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voidhope · 2 years ago

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The Other Woman

(Part 2 FINALE)

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Synopsis: Miguel had left Y/N for another version of his old wife in hopes of getting his old life back. To only realize the mistakes he’s made.

Link to Part 1

Pair: Miguel O’Hara x Spider!reader

Warnings: very heavy mental health, ANGST LIKE A LOT OF ANGST, ALL OF THIS IS ANGST, mentions of death/almost dying, long term establish relationship, cheating, swearing, therapy, physical fight, blood, feral protective miguel?

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A/N: hello again! this one is more heartbreaking and longer than the first part oof… Very low dialog up until closer towards the end! wanted to just get through telling the story itself and the emotions. It’s just a very heavy storyline!! I want to say thank you so so much for showing so much support for part 1 i had no idea it would receive that much attention :O !! i wrote this out kinda fast as i didn’t want to loose the momentum of the idea. so apologies for any mistakes! all feedback is greatly appreciated ~

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You used to make Miguel coffee everyday, with one cream two sugars, and he would nag about how he hated the taste. It was to your liking, not his. As you would sneakily take sips out of his mug while working next to him. Why didn’t you just get your own coffee? You claimed you could never finish it and just wanted a taste out of his. Miguel would roll his eyes at you every time he caught you but he adored it. He had secretly grown to love the way you made it and had become his only way of making coffee after meeting you.

Now as this version of his older wife made it the way he is suppose to like coffee, bland and straight, he found himself bothered by it. Going as far to correct her even though this was what he had been claiming to have missed so much. He was now seeing himself teaching someone else how to love him like you did…

He was only a shell of the man he was when he had Gabriella. Even though the copy of his old wife has her same personality, the relationship couldn’t be exactly how it was before because he had changed so much. You had helped him become whole again. His tastes and likings had all switched to everything about you. The charm he found in his old wife doesn’t hold a light to you now and he was getting frustrated. He had wanted this so badly. He felt like those babies who whine and cry wanting to eat a lemon and once they get their way they realize the sour truth.

Miguel never truly realized what it was like to loose you until three weeks after he told you the truth. Over the years the idea of losing you terrified him but he only ever thought of it being in death. He never considered separation when everything was perfect for both of you then. There were times he believed that you were made just for him and he treated you like his queen. Which you truly were to him in his spider society. Why would he ever throw that away? Look at what he did.

He gave himself every excuse in the book before you knew he was cheating on you. ‘This is only for research.’ he would think every time he found himself back in that universe. As everyone knew he was so serious about his work, obviously this is just him getting to know more about certain universes and canons. Lyla was the only one seeing straight through him knowing where he was actually going. Things kept tumbling and the more he found out about the place and spent time with her the more his grief and yearning returned. It was all just there, so reachable.

There was a time his mind tried to snap him back out of it while cheating on you and made him realize the guilt. The first time he kissed this woman you were there in his mind. He came home right after and held you without saying a word. You never questioned him, just showed him comfort as much as you could. Lightly stroking his back, you never over stepped or pushed him when he was vulnerable with you. He only closed his eyes and held onto you tighter processing how you were always too good for him. He was converting to living two different lives; his old self during the day and then coming home to you. He didn’t want to let go of either at the time.

Once he found out he could safely have Gabriella again was when he became distant with you. The shame of using you for research made him become stoic. He didn’t want to admit how wrong he was treating you. All while you were always being so loyal and trusting towards him. Things were slowly slipping through the cracks and he knew he couldn’t up keep it. He wished he could have had that conversation with you so much differently but it was over. Now he had his old life back, a dream he had his mind set on.

He ignored the shakiness in his hands when he returned to her after letting you go. ‘It’s all for the best.’ is what he would repeat in his mind as a mantra. His new girlfriend truly had no idea who he really was or what his background was. Miguel continued to feed her lies to the point where he even started believing them himself getting too lost in avoiding what he’s done. He believed he was happy as he spent time with her.

When she got too close to finding the truth after finding his wedding ring in one of his pockets, he set her off course from it by revealing his spider identity and taking her to HQ. This was the day that everything felt like it was crashing around him. Being reminded of his marriage, having to face his friends with his new lover, sharing his personal spider life, his work with someone who wasn’t you. He excused himself rushing to an unused office room while his chest was tightening. Pupils dilating as he realized it was his first time having a panic attack.

Nevertheless he continued to push it all aside and act completely normal with his girlfriend. He was feeling your absence the most while working. You had became an extension of him. He had trained you from scratch and you helped him build this society he has now. You knew the ins and outs of everything and fought perfectly alongside him. Now that he was on his own he let his girlfriend be there for him when he got stressed, but there always was a knot in his stomach he never could get rid of.

The more his mental health ate at him late at night the more he considered searching out for you. There was no closure between both of you and he never got to listen to how you feel. What was your opinion on all that happened? Do you hate him?

He wanted to speak with someone so badly but he dug himself in a hole too deep. You were gone, he was lying through his teeth to this poor woman he’s kept for some fantasy, he felt too ashamed to say anything to his friends, he would rather die if all his workers found out how big of a piece of shit he is. Anytime Lyla tried peeping a word that wasn’t work related he would snap. He had pushed everyone away and now he just felt alone.

Regardless he would wake up in the morning and swallow all his dark feelings. He would remember his grief of when he lost his family and it would put him back in the moment. He has another chance. He was happy with the direction he was going in now.

Right?

—

The day he found out you were at HQ he felt his heart stop. He was mid mission trying to call for Lyla but she wouldn’t answer. Frustrated he tried looking into what was happening only to see her busy having a conversation with you. It felt like something took over him when he opened a portal in less than a second. Without thinking nor wasting a heartbeat he rushed back. Just a glimpse of you, maybe just to hear a word out of your mouth. The feeling of having you back in HQ was making him ignore all his insecurities. How he would coward at the thought of trying to reach out to you before. You were in his home, your home, and the thought drove him wild.

You were already long gone though. Lyla stared at him not saying a word. The quietness in the room making his ears ring but his thoughts were screaming in his head. He stood there frozen still trying to recollect himself. He was the one that left you, what is wrong with him?

Again he went back and forth in his own head trying to convince himself ‘You wanted this.’ but if he did why is he feeling like someone just killed a puppy in front of him? Why is he here fighting with his self if this is really his dream? Why did he try chasing after you? The wounds of his past grief were too deep. He never took the time to properly heal and now look at what he’s become.

“Miguel, what’s this?” He was startled turning around seeing his girlfriend holidng your watch and skimming through the divorce paperwork addressed to him.

There was no more hiding, no more lying. He swallowed hard even though his throat was dry. He let everything he had kept away rise to surface. It hurt him to see the beautiful face his old wife shared contort into such anger and pain while finding the truth.

She didn’t stay, but for some reason he wasn’t upset. Though he longed for his daughter, he knew it would have never been the same now. He finally closed the door on his past. His heart had made the choice this time but it’s too late. Now grasping onto the divorce papers left by you, emptiness spread through his soul.

—

You on the other hand did not find yourself crying by yourself on a rooftop for long. The shift in the air from your arrival alerted the local spider-man immediately.

“It didn’t work out, did it?” He crouched down next to you as he noticed your watch gone and your missing wedding band.

Peter Parker knew both you and Miguel. Your husband had come to do many rounds of research in this universe when he took you. Eventually offering this Peter a spot in the society, which he politely declined due to just being busy enough here. You both never spoke much but always had an appreciation for each other.

“Do you need a place to crash at?” He continued while trying to get you to look at him. Reaching his hand towards you.

You had absolutely no one and you had been gone so long you couldn’t even go back to the little you had. When you met Miguel you didn’t hesitate to never look back and now it filled you with regret. How naive were you to put all your trust and reliance on him.

You took Peter’s hand. You were ready to start your own life and be your own person now.

—

Peter Parker was nice enough to let you stay with him as long as you needed it. You both had became ‘besties!’ as he would love to poke at you. The first month with him you were a disaster really but he showed you how he liked to cope using his spider abilities.

The first thing he helped you with was getting a new suit. Your old one resembled too much to Miguel’s and you felt suffocated every time you put it on. Peter had taught you to use your current emotional pain on whichever sad little villain was making trouble out in Brooklyn that night.

“Come on, we got multiverse spider-woman helping me keep these streets clean now!” He would taunt at the men while watching you easily take them out a little bit too aggressively. His feet kicking up and down while he sat on the side of a building watching you. The crime rate did go down a bit once word got around how strong your punch was. Peter’s just happy he can now spend some nights to himself.

You got yourself a job at the mart on the corner to help cover bills for Peter and save up. You were grateful enough the owners never batted an eye when you would disappear during a shift to either suddenly go cry uncontrollably or beat the shit out of someone at a nearby robbery. Next thing you were enrolling yourself back in university, wanting to finish that degree you never did.

It wasn’t too long that some of your older spider friends would stop by to check in on you. Seeing them was difficult sometimes, you were internally itching to ask about Miguel. Things were going okay for you on a very slow path of breathing step by step. You never wanted to feel that hurt again and so you very well pretend like Miguel didn’t exist if you could.

You couldn’t ignore the hurt resurfacing when you passed couples on the street. Or when you found yourself going to fidget with your wedding ring just to remember it’s gone. You can’t just move on from a relationship that was so deeply apart of you and lasted so long. You gave everything to him and it will take you much time to get yourself to build trust again.

After two semesters, you finally had your graduation. All the things you learned while in Earth-928 paid off as you barley had to study. Passing top of the class, you immediately got an offer for an internship opportunity with Alchemax and was able to get an introduction tour of the building beforehand.

What you hadn’t realized was that Alchemax had been looking for that girl who snuck into their offices a couple years ago. Who made another dimension’s spider appear and then went missing herself soon after. They had kept as close tabs on you as they could and how foolish you were to think your little break in wouldn’t come back to bite you. The moment you stepped foot back in their building, it was over for you.

—

Miguel had spent a whole year in much deserving therapy. Nothing could stop the embarrassment he felt when Peter B signed him up with HQ’s best spider-therapist after 3 months of constant out bursts. No one could come near the man when he felt like he had lost everything. Those first initial months were difficult for everyone around him.

Therapy did help, he hates to admit it, but it was a very rough ride. He finally was able to understand his deep inner term oil and heal his issues but moving on from you? No, he could never.

You were the only one who had sincerely stood by his side, always rooting for him. He never fell out of love with you despite of everything that he did. He just pushed everything down too deep and was blinded by obsession. Till now he could never deny that he still loves you. Maybe if he just would have went to therapy years ago instead of acting out on unsolved grief none of this would have happened. The guilt always making him toss and turn at night.

He would have big temper tantrums when he would find his coworkers going to visit you time to time and not sharing any details. He needed to know if you’re okay. Did you already move on? He longed to find you and speak with you but he knew he wasn’t ready yet. He was so self destructive and this was what he deserved.

Everyone avoided him completely when he overheard someone saying you were living with Peter Parker. Fighting crime with him and having a cute little home life. Peter followed you around now like a puppy. Miguel did not take the news well at all. Let’s just say, the large bill replacement for his monitor screens was what snapped him out of that rage.

He also wanted to strangle Hobie Brown every time he saw a glint in his eye when your name was mentioned around. Yet Miguel couldn’t hate the kid either, as Hobie was one of the people to try help repair the damage he did to you. How badly he just wanted to hold you and shield you in his arms from any other people taking you from him as if he wasn’t the idiot to let you go in the first place.

Everyone’s big, powerful, scary boss was really just a grumpy, wallowing-in-self-pity, sensitive, lonely man now. Mention your name too much to him and watch him start crying or take it out on whatever he could find nearest to him. He would some nights scroll through your wedding photos while listening to your last tracked log with Lyla. Your words cutting through him deep like long sharp knives. How he urged to go tell you it was all wrong and how guilty he was for making you feel like this.

Despite it all, he still believed in being the best of the best. He used his work to distract himself from his sorrows, to become numb. Even though his divorce paperwork were set next to him on his desk to remind him the pain. He never signed it.

—

“We can’t tell him!” Jessica gritted through her teeth. Small group of spider-people were hovered around Lyla taking in the new found information.

“Her canon events have always been uncertain, we can’t just stop and fix this one?” Gwen Stacy suggested in hopes.

“We have never prevented a canon event of hers or the people involved in it. It could be even more dangerous than a regular canon.” Peter B spoke grimly.

“When ‘as danger ever stopped us?” Hobie spoke up.

“Everyone get your gear.” Lyla added to the stress of the situation.

—

You couldn’t open your eyes properly with a strong blinding light being held above you. Arms and legs secured on top of a metal surgical table. You could feel the warmth of blood scattered on certain parts of your body, slowly starting to dry. It was a mix of yours and the people you had tried fighting through to get out of here when you realize the trap you were reeled into. Different people in lab coats poked and pried all around you while you were tied. Your mask was thrown on another table and your suit had large gashes across it.

Soon you also could feel the presence of Peter Parker being brought to the room, thrown slumped in the corner breathing heavily. They had gotten you too good. They knew everything and had planned this so detailed.

“Now you’re going to help me open the multiverse.” Kingpin loomed around you. All you could feel was searing pain as a laser aimed right at your chest.

—

Miguel was already staring out the window to the glowing night lights of Nueva York when he saw a big hole appear in sight of the skyline. His eyebrows furrowed while he was trying to process what he was looking at. It wasn’t a second later when all alarms started going off in his office.

“Qué carajos?” He exclaimed seeing the alerts of a possible universe collapse. “Lyla! Why wasn’t this being taken care of already?”

“I already sent people.”

“Then what are they doing?” He yelled. His confusion and anger only furthered when he saw a red alarm for a canon event.

“Canon event?” He whispered to himself. He always knew when these were happening, there were none scheduled for today. There was no way he would let one passed him, it’s not like this could magically appear? His jaw dropped in realization… a new canon event.

“Lyla, tell me the truth. Why wasn’t this reported to me?” He made the atmosphere turn cold. She knew he already figured it out.

“A new canon event was received this morning being given to Peter Parker. Of Y/N L/N’s death.” The words from Lyla made Miguel’s body go still. His eyes raced side to side while he processed it.

“No!” He roared, a fist slamming into the nearby desk. His massive strength breaking it in half.

“Boss, you can’t go on this mission only using your emotions.” Lyla warned. However Miguel was already half way stepping through a portal to find you.

He appeared, watching his team struggle to shut down the machine causing the collapse. Outnumbered by the amount of Alchemax puppets. A different kind of rage filled him as he saw you, for the first time in a year, suffering. Miguel was never one to act reckless while on missions but he had no plan here and just ran off the pure adrenaline the fight or flight had hit him with.

His claws tore into the backs of his enemies as he jumped beast-like across the room. Not hesitating spilling blood across the wall while he took everyone down as fast as he could. His team could only watch wide eye with an unsettling fear as they saw Miguel lose himself to his spider sense. While he fought they took the opportunity to take apart the machine.

Miguel was panting heavily, pupils blown wide glowing red, and fangs dripping with venom as the room slowly silenced. Kingpin laid on the floor slowly trying to drag himself after being beaten to a pulp. It was over. Peter B stopped him from doing anything further. Knowing Miguel would kill the man, Peter B let the team finish up to give Kingpin to authorities. Miguel turned frantically to look at you seeing the other spiders step away. Peter Parker was hunched over you in tears. Miguel fought the urge to snap at Peter and grab his hands off of you.

Your vision was too blurry and everything felt like it was burning. A shape that seemed too familiar came into your peripheral vision and you tried to push yourself up.

“Miguel?” Was the last thing you croaked before slumping back passing out. Miguel catching you in his arms before you could hurt yourself further.

“It’s her time.” Jessica spoke behind him. Yet he was refusing to let go. He had never defied the way the timeline worked since he created his society. He would never break the rules and you both had promised each other before not to. If there was a situation like this you both agreed to save the universe first. How stupid was he to think he would listen to that now facing it in-front of him.

He never got to tell you what happened. He never got to apologize. He never got to tell you one more time that he loved you. Even if you in result just spat in his face, at least he was able to talk to you one more time. You were never a placeholder or someone to fill a hole in his heart. His whole heart belonged to you and he couldn’t let you go thinking you didn’t mean anything to him. No matter the consequences, he needed to tell you.

“Call all the teams to control the damage of a possible universe collapse.” He turned to Jess with Y/N tightly in his arms. The spider-people watched speechless as he opened a portal and disappeared.

—

Two weeks you laid motionless in the HQ’s medbay.

The clean up after breaking the canon was a little intense. They were able to get it under control as the event started to fade from your timeline once you were returned and starting to heal in Earth-928.

The spider society would remain silent near the medbay. The lights always being dimmed and hushed whispers between staff to not bother the distressed O’Hara. He refused to leave.

Your Peter Parker had now joined the team, much to Miguel’s dismay. Everyday your friends would come in and check to see how you were. Some telling stories about their day or any gossip updates you missed, in hopes that it would get you to wake up. They would ignore the gloomy Miguel who was basically glued to the seat next to you not saying a word to anyone.

At night Miguel would play with your fingers and softly stroke your hair all while pleading “Please don’t leave me, please don’t leave me. Por favor mi alma.” He knew it wasn’t his place to beg this after what he did, but he didn’t mind the words falling on deaf ears.

Miguel hadn’t eaten in days, he felt too nauseous from anxiety to even try anything. Pavitr had done the favor to bring you and Miguel’s favorite empanadas from a small street vendor downtown. Hoping to get Miguel to at least try the food before he ended up in a hospital bed next to you due to starvation.

You started to blink open your eyes, spots surrounding your vision. You could hear a soft breathing to your right side and you slowly felt your sense come back one by one. It felt like you just had a really rough nap.

“Oh my god that smells so good.” You moaned, sitting yourself up to try to look at where the smell of food was coming from.

You were met with a wide eyed Miguel holding a box of empanadas. His jaw slacked open acting as if he’s seen a ghost looking at you. Confusion hit you first for a second and then you start to panic.

Why was he here? Why was your ex-husband sitting right here? You started to push away from him and Miguel caught on to your panic.

“No, no, no mi amor stop.” He tried calming you. “You’re hurt, you’re going to open your stitches.”

You suddenly remembered everything that happened right before you blacked out. At that moment you forgot the hurt you had towards your ex-lover. Gathering yourself you just stared at him. “I’m suppose to be dead.”

Tears rimmed your eyes. Why did it feel like life just hated you so much?

Miguel engulfed you in his arms as you started to cry. You didn’t care right now. You had ached for this feeling again, so alone, with the comfort Miguel used to bring you. Just for a moment you could pretend like how it was before.

“We can’t do this Miguel.”

He knew what you were thinking. He didn’t want to let you leave his arms yet, as he let his self hold harder and push your head closer into his the crook of his shoulder. The tickle of your breath on his neck, he just wanted this forever.

“She left. Almost a year ago.” He let out to you. A big weight coming off of his chest. You pulled back from him and looked up into his eyes while you watched him avoid your gaze. You felt bad to say you could feel a bit of satisfaction bubbling in you.

“Good, she deserved better.”

“So did you.” Miguel sighed playing with his hands. Your eyes widened when you saw the ring still on his finger. He let you stare. “I-I could never. I couldn’t.” The emotions struggle to come out of his mouth. You understood him though. You always did. Placing your hand on top of his you just nodded.

“Please stay here.” He whispered.

Miguel had broken you in so many ways. Yet he almost ruined another universe just to keep you alive. You both needed time to talk and coming out a coma right now isn’t good timing.

