getting off in your room because you didn’t think he was home was mortifying. Even if he didn’t seem to think it was a big deal. After you got over it, things settled. And in the time since, you’ve both heard the other doing a lot of things. Some of your friends think it’s weird, but you just chalk it up to the comfort of living with someone. After all, you would tell your female friends all about your sex life. Why was that weird to share with Wonwoo?

“Toys not doing it for you?” he throws out. You only fix him with a glare. It’s more proof that you’re entirely too comfortable.

“Our walls are thin, what do you think?” you answer.

Wonwoo snorts a little before seeming to consider something. “Why don’t we just fuck? Get it out of your system.”

The sip of water you’re taking when he suggests that comes bursting out of your mouth. A real life spit take. Thankfully, he’s out of the blast zone. He looks unamused at water coming out of your mouth, but he doesn’t look like he was kidding. It can be so hard to tell with him. You think that you know his face well after all these years. But, you never thought you’d hear that coming out of his mouth, so you’re not sure.

“Please give me some indication if that was a joke or not,” you say.

“It wasn’t a joke,” he says.

“Pretty clear indicator,” you mumble.

“Is it that crazy? You think I’m hot…” Wonwoo starts. If you were still drinking, you’d spit out your water again.

“Uh, what?” you ask.

“You think I’m hot. Hao told me,” he says as if it’s no big deal. You’re mentally running through what the appropriate payback is for this breach of trust. “It’s fine. He told me because I was saying I also think you’re hot.”

“I mean, thanks,” you laugh, still considering how you’re going to torture Minghao. “But, we can’t have sex.”

“Why not?” Wonwoo presses.

“Because we’re roommates?” you ask like it’s obvious.

“So I can hear you fuck yourself with a toy or hear you fake an orgasm with another bad date, but us fucking each other is the line?” Wonwoo asks.

“I don’t fake that many orgasms,” you scoff to buy time.

“Yes, you do,” he argues. “I can hear the difference. And I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t be faking it with me.”

There’s a little bit of cockiness in the statement that shouldn’t be doing anything for you. But, it is. There’s also the very real possibility that Wonwoo does know the difference in the sounds you make. It’s not like you’ve bothered being that quiet since the first conversation where he heard you. What’s the point? The walls are pretty thin and you’re both adults. It’s not like you’re going to kick him out every time you bring a date home. And you’re definitely not going to only get off in the shower because it drives up the water bill.

Beyond any of it, there’s also a little curiosity. Wonwoo is insanely attractive. Someone would have to be blind to miss that. He’s got that whole nerdy thing going on for him on initial inspection with the glasses and gaming. Or there’s the fact that he’s content to just hang out around the house, even with company over, wearing his pimple patches. But then, there’s this whole other side to him. It comes out when you’re both out with friends and he leaves the glasses behind. Swapping out graphic tees or hoodies for form fitting clothing and leather jackets. Casually leaning against a bar and whispering honey into some nameless, faceless stranger’s ear.

And that leads you to the reason you’re actually curious. Sure, he’s heard you having sex with people you’ve been dating or just someone you brought home for the night. But, you’ve heard him too. If any of your orgasms sound faked, the ones he coaxes from the pretty girls in his bed sound anything but. There’s nearly always an incoherent string of praises. That thought alone has you considering his proposition. It has you shifting a little on the counter.

“Let’s pretend for a second that I’m considering this,” you start and he smiles.

“Pretend, sure,” he echoes.

“We’d need ground rules, right? Like we don’t want this to get awkward,” you say.

“It’s not gonna be awkward. But, we can set whatever makes you feel comfortable,” he says nonchalantly.

A very strong, very hard to ignore voice in the back of your head argues against setting rules at all. Actually urges you to just drag him into your bedroom. Or his bedroom? Maybe you do need some ground rules.

So, you talk. You don’t say that it’s only going to happen once because you never know what needs might pop up. The most important thing that you agree to is that nothing can change between the two of you. If either of you feels like it’s going to, then you have to talk about it because preserving the friendship is most important. It doesn’t matter what bed you have sex in as long as the other helps clean anything up. You’re not planning on this being a regular thing, so you don’t need to negotiate any kinks or anything like that. If it does become more of a thing, then you can revisit the kinks. There won’t be any weirdness about dating or talking to other people. This is just a solution between two friends that are both going through dating dry spells.

Once the rules are set out, Wonwoo brings you into his room. Even though you’ve been in here more times than you could ever count, it feels different now. He tells you to make yourself comfortable on his bed. When he turns around to take his shirt off and toss it aside, your eyes map out his back. And, yeah, you’ve seen Wonwoo shirtless before, but never given yourself permission to so openly appreciate his body. His shoulders are impossibly wide and he’s in deceptively good shape for someone that hides under baggier clothes.

“Should I take a picture for you?” he asks. It’s only then that you realize that he’s facing you.

“Funny,” you say with an eye roll.

Wonwoo crosses the space to his bed and settles next to you. The way he reaches out to pull your face into his own is so smooth. His lips are on yours before your brain has a chance to catch up. You gasp a little and pull back.

“What are you doing?” you ask.

“Uh, didn’t we just go over this?” he asks.

“No, I mean, we’re kissing?” you ask.

“What am I supposed to do, sweetheart, just get right down to fucking you without foreplay?” he asks.

You feel a little stupid for asking that because of course you don’t want to skip the foreplay. It’s just that you don’t want to force it, either.

“Just let me take care of you,” Wonwoo says to keep you from overthinking anything.

It’s not something that you expected to be doing. Giving up control to Wonwoo. But, it’s surprisingly easy when he starts kissing you again. Any thoughts that this might be weird fly right out of your head as soon as he deepens the kiss. Instead, your focus is on what a good kisser he is. The way his lips mold effortlessly to yours. The way his tongue licks into your mouth. The way his hands roam your body as if they’re trying to memorize every curve.

You’re breathless by the time Wonwoo pulls back from you to pull your shirt over your head. When you changed after the date from hell, you hadn’t considered putting anything nice on. Hadn’t bothered to keep your bra on. What was the point when you were just going to be going to bed after having something to eat? Now, you’re wondering about that decision. Because your very hot roommate is drinking in the sight of you. It’s making you a little self-conscious, the way his eyes move over your body.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he utters.

It’s a little too intimate for you to respond to. It doesn’t seem to matter, anyway. Wonwoo starts kissing down your neck and working his way to your breasts. He spreads his kisses between them, rolling your nipple between his fingers when his mouth is on your other breast. There’s something so consuming about the way he kisses your body, like he’s worshiping you. Like this is a lot more than roommates helping each other out.

He works his way further down your body, kissing along your stomach, stopping at the waist band to your shorts. Thankfully, he doesn’t give you the chance to overthink here either before he pulls the shorts and underwear down your legs. Tosses them off to the side for good measure. You’re totally naked in front of someone you find you do actually trust. And someone that, yeah, maybe you’ve thought about fucking before. There was no reality where you thought it would happen, though. Even if it does make a lot of sense. Every part of you truly does feel safe with him. He knows you better than most people in your life. Which clearly translates to this part of you.

Since you’re so comfortable, you’re finding it easier to not be embarrassed at the way he’s got you squirming under the barest touch. The way he ghosts his breath across your center makes you let out a whine. It’s unfair, the way that he wants to take his time like this. It’s also unfair that he’s the first person to ever make your mind go this blank during sex. Nothing exists to you outside of this moment and this man.

Wonwoo moves back to where you need him the most, blows gently against your center. The sensation sends a shiver down your body. You barely hear him mumble out a “so pretty” before he flattens his tongue and licks a stripe up your core. There’s just enough time to think this slow pace might actually be the death of you before he goes back in. Using his fingers to spread you apart, he starts tonguing your pussy. A mix of slow and deliberate movements with faster ones. His thumb circles your clit before his mouth moves up there to give it the attention it needs.

With his mouth on your clit, he presses one finger into your pussy. You’ve never really thought much about his hands and now you’re wondering how you missed them. His long finger pumps in and out of you quickly. It seems that he’s reading your body and can tell that you don’t want something too slow. There’s so much pent up in you.

“Fuck, please, Wonwoo. I need another finger,” you whine.

“Anything you want,” he mumbles into your pussy.

He slides another finger inside of you and it makes you clench around him. That only seems to make him move faster. His mouth continues to work along with his fingers and your hands grip whatever they can reach. You’re a babbling mess and you suddenly understand what you overheard from Wonwoo’s room. There’s something so hot about knowing he’s this good with his mouth and his hands. It’s got you coming hard on his face. Harder than you can remember coming before.

“That’s my girl,” he praises as soon as you’re coming down from your high. Your hazy brain doesn’t latch onto it the way it clearly should.

He presses a gentle kiss to your inner thing and then pulls himself up to lie next to you. His fingers trace patterns into your skin while he’s waiting for your breathing to come back to normal.

“Jesus, I guess I know why I always heard so much praise through the wall,” you mutter.

“None as pretty as the sounds you just made,” he says quietly. It’s so gentle, so intimate. There’s a lot of love between you and one of your closest friends, so you don’t dwell too much on it.

You turn your head to face him. His eyes are still dark with desire, fingers still keeping contact with your body. There’s like some kind of bubble around the two of you where nothing else exists. It’s a comfortable feeling, even in the quiet. Something pulls you in closer to him and you can feel his erection brush against your leg.

“Oh,” you say quietly. “You know, I’m still a bit pent up…”

“Are you sure?” he asks.

“What? I’m gonna come on your face but we can’t actually fuck like we meant to?” you joke, a little braver than you feel.

“This was about you, not about me,” he says simply.

“It can be about both of us,” you say, hand running down his stomach. He tenses a bit under your touch and it’s unfair. He’s got perfect abs and you kind of hate it. Kind of hate that it’s so hot to you, too.

You run your hand over the outline of his dick threw his shorts, enjoy the sharp intake of breath at the contact. It feels like a sign for you to keep going. But, he grabs your hand and pins it above your head. Kisses you hard and desperate. All of his restraint from before seems to be gone now.

“Don’t play with me, sweetheart,” he warns.

“Then show me how good you can fuck me. You were so sure earlier,” you press back.

Wonwoo rolls over and pulls his shorts and boxers off. Casts them off to the side with your clothing. He reaches into his nightstand and pulls a condom out. He rolls back over to position himself between your legs.

“One final time, are you sure?” he asks. It’s the first time since you came into his room that you’ve seen him look unsure.

“As long as you’re sure too, yes. I need this Nu, please,” you say, a little breathy with desire.

“I love it when you call me that,” he admits.

With your go ahead, he slides his tip along your entrance. You know you’re still wet from his hard work, but he still reaches into the dresser again. He pulls out some lube and runs it along his cock. Once he’s done that, he puts the cap back on and tosses it aside. He presses his tip against you again and this time slides in, slowly. Gives you a chance to adjust.

You’re completely at Wonwoo’s mercy like this, with his arms on either side of you like he’s caging you in. Instead of wanting to get out, you can only think that you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. Your hands find their way to his arms, gripping him tightly as he bottoms out in you.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he hisses.

“Nu, fuck, please move,” you beg.

“Give me a second, sweetheart, I’m trying to adjust so it doesn’t end too fast,” he says, voice so impossibly deep.

“Please,” you beg again.

“Fuck,” he whispers.

It finally does get him to move though, barely pulling out at all and fucking slowly into you, so deep. He’s filling you up in the most perfect way. Your nails dig into his arms, but you can’t help it. He doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, it spurs him on. Makes him pull nearly all the way out of you before snapping hard into you again. He repositions one of your legs so that he can reach a different angle. With each hard thrust, his dick hits exactly where you need him to be. The rhythm is fast, which is really everything you need for how stressed you’ve been feeling. Each thrust uncoils more of the tension in your body. Each moan seems to spur him on more.

When he leans down to kiss you, it’s messy. A clash of tongues and lips and teeth and need, so much need. Your hands find purchase anywhere on his body they can, even as his own arms seem to be a little shaky. So, you pull him down on top of you, bodies pressed tight as he continues fucking you. You’re still so sensitive from the first orgasm that you’re building up entirely too quickly. Even though you wanted it fast like this, you’re a little sorry to think it might be almost over.

Wonwoo must feel that you’re close by the way you’re clenching around him and begging for him to give you everything. He pushes himself up a little, just creates the tiniest amount of space between your bodies, and you miss it a little. Miss the feeling of skin on skin. But, he’s only doing it so that he can circle your clit. He just wants to take care of all that tension. You give control over to him completely. Let him set the pace. An embarrassingly short time later, you’re coming for the second time. He removes his hand but still fucks you through the high.

When your body stops shaking, you realize that he’s stilled inside you. He’s barely even moving as he looks down at you.

“It’s okay, Nu, I’m not that sensitive yet,” you assure him

“Thank fuck,” he whispers.

His pace is fast and you reach up to run your nails down his back. That seems to get him like nothing else does. When you do it a second time, he hisses out and you know he likes it. Each time your nails find a new part of his skin, his thrusts stutter. You clench your pussy around his cock and that’s all he can handle. He’s coming undone.

