#do you think dave loves her y/n

[cherrylight]

hi. im going to show her sprite. because i think its cute. although its not set-in-stone yet just a concept for now

also !! all credit goes to this lovely dollsim :)

shes so cute GUYS LOOK AT HER!! SHES SO CUTE WAHHH

[bweeeb]

HARD DICK...or three

Summary: Draco, Theo and Mattheo have always been Y/n's best friends, but when she realizes that the reason her relationships don't last long are them, the conversation takes a funny turn involving three boys with hard cocks.

Warnings: English is not my first language, a lot of intimacy between the boys and the reader.

---

There were people who were lucky in their careers, financial life, academics, and even love life. You were a lucky person but hated to admit that the hardest part for you was always your unluckiest part. Boyfriends were never easy for you, and staying stable with them was even harder. You never considered if the reason none of them lasted or were worthwhile was your fault—your poor choices, or the lack of character in all three serious relationships you had over the past few years. You never questioned it until last night. Dave Franco was your boyfriend for a year and a half, and last night he had a jealous outburst in the middle of a Hufflepuff party. You swore you heard him repeat the same words more than three times, “shitty friends,” “are you sure you didn’t have a threesome?” “They want to fuck you!” You were drunk and getting upset with his words until you realized that maybe your friends were much more intimidating to your boyfriends or flings than you had noticed. So you concluded that no, you were not the problem; they were…

— Alright, Our sleeping beauty has already missed the first classes.

Theodore's voice spread through the silent room along with the rustling of the comforter beside you as he occupied the space next to you.

— If you miss lunch, Snape will punish you until next year.

Mattheo said, pulling the blanket off your body, exposing your figure dressed only in navy blue lingerie that hugged your curves.

— And that means if you want to graduate this year, you better get out of this room.

Draco said, casting his eyes over you as you groaned into your pillow and shook your head in denial.

— Fuck off.

You whimpered, feeling your body shiver from the cold due to the lack of a blanket. Normally, you wouldn't be so exposed in front of your male friends, but Dave had broken up with you, so you didn't care at all if the three saw your butt, breasts, or whatever—it wasn't anything more than they had grown up seeing.

— What the hell happened to you? You didn’t even drink that much last night.

Theo said, and immediately you turned to look at him with a pout on your lips.

— Dave, he broke up with me.

You muttered, sitting up quickly.

— And it's your fault, so one of you owes me some affection.

As soon as you said that, your legs wrapped around Nott's waist, who smiled mischievously at Malfoy and Riddle, who were standing at the foot of the bed, watching you almost naked, snuggling into Theodore’s lap. It wasn’t a secret that you were obviously the dream of the three boys, and the fact that you grew up together gave them enough freedom to act like that among themselves.

— What do you mean?

Theodore asked, wrapping his arms around you.

— Yeah, he broke up with you because we’re your friends? Was he afraid of getting punched if he broke your heart or what?

Mattheo mocked Dave, and Draco laughed beside him and continued:

— Man, I think he's gay; there's no way he broke up with you because of us.

— No, he thinks we fucked or something. I don't know how many times I heard the word threesome or that you guys wanted to fuck me last night. Man, it was like torture.

You groaned, getting off Nott's lap and out of the bed, walking towards the mirror. You looked at yourself and sighed, rolling your eyes.

— The guy broke up with you because he thinks we want to fuck you?

Theodore laughed, and you gave him the middle finger while fixing your hair.

— Honestly, he's more insecure than my grandfather. Merlin, how did you stand him?

Draco laughed as Mattheo approached you and hugged you from behind, wrapping his arms around you and resting his head on your shoulder.

— Oh yeah, Draco’s grandfather probably fucks his grandmother more than that loser Dave fucked you. Am I wrong?

Mattheo said with a mischievous smile directed at you through the mirror's reflection, causing you to laugh and shake your head.

— Ew, I don't want to think about Malfoy's grandparents having sex.

Theodore grunted, getting out of bed.

— Yeah, whatever, but the point here is that you all can hug her, and I can't? Get your claws off her, Riddle.

Draco grumbled, unhappy with your position, receiving an irritating smile from Mattheo, who let you go and allowed you to go to Draco with a gentle smile.

— Ah, he's a baby, guys.

You said, and Draco glared at you with a scowl.

— Shut up…

Draco grumbled, pulling you by the waist and throwing you on the bed with him on top.

— I’ll put a baby in you if you keep that up.