“I finally became my own person when I went back in my universe. I enjoyed my independence.” The words pelleted at him. He could only hold his breath as he waited for you to continue. “I’ll stay… but not for you.”

It wounded him deeply; but he deserved it. This place will always be a home for you even if he wasn’t apart of it. Before he can tear his gaze and turn away, you reached out to hold his face close to yours. Your fingers gently rubbing on his cheeks as you slowly look at him properly after so long. You let your thumb smooth over his frown lines and he leaned into your touch closing his eyes.

“Let’s give us time.” Was the words you blessed that opened every door of hope he could find. He would take it, he would absolutely take it. He has to fight for you, he has to prove to you. He would do anything but for now he’ll be on his best patiently waiting for you.

Both of you sat comfortably without speaking, only the faint background beeps of the hospital monitor making up for the silence, while passing small glances. For once both of you felt a missing warmth you didn’t realize you needed. Sharing empanadas with each other, just maybe it will be alright…

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The end!!! Thank you so so much for your time in reading my story. i really really was so happy with all the comments and feedback on pt 1 it really meant a lot!!!

i hope this was ok ~ i apologize for how long it was i was thinking of doing another part but just wanted to finish this up. I was in such a conflict how to end this. i hope it wasn’t too cliche or anything i’m just a sucker for very wanty needy dramatic stories. It’s a hopeful ending tho~ i couldn’t pick with just happy or sad.

So many of you had tons of amazing suggestions which I appreciated so much. I was such a mess trying to figure it all out. Many of you wanted to see Y/N move on with another person but I ended up going this route. I used Peter Parker as an obv character in y/n’s universe but it’s not tied to any specific one and you guy can think of him more to your liking if you want to!

If any of you would like a small drabble or imagine of another route of this story or just anything angsty/possessive and rarwrarwbarkbark miguel. I’d be glad to help lol!! My request box is wide open~ i had so much fun writing this!

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@hoseokslefteyebrow @sleepyamaya @typicalife-101 @jenniferdixon05207 @geraskier-thots @nuttyrebelflower @youcantseem3 @ihateuguys @archangel1206 @southprw

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o’hara fanfiction #miguel o’hara imagine #miguel o’hara x y/n #spiderman imagine #spiderman2099 #across the spiderverse #astv #x reader #peter parker #fanfiction #miguel x you #angst #miguel o’hara angst

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fxllfaiiry · 2 years ago

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─ you're the sunflower ੈ✩‧₊˚

✶ pairing: miguel o'hara x fem!reader

✶ synopsis: everyone on the team loves you, expect miguel who seems to hate you more than anyone.

✶ warnings: angst!! major angst. sunshine!reader x grumpy!miguel. reader is nicknamed sunflower, mentions of death.

✶ notes: there's one spanish sentence in this, I'm not good with spanish so if I've made a mistake please tell me so i can fix it! part two is already up!!!

Everyone on the team loved you from the moment you joined, everyone, except Miguel.

You knew Miguel was cold towards everyone, but he was extra cold with you. Maybe it was because of how different your personalities were.

You were the embodiment of sunshine, always positive in any situation, putting others before yourself. Hence why everyone calls you sunflower, it fits perfectly, Miles was proud of coming up with it.

Miguel on the other hand was cold and distant but that didn't stop you from trying to get him to open up. You'd try to have simple conversations with him but nothing, all you would receive in reply was an eye roll or a slight grunt, but you wouldn't give up that easily.

Like today, you got him some coffee.

"Morning, boss. Got you some coffee." You said in your usual cheerful tone.

"Why?" He raised his eyebrows, looking down at you suspiciously. That's the most he's said to you all week.

"Because I wanted to." You shrugged, placing it down on his desk.

He steped down walking towards his desk, you couldn't help but stare at him, unfortunately for you, everything about him was so attractive, it's such a shame he hated you.

"This isn't how I like my coffee."

"Huh?" You snapped out of your daydream at the sound of his voice.

"The coffee, it tastes terrible. Get it from another place next time."

"Well, actually I made it-" But he had already walked away from you not listening to a word you said. "Alright, never mind, I'll just go back to work." You mumbled hurt by his words.

"Wait, hold on." You looked up, thinking, maybe he'll say something nice after all.

"Yeah?"

"Take the coffee with you, I won't be drinking it."

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

"Girl, why do you look so sad? Did Miguel do something again?" Jess asked with a frown, she did not like seeing you sad.

"No."

"Sunflower…"

"Okay, yes." Miguel being cold towards you was normal, he never spoke to you unless necessary. Out of everyone here, he probably hated you the most, even more than Miles.

"Sunflower, I've told you to stop trying." Jess sighed.

"I know, I know… why does he hate me so much, Jess?"

"That's just the way he is, don't overthink it. It's his loss, baby." She replied, gently patting your shoulder.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Today was going to be a good day, you were so sure of it.

But, of course, you were wrong.

Everything was going great up until a few hours ago.

Miguel had assigned you on a mission to catch an anomaly, alongside a few other spider-people. His instructions were clear, stick to the plan and catch the anomaly. It was supposed to be simple.

If only you didn't disobey him. You screwed up badly, and because of that, you could have been killed.

"Why don't you ever listen?" Miguel shouted. No one had ever seen him this angry.

"I was just tryin-"

"¡Ay, por el amor de Dios!" Being yelled at by your boss in front of your coworkers was humiliating, everyone was looking at you with pity.

"I'm sick of this, why can’t you follow simple instructions? Is it that hard to understand?" He barked, towering over you.

"It's not a big deal." You tried to keep your composure, you didn't want to humiliate yourself further by bursting into tears.

"Not a big deal? You could've died! A simple mistake would have ruined the whole mission."

Don't cry. Don't cry.

"But we're all fine, aren't we?" You weakly chuckled. That was the wrong thing to say because it only made him angrier.

"Oh? If that's the attitude you have then you shouldn't even be on the team." Ouch.

"Miguel, I think that's enough-" Hobie said, quickly jumping in.

"Not now, Hobie." He growled.

Never once did you think that you'd be in a situation like this.

"If you put more focus on trying to be good at your job, rather than impressing me, we wouldn't even be here!" Oh, so he did notice that.

At this point, tears were streaming freely down your face and you made no attempt to stop them.

"Yep, you got it, boss." You smiled up at him through your tears. It was pathetic, but you did not care, you just wanted to leave and never come back.

"Next time make sure this doesn't happen."

"It won't happen next time." That's because there won't be a next time.

#📂 ‧₊˚ my works .ᐟ #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #spiderman across the spiderverse #across the spiderverse #spiderman atsv #spiderman x reader #spiderman #spiderman 2099 #spiderman 2099 x reader #oscar isaac x reader #oscar isaac #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara angst

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spatialwave · 1 month ago

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cooler, sweeter, hotter.

➸ pairing: nam-gyu x fem!reader ➸ word count: 2.6k ➸ tags: nsfw, smut, semi-public, dirty talk, rough, no protection, nam-gyu and reader are switches. ➸ notes: requests are temporarily open for squid game content! writing for nam-gyu, thanos and dae-ho! i have a few in my ask box that i'll get to soon :)

part 2 ->

You sat on your bunk, your eyes settled ahead at nothing in particular, as everyone around you began splitting off into teams after the conclusion of the recent vote. As someone with enough debt to make your parents disown you, you wore the blue circle on your jacket, though not so proudly.

You were selfish; you always had been.

That’s why you were sitting on your bunk and staring blankly as the time ticked away. Uncaring that just beyond the open floor of the dormitory sat dozens of players who missed their beds, homes and families—stuck there because of everyone who voted to stay.

You let out a sigh, hands moving between your crossed legs as the coursing sensation of desire washed through you. It was only human to feel such things, wasn’t it? It had been nearly three days since you were stuck in this hellhole and weeks since you’d felt the touch of another that was more than just someone gripping you for dear life.

You had a fool-proof plan, having watched the patterns of most players and noted when the bathroom would be at its quietest before it emptied for the night—an escape to break off from the dorm and hide away in a stall until you found release.

However, the sound of your name being whispered stirred you from your thoughts, blinking a few times as your gaze snapped to your left and landed on player 124. His name was on the tip of your tongue as your eyes connected with his, watching the way he crossed his arms on the side of your bed as he sat on the stairs next to it.

“Nam-su,” you muttered, cocking an eyebrow at him.

“Nam-gyu,” he corrected, irritation growing, but he stamped it down to earn your favour. After all, he was more perceptive than others gave him credit for, and he’d noticed the way you’d squeezed your thighs together when voting—when grabbing your meal. He was as needy as you.

You rolled your eyes, clicking your tongue. “What do you want? I’m trying to rest.”

He smirked; the fingers that poked out from the confines of his long sleeves tapped along your untouched bedding. Still firmly tucked in.

“You seem… frustrated,” his voice was low as he spoke, eyes staring up at you as they narrowed, “I am too.”

The remark sent a shiver up your spine, unsure if you should indulge in his words or brush him off. Perhaps it was a lucky guess at how you felt, or he was referring to something else—you had almost screwed up Gonggi when playing in the previous game, so it was fair to assume.

You sighed, turning your head away and looking across the dormitory where you saw others sitting and finishing up their food slowly. In particular, a young woman whose stomach was so bulged out that she appeared she’d give birth any second. Poor girl.

“Why? Is the game frightening you?” You asked, keeping your gaze ahead as you shifted. You couldn’t deny the ache between your legs, the desire that hoped he felt the same. He wasn’t exactly the type you’d go for back when life wasn’t a game, but you’d take what you could get.

“Not that kind of frustration,” he huffed, irritation bubbling. Ready to curse at you under his breath and give up if you pissed him off more… Well, he would’ve given up. He needed this—badly. “Don’t act. You know what I mean.”

Your eyes flickered to his, sparkling with curiosity. Slowly, you leaned your body on the head you placed over the bed between his arms and where you sat. Your fingernails gripped the bedsheet, and your mouth watered.

“What makes you think you could help me?” You murmured, testing him to see how far you could push his buttons.

“Because you’d have said no already.” He quipped, a tiny smile pulling the corners of his thin lips. Nam-gyu pulled back from the bed, tapping the surface with his hands like a drum as he looked around, “Talk later. Have to use the washroom.”

The hidden invitation sent molten fire into the pit of your stomach, watching as he pushed himself away and tucked his hands back into his sleeves. Without even glancing your way, he slowly walked towards the bathrooms where a few other players came out of—likely empty. Fuck, you really didn’t want to go into the men’s washroom.

Swallowing your pride, you waited a few minutes before sliding off your bed and descending the steps. You walked silently through the dormitory until you reached the hallways leading to the washroom, the first door guarded by two masked workers. As you walked further, you made it between two washrooms, male and female. You wondered for a moment which room he would’ve gone in, looking between them until you heard the sound of a stall shutting in the women’s.

Your feet carried you quickly, hungry for Nam-gyu’s touch, which you hoped was satisfying. At this point, the worst fuck ever would be the best.

Just as you entered the washroom, you quietly walked along the stalls to the left, eyeing up each door. Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you opened a few to no avail until the next door opened, and you were tugged into the stall by a tight hand on your unzipped sweater.

“Fuck,” you hissed, eyes landing on Nam-gyu as your back pressed against the now-closed stall door. Your cheeks flushed, breath heaving in your chest, “How’d you get in here?”

“Just walked in,” he answered, cornering you like a predator and prey. Surprising, considering that you hardly viewed him as the dominant type or at least someone who was capable of dominating you. “The guards don’t give a fuck, so I’m gonna’ roll with it.”

Your thighs spread, inviting his leg that pushed between yours and provided your aching cunt with necessary friction. It was instant the way you rolled against him, hesitant hands lifting to his zipped sweater and grabbing at the clothing that was too big for him.

“Shut up and fuck me, I don’t care about the guards.” You whimpered, grabbing at his neck and yanking him forward until his lips crashed against yours. He whined into your mouth, eyes falling shut as you both resorted to stifled whimpers and moans to communicate.

You rubbed your clothed pussy on his thigh, feeling the wetness soak through your underwear and tracksuit. Likely leaving a wet mark over his leg, he didn’t seem to care much. Two rough hands grabbed at your waist, pushing up the fabric of your sweater and shirt as his nails dug into your skin. You mewled into his mouth, hips moving quicker as the pressure against your heat built up your climax.

The sweater that hung around your body was pushed from your shoulders as he pushed his tongue between your lips. It danced with yours, devouring your moans as the shirt came next—parting the kiss so he could pull your shirt from your body. Nam-gyu leaned back, eyes landing on your exposed chest and focusing on your hardened nipples. A quiet growl rumbled in the back of his throat as he leaned down and captured one of the buds into his mouth, rolling it back and forth between his teeth as he sucked. His other hand grabbed at your neglected breast, massaging the globe as he whined pathetically as he sucked on you.

“You like my tits?” You asked him, your hips moving a steady rhythm against his tensed thigh.

He answered with a muffled sound of acknowledgment, eyes opened to peer up at you. It was then you saw the flicker of enjoyment. He liked you taking control.

“Mm,” you moaned, your hand lifting to his hair and brushing through the strands as you tilted your head back. You breathed out, bucking your hips, “Just like that. You’re so good—“

The praise did wonders as Nam-gyu continued to suck, furthering his touches by pushing his hand past the waistband of your pants. Fingers slipped underneath your panties, finding your wet folds and pushing through them as you shuddered. Your hand tightened in his hair, forcefully pulling him from your chest as he whimpered. Obediently looking up, lips slightly parted as he waited for you.

You rubbed your hips in tandem with his touch, his fingers brushing against your pussy and bumping against your throbbing clit every so often. It was too much, already feeling as though you were going to reach the peak if he kept up his ministrations, so you pushed him back until he crashed against the toilet.

You were quick to follow him, smirking at his wide-eyed expression as you wrestled his pants down his hips until his cock sprung free.

“Fuck,” he huffed, looking down as you stroked his length that felt nice and big in your hand—wondering how well it would fill you. You squeezed your hand, thumb wiping at the bead kd pre-cum at the tip as Nam-gyu brushed his hands back over his hair, eyes rolling back at a rather slow pump of your hand. “Don’t tease me.” He growled.

“Fine,” you smiled, licking over your teeth as you pulled your pants down your legs and kicked them to the side. Leaving your underwear on, Nam-gyu reached forward and tugged your hips until you

straddled him, the other hand pushing the fabric to the side.

A quiet gasp left your lips, hands landing on his shoulders to steady yourself as he easily guided your entrance to his cock. It was hot and wet against the tip, easily pushing inside you. Your thighs trembled, unable to keep yourself up as you buried your face into his neck, whimpering as his cock penetrated as he reached the hilt. You were right, and he filled you well—almost too much as your cunt stretched to fit him. Your fingernails dug into his shoulders over his shirt, his sweater hanging down his arms.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he whispered, his breath hot as he licked the shell of your ear, “Bet you like my cock, don’t you?”

The sudden dominance of his voice sent a shiver up your spine, but it hadn’t surprised you. If there was anything you knew about Nam-gyu, it was that he had one of the biggest egos ever—rivalling Thanos. You weren’t always one to indulge in inflating a man’s ego, preferring to take control into your own hands, but you couldn’t deny that in this moment, you’d do anything to get fucked well.

“I do,” you whispered against his neck, licking and biting at the skin as his hands grabbed at your hips. He lifted you up, angling himself better as he guided you back down as your ass slapped against his thighs, “Ah, shit—“

“So pretty,” he murmured, smiling as you began to fuck yourself on his cock without any of his help. Greedily pulling your hips up and slamming back down so he could fill your pussy up like you desperately needed, “fucking yourself on me like a good girl. Are you a good girl?”

You were forced to look at him, fingers digging into his shoulders as he grabbed at your chin and titled your face to look at him. He wore a lopsided smirk, his hair falling out from behind his ears as his body jerked with each rough slam of your hips. His right hand wrapped around the side of your neck, tight as you felt the cold ring around his middle finger touch your skin. His thumb pressed at the base of your throat, a painful pressure that made your walls clench tight around his cock.

You whined, “I am. I’m a good girl.”

Nam-guy’s lips stretched into a sly smile, his eyes shining in satisfaction as he pulled you forward and crashed your lips to his. He shoved his tongue into your mouth, moaning into it as his hands returned to your hips—nails digging into your skin. He met your hips with him, swallowing all your whimpers and whines as your cunt tightened, a hot pressure building in your low abdomen.

“Don’t come yet,” he groaned, licking at your lips before dragging his own over your jaw. He licked and nipped at your skin, his hot breath tickling your skin as he stretched you unbelievably thin. “Hold it for me.”

“Nam-su—“ you whined, hips twitching and thighs tensing as your juices left a mess between your bodies.

“Nam-gyu,” he warned, a hand reaching up into your hair and giving it a harsh tug that had you yelping in pain. He attacked your neck with his mouth and teeth, leaving a scattering of marks that you knew would leave bruises in its wake. “Fuck—I’m so close.” He choked on a moan, half-lidded eyes watching you as he pulled back and admitted the red marks over your skin.

When his grip loosened in your hair, you leaned forward and nuzzled your face back against his neck. Allowing him to take control as he fucked you at a relentless pace, the culmination of your moans echoing through the bathroom. You whined against his skin, reaching a hand between your bodies as you rubbed at your clit, desperately searching for your release.

Nam-gyu had begun panting your name under his breath, sounding like a pathetic, needy thing, but you didn’t have the energy to tell him so—both of you chasing after the high you craved.

With a few more harsh thrusts and circlings of your fingers, the tightness in your abdomen burst. A rush of euphoria crashed through your body, and you croaked out a loud moan that left your throat raw. Nam-gyu slammed into your heat a few more times, hands gripping at your hips so tight you wouldn’t be surprised if they left marks.

“Shit,” he hissed, a moan catching in his throat as he buried his face into your neck as he came. He hadn’t bothered pulling out, and you didn’t try to stop him as your pussy milked him—his hot cum filling you until it couldn’t anymore, and it spilled out, coating his cock.

There was a shared silence as you both caught your breath, clinging to each other as your releases went as quickly as they came. It left you with a feeling of relief but also with the gnawing reality that Nam-gyu likely wasn’t going to leave you alone after this. You noticed how he was attached to Se-mi after the race, angry when she didn’t give him the time of day. The thought annoyed you for a moment, wondering how persistent he would be for the remainder of the games.

But as you pulled back, watching the way he leaned back with his eyes closed and panting, jaw sharp and lips parted. You realized there were worse people out there who could be fighting for your attention—he was far more attractive than half of the guys you slept with, less so than the women.

Maybe you could convince Se-mi to buy you drinks after the games as a thank-you for getting him off of her back.

“Can we… do this again tomorrow?” Nam-gyu asked, his eyes still closed as his cock softened inside you. They cracked open just enough to get a look at you, straddling his hips, a tiny smile pulling at the corners of your lips.

“What makes you so sure we’ll both be here tomorrow?” You asked as your hands lifted to his sharp jaw, caressing either side gently.

Nam-gyu murmured, “I don’t lose.”

“Hm,” you hummed, your index finger tracing his bottom lip—sending a shiver up his spine, “I guess we’ll see if you can keep up.”