You return the favor through his high, lightly keeping the rhythm going and helping him settle his weight on top of you. His breathing is still heavy when he meets your eyes and gives you the gentlest kiss. Slowly, he slides out of you and rolls over. The next second, he’s up to dispose of the condom. He disappears into the bathroom and returns with a wet washcloth a few moments later, sitting on the edge of the bed to help you.

“Well, I guess I learned one thing,” you say when he gets up to take the washcloth back to the bathroom.

“What’s that?” he calls over his shoulder.

“All that confidence was definitely warranted,” you say through a light laugh.

You can just feel him rolling his eyes. “And here I thought you’d have less to say after a good fuck.”

“Nope, chatty as ever. No more tension, though,” you say.

“I’m glad,” he says, but it looks like he actually means it.

You move to get out of the bed and look at the sheets. Probably in need of a change. “Hey, do you wanna throw these in the hamper and just sleep in my bed tonight?”

“Are you sure that doesn’t break any rules?” he asks.

“No, we’ve done it…are you teasing me?” Your question morphs in the middle when you catch sight of his face. He can be such a shit for someone who acts like he’s chill all the time.

“I would never tease you,” he says, faux seriousness lacing his voice.

“That’s a shame, I like being teased,” you toss back.

“I’ll remember that for next time,” he shrugs.

“Next time?” you wonder.

“Just go get in your bed, I’ll be there in a minute,” he says.

It wasn’t like you agreed for sex with Wonwoo to be a one time thing. That felt like putting too many rules in place. Still, you’re not expecting it to happen again quite so quickly. You also genuinely didn’t realize he was home when you pulled out your vibrator. But, he was home and he barged into your room without knocking, pulled you to the edge of your bed, and fucked you hard. Made you wonder why you’d ever even consider using your vibe in the first place.

The next time comes after another failed date. It kind of seemed like that was the recipe. Something goes wrong or you’re pent up and he’s there to let you use him. Although, he’s really using you just as much. You like to let him be a little rough with you. There’s something satisfying in the way he doesn’t treat you like he’s going to break you. It’s unquestionably the best sex you’ve ever had, but that’s your business. You don’t need to share that with the class. You do figure that it might be time to talk about some kinks and boundaries, though. It would be good to be on the same page.

That seems to be how it goes for a while, at least. It’s mostly you needing something, Wonwoo being able to sense that, and helping you out. It doesn’t seem to ever start from him being the one to need something. He doesn’t even seem to be going out and bringing people home so much anymore. Not that you’re keeping track, you just can’t remember the last time he did. Or maybe he’s trying to only bring someone home when you’re not around.

He definitely holds true to his promise to tease you. One night, after a really long week at work with a lot of little things going wrong, he asks if he can take his time with you. In hindsight, you should have known it meant that it was going to mean teasing. But, you agreed anyway, and let him set the pace. Instead of hard and fast, he takes everything slow. He brings you right to the edge over and over again without letting you have your release. It’s insane how well he seems to read your signs. It seems like he can tell you’re close before you can. That night, it feels like it goes on for hours before he finally lets you come. It’s the biggest mess you’ve ever made. A fact that you would be embarrassed about if Wonwoo hadn’t looked so proud. Still, it feels like you’re the one always working something out.

Until it doesn’t.

One night, you come back from a night out with friends and are rummaging through the cabinets looking for a snack. This is the thing you hate about living with Wonwoo. He’s taller than you and doesn’t think twice about using the higher cabinets. You, on the other hand, can’t reach them so easily. You’re on your tiptoes trying to reach something when you feel him press into your back. His hand comes up and grabs the box you were reaching for with ease. You press further back into him when your heels hit the floor again.

“Fuck, you’re driving me crazy,” he mumbles into your hair. His hands find a place on your hips, holding you against him. This feels different from how every other time has started.

“What do you mean?” you ask quietly into the silence of the apartment.

He lets one hand slide down, quickly meeting the bare skin of your thigh. You know your skirt is a little shorter than normal, but the night seemed to call for it. “This. Did you go out hoping to bring someone home?”

“Maybe,” you say, shivering a little at the way his breath tickles your ear.

“Are you trying to tease me?” he asks. It comes across almost like a demand.

You wiggle your ass against him a little before you answer. “I would never.”

“Of course not,” he says.

Everything that happens after that feels different. It’s never started like this. It’s been passionate, but it’s never been driven by so much raw desire. It’s never been the kind of sex where Wonwoo pushes your skirt up around your hips and pulls your underwear down to your ankles. Never been the kind of sex where he buries his face in your pussy while you grip the counter for support. Never been so desperate and needy and rushed.

He makes you come twice on his tongue with your knees going so weak that you can barely stand before he even moves onto actually fucking you. You’re so weak by the time you finish that he has to help you to the bathroom to clean up before he tucks you into your bed. You’re so tired that you don’t even realize how intimate it is when you ask him to get into bed with you.

The disappointment that sets in when you wake up to get some water in the early hours of the morning hits you hard. Entirely too hard for something that’s supposed to be free of feelings. Your bed feels a little empty without him taking up space. Which is really stupid because it’s not like that’s been something you’ve been doing all of the time. It’s not something you’re used to. But, there’s an unexpected comfort in him. Something that catches you completely off guard. As you drift back off to sleep, you resolve to deal with your feelings in the morning.

That’s how you find yourself sitting on Minghao’s couch as he makes you both a cup of tea. He hasn’t asked about your roommate yet, but you know that it’s coming. He just wants to have everything he thinks you’ll need first. A few minutes later, he sets two cups of tea down next to the plate of snacks he threw together. If you weren’t in such a crisis, you’d have time to be envious over how pretty the presentation looked.

“So things with Wonwoo have gotten awkward?” he asks without preamble.

“Jesus, Hao, let me take a sip first, at least,” you groan.

“I don’t want to say that I told you this was a bad idea…” he starts.

“You were the one who spilled the beans that I thought he was hot. This is your fault too,” you point out.

“I told him that he wasn’t alone in thinking his roommate was hot. I didn’t tell you both to start fucking without realizing it was bound to blow up,” he says.

“I know,” you sigh.

“So, what’s going on?” he asks.

Minghao is a lot of things. He can be a bit of an art snob. He’s that kind of impeccably dressed where he looks like he just stepped off a runway. He can appear a bit detached. But, he’s also one of the most thoughtful people you know. He’s complex and he cares for his friends more than he cares for himself most times. Both you and Wonwoo are among those he counts as his closest friends. So, he just listens as you lay out everything that’s happened since the first time you had sex. He doesn’t judge or interrupt. Patiently, he just waits as you get it all off your chest, including how you felt after last night.

None of that really comes as a surprise. You know that he’s going to give you shit and be there for you at the same time. What does come as a surprise is what he says when you’re done laying out your issues.

“I haven’t wanted to set you up because I wasn’t sure you were in the right place for it, but I actually have a friend that I think you might hit it off with,” he says. “He’d definitely get you out of this whole Wonwoo funk you’re in so things can go back to normal.”

“You wanna set me up?” you ask, surprised.

“Yeah, I think it’d be good for you,” he says.

“Okay, tell me about him,” you agree.

“He’s really kind. Kind of talks in a permanent pout, but it’s endearing somehow. He’s a giant softie at heart and he’s so incredibly loyal. He’s been talking about how he’s looking for something a little more serious. I think you’d like him,” Minghao says.

“What’s his name, Hao?” you ask skeptically.

“Mingyu,” he answers and your eyes go wide.

“Mingyu? As in that hot model you’re friends with?” you ask.

“Yeah,” Minghao says evenly.

“Okay, you can see if he’s interested,” you agree.

It’s been a couple days since Minghao threw out the suggestion of setting you up with Mingyu. The two of you have exchanged a few messages and he does actually seem really nice. He’s also funnier than you expected him to be. When he asks if you want to get dinner the upcoming weekend, you find you’re a little bit excited.

There’s only one issue. You feel like you need to tell Wonwoo. You know that he’s not going to care, but it still feels weird when you’ve been fucking around. Maybe Minghao was right and the whole thing was a terrible idea after all. It’s hard for you to tell him when you seem to keep missing each other, though. Lately, he’s been playing video games over at Vernon’s place more than normal. Even if they’re streaming, something feels weird.

“Hey,” he calls out from the front door, snapping you from your thoughts.

“Oh hey,” you answer, looking up at him. He doesn’t meet your eyes as he moves to head back to his room. “Everything okay?”

He stops to look at you when you ask that question and his eyes still look a bit distant. “Yeah, fine. Why?”

“I don’t know, you’re being short with me,” you say.

He just shrugs. “I don’t have anything to say.”

“Okay,” you say, drawing out the first syllable. “Well, I just wanted to tell you that Minghao set me up with his friend Mingyu and I was thinking I’d go out with him.”

“You don’t have to tell me about your dates,” he says evenly.

“I just thought…” you start.

“We agreed,” he interjects. “Enjoy your date whenever you go.”

“Thanks,” you say quietly to his retreating figure.

The whole point of agreeing to go out with Mingyu was to get things back to normal with Wonwoo. It was clear that you had gotten in over your head. Now, you’re wondering if things are going to be able to go back to normal at all. This isn’t your normal dynamic. You always shared stories about dates, hook-ups, anything and everything under the sun. Your other friends always said it was weird for the two of you and you just ignored them. Now, you feel like you’re in it alone. Maybe they’re right and it is weird.

Since it’s a little on the later side anyway, you decide to grab something from the kitchen and just head into your room. You can go to bed early and forget that whole conversation even happened. That’s probably for the best. It’ll be easier to get back to normal once you’re going on dates again. Once you stop fucking your roommate like you could have ever done that without forming some kind of feelings.

It’s the middle of the night when you feel someone slide into bed around you. A familiar scent slips into your consciousness as an arm slides around your center. You nestle back into the chest and know for sure that it’s your roommate. The same man you’re trying hard to get over.

“What are you doing, Wonwoo?” you mumble in sleepiness.

“Don’t go on the date with Mingyu,” he says. He sounds completely awake.

“What?” you ask. Your brain is still foggy from sleep.

“Don’t go out with anyone else,” he says.

That makes you open your eyes as the words bounce around in your brain. You turn over to your other side so that you’re facing him. His hair is messy and all he’s wearing is a plain white t-shirt, but your heart still constricts a bit at the sight of him.

“What do you want, Wonwoo?” you ask, voice thick with mental exhaustion.

“Exactly what I told you. I want you to turn Mingyu down,” he says.

“Why should I?” you challenge.

“Because, well, we’ve got this…” he starts and fumbles over his words.

“We haven’t got anything. You’ve been avoiding me for days,” you point out. “Hell, I asked you to stay in bed with me after you fucked me in the kitchen and you couldn’t even make it til morning.”

“I know, but I was scared that night because I realized I was starting to feel something,” he says. “And then Hao texted me to tell me he’d finally given your number to Mingyu…”

“Finally? What do you mean?” you asked.

“He’s been asking for your number for months,” Wonwoo says through somewhat gritted teeth. “So Minghao told me you’d agreed to be set up and I don’t know, I guess I just decided…”

“To avoid me?” you supply.

“I didn’t know what to do. And I didn’t know how to process you not telling me,” he admits.

“You weren’t around for me to tell you,” you point out. “We’ve been fucking. I wasn’t just gonna be like oh by the way, I’m going on a date.”

“Please don’t go on a date with him,” Wonwoo asks again.

“I will consider not going if you can actually talk to me,” you say.

“About what?” he asks.

“Everything you’re feeling and why this whole let’s just be roommates that fuck was stupid,” you say.

“Whatever you want, sweetheart,” he says immediately.

You sigh, realizing that you’re not going to be able to go back to sleep, and send Wonwoo to the kitchen to get you something to drink. By the time he’s back, you’re sitting up in bed and ready to have an actual conversation.

You stay up entirely too late talking about everything between the two of you. It’s a little hard to believe Wonwoo is so open with admitting how he feels. It’s harder to believe that Wonwoo knew he felt something for you before the very first time you had sex. In his mind, it was clear that he wasn’t just offering because the two of you were friends. He offered it as a way to gauge your own feelings. But, after that first time, he kind of figured it was just sex and tried to detach himself from it. That was when you started to feel something for him.

When he’s done admitting his own mistakes and feelings, you figure that it’s time for you to own up to your own. It was really silly to just make up his side of the conversation about why he didn’t stay in bed with you that night. After all, the one thing you both stressed before sleeping together the first time was that you had to be honest in your communication. That’s what friends did and you were friends before anything else. As it turns out, you’re both way more on the same page than either of you realized.

“You’re wrong about one thing, though,” you admit.

“What’s that?” he asks.

“It was never just sex for me. I was totally done the first time you kissed me,” you share, picking at a thread on your comforter to avoid looking at him.

“I kissed you before we even had sex,” he points out, incredulous.

“Yeah, turns out I’m not so good at the just friends who fuck thing,” you say with a shrug.

“If I’d have known that was all it took, I’d have kissed you months ago,” Wonwoo grumbles.

That brings you up short. “Nu, just how long have you liked me?”

“I don’t know, a while,” he says.

You just shake your head at him before pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. “Just talk to me next time.”

“Can we go back to having sex now? I miss the feel of you,” he whines out. “And the taste.”

“We literally fucked less than a week ago,” you point out to try and avoid the way it makes heat pool.