— See, that’s why my relationships don’t last.

You said, throwing your head back and pushing Draco off you to fall beside you on the bed.

— Nah, this is bullshit because we don’t do this with you when you’re dating.

Theodore said, sitting next to where your head was lying, as did Mattheo on the opposite side.

— I don’t know; maybe I’m just a terrible girlfriend and act the wrong way.

You murmured, frustrated, turning onto your stomach to hide your face in a pillow.

— Y/n, princess, stop blaming yourself for the idiot’s idiotic choice.

Draco shrugged while leaning his back against the bed's headboard and throwing another pillow at your now exposed butt.

— You hardly even come near us when you’re dating. I can’t remember the last time I hugged you besides today.

Mattheo made a mocking expression, thinking David was making false accusations about you.

— You are the most loyal person in Hogwarts, and everyone knows it. If your boyfriends are all insecure enough not to handle being with you because of us, it’s simple—they don’t deserve you, dolcezza.

— Really?

You asked, and as confirmation, you received three murmurs of agreement. Propping your elbows on the mattress, your gaze changed to a curious look that was noticed by Nott and Riddle.

— Hmm, do you guys want to?

You asked another question, and this time the boys’ faces on your bed were genuinely confused.

— What?

Mattheo questioned your question, and you laughed, laying your head on Theo’s lap, who had lit a cigarette. With a look, Nott understood; he brought the cigarette to you, and with a wild smile, he answered Mattheo and asked you.

— Fuck you?

— Uh-huh.

You agreed, hearing Draco laugh while accepting the cigarette from Theo.

— Everyone wants to fuck you, princess.

— Right, but I’m not talking about everyone; I’m talking about you guys.

You said impatiently, sitting on your heels to look at the three on your bed, staring at you without saying a word.

— Come on, I’m curious.

— You don’t understand, do you?

Mattheo, with his dark eyes and a sly smile, leaned closer to your neck.

— Don’t understand what?

— You can’t ask if we’d fuck you when you’re dressed like that, darling.

Mattheo murmured, and you heard Theo and Draco’s nasal laughter as they moved on the bed.

— Okay, so that would be a yes?

You asked.

— Hell yeah.

Theo agreed, bringing the cigarette back to his plump lips and then to yours.

Your smile grew with each passing minute of silence in the room. The three of them were eyeing you as if you were gold, and you couldn’t measure how much that amused you.

— What?

You asked, feigning innocence as if you hadn’t seen the bulges growing in the pants of the three there.

— Alright, I’ll get changed so we can meet Pansy and Daphne. Wait for me a second.

With that, you got up from the bed and heard a groan from Draco.

— Seriously? I’m hard as fuck, damn it.

Malfoy groaned again, and the four of you laughed.

— You’re evil.

Theo sighed, and you turned to look at them with a pained face.

— I think my dick is going to break, it’s so hard right now.

Mattheo said, throwing himself on the bed before looking at you at the bathroom door with a huge smile.

— Why are you looking at me like that? I didn’t do anything.

You said innocently, and Mattheo snorted.

— How am I supposed to continue the day like this?

— I don’t know, jerk off together, think of Malfoy's grandparents fucking.

You laughed again, and their scowls grew bigger.

— I swear you’ll pay for this, dolcezza.

Was the last thing you heard besides groans before you left to change for afternoon classes.

---

I hope you enjoy this

And if you want to read some dirty shit here:

[cheriladycl01]

Fan Zone Fanatic - Lando Norris x Anxiety! Reader

Plot: You love taking the F1 bracelets off of fans because you will play with them whenever you get anxious and they are a source of comfort for you now.

(I literally do this with my bracelets lmao)

One thing you absolutely adored was fan interaction. As much as you got really anxious in large crowds with overstimulating sounds and smells, you loved helping give gifts to Lando and guide him to younger fans with caps pushed to the back and hold his own hand for comfort when he too got overwhelmed from the amount of people yelling his name.

Right now you were at the gates to the paddock and you were walking through hand in hand with Lando. When you saw a load of fans at the entrance.

“Lando! Lando”

“Come sign my helmet please”

“Lando I have something for you”

“Y/N”

Loads of voices came at one, you smile at Lando and nod your head over to the fans starting to drag him over to the fencing.

“Omg Y/N” one cries handing you a pretty generic McLaren hat, you take it to pass to Lando until she shakes her head.