#nam-gyu #nam gyu #nam-gyu x reader #nam-gyu x you #nam gyu x reader #player 124 x you #player 124 x reader #player 124 #squid game #squid game 2 #squid game x reader #squid game x you #squid game x y/n #wordsbyspatial

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thinkinonsense · 5 months ago

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MY HAIR𑁍

old man!logan howlett x housewife reader

cw: fluff, minor nsfw content, soft logan

wc: 800+

part one

next part

you aren't an insecure person by any means, but that doesn't mean you don't have insecurities. whenever you even attempted to explain them to logan he always hushed you up with a kiss and whispered how he loves you no matter what. he never understood why someone so angelic would fixate on the smallest of imperfections?

the main insecurity that logan could never wrap his head around was, your hair.

growing up, your hair was always long, thick and curly. people either loved it or hated it but you always hated it. kids at school were so incredibly cruel that every summer you would cut it short. getting rid of all the heat damage caused by the constant abuse of your straightener.

logan and you met during the winter months when you usually let the curls be free, not caring much to do anything with it until the heat came again.

during the beginning of your relationship, he didn't seem to be bothered by the barrier you created around your hair. he questioned all the straightening products and asked why you always had to cut it come summertime.

over time it became logan's main obsession. he knew you were possessive of it, always smacking away his hand anytime he tried to wrap a pretty curl around his finger. he could always smell your shampoo lingering which only added to the obsession. the absolute worst was when you rode him because all he wanted to do was tug at the ends until your mouth hung open.

at every chance he could, he would offer to wash your hair or style it for you. it was painful for him to see how soft and full of volume it looked; bouncing as you walked.

for god's sake, logan learned how to do a fuckin' french braid, that's how badly he wanted to know that part of you.

yet, your walls never crumbled.

one night while the two of you were watching an old western in bed, logan decided that he had had enough of it.

"sweetheart?" logan asked, looking down at you as your head rested on his chest.

"hm?" you peer up at him through your lashes.

"can i ask you something?"

"anything."

logan took a deep breath and then asked, "why won't you let me touch your hair?"

the question sounded silly, and he knew it but at this point, logan was desperate. even now, seeing your hair caged up with a claw clip was torture for him.

"i-i didn't think it was a big deal." you stutter, caught off guard by his forwardness about the topic.

"it's not." he looks longingly into your eyes. want you to appreciate it the way i do."

there's a look in your eyes that is debating whether or not to give logan what he wanted seemly badly. you trusted logan, he would never make fun of you. maybe it was silly to keep that part of yourself hidden from him. the two of you are married after all.

logan watches as you sit on your knees in your silky navy pajamas. he can hear your heart beating rapidly in your chest as you exhale then reach up, touching the clip in your hair. it felt borderline erotic to logan as he watched your hair fall effortlessly over your shoulders.

"i'm going to give you instructions, alright?" you warn him.

logan wanted to roll his eyes as you inform him to not tangle your hair. he knew how to be gentle, but he wasn't going to blow this opportunity.

"want you to touch softly just like how you do my mind." your voice was barely a whisper as you watched his hand lift up to your shoulder.

he nods, stroking the soft follicles from your earlobe to your waist. it was smoother than silk. every curl fit perfectly around his finger.

"it's beautiful, sweetheart." he complements, watching as a blush rises to your cheeks. "can't believe you've been hiding it from me all this time."

you climb onto his lap to kiss him when something snaps deep inside of logan. the shampoo.

"fuckin' lavender..." he groaned against your lips. "could smell it a mile away."

"love you, lo." you pull back to say. "i'm sorry that it took so long to-"

your words fade in your throat as he tugs at the hair resting near your ass while grinding up against you.

"don't apologize, just want you to love yourself the same way i love you." he says in between leaving marks on your jaw, inhaling your scent.

a moan falls from your lips, leaving logan to wonder if it was his words that caused it or the fact that he was now tugging a fist full near your neck. either way, it didn't matter because he would never stop touching your hair. at least not while you sing like a hummingbird for him.

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heavenbarnes · 8 months ago

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Million Dollar Baby

Art Donaldson x Fem Reader

Warnings/Contains: this is essentially a series of vignettes, at this point you’re the duncan-donaldson sugar baby, swearing, effective cheating (tashi approved), mild exhibitionism, face slapping (not with hands), unprotected sex, reader is pretty submissive, thee slightest tashi x reader, patrick mention.

Part one

it’s that part two to “i wanna make it (so badly)” that i kept harping on about! just wanted to prove to you all i could make good on something! enjoy! i still crave this man!

Born under a lucky star.

Rabbits foot. Horse shoe. Triple sevens. Four-leaf clover.

Art Donaldson plays tennis very well.

When you're around?

He's better.

O2 Arena, London, England. ATP men's singles finals.

Naturally the only way you'd ever get close to something like this was on her invitation.

Tashi had invited you.

"I beg your pardon?"

"We'll cover your flights and accommodation- it's important that you're there."

Yes, because you were sure you could sweet talk your way into a lesson with Lily at Buckingham Palace.

Obviously, obviously it wasn't about your silly little tennis lessons these days. But that was the front.

Rich neighbourhood, nosey neighbourhood.

"Tashi, I couldn't help but notice Art's Jeep drive past me as I left Pilates. Just who was that pretty young thing in his passenger seat?"

"She's Lily's tennis coach, he drops her off when she's had to stay late."

Yeah,

yeah.

Drops you off because your legs aren't their best when they've been over his shoulders for an hour.

It was a pretty good front.

So you found yourself courtside in a Lacoste skirt you'd never imagine owning. That's why you didn't own it, Tashi had left it on your bed among other items of clothing she expected to see you in.

Dress-up doll.

Her plaything.

Pulled out of your thoughts by the chorus of cheer, it was all directed to the movement you could just and only see out the corner of your eye.

Art Donaldson took the court with a kind of swagger that made your thighs tense under expensive material. His eyes took to the stands- sweeping over adoring eyes looking back at him.

And then he came to rest.

You could tell he looked at Tashi first, the way his shoulders straightened and the grip on his racquet became even tighter.

Miracle it didn't snap.

Then you felt him look at you, his eyes softened and the corner of his mouth turned up.

A smug smirk as he ran his tongue along his teeth.

And you began to think back on everything that lead you here.

You had found yourself in many precarious situations with Art.

And you were acutely aware of the fact you hadn't seen it.

You'd felt it- felt it against your thigh, the heat of your cunt,

fuck, you'd even felt it against the sole of your foot.

Ruined numerous pairs of Calvin Klein's in the process.

But you'd never seen it.

And it wasn't a topic of contention, it wasn't a 'you' thing per se.

It was actually the fact that Art about blacks out every time you make him cum, and that's through a good few layers of clothing.

The thought of getting it out and laying it against your bare skin? Putting it in your mouth? Putting it inside-

Even the the idea of it makes his eyes water. Blessing and a curse, really.

On one hand, he's guaranteed a mind-blowing orgasm.

On the other, it might only last a few seconds.

You were just happy to be there.

Art could give you everything or give you nothing and you'd lap it up every time.

Good girl.

Art looked good like this, he always looked good but there was something about this.

Sat on the couch, thighs spread, large hands balled up on his knees. When you were in this position- on your own knees before him, with reverence- he looked good.

He looked all consuming.

If you asked him, it wasn't a sight Art was used to, something something role reversal.

Your hands ran along the coarse hairs of his legs, ever-so-slightly getting closer to the bottom of his shorts.

(Post-tennis, still a little sweaty- heavy musk if you really got your face in there)

"We'll go as slow as you need, Art."

However he wants it, whenever he wants it.

Quarter to midnight on Tuesday, you were meant to be doing an ungodly load of laundry tonight. But then he'd looked at you, then he'd told you he 'needed' you.

Turns out whatever he wants looks a lot like what you want.

Obedience in spades.

He stopped you before your hands could go any further, opting to reach under the waistband himself. You were all the better for it, too focused on not giving up the extent of your excitement.

Was it weird to say you'd spent a lot of time imaging what his cock looked like?

Probably.

You reasoned it with the fact you knew Art spent a lot of time thinking about what happens under your pretty little tennis skirts. That and he'd seen it more times than you could count, these days.

Things always seem to go his way.

Your breath caught in your throat when Art hooked his thumb around the waistband, stretching the elastic so he could get it out.

Of course, of course it was as pretty as the rest of him.

Flushed pink at the tip, pale and creamy down the length of it. Kind of thing you need to get your lips around.

Banked for another day.

One hand cradling the back of your head, the other wrapped around the base- Art slapped his cock once, twice on your outstretched tongue.

"A-ahh, f-uck- okay-"

Nice and slow- can't have him blowing the top off just yet.

He couldn't really say you were helping the point. Sitting there, sitting pretty, primed and ready for whatever he wants next.

The sight along was enough material to tug his cock to for the rest of his life.

Let alone being faced with it.

Which is why he did just that- tugged his cock to it.

Long fingers wrapped around a long cock, twisting along the length of it, rolling the palm over the head. Sticky wetness catching in the centre of his palm as he drags it back along the shaft.

Your tongue stayed permanently outstretched, allowing him to slap the weeping tip right on it. If it wasn't your tongue, it was your cheek- wherever he could gain purchase with your skin without tipping himself over the edge.

Yet.

Eventually, Art came in filthy hot ropes across your face and the most minimal amount actually made it in your mouth.

Majority of it was painted across your cheeks, drawn up and sweet under your shining eyes. Bright smile stretched across your face beneath pearly little drops.

Pretty girl-

perfect girl.

"I'm sorry- I just need- oh, oh god- just need-"

Incoherent.

A bleary-eyed, incoherent Art.

Chest pressed tight to your back, shorts around his thighs- your little skirt bunched up tight in his fist.

"I need this- I need this- y'so good to me- I need this-"

Yeah, seems like it.

You'd only managed 15 minutes on the court before it'd come to this. Art had thrown his racquet to the wind and ushered you around the side of their changing shed- the same one where he first,

You know?

Yeah.

You'd actually headed for the door but he couldn't wait that long, pulled you between the wall and the tall fence that circled the court. You were both nestled in beneath an Arabian Gingerbread Palm of sorts- naturally.

Art had slipped your underwear to the side and mounted you like a fucking dog.

Desperate.

The sound of his taut thighs slapping against yours was fucking ludicrous, the sight would’ve managed something worse.

He had a look across his face that said he knew this was pathetic- that there was no way he should’ve been rutting into you in broad fucking daylight.

But it’s not like you could see that look, not when his face was pressed into your neck.

“Ohh, you just- you just feel so good.”

Was he crying?

You looped an arm around the back of his head, slowly stroking your nails against his scalp as you struggled to keep yourself from buckling under the pressure.

Your other arm stretched out in front of you, palm braced on the wall as Art continued the relentless piston of his hips.

Through tears even.

“Feels so good, Art- making me feel so fucking good- just rub my clit, touch me a little.”

In an instant, his fingers were under the front of your skirt as he rubbed haphazard circles around the apex of your cunt.

“Like this? You like this? Tell me I’m doing a good job, please.”

Jesus Christ.

“Yes- doing a good job, you always do so good- gonna’ make me cum.”

And like you’d said the magic word, Art was going rigid. Hips slamming into you with a couple brutal and unyielding thrusts, less precision than you were used to with him.

Til’ he was dripping out of you.

His fingers kept going.

Until your face was pressed was pressed against the changing shed wall, sure to leave a lovely pattern of stucco on your skin.

Until you were babbling and canting your hips back onto his hand as drool ran down the side of your cheek.

Until you even realised that he’d dropped to his knees and was running his tongue through your cunt from the back, massive hands splitting your cheeks.

You reached a hand back to grip his hair, pulling his face even further into the sodden lips of your pussy as you fucked yourself back onto his tongue.

“That’s it- lick my cunt, Art. See how good you taste?”

Your ears stopped ringing long enough for you to hear it.

He makes that noise when he cums.

Again.

Tashi watched you both drag your feet back into the house- a sheen of sweat over you both that could’ve looked post-tennis.

To anyone else but her.

She let you pass without issue, but a fine hand pressed to Art’s chest as he tried to follow you to the showers.

“If I ever see you cum before her again, there will be trouble. Understood?”

There was no use explaining that you didn’t mind, that you kind of liked when you riled him up- made him lose control.

That he probably deserved to feel good.

Instead, you heard him murmur an apology before he finally got you under the monsoon shower head in the enormous guest bathroom.

Three more good ones on his tongue, just for good measure.

It was a miracle the Donaldson-Duncan mantelpiece didn't crumble under the immense weight of success.

Trophy, after trophy, after photo, after-

"Did Tashi meet Obama?"

Art chuckles over your shoulder as he watches you cradle the photo, eyes wide with admiration. Devotion?

"She did, he invited her to the White House the year before we got engaged."

"Your invite get lost in the mail?"

"It wasn't about me."

Is anything ever about him?

As you continued your impassioned scan of their family treasures, you came to a complete stop at a 5x7 frame.

"Is this a young Art Donaldson?"

You could feel his eyes on you as you lifted the frame with the same gentle touch as you'd lent to Tashi's photo.

This time, your fingers gingerly brushed over the glass- almost as if you could feel the crop of golden curls beneath your fingertips.

"You've never seen any of my earlier games? Junior doubles at the US Open?"

Taking your eyes off a very-pretty-young Art, you threw him a look that said something like 'be so serious.'

"No, I wasn't much for watching tennis as a- what? Six year old?"

Oh.

That's right.

It was impossible for Art to forget the elephant in the room- call him a dirty old man but Art was always thinking about the pretty young thing that he liked best in his lap.

But sometimes he forgot.

"Well, that's me the day Patrick and I won."

"Who's Patrick?"

Oh.

And just like that he's chubbing up in his pants.

Art Donaldson currently exists in a space and time where he has something that Patrick doesn't.

And you're none the fucking wiser.

How could you be? You're still enamoured with the shaggy golden curls and the unspoken pull of a backwards cap.

"Yeah, you would've driven me wild back in the day."

There's a wry smile that catches on the corner of his mouth, right at the same moment he takes the photo from you. You're forced back to reality, present day-

The one where Art's a few years older but still as devastatingly handsome.

"Would've?"

The hairs on the back of your neck stand up, feeling a firm chest pressing against your shoulder blades. Feeling crowded.

Feeling caught.

"As if I don't already."

Art spends the evening reminding you of your place.

That, despite the age between you, he's still the one that runs rings.

Contrary to popular belief, Art Donaldson has bad days.

Unfortunately for just about everyone in the O2 Arena, he chose today.

Well, the fates decided on today.

As he thrashed his racquet through the air, you could've sworn you heard the 'woosh' it was sure to have made from all the way up here.

Tense, you were slumped in your seat as you couldn't escape the voice in your head-

the one that was telling you your luck had run out.

The one that still sounds a lot like Tashi Duncan.

"COME ON!"

Tashi's voice actually sounded from beside you, making you jump out of your skin.

Naturally, you began searching for Art- searching for something to do, someway to fix this. What was left for you if you couldn't be lucky.

Rabbits foot. Horse shoe. Triple sevens. Four-leaf clover.

Nowhere to be found- but you found Art, found his eyes.

Looking at you.

Pleading with you.

Come on.

There was that pathetic little gaze you'd come to know. When he wanted something, when he needed something.

Art Donaldson always gets what he wants.

You jumped a little when you felt Tashi's hand rest on your knee where it crossed over the other. Perfect manicure drumming against your kneecap, gripping once.

Gripping twice.

Gently, prying it away from the other till they were side by side.

Thighs being forced apart.

Suddenly acutely aware that Art's eyes weren't on your face anymore.

They were on Tashi's hand.

Acutely aware that, among all the pretty things she'd laid out on your bed this morning, there wasn't a pair of panties among them.

That same perfect manicure between your spread thighs, patting you once, twice- right where her husband had made a home.

Under a lucky star.

Art Donaldson had a penchant for getting what he wants.

With an unmatched performance, the arena was turned on its head. Neon green blitz across the court, landing right where he wanted it to.

The crowd cheered his name to a tune only he knew;

How to be a winner.

All guts, all glory.

The deafening commotion chewed you up but it was Art that spat you out. Amongst the noise, the fury, you found him stood staring right at you.

Expectantly.

The weight of responsibility on your chest. Your luck hadn't run out, it was only just the beginning.

To the victor go the spoils.

Somewhere, a rabbit was missing it's foot.

#did i want this to be more? yes #did i just have to pony up and fucking post it? yes #did i have to stop beating myself up for it not being as good as the first one? oh fuck yeah #anyway have at it!#art donaldson x reader #art donald x fem reader #challengers x reader #art donaldson smut #art donaldson x reader smut #challengers smut

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reesiereads · 1 year ago

Text

So I wonder if Husk’s dislike of his form is (at least somewhat) a result of Alastor’s treatment of him?

It’s mentioned on his wiki that Husk does not like his form. He’s essentially a house cat with bird add-ons, which isn’t exactly intimidating.

His dislike could be for plenty of reasons but to me it kinda came across like he’s used to being treated as less than human? Like a pet.

Angel’s “kitty has claws” and “meow” are the flirtations that seem to cause the most visceral reaction out of husk (outside of “I can make those wings flap” which is, again, about Husk’s actual form). Angel was also touching Husk on both situations, moving him in the way he wanted to emphasize his point (tilting and holding Husk’s chin and tilting his wings). Part of Husk’s dislike is definitely because he dislikes Angel’s fakeness and the infringement on his boundaries, but these comments in particular set him off in a way the others don’t. It’s genuine anger over exasperation.

Then we get the Husk and Alastor scene in Episode 5 where Alastor openly talks down to Husk and scratches him behind the ear like an actual cat. This sets Husk off enough that, even knowing he’s owned by Alastor who is extremely dangerous (because I doubt he’s just forget that), he still snaps back. The first thing he says is “You may own my soul but I’m not your damn pet” and the level of anger here seems to imply Alastor treats him like this with at least some frequency. This is further proven when Alastor responds with a simple “oh, but you are!” Which is what leads to Husk snapping enough that he sets Alastor off.

Alastor then proceeds to push Husk to the ground and show his chain, pulling Husk closer against his will the same way one might an unruly dog pulling on its leash.

I think it’s also worth noting that Alastor is not usually a touchy person. This episode is an exception in that he’s being extra nice to Charlie to piss off Lucifer but this is still far from the norm. The only one he’s really touched up to this point is Nifty and that was only because she climbed on him. Him petting Husk was only a move of control, which is probably part of why it set Husk off so badly.

I think this also changes our perspectives on “Loser, baby” and the comparison there, since we now actually know what Husk and Alastor’s relationship is like. Angel may be Val’s toy but Husk is Alastor’s pet. His cat who’s brought in to take care of the mice.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel husk #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel angel dust #hazbin hotel analysis #hazbin hotel spoilers #huskerdust #reesie rambles

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clockwayswrites · 1 year ago

Text

City Pigeons - Part 10

WC: 817, Masterpost

Jason sighed as the tablet in his hands flashed with alerts. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“How did the meeting with Black Bat go?” Bruce asked instead of responding, because of course he did.

“You know it went fine,” Jason said, trying not to snap. “Besides, everyone likes her, there was a good chance it was always going to go fine.”

“We both know trauma isn’t always that easy,” Bruce said, his tone carefully modulated to be gentle. It rankled Jason, like it always did.

Jason took a breath and let his chin drop to his chest for a moment. Bruce didn’t mean it like that. He knew that now. This was Bruce trying as best as he was able— it wasn’t just another mask. Bruce just had to put effort into emotions that made it seem forced. Jason pushed away his flair of temper; it was harder to do than he’d like after too much worry and too little sleep.

“Ja—”

“I’m fine. It’s just like you said, trauma isn’t always that easy. I’m fine,” Jason said as he waved the concern away. “And names. You know we’re sticking to code names still.”

Bruce tilted his head, observing Jason through the white lenses. (That used to rankle too.)

“You thinking there’s a chance he’ll run.”