“I could taste you every day and never get sick of it,” he says without any embarrassment.

“Are we really giving this a try?” you ask.

“Unless you don’t want to,” Wonwoo says.

“I do, I’m just scared. What if we try a relationship and it doesn’t work?” you ask. “You’re one of my best friends. I don’t wanna lose that.”

Wonwoo reaches out to tilt your head up. “We’ll just promise to be honest with each other. We can figure this out together.”

“Okay,” you agree.

“So, we’re doing this?” he confirms.

“Yeah, we’re doing this.”

Just like that, you agree to take a leap with the only person that you’ve always trusted to catch you every time you fall. It feels scary, but also completely natural.

i hope you enjoyed it! 💕

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dotster001 · 2 months

Text

Eric Venue

Summary: Vil x gn!reader (technically). Vil has always found your mannerisms to be endearing. They are less endearing when they are evoked by his father.

A/N: NEW DILF DROPPED AND I HAVE ZWRO SHAME AWOOGA!!! Special thanks to @animepaniclover122403 and @l1ls4y0 for being my eyes on the inside and getting me pictures. Warning, I'm on the EN server so I know absolutely nothing about Eric Venue so this may be very out of character.

Note: It's in my pinned post, and I've mentioned this in a couple posts, but if this is the first of my stuff you've read, I view NRC as an actual college, so reader here is 18+. If it makes you more comfy, imagine it as grad school age.

Vil remembers the first time you met him. You wouldn't look directly at him, opting to stare at the floor as you mumbled incoherent sentences. Not a clear thought left your mouth.

Were you scared? Intimidated? Or, worse, did you not like the way he looked? That last possibility kept him up longer than he'd be proud to admit.

When he moved in with you during SDC training camp, he watched you walk into a wall three separate times. It was that third time that he realized what the situation was. You were flustered. How absolutely adorable.

Over the course of the weeks, you were eventually able to say more than three words to him. You continued to have issues looking directly at him, but he didn't mind that. It was cute. And a little bit of an ego boost.

Now the two of you were thick as thieves. And, in a teasing mood, he decided to ask you about your initial reaction to him.

As expected, you couldn't look directly at him, staring at the floor as you fidgeted with clasped hands.

Then he heard, barely above a whisper, “I've never seen anyone who is as beautiful as you.”

His heart fluttered. He knew you well enough now to know that you were from another world…

Which meant…

He was more beautiful than anyone you'd ever seen in two worlds.

“Sometimes…sometimes I can't look directly at you because when I look at you I…I can't think, and my mouth goes dry.”

Adrenaline rushed through him, and he couldn't fight off the vicious grin as he cruelly took your chin in his hand, and forced you to look at him.

“You are so adorable.” Then, to absolutely destroy what little calm you had left he pressed a kiss to your nose. You immediately crumbled, your only life line the hand still holding your chin, as he hid his laugh behind a delicate hand to his mouth.

And now? Now he'd invited you home with him for summer break. He'd planned every day's outfit down to the hour, hoping to absolutely destroy you with his casual attire. Not that it was ever truly casual, but that was by design.

And, by the end of the summer, you'd ask him out, and he'd graciously accept. And then you'd live happily ever after.

He forgot to account for one thing…

“It's a pleasure to meet you. I've heard quite a bit about you,” his father said with an amused smile, as he pressed a light kiss to each of your cheeks.

Vil knew immediately. Your eyes flicked to his father's, then your entire being crumbled.

“H-h-h-hi, Mr. Venue-”

"Oh please. No need to be so formal. Call me Eric.”

“E-E-E-”

“Father! I thought you had a meeting today,” Vil cut you off quickly, an unconcealed tinge of irritation to his voice. Not that you'd notice. You were too far gone, your face unsubtly turned down to your feet.

“I did, but I'd be a poor host if I didn't come meet your- what are they again?” His father smirked, a challenge in his eyes.

“I'm-I’m his-”

“Y/N’s my guest. My guest. No need to be a host, I have it all taken care of.”

Vil and his father smiled at each other for a moment. A moment too long apparently, because you ended up trying to speak again.

“Thank you for letting me stay in your home,” you whispered, barely audible.

“It's not a problem!” He reached out for your hands, taking them in his own, his thumbs gently caressing your knuckles. “It's wonderful that my son has people that are important to him. Would you, perhaps, like to stay forever?”

In a move very much like one of Vil's, Eric gently tipped your chin up to meet his gaze. Vil watched your face fall under the spell he himself often placed you under. It took everything inside him not to act like a child in a rage. Instead, he placed his hands on your shoulders, and quickly steered you away.

“Y/N is very tired so I will show them to their room,” Vil said. “As I said, I will be their host, no need for you to take time off.”

His father laughed as he quickly shoved you into a nearby guest room. Not even the one he had intended to put you in. But he had to get you away from his dad.

“He smelled nice,” you whispered.

Of course he did. His father smelled of mahogany and expensive cologne. When he was little, that smell meant home. Now that smell meant-

“He was so pretty,” you said with a rather nasty voice crack.

Vil grunted. Grunted! Sevens, the effect you had on him.

Just as his father had done, he took your chin in his hand, and said, firmly, “You're min-my guest. Not his. So try to keep your attention on me.”

You looked at him with big innocent eyes. Vil fought back a distressed, lovesick sigh.

“Understood…but…what if,” you bit your lip, and Vil knew whatever was about to come out of your mouth would give him gray hair. Though, clearly that would be something you would like.

“What if, you shared me?”

He stared at you, opening and closing his mouth a couple times.

“I could be both of your guests!”

“What! Do you know what you're saying?” You had to! At least a piece of you had to, or you wouldn't be continuing the conversation.

“I don't feel safe answering that question,” you said, your eyes narrowing in suspicion at his attitude.

“I'll be blunt, Y/N,” he said firmly. “You cannot date my father.”

“I never said-”

“You didn't have to. It's written all over your face.”

You opened your mouth to protest, closed it, huffed, looked away, then you turned back to him.

“Why not?”

Vil’s jaw dropped. He sputtered, then exclaimed, “Are you seriously asking why you can't date my dad?”

“He's a dilf,” you shrugged.

“You also can't look directly at him!”

“I can change-”

“Doubtful.”

“Wow, okay. I see what this is. You are intimidated by the thought of me as your step parent.”

“You can't be my step parent!”

“I knew it! You're scared of me wearing the pants between the two of us!”

“No! You can't date my dad, because you are supposed to fall for me!”

You blinked at him. He pinched the bridge of his nose between two perfectly manicured nails. There went his summer plan.

“Oh.”

“Oh?” He sighed heavily. “Oh, as in, you feel the same? Or oh as in, awkward, leave me alone?”

You looked away, and Vil was certain if he felt your cheeks, they would feel feverish.

“I-er-ugh.”

“Take your time,” he hummed his amusement coming back to him.

You glared at him, before crumbling again, and mumbling some gibberish.

“You can't even talk to me, but you think you can handle my father?”

You glared at him, then took a calming breath.

“I like you too.”

“Thank sevens,” he pulled you in for a hug, holding back a snicker as he felt you tremble a little.

“You smell good, too,” you muttered, before hiding your face in his shoulder. He could feel his pride swelling.

But only you could bring it down just as quickly as you brought it up.

“Why can't you share me?” your tone sounded innocent enough, but he groaned as he pushed you out at arms length.

“I absolutely forbid you from flirting with my father.”

“I have two hands, so I could hold both of your hands at the same time!”

“Y/N, do not make me use my unique magic on you,” he warned. He watched you glare at him, but you quickly lost your composure as he reopened his arms to you, and you buried yourself against him.

He had a whole summer to keep you away from his father.

Wonderful.

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #vil schoenheit #vil schoenheit x reader #eric venue

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house-of-daena · 9 months

Text

my precious experiment [afab.dottore x amab.reader]

contents: no pronouns specified, dom reader/sub dottore, nsfw, fem terms w/ genitalia, dubcon, monsterfucking, biting, blood, masochistic dottore, dacryphilia, monster anatomy, 2 c0cks, breeding kink, monster rut, belly bulge, size kink, viginity taking, oral (giving), typical dottore warnings, dottore tries to pretend he's in control, tell me if i miss anything.

꒰ hm, just some thoughts. sorry if it's kinda bad it's been a while since i've written smut, but i promise the next post will be relatively better. rqs r open btw꒱

usually, miscalculations don't happen in dottore's experiments. sure, his research hits the occasional dead end and failure is inevitable. after all, it is part of the journey to achieve his goals; without failure, how can he improve and ascend into a new realm of knowledge?

but this was unprecedented.

you were a successful result of a recent experiment the doctor had conducted. the tsaritsa wanted more power into the fatui, especially when the traveler was running rampant about. however, you were still a prototype, and due to this, you've become dottore's obedient little errand/guard dog that is at his beck and call instead.

you could talk but chose silence and actions to communicate. dottore discovered you were very easy to please; just mere praise and gentle pats on your head, and you're roaring to take on any task the doctor shall give.

but since you were so obedient, dottore never would have expected you to act out of line. he should've been more prepared for a multitude of scenarios that could put him in danger. you were a beast, at the end of the day.

a beast in heat.

looming over him, your hand pinning his wrists above his head, your body pressed against his. even though your brain was drowning in a haze of lust, you were mindful of his reactions and the profanities spilling out of his lips.

"what do you think you're doing?" he hisses through his sharp teeth, glaring at you through his mask. you only let out a deep rumble in your chest as a reply, your free hand trailing down his torso, your sharp claws tearing cuts into his clothes. "don't tell me you think i'd take care of your heat." he felt a sense of dread, an emotion unfamiliar, throughout his entire body when you let out a purr, confirming his assumption.

dottore can't fathom the idea. him, the 2nd of the 11 fatui harbingers, catering to your needs? ridiculous! it should be you who'd be pleasing him! he squirmed against your grip, kicking and thrashing against your hold. you loosened your grasp, sensing his distress, but no matter what dottore did, you were too big, too strong, for him to manage an escape.

this is the first time dottore has cursed himself for creating such a successful experiment.

as if you could read into his mind, you pull back from his neck, blinking your clouded eyes at him. you stared deeply into his soul that dottore could feel the hairs at the back of his neck stand. then, you spoke, gently and softly, in contrast to your beastly form, "do you have any precautions on an event like this?" you ask, your claws slowly digging into the tender flesh of his thigh, making him bite his bottom lip to suppress any embarrassing noise that threatens to leave his throat.

it was rare for you to speak. he'd only hear you let out small grunts when he injects you with a big needle or training with other fatui members. hearing you speak out a whole sentence sent an inexplicable shiver down his spine, and he felt his breath hitch.

when he didn't answer, too distracted by the tingling sensations on his body at the mere sound of your voice, you settled yourself between his legs and pressed yourself against his crotch. dottore's eyes widened, and he almost let out a gasp.

you were so warm against him, even when your clothes separated your skin from his. he could feel it straining and twitching against your pants and slowly rubbing yourself against him. fuck, it was dangerously big. he doesn't remember giving you something like that! somehow, the doctor struggled to think of anything else other than the heat pooling in the pit of his stomach, gulping as he tried to regain his composure.

"have you made any suppressants for me?" you inquire once more, pressing a wet kiss against his cheek as you slowly lifted him up with just a hand, letting his wrists go to wrap his legs around your waist, to which he absentmindedly complied. "or did you plan to neglect me until my heat subsides?" your lips moved languidly against his marred skin, careful at his sensitive spots and started nipping at his neck, your sharp teeth forming aching bruises.

dottore grit his teeth as his hands shakily rested on your shoulders, weakly gripping them as he tried not to get too lost in the foreign feeling burning inside of him. he has never experienced such a thing. it was quite overwhelming, especially when you just grabbed him in the middle of his work and pinned him against the wall so suddenly. "you... were very well-behaved, i— ngh! i hadn't taken into account that your animalistic parts would go as f-far as giving you a heat cycle..."

he sounded like he was a bit quizzical at your predicament, probably planning to run down some tests on you later to further understand your form. it made your heart flutter when he spoke so analytically, especially towards you. you adored the doctor so much, and he sounded heavenly when he was holding back moans and catching his breath in between his words.

"then, since you are my creator, you should take responsibility for whatever happens to my body..." dottore finally couldn't hold back and let out a small shriek when you sank your teeth onto a sensitive area on his neck, hard enough to draw blood. you relished the iron taste against your tongue, so you bit him again and again, leaving red bruising marks all over his neck and down to his collarbone. all he could do was helplessly whine at your ministrations and claw at your broad shoulders, trembling against your body as he slowly descended into madness.

the tips of his ears reddened when you let out a chuckle, holding him so close in your arms. you had barely done anything, and he was already shaking. my doctor is beyond adorable, you thought to yourself.

you were just so taken by him, could he even blame you?

so utterly debauched by his everything. his body littered with beautiful scars and marks that reminded you of blank canvases gaining life and meaning with gorgeous colors and patterns, his red eyes that could easily pierce through your beastly facade, and his scent, alluring, addicting.

you could smell him everywhere you went inside the laboratory. it doesn't help that he has multiple segments that smell just like him. it drove you crazy, it was dizzying just to breathe whilst you stood on guard with the gnawing desire that was slowly consuming you. it only greatly intensified with your heart.

you didn't understand why your instincts wanted him. it was as if it was just in your system to want him, need him. your blood boils just by having him trapped in your arms, and your body reacts too aggressively when his skin touches yours. you just want him to keep him close to you, to bury your cocks inside his holes and fill him up to the point that you know he'll have your pups.

it was maddening.

but you're a patient little pet. you have enough self-control to hold yourself back so as to not upset your owner, creator. you respect your owner first and foremost. you purr and nuzzle against his neck, peppering wet, apologetic kisses on his skin, hoping it was enough to allow you to indulge your animalistic urges and ravish him until he could only think, feel and need your cocks.