“I want you to sign it! I’ve already got Landos” she smiles and you laugh, loving that people wanted your signature too.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to ruin it!” You smile kindly at her and she nods again. You sign it and then she pulls a clip of the friendship bracelets out.

“Please take one” she smiles and beofre you know it, you have loads of girls gifting you friendship bracelets off their bags.

Before you know it, you have all sorts of bracelets covering your arms.

There was mainly Lando and McLaren ones, but a few Chili or Enjoy the butterfly’s ones snuck their way onto your wrist that when you were showing Lando all of them once you got into the paddock he was laughing so hard.

“I think my fans love you more than they love me if I’m being honest, they’re always so sweet and respectful to you” he smiles as he shifts through the bracelets before he finds one with your name on it that he takes off your own wrists and places it on his own. “This one im keeping” he comments.

“I think I might head to the fanzone today, deck myself out in McLaren merch and just see what happens” you grin and he looks at you with a furrowed brow.

“Are you sure baby? I don’t think that’s a great idea, you’ve never experienced the fans without a barrier or anything …” he offers and you nod your head knowing what your getting yourself into.

“I know but I want to interact and I’m kind of obsessed with these bracelets now and I kind of want more of them!” You nod having made up your mind fully with a small smile matching it.

“Okay baby, but just keep one of the security with you. Just so they can help you out if needed. You don’t have to walk with them but just keep them close yeah? Take Dave, you like Dave right?” Lando says immediately concerned about you.

“I’ll take Dave just for you’re own piece of mind” you tease lightly nudging him before you take his team hat and grab one of his spare team tops.

“How do i look” you say with a twirl before ending with a hand in your hip.

“Beautiful” Lando mutters with heart eyes as he looks over at you.

Lando if he was being honest, never had it so good. You were literally perfect in his eyes. You treated him so well, and there wasn’t a singular moment he didn’t feel lucky to experience the weird and wonderful phenomena we call life.

“Stop it, you’re making me blush” you comment and he just laughs before kissing your cheek and sending you off.

“Don’t be gone too long okay! And check in with me! Please?” He asks.

“Ooooo wait can I buy some hats and get you to sign them please?!? I can hand them out in exchange for bracelets” you grin and before you know it you’ve got Lando signing as many hats as you could possibly fit in one bag.

He ended up signing 60 hats in the span of 20 minutes which is pretty impressive, considering he has to break to make out with you for 5 of those. Lando was an exceptionally clingy boyfriend.

Eventually you leave waving goodbye to him and smiling.

You walk out of the paddock entrance and around to the main gate. Where you’ve got the sunglasses and baseball cap on, it’s kind of hard to notice who you actually are so you were pretty confident that you could walk through pretty happily.

You noticed Dave, not too close and not too far. You walked into the fan zone seeing all the stools and shops with merch from different teams and the smell of the greasy hot dogs and chips.

You were just walking looking through one of the McLaren stands and about to pick up a Lando Norris t-shirt when a small tap was felt on your thigh. You turn round seeing a little girl, maybe 6 or 7.

“Hiya” you smile and the mum asks if you want to trade bracelets. You nod happily and show her your arms of the ones you had and she sees the LN4 one with his helmet design.

“Oh that’s a good one, Landos helmet” you grin and smile at her kindly taking it off your own wrist and putting it around hers.

“Woah you have so many” you laugh lightly seeing up to her elbows covered in them.

“Take two if you would like” the mum smiles and you nod.

“Why don’t you choose one for me, and then I’ll choose another one?” You ask the young girl and she nods excitedly looking over her arms before picking out a Max one.

“Max huh” you grin taking the MaxV33 off her and pulling it around your own wrist.

“I think I’ll take this one too, my goal today is to get one of every driver” you smile and she grins seeing you take the Zhou Guanyu one.

“I also have something I want to give you from Lando” you grin and she looks excited.

You pull out the signed hat and she squeals, looking over the signature.

“Thank you thank you thank you!” She grins and pulls you into a hug. You laugh back and go to offer the mum one, but she politely shakes her head.

“Keep them for the youngsters” she smiles and you nod. The little girl finally lets go and hands the old hat back to her mum before putting the new signed on.

“Awww look at that! You look so cool!” You exclaim and the girl giggles more.

You say goodbye and get back to shopping. You end up buying an overpriced Lando top despite you wearing official staff uniform as of right now and thank the very shocked worker who asks for you picture once you’ve payed. You offer her a hat but refuses as she got one earlier before her shift from the paddock entrance.