Jason sighed. He gave an exaggerated shrug to cover the worry that ran through him at the question. “Not run, exactly. I think he doesn’t believe that he can stay— that it’s even on the table. I think that we’re his last hope and he doesn’t believe in hope anymore.”

Bruce didn’t move. Jason gave him time to think that over.

“That’s why he doesn’t want to see… Wayne,” Bruce said, slowly, like he was feeling the idea out. “He doesn’t expect to get anything from him so it’s better to be healed up first.”

Jason shrugged again.

“Figure so. But also once that meeting happens, whatever happens, then all of this,” Jason motioned to the safe house, “is over as far as he knows. If he puts off the meeting, he puts off the risk of losing the first safety that I think he’s hand in a long, long time.”

Bruce’s shoulders hunched and he almost blended back into the shadows by the window. “If he’s already posed for it to go badly…”

“B, that’s not your fault,” Jason said— had to say. “The kid’s been through hell, maybe by his own family, of course he’s going to expect the worst.”

It was a long moment and then Bruce nodded, just once. “What’s the plan?”

If Jason really had his way, the plan would be to deal with all these ill feelings, but that’s not what anyone in the family was good at, him included. It would be what it would be.

“We’ll have BB over again for a meal tomorrow. I’m sure it will keep going well and she can help be on watch that night. We think it’s best to give that a few days before we introduce O or anyone else new, so you have to keep the rest of the horde reigned in,” Jason said pointedly. Then a though occurred to him. “Where is the little spawn anyways?”

“He’s on the roof across the block.”

“Yeah, is he? Because that was a lot of alerts—”

“Hood!”

Jason didn’t think before he was striding across the room towards Danny’s room. The kid was standing in the door. White hair stark in the low light. Green eyes bright.

Glowing.

Wide with fear.

“Danny?”

“Someone else is here,” Danny said. His voice was almost too quiet to hear, but Jason could half swear he felt it in his very bones. Danny reached out and clung onto the sleeve of Jason’s hoodie. A cold settled into Jason’s bones along with the vibration of the soft words. “Someone touched by death. Can you feel them too? They’re not not like us. They haven’t died. They haven’t died, but they reek of death. Hood, what are they?”

“Hey, it’s okay. You’re safe here, remember?” Jason assured Danny automatically. The words rolled out of his mouth without Jason having to even think about them, which was good, because Jason’s mind was still caught on Danny’s words: They’re not like us. They haven’t died. “Some Bats just stopped by to check on us.”

Was it Bruce? Did all of Gotham’s death cling to his shoulders like his cape?

Was it Damian? Was it the stench of the Pits?

Or did Jason miss something else slipping in with all of the other alarms.

“We’ll go check on Nightwing together, alright? I bet he has a little red and black guest who slipped in,” Jason said. He twisted his hand to hold Danny’s. The cold bit at his skin. He didn’t let go.

He hoped he was right.

He had a hard time believing in hope too.

---

AN: A myyyyyyyystery *wiggly fingers*. Gods I'm so tired.

I no longer tag, you can subscribe to the masterpost instead!

#jason has therapy but he still hates feelings #bruce doesn't know how people do feelings #this is a problem #dp x dc #batpham #city pigeons

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mimipolo · 20 days ago

Note

hey :) could you do a nam-gyu fic where thanos is flirting/put claim on the reader, but she clearly like nam-gyu more. just him dealing with his attraction for her, but still trying to be on thanos' good side

Nam-gyu x reader

I don't know if I did this right I had like five different ideas for how it could pan out so I hope this is alright

| ₊˚⊹ᰔ

You were content with the idea of completely ignoring Thanos, his odd claims and even weirder way of flirting. Sure, it was fairly entertaining but it wasn't something you planned to put up with for long.

That was until he walked up to your bunk with a friend in towe. A friend that immediately caught your eye.

"Ayy Senorita!" He draws out in his usual musical tone, behind him a man that looked uninterested, perhaps even annoyed to be there making you grin slightly.

"Aren't ya gonna come down." A whiney voice calls up to you, his face pulling into a frown as he crossed his arms.

"Dude, this a waste of time let's just go." He's still behind Thanos, a hand already on his shoulder, nudging him slightly, hoping to convince him to turn back, and as his gaze went from him to you he stops. The eye contact he made with you was so undeniable you actually looked at the rapper directly for once, startled by how your heart suddenly raced.

"I think I'll stay and eat up here...thanks though." Your refusal immediately has him grumbling as he dramatically pivots to walk away. But his friend hangs back a small moment longer, the brief acknowledgement held a value only you two could fathom.

"Come on Nam-su we outt." Thanos drawls lazily, his arms in his pockets as he swayed from side to side.

"Nam-gyu..." He sighs defeatedly, it was pretty clear this wasn't the first time and likely wouldn't be the last time he'd have to correct the rapper of his name.

Nam-gyu huh? You wouldn't like to admit it but you kept the name close to your mind, maybe he'd favour you for remembering it. Which was a weird thought to have for someone you hadn't actually properly met yet.

You hoped to though.

And he did too, when Thanos was insistent on getting you to eat with them he was almost instantly irritated. Why? What was the point of that? From the beginning he wasn't a fan of any distractions that could lead Thanos away from him, it was inconvenient and if he wanted to win he needed both their focus on that damn cash prize.

What he hadn't prepared for was the you. You who Thanos had miraculously spotted among all the bland people in this weird murder game. And he would never admit it, especially not to him that he understood why he was so hooked on you.

And with that came a jealousy. A deep, seething jealousy that came from nowhere. Now he was frustrated with himself, Thanos and you. And the worst of it all is him actually being just as bummed you didn't come down to eat with them.

| ₊˚⊹ᰔ

From then on there was this tense love triangle between the three of you which Thanos held no part in. You had no intention of making it clear to the man you weren't interested, first of all: it'd be too much of a hassle, and second because of his favour you've been able to survive games you probably wouldn't have. So you'd put up with him, no big deal.

The only thing, no, person making this harder was Nam-gyu. He was also seemingly smart enough to judge it's best to not make any big move as you were both benefitting from being close to Thanos. But it was painfully clear his attention was always on you, his eyes only snapping back alive at the mention of your name during the moments Thanos seems to talk forever. Having to tip toe around the unspoken attraction towards each other was fine by you, exhilarating even. But you're really starting to wonder if Thanos really can't notice when you and the longer haired man only glance between each other whenever he flirts with you.

Apparently the small amused smiles and prolonged eye contact wasn't enough for Nam-gyu. This could end badly if he was caught but he couldn't care less at this point, this whole time it's just felt like the two of you were saying a million things while saying nothing at all. And he'd actually be damned if he let Thanos hold him back from talking to you. He believed you felt the same, it's not just anyone that looks at him so fondly and sees him as an individual. You saw him like he was someone familiar and when he lies awake, he's convinced that's why he's so drawn to you.

Which is also why he's sneaking to see you during lights out. Was this a good idea?

Probably not.

But he'd already climbed past a snoring Avengers threat so he might as well see it through. He sucked in his breath harshly when he heard the familiar snoring pattern pause when he finally made it to the ground. His heart only relaxing when it fell back into rythmn. Not that he was too worried though, he had thousands of excuses on the tip of his tongue. A benefit that came with being a pathological liar.

He is oddly greatful that the majority of the people that were on your bunk had died, the only remaining players being two beds above yours. Meaning he didn't need to sweat about not waking anyone on his way up. As he begins climbing he draws to a question. What if you're not even awake? Even worse what if you are or he wakes you up and you think he's some weirdo. He physically shakes the thought away as he continues his ascent, he just needed to see you, then he'd go back.

It was odd being able to see you so up close, watching the way your chest rose and fell with each breath. Seeing you like this calmed him down and made him want to fall asleep himself.

He freezes when you shift and his hair brushes your nose, your face scrunching up as you waft away the unwanted texture with a groggy hand. Eyes squinting open to see a stunned Nam-gyu instead of a stray price of fluff from your pillow.

What, is he doing here?

You gasp sharply, immediately sitting up and accidentally banging your head against the bed above you in your rush. He's quietly shushing you as you hold your head in whine in pain. You only look back at him when the pain has slightly subsided, hissing one last time before tear pricked eyes meet his.

"The hell are you doing here?"

"Can't I come to see you?" You squint at his words, they pissed you off, obviously he could but you were literally sleeping?

"You came to watch me sleep?" You ask sarcastically, grinning knowingly as he groaned and rolled his eyes.

Seeing as you weren't entirely put off by his night visit he crawls onto your bed fully, catching you a bit off guard but you make no objection against it which makes him strangely glad.

"Thanos isn't any good, you shouldn't be with him." He says bitterly, when you don't say anything immediately after he looks away from you and runs his hair behind his ears.

"...And you're saying you are?" you say with the slight raise of your brow.

You were just fucking around you already liked him more from the moment you saw him. Long disobedient hair and an angular face and a surprisingly sharp tongue when provoked. Ticking most of your boxes, you just wanted to see how he'd respond.

"Nah... but I could be better, than him at least." He says with a small huff which makes you laugh slightly, and he immediately notes he's never heard it before.

"I'll see you to that." Your words make his heart seize up but in the way when he's won when he didn't expect to. The carefree act he had going was going to crumble if you kept being so casual with him.

It's only now he feels the tensity of the situation, sitting in your bed in an area mostly secluded. He was actually feeling nervous being around you without Thanos there as some barrier to the two of you. You're looking at him expectantly as if waiting for him to make some smart ass response but you're so pretty right now. Your eyes on him and him alone. He's keeping quiet because if he spoke as he was now... he couldn't promise he wouldn't immediately embarass himself.

Instead he looks between you and the wall, his eyes scanning your face each time before he looked away. Despite the chaos of feelings reeling from inside him his face was mostly unreadable. The only thing telling you anything was his jaw tightening and loosening, maybe chewing the inside of his cheek.

You tilt your head to see if he'd look at you if you were more in his line of view but he only locked eyes with you for a moment before looking up.

He was nervous?

The thought made your chest swell even though you knew he was probably just deep in thought. Either way your fighting back a smile as you take his face in your hands and place a soft kiss on his lips. It was honestly amazing how he came back to reality from the contact. Staring at you with wide confused eyes as if questioning why you would even do that.

And when you start to laugh to yourself quietly he's chuckling flustered beside you. His lips pursed tight to not let the grin on his face appear, but his feelings were clear in the new softness in his eyes.

Nodding lightly like he's fully savoured your presence he's manoeuvring himself to leave your bed, giving the underside of your knee a light squeeze before settling on the ladder.

"G'night..."

"Night Nam-gyu."

The first genuine smile of the night freely slips onto his face, making your own smile appear before he's making his descent back down. Grinning to himself like an idiot all the way back to his bed because he managed to get the girl Thanos saw first.

| ₊˚⊹ᰔ

Ever since then it's been this mutual joke between you two. You're holding back a snicker as Thanos serenades you because Nam-gyu's right behind him rolling his eyes and mocking him.

Nightly routines of him visiting your bed comforted you on those nights you couldn't will yourself to sleep. There's been more than one occasion he's stayed the night and forgot to go back to his bed and when questioned about where he was so early in the morning it's always "Needed to piss". He's glancing back at you accusingly as if you forced him to stay (you asked repeatedly very nicely.)

I love him sm I'm gonna cook him into a lasagna.

#squid game #squid game x reader #nam gyu #nam-gyu x reader #player 124 #nam gyu x reader #player 124 x reader #fluff #lasagna #thanos squid game #thanos

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mikanotes · 1 year ago

Text

live a little!

hyunsu ? x gn!reader

genre: ‘idont knowww he likes you’ that’s the genre

warnings: mentions of death, blood and injuries, cursing, monster hyunsu jumpscare, attempting to work with the “monster hyunsu does what hyunsu desires” thing except it takes place in season one and i’m trying to make it as fitting to canon as possible, this is a badly written mess Sorry!

synopsis: The day Hyunsu’s mind acknowledges his feelings for you, but he himself doesn’t quite realize.

author’s note: if you’re desperate for a part 2 to up close & personal you can pretend this is a prequel because it kind of fits? anyways i’ll write for Hyunsu hyunsu eventually too i miss him it’s been a bit

“You’re no fun.” Hyunsu laughs.

His voice is heavy and he’s struggling to catch his breath, practically stumbling over his words. In fact, he’s practically stumbling over his own feet due to how impatient and quick his movements are. His face, usually so stoic and soft, is now covered in blood and adorned with a maniacal grin, paired with those hiccupy laughs of his. He looks positively fucking insane.

“Yes, well. If that means valuing staying alive, I’ll be no fun.” you say, fingers holding the hood of Hyunsu’s jacket tightly. He tilts his head in your direction, looking at you with those black, glassy eyes. Your gaze hardens, “What?”

He scoffs. “Live a little.” he says, tone light. He brushes off your hand and takes a step into your personal space. His voice drops to a whisper, one that sounds almost mocking for a short time. “You’re so hellbent on surviving, but are you even living?”

You’re forced to back into the railing behind you and hold onto it, eyes never leaving Hyunsu’s.

“Come on. You’re not gonna tell me I’m wrong.” he scoffs softly, leaning down, “Right?”

“Get it together, Cha Hyunsu.” you say, glaring a little. The latter grins.

“What? You think I’m out of my mind? Why would I need to get it together?”

“If anyone else had been here to see you, you would’ve been killed already. Look at yourself.”

You hear the railing behind you creak, and you feel Hyunsu’s hand on your back saving you from a fate similar to the one he’d faced towards the beginning of this apocalypse before you feel the metal moving away from you. The sound of it breaking and falling down from the flight of stairs is loud and makes you flinch.

He pulls you away from the edge and lets go of you.

“You’re welcome.” he says, tone flat, “I know what I look like. But they couldn’t kill me if they tried. Now let’s go kill some monsters already.”

He seriously doesn’t get why you shoot him this annoyed look of yours. (He just saved you! Hello?!) After all, what’s so wrong about this? Killing monsters? That’s literally the only thing everyone in this fucking building keeps him alive for, right? It’s always Hyunsu do this, do that, save us, don’t kill us, and now, get it together. That’s why everyone should die.

Then again, he knows you think differently from the others. You’re telling him to snap out of it so he won’t be cast out by the others even more. That’s why you came with him. Why you never abandoned him.

Because you… care. Surprisingly.

Ah, now I get it, Hyunsu. he thinks. You care about this person much more than you realize.

He sighs and tilts his head. “Come on.” he sighs, tone somewhere between pleading and annoyed.

“We have stuff to retrieve. For everyone else.” you say, gaze averting to the place you were just standing at. “Let’s not take unnecessary risks.”

Hyunsu drums his fingers against the spear in his hand, eyes narrowing a little. “Do you really think I care about anyone in this place enough to get their shit?” he asks calmly, “You’re mistaken.”

“He does.” you sigh, “Whether it’s a good thing or not, he does.“

“And that’s really not my problem.” It is.

He hears the growl of a monster in a corridor nearby and turns towards the direction of the sound. Killing everyone. That’s what he wants. That’s what he cares about. He swings the door open and steps in, before stopping.

He leans back just enough to look at you from the side of the door. “Are you sure you won’t come?” he asks, a small smile pulling at his lips.

You seem to still be frightened by what would’ve happened if he hadn’t caught you. Frightened by the idea of falling from so high. He heaves a deep sigh and steps back out, just enough to grab your arm and pull you closer.

“You’re alive, aren’t you?” he says, “Stop thinking about almost falling to your death.”

When you’re closer to him like this, Hyunsu feels confused. Well, this is clearly a crush, he thinks. But he doesn’t think that is something that he should be able to feel. It’s like an instinct to reach out to protect you. A reflex. Maybe it’s his feelings? He’s not sure.

“It’s hard to think about anything else.”

“Then focus on me.” he says. The word ‘me’ comes out a bit harsher than the rest, a bit like it’s echoing. He lets go of your arm. “And all will be well. That’s crazy practical, right?” he scoffs.

“I don’t get you.” you say, crossing your arms. “Are you trying to help me?”

He takes a deep breath and closes the door a little to look at you properly, leaning against the edge of it. “To be honest with you, I mostly just care about myself.” he answers easily, “But…”

You. You who looks at this part of him and cares, still. Who doesn’t even seem scared. Who just wants to make sure he’s okay, in spite of everything.

Maybe you deserve to be excluded from the ‘everyone’ that he wishes would just die.

He thinks he can find a middle ground. A way to reach some sort of agreement with Hyunsu. You may just be the key to getting him to accept his own self. He shrugs. “Who knows.”

He lets the weaker half of him take control again. After all, each time a danger seemed to get too close to you, the instinct to help you and get you away before it could reach you was his. So as the greater part of him, he would do everything he can to help him out. And right now, that would be letting him deal with all this and maybe try to bargain for this whole control thing.

“Hyunsu.” you say, eyes wide. His own eyes have finally returned to their usual state. He blinks, taking a few seconds to register what’s going on, then his eyes widen as well.

“Are you okay?!”

“Uh…” he trails off, looking towards the edge of the stairs, where there should have been a railing. Then he looks at your relieved expression, then at the half-opened door. “Yeah, yeah, I’m…”

He thinks for a moment then slowly, carefully closes the door. “I’m fine. Are you? Maybe I should go alone.” he says.

“No, it’s fine. I’m alright. Let’s go together.”

(I could help you keep them safe.)

His hand tightens around his spear as he tries to ignore how loud his mind is.

No. Shut up.

“… Okay. Let’s go, then.”

He has a lot to do. There’s a list of things the other residents asked him to get for them. You didn’t have to go with him, but you did, which means he has to make sure you both survive this whole thing. He has a lot of things to focus on, and none of them include the monster in his head trying to get him to listen.

Maybe one day, he’d accept it.

Who knows?

#hyunsu x reader #cha hyunsu x reader #hyun su x reader #cha hyun su x reader #hyunsoo x reader #cha hyunsoo x reader #hyun soo x reader #cha hyun soo x reader #sweet home x reader #x reader

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steddiealltheway · 1 year ago

Text

(I think I’ve written something like this before but… oh well!)

Steve and Eddie don’t really remember becoming friends.

Sure, they know they must’ve bonded during the Upside Down shit and the aftermath with the series of tests they went through together at Hawkins lab because they didn’t want a repeat of the Will situation.

But they can’t pin point a moment when they started talking to each other as if they weren’t just mutual acquaintances who went through the same hell and shared the same love for Dustin. And the strangest part about it all was that it felt easy.

And here Steve is, sitting in Eddie room, flipping through a magazine he had laying next to his bed, asking question about random things in it just to hear Eddie voice. Plus, he liked all the random information he contained. It kind of reminded him of Dustin, but Eddie was always able to put it into the simplest terms so he could grasp what he was talking about.

But today, Eddie seems somewhat distracted. As if something big is on his mind. And Steve knows that it’s consuming him when he doesn’t answer or acknowledge one of the questions Steve asks about Ozzy.

Steve glances to his right and sees Eddie staring off twirling a silver ring over and over while he chews on his bottom lip. “Eddie,” Steve tries.

Eddie snaps out of it, teeth releasing his bottom lip which is now more plump and red than usual. His hands drop to his thighs as he shoots Steve an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I was off in my own world.”

“What were you think about?”

Eddie shakes his head and leans back against the wall, pulling his hair in front of his face. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

Steve continues to stare at him, shifting his knee so it presses against Eddie’s. “You can talk to me, you know?”

Eddie nods but doesn’t look at him. He looks far off again.

But Steve respects his wishes and doesn’t press further. He turns back to the magazine and continues reading on.