"what's your verdict, doctor?" your voice seemed to snap him out of his trance, head tilting upwards to look at you. "will you help me?"

dottore, for the first time in years, felt his heart racing. he didn't even think it was even possible anymore. it felt so odd to have you towering over him; he wanted to yell at you, to punish you for your misbehavior and perhaps deem you as a failure of an experiment. but the longer this went on, the more his body began to react so unusually...

he could feel himself throb between his legs, and he struggled to breathe. any coherent thought he had was thrown out the window, and his mind was vacant. he knew his pussy was fucking soaked, clenching onto nothing as you rubbed your crotch against his. he didn't understand why he seemed to like being overpowered so easily.

the only distant memory he could recall when he felt the same way was when he was back at the akademiya, but that was only because of his hormones, and he has never really dealt with such time-consuming activities.

but now, he can't find himself to deny you. how could he? you were practically holding him down until he couldn't move. who knows what you'd do to him if he were to refuse?

with a last attempt to not appear as pathetic as he was at the moment, he let out a shaky scoff and straightened his back. "fine," he relents with a firm tone, dazedly glaring at you, "but only to... further investigate the state your... body is in..." it was a flimsy excuse to save his ego, but it was enough for you.

you gave him a peck on the lips, and your tail began to wag enthusiastically behind you. "thanks, doc. i'll be gentle with your first time."

oh, how you adore the look he gave you. it was simply too obvious based on his reactions. oh well, his ego will be ruined into nothing later on.

archons, why did he agree?

dottore felt like he was dying. this was a pleasure he never thought of experiencing in his whole life. your monstrously long and wide tongue slipping so easily inside his pussy and stretching his insides with little concern got him doubling back. he has your head locked between his thighs, but you didn't seem to care as you relentlessly lapped at the sweet ichor that dripped between his legs and wriggled your tongue as deep as you could inside his walls.

oh gods, it felt so good. he was practically riding your mouth as his hips stuttered against the movements of your tongue. he felt like he was going to explode in pleasure, his sensitive parts that have never been explored by another quivering at each touch. the pad of your thumb rubbed incessantly against his clit, and he can't help but throw his head back, letting out such obscene sounds you never thought you'd hear coming from his lips.

your claws, which you have dulled for his convenience, buried deep into his other hole, covered in his own spit. you thrust your claws in rhythm with your tongue's movement, and he was losing his mind. it felt too good— it was like he ascended into the heavens. his body burned hotter and hotter, and his walls convulsed at the slick feeling of your tongue.

his hands grabbed hold of your horns, tugging on it so harshly as if he was about to tear it from your forehead. you could only groan at the aching feeling, speeding up your movements and making him choke on his own moans.

"f-fuck! slow down i— ahn! i-i cAN'T! OH! hgnnn..." he slurs out, his body so overwhelmed at the mind-numbing pleasure, but his words contradicted his actions. his hips moved erratically to meet your thrusts from both your claws and your tongue, clenching on them as if he never wanted to let you go.

and when you finally deemed he was ready, holes stretched out enough to take your cocks, you gripped his hips to stop him from moving. slowly, you let your tongue slide out of his cunt and your fingers leave his ring of muscles. he whined at the sudden emptiness, glaring at you with his watery, ruby eyes and scowling. "i was so close! why the hell did you-"

you easily, but gently, moved him down to your lap, allowing him to straddle you as you sit up. your tail immediately coiled around his waist possessively as you purred at him. dottore gulped when he understood what you wanted, and watched as you removed your belt and unbuttoned your pants.

okay, dottore definitely does not remember giving you two cocks. did it just develop while you were in the incubation pod? having one massive cock is already too much for dottore to handle, but two?

your tail moved his body, hovering his holes over your cocks. he jolts from how warm your cock heads were when it pressed against his holes. he grabbed your shoulder and his eyes were blown wide with panic. "w-wait- that won't fit!"

you only cooed, your hands roaming his body so tenderly as if to ease his tensed muscles. you didn't speak, but your eyes told him everything, 'we'll make it fit.'

before he could argue with you, you've already aligned yourself and slowly pushed his hips down onto your thick cocks. your girth was too much, his insides burned at the stretch as your cocks dragged against his walls as he kept sucking you in. you were barely halfway in, and he already felt like he was going to pass out.

you were nothing short but sweet to him, wiping his tears (when did he start crying?) and cooing softly into his ear. you were taking it considerably slow just for him, despite your animalistic urges telling you to just slam him down and fuck him.

dottore took in a deep breath as he wrapped his arms around your neck. leaning back and gritting his teeth, he tried to keep his body lax as you eased him down on your lengths until you were fully sheathed inside him. he raked his hands through your hair, and you immediately leaned against his touch, following the warmth of his hand.

"good beast," he utters in your ears, and he hears you trilling happily at his praise. you grabbed his face with your hand and pulled him into a kiss, tilting his head to devour his mouth. he moaned at the taste of himself that lingered on your tongue, closing his eyes.

though his praise did the opposite of what he wanted when you slowly lifted him up from your cocks until it was only the tips were inside of him, too distracted by the dizzying kiss, before slamming him down onto your lap.

dottore pulled away to let out a scream, eyes rolling back as you bounced his body up and down at your cocks. it felt like you've punched all the air out his lungs, trying to split his body in half, every time his holes takes your dicks whole again.

fuck, he felt so good. his insides felt so warm and tingly, practically carving his walls into the shape of your cocks. each thrust, he lets out these cute "ah! ah! ah!", babbling about how you're too big and that he can't take it and that he's about to break. but you were too far gone, letting the beast inside of you take control as you fuck into dottore relentlessly, again and again, burying your dicks impossibly deep inside of him.

when he looked down, he sees a small bump that disappears and reappears whenever he bounces. he looks at it in awe, drooling all over your chest and marveling at how big you are. his holes clenched impossibly tighter around your cocks, and you growled at the feeling. his gummy walls felt like absolute heaven, and you picked up your pace.

dottore was doing everything he can to not pass out. his throat was beginning to hurt from how much he was screaming and moaning and chanting your name over and over. he was seeing stars and his nails rake down the bare skin of your back, leaving marks and making them bleed.

"f-fuckk! too b-big!" he moans, trying to catch his breath, "s' good! d-don't stop!"

and you took that order to heart. even when dottore has begged you to stop, that his mind was so numb he could barely form coherent sentences, that his holes were so raw and spent from how long you've been fucking him, that he has come so many times he can't even cum anymore, yet you still continue to fuck him.

"n-no more! fuck! i-i can't- i've already cum so much- please!" he begs, vision blurry from his tears. "ahn! h-hannh! fuck im cumming again! imcummingimcumming-"

he was barely awake at this point, laying flat on his stomach as he weakly grips on the sheets for his dear life. you were not satisfied just yet, even if you've filled him up to the brim. he could feel his stomach swell with your warmth, but you only kept going, groaning into his ear and purring happily from the pleasure.

you were going to get it after you're done. he was going to make you feel the pain that even a monster like you can't bear it. he swears on it pathetically, hiccuping between airy moans. he couldn't feel his lower half anymore, but he still tries to move against your thrusts.

it was so addicting. the pleasure, the high... he will do something about your behavior later... but for now, he'll allow you to continue filling him up with your cum. he was conducting a test on the limitations of your body, after all.

#» asmo's writings #» dottore #dottore x reader #dottore x male reader #sub dottore #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin x male reader #sub genshin #sub genshin impact #genshin smut

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seelestia · 7 days

Text

⟡ within your waking thoughts (there i’ll be).

⎯ what do they do when they miss you? how do they cope with yearning when you're away? { y for yearning ノ ordered by @floraldresvi! (sorry for the ping!) }

RESERVED FOR! ノ characters. aventurine, sunday, dr. ratio ft. gn!reader. { 1.3k words }

FLAVOR! ノ genre. fluff, slight angst (my apology to sunday lovers yet again), established relationship.

TOPPINGS! ノ tags. aventurine has his tech savvy moment, pre-2.2 sunday (heavy references but no spoilers), ratio has two phones (king of separating work & personal life !!!).

BAKER’S NOTE! ノ thoughts. a repost! bcs tumblr didn't like it the first time. hopefully, this one will be here to stay. thank u to vivi for requesting this ‹3

in your absence, aventurine welcomes little thoughts of you that float around his mind with open arms - and the way he indulges them is by simply texting you. effective and efficient, there is a reason why the cosmos calls it the second most used means for long distance communication. what about the first? well, he would've opted for calling you with his earpiece if only his line of work doesn't require 90% of its usage time.

let's just say the idea of fellow stonehearts interrupting his conversation with you ruins the fun. besides, he has deft fingers; coin tricks aren't the only thing in his book, you know, typing a few sentences in one go is no problem at all.

but maybe, he is using that too much to his advantage . . . considering the “25+” staring back at you from your notifications every few hours or so. aventurine is truly, irrevocably relentless.

anything even remotely in your favorite color found within his vicinity? new message: Saw something that reminded me of you, you must really like crossing my mind.

an item he thinks would fit you well? new message: I got you a gift. Does it suit your fancy? [1 attachment]

reminded of how cruel fate is to separate you two for so long? new message: Haven't seen your face in a while. Fifteen hours are a total too cruel, don't you agree?

have faith that you will never grasp the true meaning of boredom when you’re apart from him. luck follows a man like aventurine, so do interesting events - remember how he won a vacation to a resort with one chip? he revels in telling you stories of his encounters while you're away. it is as if thrill revolves around him constantly. . . one wonders just how he fares living on the edge of it all.

(you, for one, are aware of his ways. he has allowed you to wander far enough behind his masquerade, after all.)

of course, texts on an illuminated screen can barely compare to seeing you in person. he prefers having you in his arms instead - but he'll live. solitude is an old friend of his, albeit distant and cold, aventurine can deal with its company every once in a while. at the end of the day, he knows you’ll be there when he comes home.

though, it's such a shame he cannot see your face when you're apart. the curve of your lips as you smile, the twinkle in your eyes with his reflection in them, and. . . ah, seems like he is making this harder for himself. maybe, he should consider buying that HD holographic communicative device on the market? his ears caught wind of some P45 officers at pier point whispering about it before.

it'll cost a large sum of credits but hey, he thinks it'll be worth it. for you? anything is possible.

(...him? clingy? well, guilty as charged.)

sunday’s self-discipline is not something to be underestimated. halovians are a species known for their enchanting voices, yet he feels as if he cannot spare any for even his inner thoughts. what an irony. his longing for your presence is persistent, tumbling at the edge of his tongue - but he is equally as, if not more, stubborn and so he swallows this yearning down instantly.

you are not confined to the dreamscape like he is, as self-imposed as that may be. sunday is aware of that, hence his first instinct is to keep quiet. the curse of sealing his lips till forevermore; watching you leave through the grand doors, letting his gaze fall to where your shadow used to be, savoring the last of your remaining fragrance from when you last bade him goodbye - all without a word.

(don't go, he wished he could say.)

is it a bad habit? “your voice shouldn't be used just to utter words that others want to hear,” you reminded him once. “it's also for you. it's yours.”

but even then, your words are akin to a faint whisper; muffled by the thoughts that plague his mind like a mist. he can't help how they fog up his reflection in the mirror, leaving remnants of something acrid that wafts in the air. something like doubts, sunday would know because he has dwelled in it for as long as he remembers.

you are outside, fluttering your wings in the sky and enjoying what it has to offer. does he have any rights to disturb you? perhaps, in his eyes, sunday views himself as a string tied around your talon, trailing all the way from the heavens where you soar to the humble ground where he resides. each time your absence compels him to reach out, it is as if he’s tugging on that string and dragging you lower from the height you truly relish in, from the height you deserve to be at.

(sunday believes that you belong to the sky, unlike him.)

so here, he shall stay and here, he shall wait until you return. sunday’s heart begins to grow cold - but the farewell kiss you've left on the apple of his cheek hasn't faded. its warmth remains, even when he brushes his freezing hand against it, it remains.

you remain.

(and that is enough for him.)

dr. ratio is a man with a packed schedule, so it's safe to say he keeps himself occupied particularly well. tasks at the intelligentsia guild are nothing short of demanding, after all. there are researchers asking for his input left and right, although some tremble while speaking to him even when he hasn't even uttered a word yet. ignoring that, he also aids in projects that require his expertise. last but not least, his students and classes which he takes very seriously.