You head into the heart of the fanzone where the sims are and all the other interactive stuff they put on for the fans. You can hear music from the massive stage, which is slowly starting to fill up.

20 minutes until Ferrari on stage.

1 hour till McLaren on stage. You knew you were going to go there for the McLaren one.

“Y/N?” You hear from you far left and see 3 girls with two guys behind them.

You smile happily jog over to them.

“Hey!” You grin and one of the girls squeals.

“Do you want some of our bracelets we brought way to many!” The girls admit showing you their bags full of the beaded bracelets.

“How long did this take you guys! These are incredible” you smile looking at all the different colours and types and the fact some had crystals on them. And all the funny messages rather than drivers names.

“Oh it’s nothing, just something we like to do in our free time!” One of the girls nods.

“They’re lying it took them days to prepare these for the race” one of the guys admits and you nod knowing that was far more accurate.

“How many can I take?” You ask looking at them, it was strange because even though these girls looked in their teens and younger than you they were all a lot taller than you. Making you feel kind of strange looking upwards at almost all of them.

“As many as you want” you start to look through. You burst out laughing at one that says Muppet 1 and Muppet 2 in one of the girls bags.

“Can i take both and give one to Lando so we’re matching” and she nods enthusiastically at the thought of Lando himself having one of her bracelets.

“Omg yes! Please please! Do you erm speak to any of the other drivers?” She asks and you nod, you were close with loads of the drivers. Especially their girlfriend as you were a social floater, sometimes you went out shopping with Alexandra, Charles girlfriend. Or going for brunch with Carmen, golfing with Lily or out to dinner with Oscar and his Lily.

“I do, why do you want me to give something?” You ask politely and she nods handing you a T-shirt. You open it up to see a funny print of George Russell T-Posing.

“I’ll make sure when I get back to the paddock to give this to George” you smile and she thanks you profusely.

You got to the next girls bag and find a Yuki Tsunoda One, and a Lando one that was of his Miami win. It had a little palm tree dangly on it and you knew you just had to take it.

And in the last one you picked out a Charles Leclerc and Ferrari one.

“This may seem rude but I don’t want to trade to many bracelets off, I want to keep as many as possible but I have other gifts” you smile and pull 5 signed caps out the bag handing one to each of them.

“They’re signed by Lando” you smile and they all looked shocked and one almost starts to tear up.

“Can I hug you?” One of them asks before you nod and pull her into a hug. You get a group photo before they run off all having really happy faces.

This is why you were so happy to do this, just seeing that smile on random peoples faces knowing you’d made them feel like that was so rewarding.

You walk to the sim racers and see loads of people on them, trying to get in good laps. You were utterly hopeless on Landos at home so there was no way you were trying it here and making a fool out of yourself.

“Girlie! You want a bracelet!” A voice from behind you says and you turn to look.

A girl comes running up to you, showing the clip of beads in front of you.

The afternoon continued like that. You took bracelets and gave people hats in exchange for them. You were thankful nobody had posted the pictures you’d taken with them yet, so it still didn’t feel like you were having people actively come try and find you.

You make your way to the stage seeing it’s pretty empty now that Ferrari have gone and you stand right by the fence where Lando will be able to see you. There’s two guys in McLaren hats next to you, one in a Lando one and one in a Danny Ric one.

“Damn that’s some fossil merch” you joke and they turn to look at you seeing you’re get up. They laugh and nod explaining how they live McLaren but Danny is their driver.

“Who do you support?” One of them asks before his mate bursts out laughing.

“Dude that Lando’s girlfriend” the other one with the DR3 McLaren hat laughs. And you laugh with him before the guys fully takes a look over you and flushes Red.

“I’m so so sorry” he says.

“It’s fine, but of course my driver is Yuki Tsunoda” you tease and they both laugh. You have a nice conversation with them, you’d get Lando to sign their hats when he was on stage.

The guys were really nice, just asking you questions about the paddock on racing and how long you’d followed the sport and it was nice just talking.

However the more people started to fill up the more you got anxious. Unconsciously your hand started to fiddle with the bracelets, lightly snapping them against your skin or pushing the beads from one place to another. The feeling giving you a certain kind of comfort to stimulate you enough that it was a distraction from all the noise around you.

All of a sudden the music gets louder beofre Naomi Schiff comes out to introduce the drivers to the now packed in crowd.

