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magnoliacharmed · 2 years

Text

Employee of the Month

(not my gif!)

18+, Sting x Fem!Reader one shot smut

[Also available on Archive of Our Own!]

Word count: ~2.1k

Tags: Backstage sex, unprotected sex, facepaint (is that a tag that even makes sense... i mean the man’s whole thing is facepaint lmao),

Summary:

Reader/you finally get acknowledged for your behind the scenes work in WCW by Sting.

Eric Bischoff was definitely getting his money worth hiring you as his personal assistant. That title sounded too professional, it had too much prestige to it. In reality, you were his gofer. Get me this, go for that, make this call, and before you go, don't forget to solve world hunger? You may not be in as good of shape as the wrestlers around you but with the running back and forth you did on a daily basis you were starting to build up some great stamina.

You rarely got to speak to the wrestlers you saw so often. For a good majority of the day you were glued to Bischoff's side constantly making little notes on your clipboard. They'd approach the both of you, sometimes tossing a short greeting your way. Then they'd talk to the boss and you were back to being in the shadows. You figured it was best this way. You didn't want to come off as a groupie or too eager. It was a dream come true to even get this job and you wanted to make sure you kept it.

As far as you knew, to everyone else around you were simply the world's most efficient ghost. Somehow things just got done. No one ever saw (noticed) you complete the tasks, but they managed to be finished. The only person in the company who actually acknowledged you, who actually remembered your name, was Sting. He was one of the biggest names WCW had. For someone with his amount of star power, he was a pretty nice guy. Whenever you rushed by him he said hello, asked how you were doing, all those general pleasantries. Despite his status you'd never really paid much attention to him before. That all changed after he began to speak to you more regularly. You began to look forward to seeing him. You felt sparks fly when he said your name.

Crap, you had a crush on him.

That was gonna make things difficult considering how often you had to see him.

Little did you know, he had a little bit of a crush on you too. He liked the way you held it together under pressure. Your crafty ways in solving problems. The fact that you minded your business and didn't get involved with the messiness that was other wrestlers' problems. They could be so overdramatic, acting as if they were still in high school. Your direct reporting to Bischoff kept you away from all that.

A knock on the locker room door made him whip his head around to see you standing in the doorway. You looked a little nervous, clipboard clutched to your chest and eyes wide. Some poker face you had.

"Ah, Mr. Borden? Mr. Bischoff sent me down here to assist you for the night?" Bischoff told you early that morning that just for the night, you'd be Sting's gofer instead of his. That was fine by you. You needed a break from the man and his many ideas. You wondered why tonight of all nights he decided to send you away.

"Oh yeah. I don't need much help but I'm happy you're around."

Now your heart was beating hummingbird fast.

Sting returned to the mirror to fix his hair. The way it flowed and moved mesmerized you more often than not. You sat down on the bench between the lockers and mirrors, quickly scribbling notes on some scratch paper. You had a feeling Eric was going to dump a lot of work on you tomorrow.

"You can call me Steve, you know. Or Sting. I don't mind either." He turned to smile at you. You could've melted into the floor right there. Your bashful smile and the involuntary movement you made of raising the clipboard to hide your face sent him reeling. Were you always this cute?

"Okay… Sting." You would've liked to call him by his real name but didn't feel comfortable. But how much more comfortable was calling him his stage name off-stage? You still weren't sure of the etiquette.

"Do me a favor? My makeup is in that locker behind you. Mind grabbing it for me?"

With a nod, you quickly got up to grab the black and white face paint out. You always liked the creative liberties he took with the designs. You handed off the jars to him, hands touching each other briefly.

Butterflies. Hummingbirds. Flames. Flooding?

Lust, too? Ugh, this was just too much to handle.

Sting felt it too. The touch was like unexpected thunder on a bright, cloudless day. Where did all that feeling come from?

"I like your… makeup. The designs. It's really cool. Kinda scary." You really hoped you didn't sound like a geek.

He smiled at you again. You could tell he was handsome underneath the facepaint and you were happy you were right.

"Thanks. I usually do it myself but I think I need some help tonight." His eyebrow raised up at you playfully.

Do not come undone!

"Oh! Oh, sure, I can help. It won't look as nice as what you do though. Just as a warning."

He handed you a brush and the white paint. Were your hands trembling? God, you hoped not. He smelled so good. Like strong men's body wash. It made you kind of wet.

Likewise, the smell of your shampoo wafted in his face as you leaned over in front of him. It was fruity, a scent that seemed a lot more exciting than what he expected. Sting realized now he never really thought about what you did outside of work. What kind of friends did you have? What's the last movie you saw? What turned you on?

Uh-oh. That last question came out of nowhere.

Sting looked forward at himself in the mirror as you covered his face in the white makeup. The smell of your hair and you bent over in front of him was driving him a little crazy. It wouldn't be a smart idea to fuck Bischoff's assistant. You're always in his ear. Really, you're was the one holding everything together. Whether or not everyone else realized that was anybody's guess. A quick glance down at your chest was the worst idea he could've had. The cut of your shirt didn't allow for a lot of view, but the glimpse he caught of your breasts was the last thing he needed to get rock hard.