(but be careful with how you phrase it — the doctor doesn't view them as distractions, no, he sees them as his responsibilities — saying the former might offend him.)

as you can see, he is perfectly capable of spending time away from you. . . .or at least, until it's time for a break and a part of that perfection chips off.

his office is quite tranquil, free from outside noise, just the way he likes. this place bears a similar purpose as his headgear, to let him focus in silence without disturbance - but he hasn't expected that exact silence to be this deafening. hah, how absurd! in what realm of possibility could silence ever be associated with deafening as an adjective? he supposes it could be a case of tinnitus. . . but veritas knows that isn't the case.

something's missing and it is, much to his dismay, you.

veritas has his standards. he prefers things to be set at a specific level - and this level of silence, one marred further by your lack of presence, is too low for him. he's getting too used to seeing you barge into his office with neatly packed sandwiches in your hands, a revelation he'd rather keep to himself.

veritas reaches for his personal phone, his work one left neglected at the far end of the desk. he considers making a call to you but the clock is ticking. tick tock tick tock, as if to hang the fact that his break is reaching its end over his head.

utilizing whatever time he has left, his finger gives the gallery app a tap. various pictures pop up on the screen; selfies of you with silly expressions, candid shots of veritas himself and some photos of random objects like your matching mugs. all of these were taken by you, of course. seriously, is this his phone or is it yours?

who knows at this point? he nearly lets out a snort, but that smile on his face is fooling no one. the doctor continues scrolling through his gallery, utterly content with just this until he gets home. to you.

(yes, yes, this still counts as keeping himself occupied. thank you for your concern.)

— thank you for reading! reblogs with comments are most appreciated.

#hsr x reader #—stellaronhvnters.#aventurine x reader #sunday x reader #dr ratio x reader #hsr fluff #seelestial.inks #reveriesincups

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azullumi · 23 days

Text

“affection weaves into the letters on your screen” ; aventurine and ratio

premise — messages and calls between you and him.

content tags — w/ gender-neutral reader, established relationship, fluff, texts and messages, not proofread, 0.8k ; headcanons

note — i needed something easy and nice because everything has been too stressful

If there’s one constant thing about AVENTURINE is that he is an avid fan of messaging, texting, or whatever the proper term for that is. No matter where he is and what he’s doing, he’ll always find the time to type in a message for you and press send—it could be about anything, from the random thing he’ll see while he’s walking which he thinks you’ll be interested in to how his day is going and possibly, ranting about it. The only time he’ll be inactive is when he’s in the middle of something, like completely and utterly busy that he couldn’t pick up his phone to check up on you or update you on what he’s doing.

Would use the most out of everything; calls, voice messages, attachments, everything. He’ll use stickers whenever he can and would use those silly emoticons because why not? He’s very expressive overall; it’s like you can hear his voice, see his expression, and the gestures he’ll do over the screen.

PHOTOS !! There are new ones added to the shared gallery of your conversations with him every single day. He sees something cool? He takes a photo. He’s currently having a meal? No questions asked, he’ll take a photo. The critters are in this silly position? The camera is pointed at them already and the image of them in a circle while seemingly discussing something is sent. He’ll send selfies of himself throughout the day and he’s the type to pose with random things; there was a time he sent you a photo of himself holding a potted plant (he said it was an addition to his office and he thought you should know). It’s ridiculous, you may say, but he can’t contain the smile on his face when you send a photo back.

Occasionally, it’s videos that he sends.

It’s the late night calls and messages. Aventurine has sleeping problems, struggling to fall or stay asleep no matter how much he physically exhausts himself, so when worse comes to worst and it’s already midnight yet there’s no ounce of anything that makes his eyes heavy, he’ll message you—asking if you’re still awake and if you’re doing anything. It’s your voice that guides him to his dreams, gentle and delicate as a lullaby; by then, you’ll receive no response from him as you call for his name and you’ll have to whisper to him goodnight as he sleeps.

BONUS : on the topic of calls, he likes spending time with you in silence as you do your own thing while he also does his own. Your presence is enough to comfort him and keep him grounded.

VERITAS RATIO is not much of a texter and if he does send you a message, it’s mostly about engineering designs for a machine, requesting that you give him a set of questions if he needs something to simulate his weary brain, sending you links to a sign-up form for a debate that is occuring, or proposals for a certain project as he asks for your input. There are times you’ll find yourself debating with him—all just casual and he won’t throw a chalk at you. However, the line of your conversation between you and him is short and is separated by intervals; he just prefers talking in person or over calls.

He’s probably the fastest typer you know but he rarely ever makes typos, like ever. He types strictly and formally with proper capitalization and punctuations with the mixture of the words that would require you to bring out a dictionary to understand, always starting his sentence with an uppercase and ending it with a period. It feels like you’re having a corporate or business meeting whenever you’re talking to him due to how formal he is over text (you can probably hear his voice whenever you read his messages too).

“DRYEST TEXTER IN THE UNIVERSE EVER” some would say and maybe you too, however, there are traces of sweetness and affection in your (short) conversations with him. He’s the one to greet you first in the morning, so expect that the moment the sun has risen, there’s a message notification from him displayed on the screen on your phone—the time you’ll rise from your bed, your sleeping and wake-up patterns are embedded in his mind and he ensures that you always wake up with a good morning.

In note with that, sometimes, you’ll find yourself wondering if he even thinks of you, if you occasionally appear inside his mind and distract him from his work—doubt begins to muddle your thoughts. However, you must remember that he’ll always send you reminders throughout the day, telling you of the agenda you have planned for the afternoon which you told him once or twice the day before, reminding you to finish this task you’ve been procrastinating on, or just simply telling you to take a break or to eat something (especially when he knows that you don’t take care of yourself).

Be kind to yourself, will you? He looks out for you and cares for you a lot even if you may think otherwise.

EXTRA : doesn’t call and is not exactly a fan of it, however, if his phone were to ring and he sees it’s you calling for him, he wouldn’t hesitate to answer it.

tagging the one and only amazing and lovely @toorurs 🗣️ first of all, i’m sorry that i haven’t replied to your tiktoks when i told you i will (plsdonthateme) and second, i actually dont have a second thing to say. anywaysss!! i think we’ve both been busy these days or maybe it’s just me (sorry finals are approaching) but do know that no matter what happens i still treasure and love you as a friend ‼️ i saw this one plant in our trip yesterday and i remembered you i dont know why i think it’s because it was pretty and the color reminded me of you 🫶🏼 but yeah, keep on doing amazing things and amazing works (DONT DIE FELI THE WORLD WILL LOSE AN ANGEL) !! you’ve become one of my most favorite people ever and remember that i will always be here for youu mwa

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luveline · 7 months

Note

IM BEGGING ON MY KNEES PLEASEEEE 🔥🔥🔥 NOTICE MEEEE

Really quiet and shy reader who’s new to the team and Spencer JUST got out of prison like a month ago and he comes back and sees the cutest girl he’s ever seen so young and new to the team and can’t help but tease her

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASEEE🧎🏾‍♀️🧎🏾‍♀️🧎🏾‍♀️🙇🏽‍♀️🙇🏽‍♀️

Unit Chief Emily Prentiss scares the fuck out of you, but you're still not as intimidated by her as you are by Dr. Reid.

Dr. Reid, and not Special Supervisory Agent Reid —there's a big difference— shouldn't be a scary guy. He doesn't have any tattoos or piercings, his haircut is tame, and you watch him pour enough sugar into his coffee to weaken the enamel of your teeth just looking at it. But while all or this is true, Dr. Reid just came back from a weeks long stint in one of the most tense prisons in the world. Emily assured you in her way that everything bad you may have heard about Dr. Reid would be false, and that anything positive is true.

He looks different to how you'd pictured him. Emily's promise aside, Garcia painted him as some sweater-wearing Teddy bear of a boy who likes chess and Doctor Who.

This is a man. Full grown, full suit, dark-eyes. You're not sure what to feel as he spots you. When Anderson gave you the desk across from Spencer's you'd thought you were lucky, getting treated as part of the team from the very beginning, but now you're not so sure.

“Hey,” he says, eyes on you as he puts down his coffee atop a stack of medical journals. His things were left untouched while he was gone, even though he was technically separated from the bureau. He's well respected. “I've been excited to meet you. I'm Spencer.”

“Dr. Reid,” you say immediately, standing up from your chair to meet him besides your desks.

“Spencer,” he says again. “I don't shake.”

“Oh, no, of course not,” you say, hiding your hands behind your back. “I know you were here long before me, but I can safely say how nice it is to have you back.” You smile. “They were all so worried about you.”

“You kept them in line while I was gone?”

“No, I was useless. I've never felt this stupid in my life.”

“That's just how it feels for the first year.” He isn't smiling, isn't frowning, a hint of amusement in his eyes and hands steady as he tucks them into his pants pockets. “It's not the others, is it?”

“No, there's just a lot to learn.”

“It shouldn't be hard for you, though, right?” He gestures to you like this means something.

“I don't…”

“You're what, twenty four?” Spencer picks up his mug and takes a drink. “If you're smart enough to be here now, you'll be fine.”

“You think so?”

“Don't tell me you're scared, Y/N.” His lashes flare ever so slightly in feigned surprise. After a second of your obvious flustering, he laughs. “No, you don't scare easily. I can tell.”

Absolutely nothing like you told me he'd be, Penelope. I thought we were friends.

“So what was your last case like? The Bentley driver?” he asks, nodding toward your desk. “How's your peer reviews going? They used to drive me insane.”

You startle and rush to sit in your desk chair, opening the case file from the last case to gather his approval. He flicks through pages, almost non-committal, though he gives a hum of approval when he reads your UnSub summary, and when he sees a comment you'd made that you'd believed to be particularly astute, he laughs. “Yeah,” he says, “you'll be fine.” The smell of him floats your way, cologne or aftershave that makes you feel dizzy. He looks down at you. “Something wrong?”

“Nothing, uh–” You bite your tongue rather than answer and trip over another useless sentence.

He touches the top of your shoulder lightly. “It will get easier,” he promises.

He means work, of course, but for a split second you wonder if he means being near him. If he's like this often, you doubt that that's true.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader

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hello-eden · 16 days

Text

One or two hearts

Danny Damien Felt the Buzzing of the core in their stomach. The tests were positive and everything is stable. When they got back in contact with Phantom they did not expect this to happen.

Dani and Dan were hurt in the same battle that killed them. It had been over 300 years since the battle. Every time they think of the time that passed between the battle and their reincarnation they feel an aching pain in their core. It's been 300 years since dani and Dan were reverted back to their cores. It has also been 300 years since Danny Damian and Phantom were separated.

Since Phantom lost their human half they were not able to revert the cores back to hafas. Now with Danny Damien back they are safely able to bring them back. There may be side effects with them incubating the cores but they are so worth it. getting their family back is worth everything.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tim did not expect to find what he did.

When Tim searched through security footage to look at how Stephanie set up her prank. He was expecting to find out that maybe she had an accomplice. Cass had been in town that week. He did not expect to find video of Damien having a meltdown in the hallway of the family wing.

When Tim first saw Damian on the footage he expected him to go to his room. What Actually happened in the footage was that he went from agitated to in tears. Tim rewound the footage back and turned on the audio. Damian turned into the hallway and held up his phone like he was waiting for someone to answer the phone. Damien's shoulders relaxed when it appeared someone had answered the phone but it did not seem to calm them down

“Sam” Damian seemed to start breathing heavily as they talked “Sam, the test was positive” they seemed to wait for a Response on the other line and whatever answer they got made them burst into tears “You're the first one I called. I just got back from frostbites. He said they're stable.”Tim had never seen Damien cry before, maybe on the verge of tears after a bad fear gas attack but never in tears.

“Of course I tried to call him. I think he's in some sort of meeting I couldn't get through” Damien took a few deep breaths as they listened to the other voice on the line reply.”The only symptoms I should be worried about in the beginning are tiredness but I was warned of nausea as well”

Tim was very concerned as they continued to talk about symptoms and making appointments. Tim assumed frostbite was a doctor but there was no one in any files with a name close to frostbite nor a code name. Tim was checking for anyone named Sam In their system but with no last name or description or even gender they couldn't really find much to narrow down.

The date of security footage was 2 weeks ago. Tim had just finished the case he was working on when Stephanie did her prank. He thought he would get revenge for the prank not to figure out Damian was ill. now that Tim thought it over Damian's did seem to be tired. He had no idea that he'd been ill but he was a lot less snarky. Tim had a thought that he'd worn himself out with training or was not in a talkative mode. In the footage Damian seemed to lose all of the posh words and Superior tone he usually uses.

“I'm having a kid not a parasite”

Someone could be screaming right in Tim's ear and they wouldn't even flinch. Tim had no idea what to think with that sentence. What does Damien mean they're having a kid.

Tim thought over the symptoms that they were talking about. All of them did seem like pregnancy symptoms. Tim didn't even know Damien could get pregnant. They were 17. By the way the conversation continued to go it seemed that the pregnancy would be heavily monitored.

Tim had so many questions. Who was the other parent? How is it possible for them to be pregnant? So many questions were raised in their head. Tim was happy that they were alone when they were looking at the footage, otherwise someone would ask and they did not want to explain.

Tim does not want to be the one to explain this to bruce.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

(If anyone wants to add on to this I would love to see people's add ons.)