“Hello, how are we all feeling out there? Little warm today isn’t it. We’ll all of you keep hydrated nearest water station is up to your right” she indicates.

“Now without further or do, let’s find your drivers. Here for McLaren, Oscar Piastri and LANDO NORRIS” she calls and both the papaya boys come jogging out onto the stage.

“Hello Lando, Hello Oscar, how are you guys today?” She asks and both of them nod.

“Yeah really good, it’s pretty warm but we’re excited to be here” Lando says and Oscar nods in agreement.

“Yes, I think I’ve drunk 3 big bottles of water and two cans of monster” Oscar jokes and everyone in the crowd laughs.

“Enjoy the summer break?” She asks and they both nod.

“Yeah I got to spend lots of time with my girlfriend in England, and we …” Oscar starts but is interrupted by Lando.

“Oooo girlfriend, your girlfriend” Lando teases making Oscar go bright red in embarrassment.

“Says you, you wouldn’t shut up about Y/N” Oscar pushes back making Lando just laugh. The boys beside you starts whopping and cheering your name trying to point you out and draw attention to the fact your here.

People start to catch on and help to point you out, making you duck your head down in embarrassment as you laugh.

“Oh look Lando we’ve got some fans calling your name over here, oh wait. Is that … Lando is that Y/N” she says holding her que cards above her head to stop the glare of the sun to her eyes so she can get s better look at you.

You smile and wave being very familiar with the woman.

“Oh you’re right, give it up for Landos girlfriend everyone” Naomi cheers and you blush.

“Hi baby” Lando smiles shyly waving at you making you wave back.

“Wait did you chance tops?” He laughs seeing you now in the Lando Norris official team t-shirt. You nod and he just laughs shaking his head.

Before you know it he’s jumped down and is coming over to you. He pulls you into a hug, before signing some stuff around you and going back up to where Oscar is.

“Well, what did you do over the summer. You and Y/N were very present online” she adds knowing you always loved to post online what you and Lando did as it served as memories to share with a wider community.

Also a lot of what you posted have the fans a fix of their delulu needs which you were always happy to do.

“We want to Boa Vista and then we saw Martin Garrix a good friend play in Ibiza, we saw some of the other drivers there too. Went to a Taylor Swift concert, went to Bali and now we’re back here and racing” he grins and you smile at the thought of the summer holidays with Lando.

“Awww well sounds like you had a lovely time and you’re nice and relaxed ready to get racing again. How does it feel knowing how close you are to a championship with Max?” She asks and he nods.

“Looking for a good result this weekend but with my lucky charm here I’m hoping for a win” he nods and after some more questions posed to Oscar and Lando people start to leave the minute they are off the stage.

You keep a hold on one of the bracelets going behind the stage to where Lando is waiting for you. Dave helps you get past the majority of the crowd who some ask for pictures with you and more bracelets are given to you.

You round the corner into the VIP second and a Lando immediately comes up to you wrapping you in a hug.

“That was nice seeing you it there, but I was terrified the whole time with how cramped in you all looked” he admits as he kisses your temple.

“Look how many bracelets I got! Oooo look I have one for you too, a matching one with me” you grin and hand him the muppet number 1 and show him your muppet number 2.

“These are brilliant. I’m happy you enjoyed yourself.” He smiles and walks you over to the car to take you to the paddock.

Going forward you actually wore those bracelets given to you all the time. You and Lando wore the muppet ones everyday but you would change up which ones you’d wear on your other wrist each day but you always made sure you had one especially when you knew it was going to be an anxiety filled day.

The fans would never know how much these bracelets meant to you but you were so thankful.

Taglist:

@littlebitchsposts @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @daemyratwst @lauralarsen @the-untamed-soul @thewulf @itsjustkhaos @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @summissss @gulphulp @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhhhh @georgeparisole @youcannotcancelquidditch @tallbrownhairsarcastic @ourteenagetragedy @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @eiraethh @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @dark-night-sky-99 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @laneyspaulding19 @malynn @landosgirlxoxo @marie0v @yourbane @teamnovalak @nikfigueiredo @fionaschicken @0picels0 @tinydeskwriter @ironmaiden1313 @splaterparty0-0 @formula1mount

[gf2bellamy]

dating Spencer being Rossi’s daughter!! reader maybe does not work at BAU… you decide the whole theme of it. i think would be such a fun dynamic ♡

approval — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: hotch and rossi drinking wine a/n: hii!! this was fun to write <33 hope you like this :)

“I still don’t like this,” Rossi muttered, his deep voice laced with disapproval as he narrowed his eyes at you and Spencer.