He had a feeling you wouldn't ever make the first move. That's why he had to be the one to ask Bischoff for your assistance that night. Now he had to continue on, damn the consequences.

"I hope this position isn't too awkward for you." Sting's voice was a little hoarse. It made your breathing quicken.

"No, not all Mr. Borden-- Sting. Sorry. Hard habit to break." You gave him a lopsided "what can you do?" smile. The heat building between your legs was very distracting. The way you were bent over was making your knees lock up. You kicked your legs up behind you to move the muscles.

As soon as your right calf reached the air, Sting picked you up and sat you in his lap. He picked you up so easily too, like you were a bag of feathers in his arms. Suddenly your faces were inches away from each other, noses almost touching. His big hands rested on the small of your back.

"If you're uncomfortable, we can stop right here, right now. I'll leave you alone. I'll tell Eric you did a great job."

You shook your head no vigorously. There was no way you wanted to stop now.

Sting breathed in deeply. It was a combination of relief and restraint.

"Okay. Keep going with the makeup."

Words could not form correctly. You nodded and finished off the white paint. His grip around you was tight. You could feel just how hard he was against you, your warmth meeting his in a way that made your brain fuzzy. You twisted your body around to reach for a new brush and the black paint. The friction of you moving on top of him made him clear his throat.

The show would be starting soon. Now or never. When you twisted back to face him, brush and paint in hand, Sting lifted you just a fraction into the air. He was happy he chose not to wear the singlet tonight. With a swift and frantic motion he pushed down his pants to let his cock spring forth.

Your eyes widened at the sight. He was so hard. Precome leaked from the tip of him, glistening and wet.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck me

He pushed your own jeans down. He was pretty skillful with one hand, undoing the button and zipper with ease. You raised a leg up for him to push the pant leg down, freeing one side of you from the fabric. The sight of your crimson red lace panties made him pause. Again, another surprise. Very impractical underwear for such a practical person.

His eyes met yours. Sting finally let you sit back on his lap, dick pressing so dangerously close to you. He was on the verge of pushing inside of you.

"Keep applying… the paint." He breathed. His face might have looked blank but lust fired in his pupils.

Your hands were trembling now, no doubt about it. You clenched the brush and black paint with as much effort as you could. Painting around his eyes? No problem. You got it! The look was beginning to come together when--

"Holy shit," your moan was loud. Much louder than expected. The brush almost fell from your grip as the pad of Sting's thumb began to circle around your clit. He was moving so painfully slow, taking in the sight of you squirming above him. You threw your head back in ecstasy at the pressure building down below.

"Keep going," his voice had gotten deeper below you. How were you supposed to do a good job face painting while he rubbed your clit? It would just have to come out sloppy. You did a great job 100% of the time… one tiny slip up wasn't so bad.

Your voice turned to a whimper as Sting finally entered you. A string of curses rapidly escaped your lips, causing him to laugh. Tonight was the first time he'd heard you curse and it was all because of him. The man had a lot of girth. He stretched you out, massaging your walls with a practiced ease. You were putty in his hands. The warm wetness of you was close to too much to handle. The way your muscles clenched around his cock, the way you seemed to pull him deeper in you was unique. He'd never felt anyone like you before. Every stroke hit your spot perfectly.

Your breathing was heavy. The brush finally reached his lips and it was a struggle to get there. You tried your hardest to stay in the lines as his hands gripped your hips and pushed you up and down on him. You gushed over his pants, eyes rolling back in your head. Your hard work was for nothing. Your lips pressed down into his, fresh paint smearing across his face onto yours. You had enough time to fix it, he didn't come on until the show was almost over.

Good at kissing, good at fucking, good at wrestling. What a man, you thought as he pounded away at you.

Your body slammed against his. You hummed along with every push down onto him, fingers reaching to grab into his hair.

"Steve-- Sting-- ah, fuck," You began to mumble. The fact he had Bischoff's well composed cute assistant saying his name so passionately was enough to send him to the edge. The black and white paint smeared into a gray streak on your lips. Something about that sight was the final piece of the puzzle.

"Fuck," he growled. His come covered your insides, cock twitching with every spurt. Your own orgasm rocked you hard. Your legs shook below you and your fingers gripped even tighter at the roots of his hair. You grinded forward on his still hard dick, pushing his come deeper in you. His thumb finally left your clit while your breathing slowed down.

No feeling in your legs. Not a surprise. He raised you up again, one hand around your waist. His cock slid out of you so painfully slow that you whimpered at the feeling of cool air against your wetness.

He turned you around so you could face the mirror. The smear of makeup made you bury your head in your hands.

You were not supposed to fuck the talent!

But man, it felt good.

Sting laughed at your embarrassment. The bottom half of his face was gray now.

"Best makeup I've ever had." He smiled at your expressions in the mirror.

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