Is based on this post

#danny phantom #dc x dp #danny fenton #dp x dc #dpxdc #dc x dp crossover #batfamily #damian wayne

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macfrog · 11 months

Text

you shook me all night long sex on fire chapter one

requested by @whore-4-pedro (hope u enjoy lovely)

lived all my succession fantasies out writing this one icl. enjoy 🖤 check out my masterlist for more joel fun ‼️

pairing: ceo!joel x fem!reader

summary: as joel miller's assistant, you're expected to meet all his needs. some are a little more personal than others

warnings: 18+ (minors dni!!!) creepy dude at the beginning, lotta teasing and touching, mentions of female masturbation, fingering, unprotected p in v sex, semi-public sex, daddy kink, age gap (reader is late 20s, joel late 40s), alcohol and drug use, cursing, low-key inappropriate work relationship (if bad then why sexy?)

word count: 7.8k

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist

You grind your ass and Joel hums into your skin. He’s getting harder by the second, you’re getting wetter. It’s not enough, what you’re doing. You need more. You lower your hand and cup him through his pants, taking hold of his bulge and massaging gently. His hips are moving, he’s rutting into your palm, both of you desperate to rid yourselves of the clothing separating your skin. “I asked,” you breathe, “what’s next on the agenda?” “Next,” Joel mumbles into your skin, “was thinkin’ I could bend you over this desk ‘n fuck you.”

It’s Friday night.

You only got home from work an hour and a half ago. Tired, hungry, sore eyes from staring at a screen all night, sore back from sitting hunched over all day. Dumped your bags at the door, ripped your clothes off by your bed, dove straight into the shower. You’d picked an outfit, curled your hair in record time, and even done your makeup before Deb called to say she was out front.

It was a ten-minute drive from your place to the hotel – it’s only a couple blocks from work. The cab driver made light conversation, talked about his daughter and her new puppy, and you both nodded and uhuhed in all the breaks in his sentences. Deb made some comment about it being easier if you’d just stayed at the office until the party, and you’d hummed in agreement, looking out the window at the regal hotel.

Truth be told, you’d rather be doing anything other than attending a work function. You’ve had a long week. A lot of meetings, paperwork, emails to be answered, and most of all, running around after your boss. It’s not all fun and games being Joel Miller’s assistant, regardless of the pay, or the view from your desk over to his.

Your head’s elsewhere when you waltz through the revolving door, heels clicking along the marble floor. The elevator – gold, by the way – slides open and you both step inside, hitting the highest button before you’re swept up twenty floors to the penthouse.

“Did you send those documents over to us yet?” Deb asks.

“Nope,” you reply, slipping out when the elevator dings. “Had to sit in on a meeting with Joel and take the fucking minutes, spent all night writing them up.”

“He won’t be pissed at you?”

“If he hadn’t insisted I was in there with him, you’d have your reports, wouldn’t you?”

She shrugs, agreeing.

“Anyway,” you continue, “I can take angry Joel. He doesn’t scare me.”

Deb chuckles as you shoulder the doors to the penthouse open.

It’s a moody dull, lit only by the lights lining the bar and small lamps decorating mahogany tables, sat next to deep green velvet couches. There are clusters of people everywhere you look; stood near shelves filled with leather-bound books, examining the view from the floor to ceiling windows, sprawled out over luxurious chairs with champagne flutes in their hands. There’s a tree in the middle of the room, branches decorated in blinking string lights reaching to a glass dome in the ceiling.

It's, like, sickeningly pretentious. You know it. Hell, you all know it. Still, in your little black dress, you strut over and take a champagne of your own, sipping on the fizzing drink with one elbow resting on the wooden bar.

“There’s my girl,” his voice coos over your shoulder. “Been watchin’ for you all night, took your time.”

You lean back, bored expression on your face.

Joel’s broad chest pulls on the white shirt he’s wearing, same one you just saw him in little over three hours ago, only without a tie; the top couple of buttons are undone to reveal his chest hair peeking through. You try not to let your eyes linger on him too long.

“You look fuckin’ ecstatic to be here.”

He leans against the bar next to you, arms crossed. When you don’t reply, he nudges you. Your champagne jolts in its glass.

“I always look like this. I’m always ecstatic to be everywhere.”

He smiles. “Why aren’t you mingling?”

“Don’t wanna.”

“’s a work event. That’s the whole point.”

“Then why are you over here talkin’ to me?”

His eyes flash across your lips, and you swear they drop for a nanosecond to your chest.

“Come on,” he says, taking your wrist in his huge hand, “some people you oughta meet.”

Joel ignores your sigh and leads you over onto a plush rug, sidling between knees to sit you down on the soft couch between himself and some bald dude in a jet blue suit, whose shirt is also undone, though much further than Joel’s. He has a chest like a hairless cat.

Cue Ball snakes an arm over the back of the couch; his fingers dance across your back. You shimmy a little closer to Joel and he notices instantly, jaw turning slowly to glance over. When he sees your knees angled toward him, seeking protection, he leans back and wraps his left arm around your shoulders, his right coming down to cup your knee.

“This,” he shakes your leg, left arm pulling you tighter against him, “is my wonderful assistant. My right-hand lady. Couldn’t do anything without her, could I?”

“Could wipe your own ass, that’s about it,” you mumble into your glass, and a roar of laughter sounds from your audience.

Joel, still leaning back, pulls his arm from you but keeps his shoulder firmly behind yours, making sure whatever the creep on your left tries, he’ll feel first. Your elbow rests in the crook of his, and you keep it there, quietly enjoying the intimacy of his body caging yours.

His left hand is settled on your thigh. You realize it after a swig of champagne, and start counting in your head how many seconds his fingers stay gripped on your skin.

He talks with his hands – always has. Walks around his office, ranting and raving sometimes, arms swinging around in the air while you take notes, or file your nails, or just watch until he’s done. For the next half hour, though, he only talks with his right hand. Only sips his beer with his right hand. Only scratches his beard, or pulls his phone from his pocket, or reaches up and passes you a second drink, and then a third, with his right hand.

You stay rigid, legs unmoving, eyes barely leaving his knuckles, locked tight around your thigh. There’s heat from his touch siphoning from his palm down through your skin, rippling like waves all through your body and pooling somewhere south of your belly button. No matter how hard you try, you can’t shake it. Can’t stop thinking about it. You barely notice when Cue Ball’s hand ghosts across your back a second time.

But Joel notices, straight away. He flashes the guy a look, and you swear he’s baring his teeth. Eyes locked on the blue suit like it’s a target, never blinking. He doesn’t say anything when his prey excuses himself to the bathroom, and you don’t turn to watch him go, but you do notice three other sharp-suited pricks stand and wander off in that direction after him.

Probably not a coincidence.

Joel still has a hold on your leg. Your flute is empty, and you lean forward to place it on the wooden table at your knees, beginning to stand.

His grip loosens, but he looks up at you as you tower over him.

“Cocktail,” you tell him with a sweet smile, and he nods, letting you go.

You know he’s watching you as you slink away. Is it the alcohol in your system, or something darker, that makes you sway your hips a little more for his benefit?

Deb’s over at the bar with Martha, another of Joel’s assistants. She’s around his age, worked for him much longer than you have, but when he hired you, you took on most of the groundwork. Following Joel’s orders– sorry, requests, organizing meetings, filing paperwork for him. Martha sits at a desk outside Joel’s office, answers the phone and directs anyone who happens to wander up to the top floor of the building.

Did I say directs? I meant strikes coldblooded fear within them and sends them back running the way they came, with just one look and a nod in the opposite direction.

Unless they’re there for a meeting with Joel, that is. And if they are, that’s where you come in. Good morning, Mr. Salazar, Mr. Miller will be right with you. This way, he’s just finishing up a call.

Martha’s a tough nut. But she likes you enough, so she smiles warmly as you approach.

“I’m hearing all about your note-taking this afternoon,” she hums when you hop up onto a barstool, catching the bartender’s eye. He trots over.

You sigh to Martha, eyes wide. “I didn’t leave until, like, eight. What the fuck’s that about? Can I just get a cosmopolitan, please?” you ask, and the bartender nods. He looks about fifteen.

Martha shakes her head, laughing. “He did it to me when I was first startin’ out, too. Told him to stick his minutes where the sun don’t shine.”

“I’ve been here three years,” you mutter, and Deb snorts.

“You’d think Joel would’ve changed his ways in the, what, seven decades since you started, Martha?”

It earns her a slap across the shoulder. You stifle your laugh behind your glass, thanking the teenager who served you it with a nod.

“Twenty years next March, actually,” Martha says.

“That so? D’you think he’ll get you anything for it?”

“If I’m lucky,” she sighs, eyes travelling up to the ceiling in thought, “a lunch break where he doesn’t bother me once.”

“Knowing Joel, that means a lunch break where he bothers you twice.”

You smile, glancing past the pretentious tree to where Joel is, and notice he’s already staring right back. A swarm of butterflies flutter around your stomach, dancing over the heat his handprint left within you. They only grow more violent when he stands and walks over, broad shoulders swaying, eyes flitting up and down your body.

You lean back, sitting up straight, eyeing him right back as he joins the three of you.

“Speak of the devil,” Martha says, and Joel chuckles in response, but his eyes never leave you.

“We were just talkin’ about Martha’s twenty years,” says Deb, winking.

He finally turns to answer her. “Oh, yeah? When’s that, then, old-timer?”

“Dirtball!” Martha yells, and Joel smirks. It goes straight to your core.

“How many Manhattans tonight, then, Deb?”

Deb holds her glass up. “I am on my second, and I will not be exceeding three. We don’t need a repeat of Christmas.”

“Aw,” Joel complains, tutting, “I liked hammered Deb.”

“That’s ‘cause you didn’t have to deal with hungover Deb,” you mutter, and she shoots you a look.

Joel smiles at you, takes a step closer as Deb and Martha begin comparing past hangovers. He leans forward, waves the fifteen-year-old down, and asks for a beer. As he leans back, you notice the weight of his wrist on your right hip. Nicely done.

“You know there are four guys in the bathroom doing coke?”

“I hope to God that’s all they’re doin’. I don’t need another orgyhappenin’ at one of these things.”

You giggle like a fucking schoolgirl. He looks pleased with himself, and you instantly regret it. You try to play it off by lifting your glass back to your lips.

Joel’s studying you, though, mapping every inch of your face. Watching your mouth as it curves around the shape of the glass, your tongue licking your lips after your sip. He tracks the glass as you set it back down on the bar, then his eyes trail along your arm to your dress, and your stomach leaps.

He looks so fucking good, it sends another wave of energy through your body. Dark hair lined with grey, beard much the same. Strong jaw, lips wetting with every sip of beer he takes, dark eyes flitting across yours, holding your stare long enough to melt you a little, and then dipping just before you can read the thoughts behind them.

His skin a little tanned, his neck thick with muscle. You can feel the heat radiating off of him, you’re so close. Close enough that you could lean up, part your lips and sink your teeth under his ear, suck a mark there, taste him on your tongue.

Your head cocks after a few minutes silence, just the two of you enjoying the fucking look of each other. You lean a little against his arm, steady around your back.

“I hate work parties,” you sigh.

Joel scoffs. “Free alcohol, nice penthouse. Cocaine, if you want it. What’s not to like?”

You narrow your eyes and he laughs for real.

“I hate ‘em, too, baby. Gotta keep up appearances, though, don’t we?”

Baby. This fucker.

“Do we?” you squeak, after a few seconds dazed.

He shrugs. “’s what I hear.”

He’s so close you can smell the beer on his tongue. It makes your heart quicken, your body hum with energy. That could just be the alcohol in your system, though, right?

Who are you kidding? It’s fucking Joel doing it to you.

You have no idea how long he was here before you arrived. He left the office around six, and you presumed he’d come straight here to check everything was in order before guests started arriving. How many beers has he had? Is he just drunk, feeling up on you with liquid courage?

You’re mulling over the thought when a pair of hands clamp down on Joel’s shoulders and his hold on your waist loosens. He mumbles an apology as he’s dragged away by a couple of loose-collared, baggy-suit drunks. You shake your head in response, trying to be cool – It’s all good, man. I’m good. I’m not totally fawning over you right now, no way.

Deb swings her barstool around when she notices you’re on your own, inviting you back into their conversation. Thirty seconds into talking about childhood pets, you’re wishing Joel was back around you, igniting your skin and peaking your adrenaline. Max the Pomeranian is a nice picture; Joel’s nicer.

Martha says something with a hand motion, and Deb nods, elbow knocking into yours.

“What?”

She nods toward the balcony. “We’re headin’ out for a smoke, you comin’?”

“Nah, I’m good. I’ll save your seats.”

They nod and wander off between a crowd, swallowed up by bodies in the direction of the open sliding doors, the blinking lights of the skyline ahead.

You’re twirling the base of your empty glass around on its napkin when you feel that same heat behind you again, and a hand rests on the small of your back.

“Coat,” Joel mutters, pulling his suit jacket on.

“Huh?”

“Get your coat. Everyone’s headin’ across the street.”

“Why is everyone heading across the street?”

He shrugs. “Afterparty, I guess.”

“It’s a work function. It’s like–” you check your phone, “–oh, fuck, it’s almost midnight.” You screw your face up, watching as the small crowd slowly melts away through the suite doors.

“I know. I throw a good party, right?”