“I kissed someone in the Hideout bathroom recently,” Eddie says suddenly.

Steve slowly puts the magazine down and turns to him. “Someone?” Steve prompts gently. Eddie had told him before when they were in matching hospital gowns that he had feelings for men in the past and maybe women too. But he wasn’t sure. He confided in Steve that he didn’t see himself ever dating anyone at the time - didn’t think anyone would want to.

“Some guy,” Eddie answers and sighs, dragging his hands over this face. “I don’t know. It was weird because usually guys want more from me, you know? Especially if they’re dragging me off to the bathroom. But…” Eddie trails off, lost in thought again before he turns to Steve and locks eyes with him. “We didn’t do anything. We just kissed a little, and suddenly he told me he’d see me later. Just winked and ran off. But I can’t tell if he just chickened out or if maybe… maybe this is more than that.”

Steve takes a second to process everything, trying to connect the puzzle pieces of this mystery man to come up with an answer, but he knows there’s a bias within him. He wants so badly for the man to want more from Eddie. For him to want to take it slow and ask him out on a date.

But… a small (big) part of him, which he’s unwilling to admit, wants to find that the man chickened out.

Steve does what he always does and takes the feeling and stuffs it down along with all the other feelings he struggles to hide.

He distracts himself by asking, “And what was the kiss before like?” Which is a horrible question when jealously is practically pulsing through his veins.

Eddie shrugs. “I don’t know. I can’t really tell the difference between passion and lust.” He looks down and quietly adds, “I don’t know if I’ve ever had a kiss that wasn’t lustful.”

The statement fills Steve with a deep ache that he wants to file away with everything else. He wants to be detached from this all, but he can’t.

“Why don’t you show me?” Steve asks.

Eddie laughs. “I’m not going to make out with my hand or something.”

“No,” Steve says clearly, and doesn’t back down. “I mean, why don’t you show me.”

Eddie stares at him, the humor disappearing from his face as it’s replaced by disbelief. “You want me to kiss you?”

The question rings true in way too many ways, but Steve just shrugs nonchalantly. “It’ll help me understand the situation more.”

Eddie’s eyebrows furrow for a moment before he licks his lips, eyes searching Steve’s then dipping down to stare at his lips.

Steve wishes he could read that expression. Is there longing there? Curiosity? Boredom? Nothing but unenthused wonder? Lust? Passion?

“Yeah,” Eddie says. “We can do that if you’re okay with that.”

He’s more than okay with that. Steve nods. “Yeah.” He wishes more words would come out, but maybe it’s better this way.

Eddie jostles the bed as he stands up. Steve looks up at him and his outstretched hand, frowning. “What are you doing?”

“Recreating the scene.”

Steve accepts the explanation and lets Eddie pull him up. He follows him out of his room and into the small hallway.

Eddie gestures to the door and says, “So pretend that’s the bathroom door, okay? I’ll be the guy, and you’ll be me.”

Steve nods, heart already pounding in his chest so hard he can hear it in his ears.

Eddie glances at him and lays a gentle hand on his arm. “We don’t have to do this, you know. I can just try to explain it or embarrass myself making out with my hand or a pillow or something.”

Steve smiles and reassures him, “I’m good. As long as you’re good.”

Eddie nods at him once and turns toward the door hesitating before turning back to Steve. “Can I ask you something weird?”

Steve shrugs. “Sure.”

“Can I kiss you before this whole thing? Just as a warm up before I stick my tongue in your mouth.”

Steve laughs and nods. “Yeah. Yeah, that sounds nice.”

“Okay,” Eddie says with a small smile and inches closer to him, hands fidgeting nervously at his side.

Steve grabs them and runs his thumbs over the back of Eddie’s hands, squeezing them gently. He steps forward, hands trailing up his arms, his neck, cupping his face gently. “This okay?” Steve practically whispers.

Eddie nods and takes a step closer, wrapping his arms around Steve’s waist. “Yeah.”

“I’m going to kiss you now, okay?”

“Okay,” Eddie says, leaning forward, eyes fluttering shut.

Steve takes a stabilizing breath before pulling Eddie in, letting his eyes close as his lips brush against Eddie’s, pressing in closer in a gentle kiss before they both pull away.

They stare at each other, eyes wide, not knowing what to say. But Steve’s too scared to say anything when he knows he’s going to sound breathless from a mere peck.

“Ready to recreate the kiss?” Eddie asks, moving away from him and breaking the moment.

All Steve can do is nod and remind himself what this is all about.

Eddie shoots him an awkward thumbs up before grabbing his hand and tugging him toward the door, pushing it open and closing it behind them only to press Steve against it.

Steve can’t help the moan that’s ripped out of him at the sensation. But Eddie takes the opportunity to lean in and kiss him, harder than before, almost instantly deepening the kiss, brushing his tongue against Steve in filthy strokes. His hands move through Steve’s hair wildly, pulling him in closer, and tugging at the strands, making Steve practically a puddle of goo in the process.

God, he feels like he can’t breathe in the best way.

His hands come up to press into Eddie back, trying to get him to move closer, to successfully pin him fully against the door, but Eddie keeps his distance. Pulling away from the kiss, nipping at his bottom lip before stepping back completely.

Steve breathes heavily, staring at Eddie’s pupils blown wide, the pink flush to his cheeks, and the glossy look to his lips that Steve can’t help but think is all his doing.

“Well?” Eddie asks.

Steve tries to latch onto the words in his brain floating around. They seem entirely unimportant in this moment, but Steve knows he has a question to answer. A reason he’s doing all of this.

He runs a hand through his hair, feeling the wild strands, wishing he hadn’t messed with it before he got a chance to look at himself. He takes a deep breath and ignores the way he feels and focuses on the question at hand. “It felt more like lust to me.”

Eddie’s face crumples for a moment before he hides it behind his hand. He scrubs them over his face before he laughs humorlessly. “Figures. Jesus H. Christ, I should know by now.”

Steve’s mind lingers on what Eddie said before. “And what if you had a way to know?”

Eddie shakes his head, confused. “What do you mean?”

Steve tries again. “Like, what if you had a measure to know the difference between lust and lo- passion.” Steve silently curses the slip up, hoping Eddie doesn’t notice.

But the other boy just frowns and crosses his arms. “Now how would I do that?”

“The same thing again, only I show you what it’s like on the other side of things.”

Eddie stares at him for a few seconds before inching closer. “You want to do that?”

“Yeah,” Steve replies instantly. “You of all people deserve to know.”

Eddie glances at the ground and shakes his head. “I don’t know about that.”

Steve’s heart breaks, wondering if he’ll be able to show him what he truly means to him. He slowly tilts up Eddie’s chin and takes a step closer, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. He lets his hand linger before resting it against Eddie’s jaw, thumb brushing over his cheekbone. “You do,” Steve says, looking him in the eyes to show him the truth in what he’s saying.

“Steve…” Eddie says as if it’s a plea and simultaneously a disagreement.

And Steve answers him by leaning in and kissing him again. It’s like their first kiss shared in the hall moment earlier, but Steve doesn’t let it be a warm up this time. His left hand presses against Eddie’s back, pulling him in as close as he can. His other hand makes it way into Eddie’s hair, intertwining in the strands as he pulls away to breathe before reangling and kissing him again.

Eddie’s hand comes up to the back of his neck, grounding Steve as his lips move against Eddie’s slowly but firmly. They pull away for a moment, letting their breath intermingle as they catch it before they both move together again.

He lets Eddie learn what it’s like to take his time, enjoy the slowness and linger in the moment. To be held close and gently caressed.

Steve’s hand trails down from Eddie’s hair, tracing the same pathway from earlier but backwards, down his neck, his arms, and to his hands, intertwining their fingers together.

Eddie gasps lightly into the kiss as Steve squeezes his hand, and takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, letting Eddie explore rather than take.

Steve’s not sure how long they stand there, kissing as if there was no tomorrow, lingering in every moment. Breaking away momentarily to catch their breath before swooping back in, not letting the moment end. Because once it ends, they may never come back to it.

The thought hits Steve, drenching his thoughts with painful clarity. This is the moment everything he’s tried so hard to push down finally all comes up. No turning back now.

He pulls away from the kiss and rests his forehead against Eddie’s. He pants out his name quietly when Eddie tries to kiss him again.

He seems to understand, moving to rest his forehead against Steve’s before squeezing his eyes shut. Their hands remain intertwined.

Neither of them say a word, not wanting to break the moment or face reality.

But a question lays heavy on Steve’s mind.

“I don’t think it matters about what the kiss with the guy felt like. What matters is how did you feel during it?”

Eddie shakes his head and squeezes Steve’s hand. “Steve…”

“Eddie…”

Eddie takes a deep breath and whispers into the shared air between them, “Nothing close to what I just felt.”

Steve slowly pulls away and looks Eddie in the eye. “Are you sure?”

“Christ, Steve. No one has ever made me feel the way you just did.”

Steve pauses and asks, “What about other than that kiss? Do I make you feel like that all the time?”

Eddie’s hand loosens it grip as he steps back, shaking his head. “Don’t make me answer that, man.”

He’s stopped when Steve’s grip tightens, trying to keep him close. “You make me feel that way all the time,” Steve says, hoping he didn’t ruin everything they’ve built up to.

Eddie steps closer and cups his face. “You promise?”

Steve nods. “Yes.”

“Thank god. I was about to silently pine for the rest of my life. Shit,” Eddie says with a laugh.

Steve smiles, a laugh escaping from him as joy fills his entire body. “Yeah?”

“I was a fucking goner as soon as you kissed me the first time,” Eddie says.

Steve laughs, “I already was way before then.”

Eddie’s eyes widen. “You’re telling me I could’ve had this sooner?”

It’s seems like Steve’s incapable of doing anything but laugh.

“Steeeeve Harrington, we have so much lost time to make up for,” Eddie says, stepping closer.

“Tell me about it,” Steve says, moving in to kiss Eddie again.

He hopes eventually Eddie will forget what it was like to only know lust filled kisses, but, for now, he settles on helping him learn about passion and love.

#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie ficlet #stranger things

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sizzlingcloudmentality · 1 month ago

Text

yes, ma'am

Dave York x dominatrix!reader | 9.5k w | explicit, mdni | ao3

summary: life goes sideways and Dave is close to snapping. he needs professional help. aka let himself be dominated and be at the receiving end for once. good thing he has your number.

warnings: sub-ish!Dave (how sub can a born dom be?), dominatrix!reader, no use of y/n, reader is able-bodied, Dave is a good husband and father™️, Molly throwing up, slight humiliation (the boy being called dummy <3), slight ball torture, (guided) masturbation (m), finger sucking, petnames (ma'am, good boy, love), cum eating, slight shoe worship, dick+pussy pronouns, reader wears lipstick, nail polish and stilettos, squint and you miss unprotected PinV; dm me if I missed any

a/n: my submission for @wannab-urs dmamc 2025. i had so much fun domming my man and I tried to make it believable because, well, he's Dave 'the dom' York. enjoy another character study including his dick. thank you @guiltyasdave for the beta and constant love, even though sub!Dave isn't your cup of tea 🥹💛

"Gentle eyes, soft words, tender chin scratches. You have his tail wagging. Slowly, slowly you are domesticating him into a dog, one praise at a time."

“Fuck!” His hand slams down on the steering wheel, once, twice. Again, again, again, until his palm hurts and the thrumming pain helps him to push aside the anger boiling inside of him. He rips down his beanie, ripping out a few hairs as well, not giving a shit about it.

He fucked up. If it wasn’t for his partner the mission would have gone south completely, pulling him along. The plan had been perfect, the preparations perfect as well. All he had to do was to pull the trigger and take the target out. But he fucking missed. He fucking missed. Hit the target into the shoulder, and if Dave’s partner didn’t take initiative and put a bullet through the target's head… He doesn’t want to think about it.

He already saw his domestic life passing before his eyes. The police arresting him at home, his daughters terrified and not understanding why they would take their daddy away. Carol at the trial, being questioned if she really didn’t know about her husband’s assassination side hustle, her face puffy and red from crying.

Dave hisses out another curse, hitting the hard wheel in front of him again.

He could always just disappear, always has an emergency duffle bag stowed away with fake IDs and some cash. But he wouldn't stomach it, couldn't stomach it, leaving his family behind.

It was a close call today… He starts the engine and pulls away from the curb, the tail lights of his inconspicuous car slowly blending in with the dozens of others on the nightly roads as he heads home to his inconspicuous life.

The next few days were difficult, to say the least. His higher up at the CIA was a pain in the ass, deadlines were piling up, Molly got sick and needed attention and care, Carol needed his support, the almost-failed mission was still breathing down his neck… He needed a break and there was no break in sight. Not now. His family needs him, his job does, he needs to fucking function now.

“Daddy, ‘m not feeling good,” Molly mumbles, curled up on the couch, her head in Dave’s lap while he’s working on a report on his laptop.

“Just a second, baby.” He’s almost done, he just needs a minute and the worst part of his report would be finished. Molly stirs on the couch, hastily now. God damnit.

“Daddy…” Her little body starts trembling and with a shudder and a sound that makes Dave’s heart hurt, she slumps over and pukes. All over his notes. Over his pants he had just picked up from the dry cleaning. All over the cream colored couch that Carol wanted so badly and that looks like shit now. All over his laptop. The screen flickers a last time before it goes dark.

“I'm so sorry… Please don't be mad, Daddy.” Molly starts crying, feeling sick and miserable, her little hands shaking as she grips her ruined blanket.

The vein on his neck, he feels it throbbing. His laptop, his fucking work laptop, broken. The sticky, disgusting warmth of what once was chicken soup seeps through his trousers and makes his eyelid twitch.

Just pick your baby up, just comfort her, just help her change into new pajamas, just be a good father, just be good…

“Daddy?” She sounds so fragile, her voice nothing more than a weak breath. She clumsily pushes herself up and accidentally nudges the laptop off of Dave’s knees. The carpet swallows the low thud when it hits the ground, but the cracking of the screen is still very much audible, just as much as Molly’s shocked gasp.

“You broke it. You fucking broke it, Molly,” Dave hisses and is on his feet in an instant, his daughter toppling back onto the couch, now crying even more because she upset her dad.

He doesn’t look over to her but picks up his laptop, trying to bring it back to life. The muscles in his jaw clench when Molly’s sobs start pealing in his eardrums. Dave turns towards her, a barked shut up already on his tongue when Carol appears in the doorway.

One quick look is enough for her to assess the situation. Their crying daughter, a picture of misery and guilt written all over her pale face and Dave, nostrils flared and one hand balled into a fist, the unmistakable smell of vomit reaching her nose… No, this wasn’t good.

“It'll take it from here, Dave,” she says when she strides past him. “Go and calm down.” There's no bite to her words, bite wouldn't do any good at this moment. It would only make it worse, make Dave lose the last bits of reason.

Carol scoops Molly up in her arms, pressing a few soothing kisses to the little girl’s temple. She looks over her shoulder and gestures towards the door with a tilt of her chin as if to say please, just go.

And he does. He flees from the living room and the feeling of shame that starts licking at his insides. It gets too much. A thought crosses his mind, a simple calculation, it has been almost ten months since…

A shiver runs through him and he shakes the idea off his mind like a dog tries to shake off an annoying tick. No, he wouldn't need to do it this time, there sure is another possibility to finally get a grip on his life. He just needs to focus more. Needs a better sleep regimen. More training. More protein. More control over all the small bits and pieces of his life.

Dave shuts the door to his home gym behind him and gets to work. If his muscles are trembling and his lungs are begging him for air, he has no time to think about what kind of an asshole father and husband he is. And so he starts tormenting his body to shut off his mind, to keep the guilt and shame at bay. For now.

That night, when he slips under the bed sheets, almost silently to not wake his sleeping wife, the idea creeps back into his head. Like a tick it has sunk its teeth into his skin and he can’t seem to get rid of it since the first time he has done… it.

It has helped him before, more than he likes to admit it. But he hates it. Because he cannot do it on his own. Because he needs someone else doing it for him, to him. And Dave never liked to be dependent on something or someone.

The sheets rustle and Carol’s hand finds his own, wrapping her fingers around his in the darkness as if she was trying to comfort him. But in reality she wanted his comfort and soothing. Dave wasn't a man who was dependent. Because he always was the man everyone else depended on.

He turns on his side and lifts her hand to his lips to press a gentle kiss to Carol’s knuckles.

She hums, shuffles closer, her feet slipping between his calves. After a moment of content silence a murmur crawls over the pillows to Dave and settles right on his chest, where the thought about it sits and gnaws at him like a night terror.

“Maybe… maybe you should go see that therapist again? They really helped you the last time.”

Therapist. That was what he told his wife you were. And the things you did, it was therapy. It is, in a way. It helped him. And he hates that it does. He hates that he can’t function like he needs to. He hates that Carol sounds so timid when she suggests therapy, afraid that he could snap at her, too, because she dares to point out his weakness.

He sighs, her soft knuckles still held against his lips. “Is Molly okay?”

“She’s a little better, yes.”

The silence weighs heavy for a moment, Carol’s unanswered question pressing down on Dave’s rib cage. Or is it the feeling of guilt? About being a shit show of a father and husband? About needing you to function, even if it all feels so wrong but afterwards it always feels good and right and he feels better, every damn time?

“I'll make an appointment,” he murmurs and his lips find her ring finger, kissing the spot where the simple golden band always sits. She never takes the ring off, just like him. Carol nestles into his arms, the relief clear when she whispers her thank you, I love you into the hollow between his clavicles. God, he is such a failure, he thinks to himself with his wife in his arms and you in his mind.

You are completely booked out. Months ahead. Of course you are. There never is a shortage of people who want your services. Or to be exact, who need them. So when you received the request for an appointment “asap, ma'am”, signed by David York, you told him you were free again in three months. But then another customer canceled their session and because you like David, you give preference to him.

So a week and a half later you find yourself entering the bar of the Rosewood, one of the finest hotels of the city. Doors magically open because there’s always some finance or marketing guy holding them open for you. Each step with your pointy high heels parts the crowd in front of you and is paved with sleek smiles and licked lips of the men who move out of your way.

You pay them no mind, they only exist at the periphery of your focus. They are not important and will never be. What is important is your customer for this day. You recognize him, the way he sits at the bar, one foot on the footrest of the empty stool next to him, the other one firmly planted onto the ground. Just another pretty man in a suit, interchangeable for most who might look at him.

But for you he was different. A customer, first and foremost. A challenge, too. And he's probably the only man in this bar who is not doubling over to get a crumb of your attention. You had to work for what your customers usually give you gladly and freely: their acceptance and sometimes even devotion.

That is why you like Dave York, because working for him and with him is rewarding. It satisfies you to no end to finally turn his smoothness into something with cracks and weaknesses. And to have him thank you for it.

One of the many men in suits in this bar moves from his place on the outer borders of your attention into the spotlight and obscures the view on Dave. The guy looks you up and down, tries to smile a flirty smile but all you see is a pathetic obstacle. Your mouth already opens to tell him no to whatever suggestion he wants to make, when a big hand lands on the man's shoulder.

Thick fingers, blunt nails, a simple golden wedding band. You look past the surprised strangers face and find Dave, standing behind the man.

“Sorry buddy, not tonight,” Dave tells the man. For a moment they look at each other, like two wolves who found a piece of meat and now silently fight for ownership. Two alphas in suits. But only one of them is a wolf, the other one is just a dog.

“Not ever,” you add when you pass the stranger. The sting of your words gets soothed by your sweet smile, showing off your wolfish canines as you do. Your gaze meets Dave’s own. Two alphas looking at each other again, this time both are wolves.