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest. “Dad, you’re being dramatic.”

“I’m Italian. It’s in my blood,” he shot back, before turning to Hotch for support. “Back me up here.”

Hotch, ever the neutral party, merely sipped his wine and observed, his lips twitching as though fighting back a smirk.

It was supposed to be a relaxed evening. Rossi had invited the entire team to his house for one of his famous cooking lessons, a tradition he claimed would “bring class” to their chaotic lives.

You had, of course, tagged along—not just because it was Rossi’s house, but because you were his daughter. And because there was no way you were letting your father play gatekeeper over your relationship with Spencer.

The rest of the team hadn’t arrived yet, leaving only you, your father, Hotch, and Spencer in the spacious kitchen. The scent of simmering tomatoes and fresh basil filled the air, blending with the rich aroma of garlic.

Spencer stood beside you, as he studied the framed picture on the wall. It was an old photo—one of you and your father in Italy, standing in front of a breathtaking vineyard.

“You look happy here,” Spencer noted, smiling as he turned to glance at you. His hazel eyes softened.

“Italy does that to you,” you mused. “Something about the air, the food, the history…”

“…The men,” Rossi interrupted, cutting his eyes at Spencer.

Spencer blinked, looking mildly alarmed.

“Oh my God, Dad.” You groaned, resisting the urge to bury your face in your hands. “Can you stop trying to intimidate Spencer?”

“I’m not intimidating him,” Rossi said innocently, taking a slow sip of his wine. “I’m just making sure he knows what he’s getting into.”

Hotch finally gave up trying to hide his amusement. “I think he’s aware, Dave.”

Rossi exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face as if this was physically painful for him. “That doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

You let out a dramatic sigh, crossing your arms. “Can you stop acting like Spencer is some kind of criminal? He works with you. You trust him with your life at work, but suddenly, when it’s me, he’s a threat?”

Rossi narrowed his eyes. “That’s different.”

“How?”

“Because you’re my daughter,” he said simply, as if that explained everything.

Spencer, caught between wanting to defend himself and not wanting to challenge David Rossi, shifted uncomfortably. “Sir, I assure you, my intentions are completely—”

Rossi pointed a finger at him. “Don’t ‘sir’ me. That just makes me feel old.”

“You are old,” you muttered under your breath.

“I heard that,” Rossi shot back.

Spencer glanced at Hotch helplessly, as if expecting backup. Hotch just shook his head, the ghost of a smirk on his lips. “This is between you and her father, Reid.”

Spencer exhaled slowly, then straightened his shoulders. “Mr. Rossi—”

Rossi raised an eyebrow.

Spencer corrected himself. “Rossi… I know how much your daughter means to you. And I know that nothing I say tonight is going to fully convince you that I’m good enough for her. But I love her. And I’m not going anywhere.”

You had to suppress a smile. Especially when Rossi's eyes narrowed down on you.

Rossi’s jaw twitched, and for a second, he looked like he might actually soften. Then, with a deep sigh, he turned to Hotch. “Aaron, tell me I’m not being unreasonable.”

Hotch smirked, sipping his wine. “Do you actually want an answer?”

Rossi turned back to Spencer studying him for a long moment. The room was so quiet you could hear the faint bubbling of the sauce on the stove.

Finally, he sighed. “You love her, huh?”

Spencer nodded without hesitation. “I do.”

Rossi exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face before grabbing his glass again. “Alright, genius. You pass for now.”

Spencer blinked. “I—wait, what?”

Hotch chuckled. “That’s as close to approval as you’re going to get tonight, Reid.”

You grinned, slipping your hand into Spencer’s. “I’ll take it.”

Rossi sighed again, shaking his head as he reached for the bottle of wine. “I need another drink.”

Hotch smirked. “I think you need to stir the sauce before it burns.”

Rossi muttered something in Italian under his breath before turning toward the stove, still grumbling about “too-smart kids” and “no respect for their elders.”

Spencer leaned in and whispered to you, “That wasn’t as bad as I thought.”

You squeezed his hand. “Yeah. He likes you more than he lets on.”

Rossi’s voice rang from the kitchen. “Don’t push it.”