“So good, people are leaving it.”

He tuts. “Coat. Now.”

“I didn’t bring one.”

“You didn’t bring a coat?”

“You told me the party was here. I didn’t think we’d be walking all over town.”

“’s not all over town, baby,” Joel murmurs with a sigh. “Here.”

He peels the jacket off his shoulders and you hold a hand out to stop him.

“Joel, it’s fine, it’s–”

“Quit moanin’,” he groans as he throws it over your shoulders. He scoops your hair and pulls it softly out from under the collar. “Alright? C’mon.”

He takes your hand and leads you past some stragglers down the hall toward the elevator, where a group are waiting for the doors to open.

“Tight squeeze, Miller,” some dude chuckles as you follow Joel in, his hand still gripping yours.

He turns, backing into the corner, pulling you with him until your back is flush against his chest.

His hands drop to your hips. You swallow back a scream.

One of the accountants is stood in front of your – Harriet? Helen? Something beginning with H – anyway, she keeps knocking back into you, pushed by the sway of the packed elevator. It means you knock a little into Joel, and feel his chin on the crown of your head.

You turn ever so slightly to mumble an apology to him, but when you feel his breath on the shell of your ear, your words die in your throat.

“Hazel?” – That’s her fucking name – Joel reaches around you to tap her shoulder, and her bobbed haircut swings when she turns. “Did you get those balance sheets yet?”

“Not yet, Joel,” she tells him, and your face prickles with heat.

“No? That’s weird.” Joel’s grip tightens on your hips, his mouth dangerously close to your ear. In a low whisper, only to you, he says, “Thought I asked to have ‘em sent over by this afternoon.”

You muster up the courage to reply with a deep breath. From the corner of your mouth, through gritted teeth, you tell him, “That was before you forced me to sit in on a buyers’ meeting.”

You feel his chest rumble between your shoulder blades as he laughs. The elevator shudders to a stop and the doors slide open; the crowd spills out.

You step forward, ahead of Joel, and make it maybe three steps before he’s back on you, an arm draped over your shoulders. You reach up and take his hand, leaning against his strong torso to let him guide you toward the exit.

No idea what makes you do it. Maybe you’re drunk. Maybe not only on alcohol.

You’re the last of the pack, stumbling over air across the gleaming floor toward the revolving door, which Joel pushes open for you. The cool night breeze hits you as you slip out.

The crowd ahead are rushing across the street, yelling and whooping as they go. It’s juvenile, a little cringe. A bunch of rich corporates skipping across the street toward cheap alcohol and peanuts. You’d care more about the way it looks if you were sober.

Joel’s hand finds yours again and he’s leading you down the steps, cutting between parked cars toward the dive bar. You link your other arm around his elbow and he glances down, noting it. You wish the walk was longer.

A flickering fluorescent light drowns you both in a red glow, and Joel pushes the doors open. The place is flooded with half of your party, drowning booths, leaning against the bar, dancing in any open floorspace.

The floor is sticky, the bar dim. Joel takes you over to the same crowd he introduced you to earlier, and makes space for you to sit. You slide along the booth to the wall and he follows, squeezing up to you to let two more in after him.

“Beers?” a guy with a loose tie asks, to a chorus of yeses and a show of thumbs up. Mitch? Mark?

You tug Joel’s jacket from your shoulders – the movement nudges him and he turns to lift it from your back and tuck it behind you, brushing the hair off your shoulders. You smile in thanks, and his hand falls back onto your leg.

It takes you a few minutes to notice it this time. The gentle squeeze of his fingers around your thigh, the way it slowly bumps up each time he adjusts in his seat or shifts to allow space for someone else to join the booth.

His hand moves slowly, dangerously close to pulling your skirt up with it. Mitch or Mark returns with your beers and you take a massive swig, nerves and anticipation and fucking need for Joel to keep doing what he’s doing, taking over.

Under lights blurred by the alcohol in your system, the table buzzes with energy and chatter and laughter. There are posters and stickers all over the walls, graffiti of names and initials, numbers and dates scored into the walls. Joel traces them with his finger and you laugh at some of the messages.

“Lydia and Jack,” you mumble, “12-24-19. Wonder what happened then.”

“Bathroom sex,” Joel replies, eyes scanning the wall.

You scoff, beer to your lips. “On Christmas Eve?”

He nods, like it’s obvious. “Magical time ‘n all.”

You look past him with a smile to the opposite side of the bar where, through silhouetted bodies, you notice a jukebox.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Your eyes widen, your mouth agape.

Joel follows your eyeline and then twists back around. “C’mon,” he says, taking your hand and motioning for the others to let you by. He drags you over to the machine, lighting your faces up in yellow light, and your drunk eyes scan the screen.

“Nope." You swipe Joel’s hand away right before he can pick some Pet Shop Boys song.

“Really?”

“Good, but not the vibe,” you tell him, and budge him out of the way with your hip. He sways off, laughing, and leans a palm against the jukebox, his chest on your back for the second time tonight. As your tired eyes scan the songs, Joel’s chin rests on your shoulder.

He’s judging every fucking song you linger on. “Queen? Little before your time.”

“Dick.”

“Fleetwood Mac. Definitely before your time.”

“The entire fucking jukebox is before my time, dude. Shut up. These are good songs.”

You settle on a track and turn to face him. He has you almost fucking pressed against the box.

“Change, please.”

“Oh, I’m payin’, am I?”

“Mhm. Your work party, your wallet.”

He sighs and pushes a fist into his pocket for coins, tossing a quarter into your outstretched palm. You turn back and select your song, put the money in, and the old machine barks out the intro.

Joel sighs, shaking his head. “AC/DC? That’s your thing?”

“It’s not yours?” You’re taking him by the hand between bodies, swaying as you go.

He’s laughing, following you until you’re in the middle of the cramped bar, chest to chest, moving together. His hands find your waist again and this time you don’t even flinch; your fingers trail up his shirt, across his chest, settle on his collar.

You fucking swear he’s leaning in, each beat of the song drawing his jaw closer to yours. If you weren’t in a room full of co-workers, you’d probably let him kiss you.

I mean, what you’re doing right now is hardly innocent anyway. His hands are splayed on your lower back, your hips flat against his, rubbing, dancing. Your head rolls back and your lips are under his chin, smiling up at him and singing along. Joel sings the words straight back, your breath meeting and mingling in the tiny gap between your lips.

As the song ends, it fades into another. And another, and another. It’s two in the morning before your group of partiers begin to call taxis. You stumble out of the sweaty bar with an arm linked through Deb’s, still singing along to Whitney as you catch your breath.

She staggers off to a quieter part of the street to call a cab, and you hang around under the red light waiting for her. Joel’s stood at the curb; the back door of his sleek black Rolls-Royce open.

“Where you goin’?” he asks.

“Deb’s callin’ a cab,” you reply, arms folded, shoulders hunched.

Joel shakes his head. “Get in.”

“It’s cool, I’m jumping in with those guys. Thanks, though–”

“Baby,” Joel holds a hand out, “get in.”

Your eyes trace from his palm all the way up his sleeve, to his tired, handsome face. You’re sobering up. He looks clearer. Maybe that’s just the streetlights.

“Get you home in five minutes. C’mon.”

You swivel around to look for Martha and Deb, but they’re nowhere to be seen. The cab will come, they’ll assume you’re staying a while, and get in. No big deal, right?

Well. Stepping into your boss’s car after a night of highly inappropriate touching is kind of a big fucking deal.

That’s why you do it. Waddle over to him, take his hand, let him guide you to the car. You swing a leg in and slip across the seats, admiring the ceiling dotted with hundreds of tiny white lights, like you’re staring straight up at the night sky.

They blur through your drunken gaze, which doesn’t pull from them until you feel the weight of Joel on your right and hear the door slam shut.

“Mind puttin’ the partition up, Rand?” Joel’s voice says, though you mostly hear the vibrations through his chest, where your head is lying. His arm slips around your back, pulling you closer into him as the two of you are granted privacy by the quiet whir of the screen closing.

“Good night?” Joel asks, lips on your hair.

You nod. “You?”

“Mhm.”

His fingers are drawing shapes on your left hip. His right hand intertwines with yours. Your left hand starts to wander.

You liked his hand on you. Liked feeling his grip there. Wanted him to keep moving it up, wanted to see how far he’d take it. So, you put your own hand on the inside of his thigh, just like he did. Starting at the knee, and slowly sliding north. Joel’s breath tightens, his chest lifts, his jaw ticks.

The movement knocks you sober for a couple seconds. You realize what you’re doing. You draw your hand back.

“Sorry,” you mutter.

He unlinks your hands and places a steady palm over your withdrawn fist.

“’s okay, baby. You can do that if you want to.”

The drawl of his voice makes your eyes roll back, your heart leap. Your fucking legs clench.

You let him replace your hand where it was, and his legs widen a little. His crotch more available. You’re watching what you’re doing like you’re not even in your own body; watching it how Joel must be, thinking Higher, higher, keep going, keep doing that.

You lift your heavy head, resting it on his shoulder, and look up into his brown eyes. He’s framed by the starlit ceiling of the car. He’s looking at you, brows furrowed, face lined with his expression.

“You okay?” he asks.

You nod lazily. “Tired.”

Just then his hand takes yours again and shifts it softly, stopping what was probably about to happen but still holding onto you, still wanting your fingers locked in his. Not halting the train, just switching tracks.

It’s not a long journey, certainly not as long as you’d like, until you’re parked on your street. Rand lowers the partition to call back, and Joel thanks him.

“You okay gettin’ to your apartment?”

“Yup,” you groan, hoisting yourself out of the comfortable car.

“Sure? I can walk you up if you want.”

You bend down, one arm on the roof of the car. “I’m good, thanks. Thanks for the ride, Miller.”

“Be safe, baby.”

“You be safe, too. Bye.”

You throw the door closed and meander off up the steps toward your building. Joel’s car doesn’t roll off until your elevator arrives and you disappear inside.

You spend all weekend in bed, recovering not only from the party but from the week of work you’d endured. You keep yourself busy, though. There’s a Desperate Housewives marathon on TV. And when you’re not watching that, your hand is stuffed down your pants, Joel on your mind.

All. Fucking. Weekend.

In the shower, you’re picturing him on his knees in front of you, lapping you up. Hands gripping your thighs, draped over his shoulders. Your hand plants firmly against the wet tile when you cum, your orgasm threatening to collapse you in a heap.

In bed, you’re on top of him, knees either side of his waist, letting him buck his hips up until you’re screaming, covering him in your wet. Your vibrator battery dies by Saturday night.

Monday morning, you’re getting ready to leave for the office, and need to take ten minutes out to relieve the ache between your legs again. This time, he has you pressed against your bedroom wall, fucking you quick and messy, cumming deep inside you before he’ll let you head out.

It’s just a crush, right? It’s just because of how touchy you guys were on Friday. When you were drunk. And in a cramped, dark dive bar. Everybody gets crushes. And who wouldn’t, on a six-foot-whatever man with a jawline that could cut glass, hands that take a grip of you with minimal effort, a cock probably the size of…

No. Nope. That’s enough. Cut that the fuck out.

It’s just a crush. That’s what you keep telling yourself in the elevator, lights counting down the floors until you’re going to see Joel again. Is the sparkling feeling in your chest fear, anticipation, or excitement?

And is your cunt beginning to throb again?

You give a curt nod to Martha as you arrive, hauling your bag a little further up your shoulder and adjusting the folders in your arms on your hips.

“Where’d you go?” she asks, eyes still on the computer in front of her. Her chin propped on her elbow, face inches from the screen, reading something intently.

“Huh?”

“On Friday. We couldn’t find you when the cab arrived.”

“Oh, I, uh,” you clear your throat, “Joel gave me a ride. Yeah.”

She raises her eyebrows. “Generous of ‘im.”

“Yup.”

“He’s in the conference room waitin’ for you.”

“Cool, thanks.”

You hover for a few seconds, then take your cue to leave. You hurry over to the conference room door, knocking twice before pushing it open.

Joel’s sat at the top of the table, leant back in his chair, feet up on the wood in front of him. You feel like you could collapse.

“Mornin’,” he says, over the dull droning from the phone. Your eyes flit down to it, a question, and he answers, “weekend update.”

“Anything good?”

He shakes his head, leaning forward to hit the unmute button, affirm whatever the hell the other dude had been saying, say his goodbyes, and then hang up.

“Feelin’ fresh?” he asks when he’s sat back.

You take a deep breath and wobble your head as an answer, laying files and folders out on the table in preparation for the meeting Joel has this morning.

“That bad, huh?”

“I was fine by Saturday afternoon. How were you?”

He shrugs. “Wasn’t that drunk.”

Yeah. Sure, Joel. Your fingers took the brunt of the alcohol.

He stands up, wanders around the table to join you. Your fingers begin to tremble at the thought of him so close. Your thighs heat.

“This all of it?” he asks. He’s closer than you thought.

“Y-yep. Some copies there, too, if anyone needs a spare.”

His hand slips up between your shoulder blades, patting you gently at the base of your neck.

“Good job, baby.”

You almost fucking shudder. Your stomach jolts, your chest tightens. The ache between your legs pangs, reminding you it’s there, even though you can’t fucking do anything about it.