You don't even bother to care about the other man who disappeared into insignificance as quickly as he had the guts to peek his head out of it. Your focus is solely on Dave now. He looks tired, frail even in the small details of his facial expression. He already looks cracked, maybe you wouldn’t have to work as hard as usual today.

“It has been a while.” You sit down at the bar and Dave gestures for the bartender. He always orders you a drink before you both go up to the booked suite. He never not acts according to the unspoken rules of those kinds of arrangements. He is polite and respectful, even if the air around him very much tastes like aversion. Not against you as a person or the work you do. The aversion is directed against himself and the fact that he was sitting in this bar with you and not at home with whoever was waiting there for him.

He nods his head. That would have to do as an answer. “The usual?” he asks instead when the bartender waits for the order.

“The usual,” you confirm and watch Dave order your vodka on ice. It is a nice change of pace, to not talk and to enjoy the silence, to stretch it like a fabric until it becomes see-through and the silent words between them become audible. Two wolves, dressed in white shirts and blouses, in polished shoes, mustering each other over the rims of their glasses. Sizing each other up.

You take a big sip of your vodka and set the glass down. There’s still a good portion of the booze left, but you need to keep a clear mind for what comes next.

“Are you done?”

Usually he obliges and leaves the rest of his drink on the counter, usually he wants to get over and done with it, with you, with himself. But tonight his need for some more liquid courage is bigger.

“Not yet, ma'am.” His legs spread a little more when he leans back on the barstool. Not in a sleazy manner, not to act like he is hung like a horse. No, taking up space comes naturally to him. And again he is respectful about it. He gives your crossed legs enough room between his thighs, almost like he acts as a buffer between the bustling bar and you.

A thought crosses your mind and makes you smile. He is protective, even though you mean nothing to him. You stretch out your leg, just enough to let the tip of your pointed stiletto brush against his shin. A silent praise for him being good.

Dave’s hand suddenly grabs your ankle, following his first impulse of inhibiting an unwanted touch. Your eyes snap up and meet his, your surprise showing in your raised brows. The grip of his fingers loosens immediately, like he touched something that he wasn’t allowed to, like a too hot cookie fresh from the baking tray.

“Finish your drink then.” A demand dressed up as a friendly request. You pull your foot away, Dave’s privilege of getting a feel for you is already over.

“Yes, ma'am,” he says lowly, just loud enough to be heard over the hustle and bustle of the bar. He swirls his drink in his glass and takes another look at you. You look like some partner in a law firm or some higher up shoving around numbers on paper and employees in meetings. Expensive clothes, expensive designer bags, expensive heels. He had seen them often enough to know that you only wear those 700$ pairs. You’re sleek, smooth, polished, with edges that look round and safe to touch but will cut through skin and flesh if you want to.

He takes a sip of his drink and watches you smile, the red lip stretching over your teeth. He feels a part of him getting excited, this one stupid part of himself, the part which constantly makes troubles. Some corner of his brain just loves this. And apparently needs it too, needs it to make him function as a person. This little part loves to make you smile. And he hates it.

You let him finish his drink, let him buy himself a few more minutes before you leave the bar and enter the grand and shiny hotel lobby. Having people move out of your way just by the way your heels click is satisfying. But having someone in front doing it for you is better. You watch Dave plowing through the lobby as he makes his way to the elevators. His ass looks cute, you think to yourself and enter the cabin with him.

He’s so well behaved for you, pressing the buttons, shielding you from the other guests and making sure you can stand comfortably without anyone standing too close to you, himself included, You smile at him again and for a moment one corner of his lips twitch. Good, that's good. He's responsive tonight.

Dave exits the elevator and struts through the long hallway, countless doors left and right until you reach the right one. A quiet beep when the key card opens the door, muffled footfall on the thick carpet and a discreet click when he closes and locks the door behind you both again. Another reason you love this hotel so much, beside the soft beds and high end shower products in the marble bathrooms: the soundproofing.

No matter how hard the stomp, how loud a scream, how sharp a smack, the walls of these rooms seem to swallow the noises and they are never sated. They drink down every word and whisper and always seem to want more. Like the people you work with.

“Tell me about your rules and limits tonight, David,” you say and look around the suite for a moment. You gesture for him to sit down on one of the plush chairs facing a full body mirror.

All you know about Dave is his name, his phone number and another number as an emergency contact. The rest is guesswork you did over the last months and years. The golden ring on his ring finger? He never takes it off. He's married or maybe widowed.

Dave takes off his jacket and hangs it over the backrest of the velvet chair. One time a little toy figurine fell out of his pocket when he took his jacket off. So there must be a child who he has a close enough relationship with for it to sneak little gifts into his pockets. This time nothing out of the ordinary happens. He simply follows your instructions and sits down.

“The same as always.” He lifts his hips again to tug his slacks down, just enough for them to not cut into his groin. “Nothing that leaves marks on me, no touching me between waist and knees, no restraints, no gagging, nothing enters my body, nothing leaves my body without my consent.”

Yeah, just like you thought. “So basically just talking. You know, you could have ‘just talking’ a lot cheaper, down at the bar for example.” You pull a chair for yourself closer to Dave, with the mirror diagonal behind it.

“I'm not here for just talking,” he says quietly with his eyes fixed on his knees.

“Oh I know, don't you worry.” You sit down now, your legs crossed over your knees and one of your high heels swaying in the air just between Dave's spread legs. “Next: safety. Repeat the rules for me, will you?”

He looks up at you and sighs. “We use the color system. Green means more, yellow means keeping the intensity, red means stop.” He likes the simplicity of this system, appreciates it at home, and loves the way Carol loses it whenever he keeps her on yellow for a little too long. But he doesn’t like to be the one using it himself.

“Good. What else means stop?” Your leg is slowly bouncing up and down and Dave's focus shifts to the pencil thin heel for a moment.

“The… the safeword. Helsinki.”

His eyes meet yours again. Dark ponds of raging brown, the storm behind them perfectly contained, for now. “And…?” you prompt, prodding him a little bit with the sweetness in your voice.

“And there's no shame in using my safeword. Or not using it if I'm… feeling good.” He almost chokes on the last words. There is shame in the whole situation, no matter how he looks at it. But you smile again and this one part of him is relieved. He did good, fuck.

“Good job, you remembered,” you praise and the shiny leather of your shoe ghosts along his calf. “Let's start then. No touching yourself or me and no talking unless I tell you to. Got it?”

“Yes, ma'am.” He never sounded less enthusiastic than now. His pretty mouth curves into the tiniest scowl and he looks a little more handsome like this. In another life you two could have a lot of fun. Real fun. Fucked up fun.

In another life you might kneel before him and beg for some peace of mind. He could be the therapy the therapist needs. But not in this life. Because in this he was the one needing peace of mind and you were the provider.

“Now, Dave, I want you to take a deep breath and look at yourself in the mirror. Right into your eyes.”

He obeys. When he meets his own gaze through the mirror the scowl becomes more prominent. You will let him sit with his own thoughts for a minute or so. Enough time to recap your last sessions with him.

Pretty quickly into your business relationship with Dave you found out about his history with the military. No details really, you just knew that he had served for several years. Being degraded on a daily basis in your forming years does something to the brain. And it surely did something to Dave's brain because his tough outer layer cracked beautifully for you as soon as you called him a ‘weak fucking loser’.

And that was all that you did since then: humiliating him, watching him turn from the hard and controlled man into one who is struggling to loosen up and finally a man who spits out ‘Helsinki!’ and flees from the scene with a raging boner. He is the weirdest customer you have. Because his requests are so tame, so small scaled for what you could do and for what he could really take.

But all you had to do was calling him names and having him palm himself through his pants. You are not exactly complaining, he paid you as much as the guys who go the whole nine yards. Dave makes you work for your money though. It is a fight, every time.

You see it in his face, he is fighting right now, while he stares himself down through the mirror. A fight he can never win. His upper lip twitches, like he is going to growl at his own reflection any moment. Oh, it is clear as day to you, he really needs this session.

You might need to switch things up a bit, you want your customers satisfied after all. And the way he glares at himself tells you that he needs more today.

“What are you thinking, tell me.”

Your voice pulls him out of his spiraling thoughts. It’s sweet like honey but also sticky. He knows that your mouth is a sugary trap. Every word and gesture and touch a carefully laid out crumb to lead him to where you want him: staring up at you, doing whatever it takes to get your sugar lips to smile at him.

A little nudge of your heel against his thigh. A little harder than it had to be to get his attention. He doesn’t like that he likes it.

“Whimp,” Dave says with heartfelt disdain.

“What else? And keep looking at yourself.” Your heel digs a little more into his thigh and you can feel the tremble of his muscle beneath his slacks. He sure was a runner, you think. Thick thighs look so pretty with a few streaks on them. But no, no marks. “You can tell me everything, you know?”

Dave swallows thickly, the soft velvet of your voice is making his throat tight. He's trapped, caged in between your shiny stilettos and your mouth. His thigh throbs against the thin heel.

He takes in his reflection, the man in power, in slacks and a crisp white dress shirt, in polished shoes. A high heel prodding him. His fingers clutching the armrests. His face tight and sour. His wedding ring glinting.

“Cheater.”

You hum, pleased with his answer and gracing him with a small smile in return. So he is in a relationship. Good, this would make it easier. For you.

Your foot moves, the pointy heel being exchanged with the flat of the sole, pressed against his inner thigh. You drag it up the seam, just a little bit.

This is breaking the ‘no touching’ rule. And yet, he endures, fighting his silent internal fight.

Interesting.

“What’s your color, love?” You tilt your head to the side, enjoying how Dave’s nostrils flare at your audacity. He is defying the sweetness of your words. But he wants more of the stickiness. Just a little bit. It won’t hurt, right?

“Green,” he grits out. Fucking whimp, cheater, loser, failure, he tells himself silently through the mirror. Your sole moves higher now, the pointy tip already indicating towards your final destination.

Green. He wants more, he will get more. Your shoe slides higher and leaves a trail of dusty dirt on his clean pants. He will hate that, you know he will, because you would be pissed off, too.

“Are you not embarrassed, Dave? Sitting here, paying money for this? What would she say, if she knew?”

His eyes snap from the mirror to you, the corner of his lips move into another scowl. The wolf would be baring his teeth soon.

You tap the sole of your shoe against his crotch, just enough for a little sting that lets him jump slightly. Dave looks at you, stunned. Such a pretty sight.

“Oh what's with the attitude now? Did I say you could look at me?” You smile at him, the tip of your tongue running along the edges of your teeth. “Do you think you deserve it, looking at me, dummy?”

His eyes widen and his mouth opens, ready to protest, to call this off, ready to show you your place. But the only thing leaving his throat is a choked sound. Probably because you keep rubbing your foot into his groin, pushing into the not-so-soft-anymore softness.

“Eyes back on the mirror.” Another quick rap, sole meeting joined seams, another jolt and, oh yes, a moan, finally. The walls with their expensive satin tapestry greedily drink down the throaty sound. “Now.”

Your command has nothing of the powdered sugar quality anymore and he obeys. Who even is he, he wonders for a moment of clarity when he meets his own eyes through the mirror again. A stupid man, growing hard under the shoe of a stranger, a stupid man with a loving wife at home. A stupid man with guns hidden all over town. Growing hard.

He looks into the mirror, feeling detached from his own reality. He watches the shiny shoe move between the thighs of this man in the mirror, he sees the stomach of the man tense under his dress shirt, he notices how the man's mouth opens. He hears him groan, this man who looks like himself.

“God, are you seriously turned on by this? That's embarrassing. No wonder you pay me for it instead of getting it at home.” You love being mean for money and you love how Dave writhes beneath your high heel and squirms under your gaze. “Do you like this? Answer me, dummy.”

“Yes.” You only get a single hissed word as an answer. Adorable.

“Yes what?” you hiss back, applying a little more pressure to the bulge showing so beautifully.

“Yes, ma'am,” he snarls now. The wolf is showing his teeth and you're gonna pull one out. You are the only one allowed to bite in this arrangement.

“Christ, do I have to spell it out for you, stupid?” Your foot drops lower, right over the tight little package nestled under the thick, elongated dick outline. The pointy shoe tip slowly pokes into the squishy warmth of Dave’s clothed balls. His breath hitches. “Yes, ma'am, what?” you prompt him, the sugar returning to your words.

“I… I like this, ma'am.” His eyes are still glued to the picture in the mirror and he seems to register that this is him. The visual of an expensive high heel pressing against balls matches the thrumming, stingy feeling of pain in his own slacks. And another thing belongs to him, besides the pain. The jumping hard-on, right above this damned shoe.

He swallows thickly, his blunt nails digging into the velvet of the armrests. “Fuck. I like it,” he stutters, staring at his face, like he is seeing himself for the first time. Like he recognizes himself. His stormy eyes become a little calmer, the silent internal fight becoming more quiet.

“There we go. Good job.” You pull your foot away from him and lean closer, elbows to knees, one finger coming up to his chin. He just now notices that your nail polish matches your lipstick. The color would look good around his dick. In another life.

“Look at me,” you croon, laying out your trap for him again. The pad of your finger so warm and gentle under his chin, guiding his eyes to yours. You're smiling, red stretching over white, he did good and his cock throbs against the zipper. He’s wagging his tail for you.

“Good boy.” You lean closer and he can smell your perfume, the mint and vodka on your breath, your amber-scented dominance tinted in black and scarlet. The sweetness of your praise coats his tongue and he swallows it down, to make it a part of him. A little secret part on the inside only he knows about.

“Color?” Soft, alluring, a trap made for him to curl up in.

He takes a moment to think, but not too much. The thinking part of his brain was already beginning to shut down. “Green,” he rasps with his eyes fixed on the way your eyebrows dance when you smile again.

“Good. Now, I have a question for you.” Your thumb rubs against his chin, just enough to feel the day worth of scruff beneath the digit. “Will you take your cock out for me? Let me see him?”

Gentle eyes, soft words, tender chin scratches. You have his tail wagging. Slowly, slowly you are domesticating him into a dog, one praise at a time.

Dave nods his head. There’s no harm in showing his dick. That doesn't make him a cheater, he tells himself. Maybe he could make you smile again, he knows he has a good cock. Good balls too. Maybe you could squish them again. Just a little bit.

“That's a good boy. Show him to me. Show me how hard I make you.” You lean back in your chair and watch Dave hesitantly fumble with his belt, then top button, then zipper. He still has a little fight left in him. You would be concerned if not. A man like him will never give up completely, that is what makes him so interesting for you, so much fun to play with.

The teeth of the zipper hiss, the fabric rustles when he pulls it over his ass and down his thighs, over his knees. He looks a bit disgraceful like this, sitting in the velvet chair, slacks pooled around his shoes, tented black briefs, looking at you expectantly. You would have let him take his shoes off and fold his pants if he wanted. But he chose to be… excited. And a little impatient. Truly adorable.

You move a little closer again, inspecting what you can see so far. You never saw his dick and usually you are not too keen on seeing your customers’ genitals, they were just extensions, more of the canvas you like to work on. But since Dave always made a fuss about decidedly not showing signs of arousal you became curious. Out of professionalism, of course.

It was looking good, the tent. A thick head pressed against the cotton and crowned with a now black, later milky stain.

“You’re leaking? For me?” You sound like he presented you with a bouquet of flowers or a painting he doodled with crayons. You reach out, your fingers stopping shy before touching the wet spot. You look up at him, a glint of horror in his eyes. No touching, with your hands. “Is this okay?”

A head shake and a dry swallow, then he finds his voice again. “No. Ma'am. I’m sorry.” You touching him would be cheating; in his head this makes sense.

“That's okay, don't worry.” You purse your lips, tapping a finger against the red on them. Then you hold out your hand, palm up. “Lend me a hand?”

Dave hesitates. His dick protesting with stirs against the briefs, not caring about who would touch him and how. He puts his hand in yours, trusting that you would accept his limit.

And you do, of course, you're a professional. Which means you know how to work your way around limits and how to stretch boundaries. You guide his thumb to the wet, glossy spot and rub the pad over the fabric, once, twice, until Dave grunts from the tingling friction.

“Let me know how you taste,” you coo and lift his thumb to your mouth. You open it wide, your tongue sticking out, reversing the roles but he still is your wolf in a dog costume. His eyes glint and for a second you can smell his dominance, too, lingering under the scent of his precum.

Two beasts who recognize each other, just for the fragment of a second, as you look into each other's eyes. But only one can be in charge tonight. You lean in and take his thumb into your mouth. Deeply. You sink down until your lips leave a red lipstick print around the base, one half on his palm, the other half on the back of his hand.

He tastes salty, with a sharp bite to it, just like the man himself. He presses his thumb deeper, can’t resist to have the upper hand with you just once. Your pussy clenches. She likes him.

Oh, in another life, you would let him wreck you. But not now. You suck his finger until you can’t taste his precum anymore and pull off of him.

“Kneel.”

He huffs and his brows draw together. “What?”

“Wrong answer, stupid.” Your foot snaps up, sole pushed against his hard dick, pointy heel somewhere in between his balls. “Try again.”

There it is again, the storm in his eyes. He is so much fun to work with, so easy to rile up, always keeps you on your toes. The same toes that feel Dave's cock throb through his briefs and the leather of your shoe. You move your heel from left to right, just enough to make him squirm and hiss.

“Yes, ma'am.” That's what he says but it sounds a lot like ‘fuck you’.

You laugh at that, sit back in your chair and put your foot back down on the ground. “That's more like it. Come on, chop chop. On your knees.”

He does as he is told. Growling and glaring, avoiding his ridiculous reflection in the mirror, of a tough guy with his pants around his ankles and leaking like his cock is drooling for you. Dave finds himself on his knees as he sinks into the thick carpet. Your feet are right in front of him, he catches a glimpse of his face in the glossy black tip of your heels. He looks twisted, but unmistakably like him.

“And now: touch yourself. Over your briefs. Nice and slow. Eyes on my shoes.” You place one foot on his thigh and his eyes follow the movement without moving too much. “You seem to like them?”

His hand, the one with your lipstick on it, runs along his length, slowly, calculated, avoiding his sensitive tip as he does. “Yes, ma'am,” Dave mutters and squeezes his girth like he's trying to soothe himself because your voice doesn’t do it anymore. It's all harsh now and not sticky-sweet.

Your heel gets pressed into his thigh, the thin end biting into his skin. “Yes, ma'am, what?”

His jaw ticks. His thumb is soothingly rubbing over the head of his cock, knuckle pushed against the underside. “Yes, ma'am, I like your shoes.”

“I thought so. You got so hard for them, didn’t you?”

He takes a deep breath and keeps on palming himself, a steady back and forth. The wet blotch grows. “I-...” He breaks off when you start caressing his balls with your sole. Back and forth. Front to back, in the same rhythm as he strokes himself. “I did get hard for them, yes. For you, ma'am.”

He just wants some of that sugar back, some of those honeyed words from you. He's on his knees already, what else could you want?

You let him kneel and watch his hand move, register his hip twitch. You brush your fingers through his hair, just a light pet.

“Take him out now. I can look at him, right?”

He nods his head and tugs himself out. Caught behind the waistband you get a first peek. Girthy, a stunning color, a dusty rose turning into an earthy pinkish-red, cut, a clear bead of precum forming over the slit before it runs down and spreads over the already glistening skin.

With another tug he pushes his briefs under his sack, forcing it up nice and tight, right under his cock. He has a slight curve, too. Fucking perfect. Your pussy clenches again.

Dave's hand fists the base, some of your red lipstick transfers to his shaft. The closest your mouth will probably get to him. Such a shame, you think, swallowing down some pooling spit, because you really would like to get a sore jaw from sucking him off.

“Now that's a pretty cock you got there. Hold still.”

You crouch over to Dave and place your palm over his hand, giving his dick a good squeeze with Dave's hand.

“I won't touch him, I promise. But let me guide you.” Molasse thick, that's how your voice sounds. Almost too thick to be swallowed down.

He manages to do it nonetheless. Ignoring that this is out of the comfort zone of David York, the husband and father. But oh, those words taste delicious for the man who knows rules and laws but lives outside of them.

His own hand relaxes under yours and with the first stroke another yes, ma'am drips from his lips.

This is a strange feeling. He guided several hands in his life, taught them where to rub, how to twist, how much to squeeze. But having his own hand touch him with those foreign movements was… new. Sexy. Frustrating too, because you seem to know exactly what not to do.

He looks down between his thighs and sees two hands moving and he really tries to imagine it was just your hand. He wants your touch. Christ, he wants your mouth on him, too. And you would do it, you would gladly accept the proposal and call him a good boy again. But he can't. He can't do it, it's not the right thing to do. He feels his wedding ring slide up over his tip and back down. No, he can’t have you touch him directly.

But he can give in to you a little more. His dignity hangs over the other chair, taken off together with his jacket right at the beginning. You might as well make him your bitch. He throbs against his fingers and Dave asks himself if you can feel it, too. Without being able to stop it his hips buck into his fist, your fists. You were moving his hand so goddamn slow, he needs more. More pressure, more speed.

“Are you not happy, love? Are you being ungrateful?” You slow down even more until your palms reach his top again. Dave has lubed himself up so nicely with his own precum, you can feel it spreading between your own fingers. With a tight grip you flick and twist, like screwing open a bottle, twisting the cork out of a bottle of champagne.

Dave’s body jerks as do his hips and he moans again, feeding the soundproofing of the hotel room the delicious sounds he makes.

You tut at him, smirking and mocking and twist his hand over his cock again.

“Oh, so you are ungrateful? You have to ask for the things that you want, dummy, That's how this works.” You loosen your grasp and straighten your back, cross your arms and then your legs until the sole of your shoe hovers over his balls. “So…? Are you ungrateful?”

He shakes his head and fights the urge to rock himself against your shoe. More precum gets pushed out of his slit, he fucking aches. He could just spit out the safeword and jerk it in his car, like usual. But he is too proud for that. He is going to finish what he started here, in this room with you.

“No, I’m not. I just-...” he breaks off when you start bouncing your foot, knocking against his balls with almost gentle pats. Dave clutches his girth with a groan, his hips bucking forwards again. “I…,” he strokes himself once, hoping you would get the implications without having to put it into words.

A finger hooks under his chin again, he can smell himself on your skin. A nudge and he looks at your face again, the way you bare your teeth at him in a graceful smile doesn't cover up the authoritative tone hidden in your sweet words.

“You already did so good today. But I want you to do one last thing, yes?” You rub your finger under his chin, smearing some of his sticky precum over his skin. “Will you try it, for me?”

He'd do a backflip, if you kept up the carrot and stick game for a little longer.

And then you do it again, showing him the treat he could have if he only was a good enough boy for you. You start licking your hand clean. Languid laps with the flat of your tongue, starting with the little finger.

“Love, I want you to fuck your hand. You don't have to hold back.” You suckle on the tip of your finger before licking Dave's salty residue off of the next one. You stop at the tip, twirl your tongue around the fingernail painted all ruby and smile at him. Just as if you were licking an ice cream spoon clean.

“Just make sure to keep your hand still and fuck into it.” Now middle and index finger. Your tongue runs over both of them before you put them into your mouth. In and out they go, sluggish and without hurry, you hum at the taste like it's the sweetest cream.

And then, instead of doing a backflip, Dave starts moving his hips. His eyes glued to your mouth and the red of your lipstick transfers to your fingers before it disappears in the dark, tight, wet cavern of your mouth.

His hand doesn't feel anywhere close to what he imagines your mouth does. Dave is just glad that he can finally care for his aching boner. With every thrust, in sync with your fingers sliding in and out between your lips, his balls slap against the leather sole of your shoe. It stings, but it stings good. He didn’t even know he liked this before tonight. Before your expensive stiletto pressed and rapped and pushed into them.

He ruts his hips faster now, not matching the speed he needs, but he makes it up with squeezing himself hard. Soft squelches come from between his legs now with every back and forth. More noises for the thick carpet and walls to swallow, never to be heard again.

You’re sucking on your thumb now while Dave's clutching himself harder, hips thrusting in a relentless pace. He fucks his hand like you told him to.

He looks so perfect in the mirror, that little piece of ass that you can see from your angle. Clenching and unclenching, the movements draw you in, hypnotize you. The perfect cream-white canvas for blotches of red and sprinkles of violet, for scarlet streaks, oval imprints of your teeth even.

You lick your lips when his thighs start trembling. How good he would look if he fucked himself on your strap-on. In another life, you muse and press your thighs together. The sound your thumb makes between your lips resembles the one that will come from your wet cunt later, when you're at home again. With Dave's salty taste in your mouth and a girthy vibrator, one to match the size of his cock.

His eyes meet yours again, just for a second before they dart down to your tongue again when you start licking your palm. He's still in there, the hard man, the one who's fighting against himself, the one who probably whispers insults inside his head. You can see him in that short moment, somewhere swimming in the stormy mahogany.

You stop licking your palm when Dave winces after snapping his hips harder into his hand and his balls against your sole. He’s at his personal limit.

“Almost there, love, hm?” Another lap to your palm, seemingly unbothered by the state he is in. “Do you want to come?”

He groans and growls, his glutes are burning, his knees hurt, his fucking balls thrum. Oh, he wants to come alright. “Yes, ma'am,” he grits out.

“Say that you're pretty when you fuck your hand for me.” Your tongue flicks over your palm again and reveals your canines again. Just a wolf cleaning her silky fur.

If the need for his orgasm wasn't bigger than his pride, he would have rolled his eyes and fucked that smug smile right out of your face. But he really, really needs to come. He is so close. He can play along a little longer.

“I'm pretty when I fuck my… fucking hand for you,” he snarls and a something in the depth of his guts starts fluttering with a burning strength.

“Good job. You really are pretty like that, love.” You pull the leg of your pants up, the heavy, black fabric now rests bunched up on your knee. Dave still ruts into his hand, chasing the release he knows he can’t have that easily.

“Say ‘I will make a pretty mess for you, ma'am.’,” you order and push your fingers through his hair, careful to not ruin his side part. A single unruly strand gets fixed with your spit-wet fingers. Nothing that leaves marks on me. Well, he can wash off your little saliva mark later.

More carrots, more sweet words and sugar touches, more of your smug but also content smile. Christ, he just wants to do something right. And you are offering him an easy fix. Dave whines and leans into your touch. Vigorously he pounds his hand, his balls trapped between his waistband and your sole and it all feels so warm, hot, his pulse beats in his ears and throbs in his straining cock. “I will make a pretty mess for you, ma'am. Fuck. I need to move my hand.”

His big browns look up at you, same parts furious, pleading and desperate.

“Say please,” you chirp and tilt your hips to feel the middle seam of your pants pressed against your clit. “Be good, say please and you can come for your ma'am.”

“Please. Fuck, please!” he barks as he steps into your honeyed trap you have laid out for him from the beginning. He is stuck in it knees first, tail between his legs, barking, howling, wagging. How to catch a wolf.

“That's my good boy. Go on, you can come. Make a mess.”

He did good, thank god. Dave starts moving his hand, jerking his cock hard and fast, his teeth sink into his flew to bite back a loud howl when he feels himself coming.

It is beautiful to watch for you, how his eyes roll back slightly, how his hand moves so fast that the smacking sounds are like a rapid fire, how he thrusts a few more times into his tight fist until he squirts his thick creamy cum all over. It feels hot on your skin, like molten wax poured over your shin, down to your foot and finally your high heel.

You moan in unison with Dave. You never are above feeding the soundproofing some of your noises as well. An offering to the gods, to keep you blessed with men like Dave.

He continues to stroke himself, choking on a few whimpers, milking the last remnants of cum out of him. His wedding band isn't shining as much now, all dull and foggy with his seed dimming the golden hue. His hand trembles, his runner thighs tremble too, his briefs, still tucked under his balls, are ruined and he slowly, slowly loosens his hard grip around his cock.

“Love, you did so good. That wasn't so hard, was it?” His cum starts running down your leg now and you both watch it for a moment.

“I'll get you a tissue,” he mutters breathily, ready to finally get off his knees and gain some dignity back.

“Nuh uh. Clean up without tissues or towels.” Nothing enters my body without my consent. He looks at you and scoffs out single disbelieving laughter. You shrug your shoulders. “Listen, you came this far. You can be a coward and use your safe word. Or you can take responsibility and clean up the mess you made. It's an easy task.”

You are right. It is an easy task, compared to the mess his life is. It's easy. It's easy. It's easy. He leans forward and swallows, thickly. He looks up at you and sticks his tongue out. It's easy.

You lift your leg up to his mouth, nodding your head, smiling, baring your teeth like a docile pet wolf. Dave's tongue meets your skin, smooth under his slick, powdery scent under his salty stench. He licks a stripe from your ankle up your shin, then another one and another one. Slowly. It's easy. One lick at a time. Fixing the mess he made.

His clean hand holds your foot, nestled in your stiletto, and he laps his cum from the bridge with shorter strokes.

Dave doesn't flinch away from his own taste, he’s licked his own hands clean often enough to enjoy it to a degree. A form of cannibalism, eating his young, feasting on his own potential.

He cleans your skin, lifting your foot higher and his tongue pressed into the small gaps between the leather and your toes. You pet his head again, humming, purring under his ministrations. Dave's lips purse half above the leather and half above your skin, a small kiss before he sucks his cum out of the tiny gap.

It really is easy. He licks over the glossy black, leather and salt coating his senses, another sugary good boy in his ears and in his hair your claws graze over his scalp.

A few more licks and kisses and the creamy white has disappeared from the shiny piece of leather. He can see himself in it again. A twisted image, but unmistakably Dave.

He rubs his spit into the smooth animal skin, you can wash his mark off later if you want. He's done. With cleaning and with this. It's over, for tonight at least.

He lowers your stiletto onto the thick carpet again and offers free sight to his spent cock, heavy and sticky. No more wagging, no more dog. He's back to being an equal.

“You did amazing, Dave. Really good.”

Your hand falls to his shoulder, giving him a gentle pat before you rise to your feet and over him your hand to pull him up. He takes it, groaning quietly when his knees crack. Dave feels a little shaky, or maybe more shook than shaky. But he feels good, lighter, loose. Not even ashamed.

“Can I get you anything? Something to drink, something to eat?” You don't even wait for his answer and turn to the minibar, pulling out a cold water for him.

“No, thank you. I'm good. I'll just take a quick shower.” With a thud his shoes land on the floor as he kicks them off. His slacks follow, then his damp briefs.

You watch him undress, amazed and attracted to his confidence and nonchalance, attracted to what lies beneath Dave's clothes, too. In another life you two would be a great match.

“Do you want me to wait for you?” You turn towards the minibar again, looking for something else. There it is, a kitkat.

“You don't have to, but thank you.” Dave smiles at you and shrugs his shirt off his shoulders. He holds out his hand now, naked in front of you and not bothered by it. Smug. Big dick energy and he can afford it.

You shake his hand, sucking your bottom lip between your teeth for a moment. “Until the next time then. Take good care, Dave.”

You smile at each other, the possibilities of being reckless crackling between you, but then he lets go of your hand and turns his back towards you, heading into the bathroom. When the water starts running behind closed doors you take his shirt from the pile of clothes and nuzzle into the fabric. It's a good smell. Masculine, of course.

Slipping a few fingers into your pants and deeper, behind the elastic of your lace underwear and still deeper, dipping them into your sopping pussy, you inhale his scent deeply, clenching to the thought of his tongue on your skin.

You treat yourself to a moment with your fingers buried in your cunt before you pull out again. You write your name on the inside of his collar, invisible ink made out of your slick, setting a scent mark, a last reward for this good boy.

When Dave enters the room again later you have disappeared, in thin air, no trace of you is left. But something churns inside of him when he gets dressed.

Later, in his car, it clicks. Pussy. It smells like pussy, right in front of him. You god forsaken menace. Of course you had to have the last word. Marking him, mocking him, making him hard again. And of course your pussy smells delicious. Sticky sweet. He groans and adjusts himself, driving home a little faster now.

The house lays in silence when he steps over the threshold. The girls are fast asleep, he checked it immediately with a peek into their rooms. Carol is asleep as well. Soft and warm and plush under the blanket, curled up on her side. Dave kicks his shoes off and steps out of his slacks and briefs. They are still damp in the front, from the precum you urged out of him. But the shirt stays on.

He slips under the blanket and pulls Carol closer, her perfect ass against his already half-hard cock. A hand gently kneads one of her breasts, the other one tugs down her pajama pants.

She's awake in no time, whimpering when he grinds against her rear and lets his dick glide between her ass cheeks.

“Therapy was good?” Her voice is so soft, always sweet for him, never harsh, rarely ever does a no come from her.

“Yeah. Missed you…” he mumbles into the crook of her neck, biting and pulling on her skin until she winces softly.

“Dave-...”

He pinches her nipples and she winces again. A waft of your pussy hits him and he breathes it in deeply.

“Color, baby.”

“What?” Carol chuckles, not yet believing that she’s about to be fucked by her always loyal, always loving and caring husband.

“You’ve heard me. Give me your color.” His cock now slides between her legs and through her folds. He’ll slick her up real good, leaking already with a quiet thrumming sting in his balls. Carol’s pussy feels as good as yours smells.

“Green,” she gasps and rocks back against him.

“Good fuckin’ girl,” he growls before biting the flesh over her shoulder blade and pushing into her.

When Dave finally is satisfied, soaked in Carol and him, she rolls on her back and watches him get a warm towel for her. Whatever this therapist did with Dave, it did wonders. He should go more often.

thank you for reading! and remember, kids, comment or reblog to show me I've been a good girl and did a good job, please and thank you

find my Dave York masterlist here

find my general masterlist here

more a/n: I'd probably suck as dominatrix, shout-out to all the bad ass professionals and hobby dom(me)s out there, you are amazing and I'm literally on my knees for you

dividers: @/saradika-graphics

#dmamc2025 #dmamc 2025 #dave york #dave york x reader #dave york x you #dave york x female reader #dave york smut #ppcu fanfiction #ppcu #pedro pascal #my writing

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slimybeth69 · 3 months ago

Text

Thirst: Part 2

Marcus Acacius X lady reader (no descriptions, you're a virgin though)

Summary: Your freedom had a price and Marcus Acacius was willing to pay for it... but you also had to do something for him.

Chapter 2 of 10: Stretching - Marcus shows up with more Gifts. (Look at him, showing up like he's about to do something...he is...he's gonna do something.)

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

Rating: EXPLICIT -- Shameless smut with a little plot

a/n: NO SPOILERS to the new movie. This is cross-posted from my AO3 account and I just and 2 more chapters locked and loaded after this one, so... if y'all like it lemme know! (i love to chat)

WARNINGS: dubious consent, ownership, loss of virginity, mutual mast., exhibitionism, voyeurism. mentions of being a whore. Sexy toys, Marcus talks you through it.

It’s been two days since you’ve seen that Gods forsaken General again. You thought he was going to take your fucking flower that night after you little little discussion over shard wine on the balcony… he slept in your bed that night! He never does that! He left in the morning and said he’d be back as soon as he could.

What a fool you are for believing him.

You’re naked now, laying out on the balcony touching yourself thinking about him though. You cannot help it. The way he spoke while he touched himself last time. The way you spoke to him!? You’ve been writhing around waiting for him to come back to give you release. Let him put his mouth on your slit or something! You need release and you are tired of your own fingers. So fucking tired of them. You wanted Marcus! You wanted him so badly.

There are two of your forsaken fingers inside yourself. Your knees are bent and legs are spread wide as you sit back against the lounge chair. Your free hand pinches and tugs at your nipples frustratedly as you attempt to make yourself come. You’re not holding back your sounds of pleasure because you desperately hope someone will look up at you or maybe see you from another balcony. You like being watched, just like Marcus apparently. Why didn’t you just do this for him from the start!? You’d probably no longer be a virgin.

Your head is thrown back and your eyes are closed because it is starting to feel so good. You imagine how it’s going to feel when he enters you for the first time— if that ever happens. Gods, you hope so. His cock is so beautiful and throbbing whenever you see it. You know it’ll be hot. Erections are always hot in your hand.

“What a beautiful sight.” His voice in your head is so inviting and you curl your fingers even faster against that spot the Gods planted so deeply inside of you. Why is it so far away!? You can barely reach it! You’re desperately trying to plunge your fingers deeper. “That’s it. Rock your hips.” His voice isn’t in your head! He’s here!

You rip your fingers from within your pussy and try to cover yourself in shame and horror with your arms and hands. He’s chuckling looking down at you from behind your chair. His eyes flick to the street below and the surrounding balconies.

“What are you doing here!? Why did you sneak up on me!?” You snap at him and pull your knees together and close to your body. He is still chuckling and gently places a brown burlap sack in your lap.

“I have another gift for you. A couple things.” He sits beside you in his chair and waits for you to open the bag. You peek in and are appalled.

“What do you want me to do with these!? I was expecting you!” You exclaim in annoyance at the bag of sex toys on your lap. Hand-blown glass that looks like his cock but smaller! Another glass toy that looks like a spade but softer! Rounded and circular. You’ve never seen anything like this one as you take it out of the bag to inspect. It’s got a dull, rounded tip and tapers into a thick base and then is thin again with a large glass bead at the end.

“For your ass.” Marcus smiles at you. “The other one is so I do not hurt you. I’d like you to enjoy it. Not be crying.”

“Is it really that bad?” You scoff at him and gently place the ass toy in the bag with the glass cock.

“I might hurt you. I'm bigger than most men. I hurt women who take cock daily.” He smirks at you and now you’re fearful. “Let me use them on you today– right now.” He’s smiling and reaching for the bag. “I’ll show you how to use them, and then you can train for me. I’ll watch and make sure you’re doing it correctly.” He pulls the cock from the bag and scooches his chair closer to yours. “Lay back like you were.”

You open up to him without another word because he’s going to touch you. Holy shit. Touching and putting something inside of you? That’s a start, better than being stared at. Yes, okay. You bring your knees to your chest but spread you legs wide. Marcus sighs softly and rubs the tip of the cock against your tight, virgin hole. No one else has ever been in there. Just you and your fingers. You were so scared now that he said it might hurt but your heart it galloping in your chest. Fully about to overwork itself and stop completely as he pushes the tip inside of you.

Your jaw drops open as you stare at him. His eyes never leave yours even as he pushes it into you so slowly.

“Painful?” He stops and pulls it back out slowly until there is nothing left inside of you. You shake your head silently. With this, he pushes forward again— his eyes drop down to your cunt so he can see you take something besides yourself for the first time. Now his mouth is the one hanging open as he’s moving this clear, glass cock inside of you.

Marcus made sure to get one close to his girth and thickness so you’d have no problem adjusting to him. The length he had was hard to replicate so he did what he could.