You spin around, settling back against the table, ankles crossed. Tense.

“How long do you reckon it’ll go on?”

“No idea. Why? Somewhere you gotta be?”

You shake your head. “Just organizing lunch ‘n stuff for you.”

“That can wait until after.”

“I’ll have it ready for you comin’ out. Be easier.”

He steps forward. Your heart stutters.

“You’ll be in here with me.”

You cock your head. “Again? What– Why?”

“I need you in here. To take–”

“–minutes? Yeah, figured as much. You gonna have me up here all night again writing ‘em up?”

He smirks, dimples in his cheeks. There are two options here: either smack him, or jump his bones – he deserves the first and you deserve the latter.

“I like having you in my meetings, darlin’,” he says, as the door handle turns, “stops me wanting to blow my brains out.”

Martha enters and Joel slots in alongside you on the table. She sets a tray with a coffee pot and packets of sugar and milk on the sideboard.

Your head is fucking dizzy. There’s a ringing in your ears. Energy sparkling in waves from the tops of your thighs all through you. Joel’s shoulder brushing against yours, his eyes boring into the side of your face.

You won’t look at him. Won’t take your eyes off of Martha, laying paper coffee cups out in rows, her back to you guys.

Joel lays a palm flat on your thigh, rounding the curve until his hand is firm between your legs, threatening to push your skirt up. You feel his breath hot on your neck, his voice like honey in your ear.

“Makes for a nice view, too.”

You whip around to glare at him. He leans back, chuckling to himself.

Through gritted teeth, you whisper, “Can I talk to you? In private?”

Joel shrugs, excuses you both to Martha, and then follows at your heels out of the conference room and over to his office door. You waltz in without permission, shoving the door open and waiting for him to close it behind himself.

Joel’s office is bright, clean. Giant windows lining three walls, huge desk with an even bigger bookcase behind. Two black leather couches opposite, facing one another with a glass coffee table between. Soft white rugs, obnoxiously huge lampshades, small fern plants dotted here and there. You found and booked the interior designer for him, and not a day’s gone by since that you don’t remind him of how nice a job you did.

Today, though, you break that streak. You round on him as soon as he closes the tall, wooden door behind him.

“Will you fucking quit it?”

“Fucking quit what, baby?” He’s almost laughing, strolling around his desk and settling into his leather chair, leaning back. Casual. Fucking – arrogant.

You stammer, holding up a shaky finger. “Okay, first of all – that. Don’t call me baby, that’s not appropriate. Second – the teasing?”

“I don’t get it, you liked me callin’ you baby on Friday night.”

You take your bottom lip between your teeth and give him a furious stare. He holds his hands up.

“My mistake.”

You stalk over to the windows separating Joel’s office from the reception area. Martha’s still in the conference room, the door ajar. You haul the shades shut to give yourselves some privacy.

“Stop – fucking with me. Stop it. We were drunk on Friday night. It wasn’t– Stop.”

“’m not fucking with you.” He leans his head to scratch his eyebrow. He repeats it when you turn away, hands flying up in the air. “I’m not.”

“Let’s just forget Friday happened, can we do that?”

Wandering around Joel’s office isn’t doing anything to relieve the weight between your legs. If anything, it’s making it worse. You make your way back to his desk and place your hands down on the wood, leaning over.

“Wh…what’s next on the agenda?” you ask, almost panting, your eyes closing.

You hear Joel’s chair rock when his weight leaves it. His footsteps pad across soft carpet, around the desk. Nearing you. They come to a halt and you feel the air stop short, right behind you.

For someone not trying to fuck with you, he’s doing an awfully good job at it.

You surrender, leaning back, your shoulders making contact with his chest. Then his hands find your hips, light, gentle. No pressure on them, not until your ass presses against his crotch and your head tilts, allowing Joel to hook his chin over your shoulder.

He’s hard, under his pants. Against you. You can feel it, still, steady. Rock solid beneath four layers of clothing.

His hands lift from your waist and glide up your shirt front, your stomach tensing when they brush over it. They come to rest over your breasts, squeezing and pinching your nipples through your shirt. And you fucking let him; lifting your right arm to hook around his jaw and pull him closer into your neck, where his lips leave soft, wet marks.

It feels like the first gasp of fresh, sea air after being underwater. The first gulp of chilled water after a hike. The first wave of aircon in the car. It’s relief. It’s desperate, borderline orgasmic relief.

You grind your ass and Joel hums into your skin. He’s getting harder by the second, you’re getting wetter. It’s not enough, what you’re doing. You need more.

You lower your hand and cup him through his pants, taking hold of his bulge and massaging gently. His hips are moving, he’s rutting into your palm, both of you desperate to rid yourselves of the clothing separating your skin.

“I asked,” you breathe, “what’s next on the agenda?”

“Next,” Joel mumbles into your skin, “was thinkin’ I could bend you over this desk ‘n fuck you.”

“Fuck me?” you repeat, and he nods. You take a breath. “S-sounds good.”

Joel’s hands find the hem of your skirt and start to pull it up your legs, painfully slow, revealing more and more of your bare thighs as he goes. He’s rubbing them, massaging until your skirt sits on your hips, little black panties exposed. His hand comes down to cup you, fingers gently applying pressure to your clit through the lace.

You moan, finally being touched by him again, finally feeling his hands on you where you need it most. Already, he’s doing better, making you feel better than you could ever by yourself. Than you did, by yourself. Involuntarily, you breathe out, “Daddy…”

Joel’s fingers pick up the pace. He fucking loves it.

“That feel good, baby? Like it like that? Tell me how it feels.”

“So – fucking – good,” you whisper, legs parting more to grant him better access. He dips his hand lower, thumb staying planted on your lace-covered clit, fingers shifting the fabric under your entrance aside.

He toys with you first, middle finger swaying back and forth through your folds, collecting slick, spreading it around. Then, a second finger, pushing upward, dangerously close to entering you. You’re gasping, leaning into him, letting his strong form keep you upright.

“That’s my girl,” Joel’s whispering into your ear. “You ain’t gotta do nothin’, just enjoy.”

And then he pushes up, two thick, curled fingers entering your cunt in one motion. He has you down to his knuckles, limp against his chest, mouth wide open in a silent gasp. Your head rolls to the side to watch him as he feels you for the first time, and his expression mirrors yours.

“So fuckin’ wet, babygirl,” he whispers, lips on your forehead.

“Fuck, daddy,” you whimper as his fingers press hard inside your soft pussy, starting to pump gently before picking up the pace and fucking you good.

The office is silent, save for your gasps and moans, and the wet sounds of Joel’s fingers in your cunt. He hums into your neck, thumb pressing hard against your clit, drawing tiny circles over the swollen bud.

It doesn’t take fucking long before you’re collapsing, walls clenching, teetering on the edge of your orgasm. It’s all that’s been on your mind for almost three days, all you’ve imagined, dreamt about, thought of.

Joel feels you, knows you’re close.

“Wanna cum all over daddy’s fingers, pretty girl?”

“Mhm,” you bite back a yelp, “so – close.”

“Know you are, baby. It’s okay, you can cum. Let me feel you.”

That coil, slowly winding since approximately nine-thirty on Friday night, not relieved by your hands, your toys, or your fucking pillows, snaps in one second. The tension breaks across your stomach. Your legs give; Joel’s free hand wraps around your waist to hold you upright.

You throw your head back against his shoulder again, jaw slack with a moan you know you can’t give voice to. Joel fucks you all the way through it, fingers coated in your cum only to dive straight back in, wetter and slicker than before.

There are stars in your vision. You can’t feel between your legs. The office is slowly blinking back into view, but Joel gives you no time to recover.

He pushes you face down onto his desk roughly, hastily, like someone’s about to wander through his door any second. One ear pressed to the cold wood, you hear his belt clink, feel the teeth of his zipper graze your thighs. Hear his deep breaths as he drags his pants and boxershorts down to free his cock.

You’ve never seen him, obviously. You’ve pictured it, dreamt up what it would look like with your fingers deep inside yourself. And from this angle you still don’t see it, but when the weight of it springs against your ass, when Joel lines himself up and his tip dips between your cum-covered folds, you fucking feel it.

His thick head pushing slightly into your entrance, coating him in your slick. He’s big. You moan at the time he’s taking to just shove into you; it’s probably seconds, but it feels like fucking hours.

“I hear ya, I know,” he’s saying, but your hearing’s starting to fade. Blood pumping through your head, white noise rattling against your eardrums.

He pushes in, length separating your clenched walls, entering your wet, warm cunt with a deep growl from Joel’s lips and a gasp from yours. You open up around him, swelling as he pushes deeper and deeper.

“So – fuckin’ – tight for me, baby,” he groans, hands on your hips pulling you back onto his length. “You feel that? Feel how tight you are?”

“Mhm,” you reply, the stretch of his thick cock burning and igniting you in flame. Your eyes screw shut as he keeps pushing, further than you ever thought anyone could, until his tip kisses your cervix and you whine.

“Quiet, babygirl,” he says, pausing and placing a steady hand on the small of your back. “We don’t need anyone out there knowin’ what we’re doin’.”

“So good, daddy,” you whimper quietly, and he knows. He fucking knows.

He begins to draw back, hips leaving your ass, cock pulling out of your pussy. Your eyes roll closed, missing him the more he withdraws. Before he’s fully gone, he snaps back inside, entering you harder, faster, deeper.

You gasp, knuckles whitening with the grip of your balled fists. You bend one arm, biting into your sleeve to stop your whimpers from slipping under the door.

A couple more thrusts and Joel’s fucking you. Hard. He’s fucking huge, so huge it blurs the edges of your vision every time his cock hits against your cervix. He’s almost fucking whimpering behind you, growling your name with every stroke, groaning each time he bottoms out inside you and your tight hole wraps around his length.

You can feel the edge of the table bruising your pelvis, and it feels so fucking good. Everything about this feels good. Joel’s cock stretching you out, his hands gripping you roughly, your own hands outstretched to hold onto the desk for some sort of stability.

The only thought going through your head, only words your lips can part to utter: daddy daddy daddy.

“Good girl,” Joel hums, your moans like music to his ears. “Good fuckin’ girl. Know how naughty you are for me?”

You smile. “Yeah, daddy.”

This is the filthiest thing you’ve ever fucking done. Sure, you love sex, especially when it’s rough. But nothing you’ve ever done with anyone else, nothing you’ve ever had done to you by anyone else, compares to being bent over your boss’s desk and fucked dumb by him.

Calling him daddy, corporate managers slowly filing into a conference room just outside. Only an unlocked door separating them from you, writhing and throbbing under Joel’s cock, his rough hands on your hips, your name passing his lips in breathy moans.

Is it wrong? Yes. Do you care? Fuck no.

You know he’s close; his thrusts become sloppy, hips start hammering against you.

“Where d’you want it, baby?” he grunts, skin slapping.

You’re on the pill, and if you answered honestly, you’d tell him to finish inside you. But you know that if he wanted to do that, he’d just fucking do it. Wouldn’t ask. And you’re not prepared to waste time arguing.

“My m-mouth.”

“C’mere.” Joel slips out of you with no effort, you’re so fucking soaked for him, and spins you around. A gentle hand on your shoulder, he pushes you onto your knees, free hand jacking his cock over you.

It’s the first time you see him, fist tugging up and down a thick, veiny shaft; swollen, reddened tip spilling precum which his thumb collects and drags down his length, gleaming with your wet.

On instinct, you push forward, one hand coming to rest on his thigh, the other taking over from his on his dick. You pump him a few times, and then open your mouth wide enough to take him all the way until he’s brushing the back of your throat.

With a choke, you begin bobbing your head up and down, cheeks hollow, breathing deep through your nose. Joel moans, head rolling back, hand coming to hold your hair in a fist. He drags you back and forth a few times before he begins to shudder and you draw back, holding him steady on your swollen bottom lip.

He looks down at you and your eyes lock as he cums all over your tongue. You moan as your mouth fills with his warm, salty load. When his cock stills and he stops spilling all over you, you lean back and close your mouth, licking your lips and swallowing him.

“Aw, babygirl,” he coos, stroking your hair. “Good job. Such a good girl for me.”

You both take a few seconds to catch your breath before Joel’s hands hook under your arms and he pulls you back up, letting you lean against his desk.

Still in a daze, you feel him tug your skirt back down, fix your shirt. Tuck your hair behind your ears, wipe either saliva or cum from your lips.

“Good?” he asks, and you lace your fingers in his.

Your breath is still shaky, but through a sigh, you say, “Good.”

He nods. “Can hear Ken out front, must all be arrivin’.” He pulls you over to the door.

His fingers wrap around the handle, free hand coming up to cup your cheek. He leans down and presses his lips against yours. You open your mouth and let his tongue past, moaning into the wet, messy kiss.

Something in you almost wants to laugh, thinking about the fact you let him fuck you before you’d even kissed him.

When he pulls away, your hands take hold of his jaw, keeping him at your height.

“Have a good meeting,” you whisper, pecking him on the lips, “text me what you want for lunch.”

He growls, yanking the door open and passing by you, granting your wish to sit this one out. Something in you tells you not to wander far, though.

He’ll probably want to blow off some steam when he’s done.

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