You’re doing so well and biting your bottom lip as the stretching and pain start to take over. You grimace softly and close your eyes. Marcus stops moving completely and when you look at him, he has curiosity in his eyes but no expression on his face.

“Does it hurt?” He asks with his velvety smooth voice that just dances around inside your head as you pant softly. “Don’t hold your breath. Breathe through that pain until it feels good, Little Dove.” He coos to you gently.

“Okay,” You whimper softly as he pulls the cock from within you slowly. There were six inches to this glass cock and you had two inside of you before it started to hurt. Marcus chuckles at the memory of your confidence the other day and when you left the brothel.

“Touch your pretty tits for me. I like watching you tug at them. Makes me want to bite them. Suck on them.” Marcus whispers as he pushes the toy forward again. You mewl softly and roll your hips gently at the words he spoke to you. Your hands– both free now– find your sensitive and hard buds in your fingers and tug them gently, rolling them softly. “Perfect. It’ll make your cunt wet when you do that. Make it easier to push this into you.”

“Okay.” Your panting quietly as he speaks. Your eyes never leave each others.

“I’ll do those things to you soon. Suckle on your breast, bite at your beautiful nipples. I’ll make you wet for my cock, soon.”

Marcus pushes the entirety of the toy into you and you jolt and close your eyes. It’s not as bad as he was making it out to be, but still not comfortable. Like a pinching feeling inside of your pussy. It’s not the worst but it is not great. You suck air in through your clenched teeth and he holds it within you.

“Breathe. Relax your muscles and feel yourself adjust to the thing inside you.” He whispers into your ear encouragingly. “You can do it, Little Dove.” He is so reassuring that you believe you might actually be able to do this.

“Okay.” Your murmur and unclench every muscle in your body. Marcus starts to twist the cock around inside, while holding it deeply inside of you. Moving it one way and then another. Grinding it against your hips as his free hand finds his cock underneath his tunic. You start to pant now from the pleasure he is bringing you. The now warm glass touches that spot inside of you that is placed just out of reach from your desperate fingertips.

“Does that feel better now? Is it starting to feel so good?” He says almost mockingly but you love it. He’s cooing to you and you can see his arm moving up and down on himself under his tunic. You can’t see his cock and you wish to the Gods he would pull it out so you can look at it. It’s like he’s inside your head or seeing where your eyes have fallen. “Do you want to watch now, too?”

As he speaks he lifts the skirt of his tunic above his waist and tugs his cock downward to show you his impressive and intimidating length. He strokes himself, downward like that instead of holding it up against his stomach. He’s leaned over, still pushing the glass toy into you. The tip of him is driveling and almost about to drip off of him. You bite you bottom lip and whimper softly at the sight and the feeling inside of you.

“Do you like it now? Do you like me?” He’s smirking at you as his strong hands stroke his length. The drop of precum that had been threatening to fall from his seam finally does; it drops right to the floor and something inside of you says that you should lick it off of the balcony.

You flick your eyes up at Marcus and he’s watching himself tug on his cock the way he is. He sees the drop on the balcony. He snaps his eyes up to yours and sighs softly.

“You’ll taste me soon enough, Dove.”

“Okay...” You moan softly as he starts to withdraw the cock from within you. He does that slowly until there is nothing left. You feel hollow and lost without that feeling inside you. With desperate hums of need you rock your hips forward towards the tip of the cock. Marcus smiles and you can see his perfect teeth when he does.

“I love the desperation in your heart and cunt. I know you want to fuck me. I’m not going to hold back like this when I do.” He pushes into you quite forcefully, with the quickly cooling glass toy. You gasp and quiver. There is still a dull pain when it does it but nothing like before. It’s just a full, stretched feeling. Like you could never be more full. It’s incredible. Breathtaking. “I won’t be able to control how fast…” Marcus starts to thrust the cock into you. “Or how hard.” He is pushing the cock as deep as it will go, the thick, still cold glass balls of it are pressed flush against your perineum. It sends a shiver through you when the connect with the sensitive warm flesh.

“Oh my Gods.” You whisper. There is no breath inside your lungs to speak real words. The thickened head of the toy inside you grazes and rubs your spot lovingly and perfectly each time. “Oh, Marcus..” You whimper up to him. He sighs softly when you speak his name in the breathy tones of your first real feelings of pleasure from something inside of you.

“Fuuck.” He groans softly and strokes himself faster. He is rock hard and so soft at the same time… you can see it’s stiffness sheathed with his bronzed flexible skin. It’s a paradox as you look at it still drooling. “You worship me and I will worship you, Dove. Say my name again.” He is fucking you with this toy and it’s not slow or gentle. He is trying to get you to scream his name and you just might.

“M-Marcus.” You whimper happily up to him. “It’s s-s-so good.” You let your head fall back against the chair and sigh happily. You are just warmth. It’s such an incredible feeling what he is doing to you.

“Do you like that we could be seen?” He pants to you. You nod without looking at him because the feeling that's building between your stomach and cunt is overwhelming. “Fuuuuck, my Dove. You are naughty. You want someone to see what The General does to his perfect girl?” The thrusts he’s giving you with this glass cock are making your tits bounce as you continue to tug and twist your nipples.

“Yes. Yes.” You pant breathlessly. “Yes, I do. I’m going t-to scr— oh my Gods, I’m going to scream.” You groan loudly as the air finds your lungs again. You are overcome with this feeling in your lower belly. It’s incredible and you’ve never felt like this before.

“Do it. Scream for me, Luna Flora. I want to hear it.” He is panting but he has his voice. It’s deep and demanding. Ordered to you like you are one of his soldiers. “Come for the first time on a cock, perfect girl.” He is softer and coos this demand to you.

It’s like fireworks going off inside of you. Over and over again or just one big firework that takes so long to go explode completely. You do not know. You’ve only seen them once from this balcony and they were loud and frightening. This is not loud or frightening. It’s quiet– like all the sounds have been stolen from the world. Your chest feels heavy and weightless at the same time. Like there is a lion sitting on you while the Gods try to pull you up to them by strings wrapped around your ribcage.

It’s incredible and you are screaming now, you scream his name and clench your eyes shut as the walls of your cunt clench down around the cock inside of you. It is not forgiving or soft. It is just hard as you clench down around it.

The pressure behind the cock is gone and you’re shocked by this. You feel it slipping from within you slowly. You cannot to react to this feeling and try to push it back inside of you because Marcus is standing over you, one hand on the chair beside your head, the other still around his cock.

“You’ll be artwork when I’m done with you.” He leans forward and presses his lips to yours hungrily and groans into your mouth. You feel yourself being splattered and splashed with his releases. It’s on your chest and neck and now you can feel it dripping onto your stomach.

You both jump and pull away from this embrace at the sound of shattering glass. Marcus jumps back in alarm and drops the skirt of his tunic. You knew what it was before it happened but it still startled you. The glass cock slipped fully out of your cunt and tumbled to the stone balcony. You’re just as shattered as the glass cock. It was incredible and you would have used it every single day. Every day until he had come back to see you again.

“Don’t be disappointed, Dove. I can get you another.” He sees the sadness and heartbreak on your face. “You wont really need it after today, though. I’ll enter you tomorrow and we will break in that other new toy of yours.” He leans down again, his face only inches from yours. “You’ll know the real feeling of full tomorrow, Dove.”

And then that motherfucker leaves again. You're still naked on the balcony. Now you're sweating and still panting and your pussy is leaking down onto the chair you're still seated in. He didn't even really touch you! Just shoved a glass clock inside of you!

Gods help you. This is torture!

Next Chapter ->

I hope you all love this and wanna read more-- let me know if you do! -Ms. Slimy Elizabeth

#fanfic #smut #pedro pascal #marcus acacius #gladiator 2 #pedro pascal characters #marcus acacias x reader #marcus acacius takes your virginity

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baibeebrii · 29 days ago

Text

Timothee Chalamet- highschool au

nerdy!reader x popular!timmy

18+ mdni

my writing is everywhere. i had to get this idea out. lol

warnings- rough sex, praise, simp timmy, down bad timmy, semi public sex, all consensual, adult reader(18), cursing, corruption kink, timmy’s a bit of a stalker, squirting

info - nerdy reader gets invited to timothee’s end of the year party, shocked, she goes.

her surprise, it was all part of timmy’s plan of confessing and finally getting you as his.

in any way he can.

senior year, best way to put it. not going well.

you were in your last year of highschool, still the same you as you were in your first year. school oriented and focused. your only priority was getting into college. so that’s all you focused on your four years.

you were so smart, acing all your classes with straight A’s and even some college credits. you were the person people would come to for notes, or help and you always helped your classmates. you were just that type of person.

which is what made you catch timothy’s eye, he loved staring at you during class when you were turned away from him helping another classmate work out a problem, the way your hair fell in your face, making you push it behind your ear, watching how you bite your lip when really focused ok something. admiring how gorgeous your body was. from the curve of your chest to the curve of your hips. you were remarkable in his eyes, and he so badly wanted you to feel it.

you were the top of every class, straight A student, never going to party’s, always home studying. so when timothee hands you an invitation to his party, you were nothing but shocked, and a little confused.

“is this for me? or do you need me to give this to someone else?” you ask, because surely it’s not for you- right?

“uh it’s your invite, has your name on it” timothee smiles and points to the envelope, where your name was written in pink cursive.

“are you sure you want me there? i mean i’ve never even been to a party” you chuckle, cheeks turning a light shade of pink. embarrassed that your life is well.

boring.

“well yeah, i mean unless miss perfect has some studying to do?” he laughs, hoping you say no.

you smirk, “i guess i can push some studying aside to come to the infamous timothee chalamets party”

he smiles, gives you a nod and walks to his next class.

why is your heart beating so fast? and why do you feel hot and tingly all over.

you’re snapped out of your thoughts when your stack of books are pushed to the floor.

“what do you think you’re doing?” sara basically hissed at you.

ah sara, lead cheerleader, most popular, blah blah blah.

you get it? the school bully.

you say nothing as you grab your things and turn to walk away, not even giving her the time of day to ruin the high you’re feeling right now.

but that was only seconds before you’re pulled out of your thoughts again, by a hand on your shoulder spinning you around.

“i asked you a question, bitch. what do you think you’re doing? you’re not seriously thinking about showing up to that party?” she sneered.

“um actually, i am. thanks” you try walking away again, only to be pulled back.

“if i see you there, i will ruin your life. stay away from him”

you couldn’t understand the drama behind boys? she’s threatening you, over a boy? so weird.

last class of the day? done. school was finally done. couple months of studying and you’ll be off to college. you couldn’t wait.

but more importantly. timothees party tonight.

oh god.

what the fuck were you going to wear?

you ripped apart your closet. desperate to find something, anything.

finally, the perfect skirt and shirt.

the cutest black mini skirt and a white baby tee with a red star.

you couldn’t lie, you looked good.

maybe too good.

but you’ll never see these people when you go to college. so let’s have some fun.

you put on some mascara, a nice wing eyeliner, and a red lipstick. you left your hair down, but brought a hair tie in case you got hot.

driving over there, you were an anxious mess. you almost turned around thrice but right on time. you pulled on his street. parking a bit away.

walking up to his house, you can already hear music blaring and see a bunch of people standing around.

do you knock? do you just walk in?

luckily some people were coming beside you and just walked in, so you slipped in with them.

inside, you looked around. drinks were in the kitchen, and there was a snack table.

your eyes scanning the room for the host, not finding in in the large crowd you decided to head to the kitchen, get something to drink.

you turn around and bump into someone, nine other then timmy himself.

“ah y/n you decided to come” he gleamed at you, little brush creeping on his face.

“ah yeah, couldn’t miss your party” you laugh, as if you’ve ever been to a party before.

“come on, let me give you the tour”

timmy took you all around his house, showing off everything he could to impress you, and it was working. who knew the most popular boy in school was secretly a huge star wars nerd? you loved it.

you make your way back downstairs, timmy running to get you guys something to drink, you stand kinda in the corner, not wanting to get bothered as you waited.

you can only hope so much, “hello cutie, you dress up nicely” some boy basically growled at you he was so intoxicated.

“do i know you?” of course you knew who he was, but he doesn’t have to know that.

“we go to the same school?” he slurred out, this was seriously such an ick for you, do people really enjoy this.

before the boy spoke again, timmy showed up, wrapping his arm around your waist, pulling you in.

“problem?” he said looking towards the boy.

he stammered son incoherent words before walking away, you sighed. gross.

“let’s go upstairs, yeah?”

agreeing quickly, you follow behind him to his bedroom, him closing and locking the door before sitting on his bed with you.

“here, try this drink” he says placing a solo cup in your hand, “it’s a creation of my own”

you smile and take a small sip, smelling the alcohol. but to your surprise it tasted like straight up juice. taking another sip you look even more surprised.

“this is alcohol?” you giggle.

“ahh yeah, made it so you wouldnt taste the alcohol” he smirked.

taking another sip, your cup is already half gone, starting to feel a bit fuzzy yiu place the cup down.

“i’m gonna tap out, don’t want to get too intoxicated. need to drive home”

“smart, ill stop too. let’s just talk” timmy smiles at you grabbing both your cups and placing them on the night stand.

“sooooo what made you invite me timothy? i don’t think we’ve ever talked much” you laugh.

he just stares for a second, “why wouldn’t i invite you? i like you” ending the sentence in a smirk.

you just stare at him, likes you? how? we barely know each other.

before you could say anything timothy continues, “i’ve been paying attention to you y/n. you’re so pretty in class, the prettiest.” he says moving closer to you.

“the way your bangs frame your face when you’re reading, or how they fall in your face while you’re writing. the way your skirt rides up your thigh from sitting” you looks you up and down.

you’re speechless, shell shocked even. did he really just say that? or did you drink more then you thought.

timothy just giggles at you, pulling you onto his lap, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“ah but don’t worry, i catch the way you look at me. such lust filled eyes for someone so pure” his eyes darken.

no like seriously darken, you’ve read this in books but you didn’t think it was actually possible.

your heart rate quickens, rapidly beating in your chest. you can’t help but to feel the heat rise up in you.

“timothy, are you drunk?” you finally speak out.

he laughs and shakes his head a bit, “i’ve barely drank baby, wanted to be perfect for you” he puts his face in your chest, inhaling your scent.

he groans, and pulls you closer, hands sliding down your back to your ass.

“i love watching you in class, or walk down the hallway. watching as your ass jiggles with every step, the way your tits bounce, i could eat you alive”

your cheeks darken a deep red, you could feel his hard cock twitching on your thigh.

“do you want me just as bad as i want you baby?” he innocently asks, pulling the hem of your shirt up.

you nod as you help him take your top off, boobs bouncing out of the shirt. sitting so pretty just for him.

“god they’re so much better then i imagined, so pretty” he says taking a bud into his mouth ducking gently while his other hand went to massage your left boob.

you make a small noise, this is all new to you. a virgin in every way.

“ahh timmy, wait” he instantly takes himself off you looking into your eyes.

“are you okay?” the sincerity in his eyes and voice is beautiful.

“i’m fine, i just want you to know this would be my first time” his eyes flickered.

“i’d be the first to have this body” he growled flipping you over so he’s on top of you.

he attacks your neck with sloppy kisses as he rubs down your body.

you’re making noises, so many small whimpers and whines.

it’s driving timothy crazy, he doesnt know how long he can contain himself.

“i need you baby, please?” the desperation in his voice was overwhelming. you nod your head and your skirt is flying off along with your underwear. his pants are being unzipped and pulled down

his hard cock popped out smacking his stomach, almost to his belly button. your eyes widen, that will not fit.

“don’t worry baby, i’ll go slow. you make all the calls, understand?” he doesn’t want to hurt you, he wants to take care of you. wants you to be safe and comfortable.

you nod, he spreads your legs and positions himself between them. he gives you a glance and you nod.

he slowly starts to push inside you, you’re so wet for him and he groans as he slides in.

you’re feeling nothing but good. this is better then you could have ever imagined.

he’s almost bottomed out before he stops, “are you still okay? need me to stop?” he rubs your face, brushing your hair.

you huff out a yes, before he pushes all the way in, the gasp you gusped was enough to stop your breathing for a second.

“god you’re so wet and warm for me baby, such a sweet girl for me” he slowly starts rocking his hips, needing to feel you.

you moan out, letting timmy know he’s doing well, quickening his pace he lets out small grunts and moans.

you’re a moaning mess, moans and curse words leaving your lips as timmy has found himself at a fast but harsh pace. he’s fucking you so deep, reaching spots that make you feel stars, his cock sliding almost completely out before slamming back in.

the way your pussy clings to his cock, sucking him back in is driving you crazy.

your pussy is absolutely dripping around him, you feel fucking amazing.

the way he’s fucking you is so intense the coil in your stomach is about to burst.

feeling like you have to pee, but the pleasure is so good you can’t help but to let everything go.

your orgasm shocking your core, timmy slowly fucking you through it. placing soft kisses along your collar bone.

“that’s it, such a good girl.” praising you as you cum all over his cock.

regaining composure you look down, his stomach is soaked, he’s soaked in your pussy juices.

“baby i think you just squirted.” he smirks running his fingers on his stomach before placing them in his mouth, “and you tastes delicious”

he flips you over so your on your hands and knees, you’re a bit wobbly but keep standing as he slides his thick cock back into your soaking pussy.

he quickly returns to his ruthless pace, slamming his cock deep inside you with every thrust, keeping this same ruthless pace but god it was amazing.

his grip on your hips are sure to leave bruises as you pounds your tight little pussy.

he reaches for your hair, tugging it back and using it as leverage to fuck you even deeper, you scream out. he’s hitting your spot over and over. fucking you senseless.

“ahh baby, i’m getting close. where do you want my cum?” timmy says breathlessly.

you moan out “inside, please”

that only makes tummy’s pace faster as he wants to so badly fill this hole.

you can barely hold your self up anymore, absolutely fucked out.

timmy’s rhythm starts to fall out of line as he’s getting closer, his grip on your tighter as his moans become louder.

few more thrusts and he’s cumming deep into your pussy, his whimpers as his orgasm rushed through his body is enough to make you cum for a second time. fluttering your walks on his twitching cock creates the best overstimulation for timmy. moaning again as he slowly thrust into. fucking his cum deeper inside you.

his little whimpers as the overstimulation is getting to you both.

he pulls out slowly, helping you lay down, before getting up and walking to his connected bathroom grabbing a wet rag and a glass of water.

he cleans you up and hands you the water, before cleaning himself.

he grabs you a shirt from his drawer as well as finding your underwear.

he slides your under wear up your legs, pulling them on, and helping you put the shirt on before pulling the blanket up and pulling you in.

“you’re okay? nothing hurts?” he asks as you runs his fingers through your hair.

“i’m good, more then good” you smile into his chest.

he laughs, “good, i didn’t want to hurt you, but i’ve been fantasizing about you for so long.”

“you drive me crazy y/n, i need you to know that”

you just laugh, he laughs with you.

silence passes between you, before timmy speaks up again.

“be my girlfriend y/n?”

you look up to him, innocent eyes he’s displaying and shake your head yes.

his giddy ass smile gives you butter flies before he pulls you in closer, and drifting off the sleep with you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

i don’t know. this was just an idea i had to excute quickly.

hope you enjoy!

#timothée chalamet #timothee chamalet #timmy chalamet #nerdy girls #popular posts #popular!timothee #nerd!reader #fanfic #timothee chalamet fanfiction #timothee chalamet x reader #timothee chalamet x you #timothee chalamet imagine #timothee chalamet smut #smut #smut with plot #smut with feelings #fanfiction #imagine

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