[minswriting]

a quick blurb thought? 🤭 what if you’re in hotch’s office, on your knees and giving him head and suddenly there’s a knock on the door? Like maybe emily or rossi comes in to talk with aaron and you’re hiding under his desk, still giving him pleasure while aaron tries to act calm and collected and secretly like rossi knows what’s going on, smirking in amusement before he leaves him to his privacy.

giggles i love this.

nsfw | mdni | aaron hotchner x reader | oral (m), getting caught, rossi mention

you hadn’t gone into aaron’s office with the intention of anything happening. in fact, you went in there to give him a file and when you noticed how stressed he looked, you gave him a small shoulder rub as the blinds to his office had been closed.

you should’ve known this wouldn’t have been a normal interaction. it never really was. you were always feral for this man and the fact that you were now on your knees, under his desk, giving him the sloppiest head was proof of that.

aaron had a hand in your hair as he leaned back in his chair, watching as you take his cock in your beautiful mouth. his lips were parted as he breathed heavily, looking at you with his beautiful dark brown eyes. you slurped as you reached the tip of his cock, swirling your tongue around, causing aaron’s eyes to flutter close. “god,” he whispered, careful to not make any other noises.

and suddenly, there’s a knock at his office door, causing you both to freeze. aaron’s eyes shot open as he looked down at you. and quietly, he moved his chair so it was more under his desk, causing you to shrink into yourself. he cleared his throat as he composed himself. “come in,” he said. you were about to slide his cock out of your mouth when aaron put his hand back on your head, keeping it there.

“hey, aaron,” rossi said, opening the door and walking into aaron’s office.

“hello, dave,” aaron exclaimed with his stoic and composed demeanor, as if you didn’t have your mouth around his cock underneath his desk.

“the team wanted to know when we’ll be doing the briefing,” rossi exclaimed, quirking an eyebrow at aaron.

it took a moment for aaron to respond. he played it off as if he were thinking but in actuality, it’s because you started moving your lips on his length and jerking off whatever you couldn’t fit into your mouth.

aaron cleared his throat, gripping your hair more tightly. “i just need to finish this file and then i’ll be right out,” aaron said, his voice steady and calm.

rossi nodded his head. “have you seen y/n, by the way?” he asked. “spencer’s been looking for her everywhere but can’t find her.”

at the mention of your name, your movements became faster. you hollowed your cheeks, adding to aaron’s pleasure.

“uh,” aaron shook his head. “i haven’t seen her. i’m sure she’s around though.” he exclaimed as he held onto your hair.

“i’m sure she is too,” rossi said, smirking. “we’ll see you both in just a little bit then.” he said before walking out of aaron’s office and closing the door behind him.

as soon as rossi was done, aaron let out a low groan, leaning back in his chair to look at you. it didn’t take long until he was bucking his hips into your mouth, shooting his load down your throat as you swallowed. and when he finished, you pulled off of his cock, leaving a small trail of saliva and cum.

“he’s never going to let me live that down,” aaron said, tucking himself back into his suit pants that you were careful not to get anything on.

you moved yourself out from under aaron’s desk, standing next to him as you stretched. “oh well,” you shrugged, using your thumb to wipe your bottom lip.

aaron sighed, standing up from his seat. he pressed a kiss onto your lips. “thank you.” he murmured.

“anytime, boss.” you grinned, kissing aaron back.

and yes, aaron was right. dave did not let him live down the fact that he had walked in on you giving aaron head underneath his desk.

[ticifics]

hi!!! im sorry i dont request often, but ive been so in love with ur fics... my atj obsession is coming back full force and you write dave soooo well <33

maybe a fic where reader isn't exactly popular (pretty and maybe has a few close friends) and has a big crush on dave? like she can't understand how he's 'invisible to girls', cause she stares at him in whatever classes they both have, and she stands at her locker for forever just staring longingly at him and he never notices. maybe her best friend tries to convince her to talk to him eventually ..

was thinking it could be sfw and maybe fluffy (maybe a little angsty if you want) idk!!! thank you for considering it if you do, and im excited for what other work you have lined up ❤️

𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐧

Dave Lizewski x f!reader

Summary: in which Dave doesn't notice any of your signals

Warnings: fluff, pre relationship, idiots in love, no use of y/n

A/N: SO SO SO SORRY, I know it's been forever since you sent this request, but I only just got around to doing something. I kind of lost count of how many times I started and deleted this fic. If you read this, I appreciate you not giving up on me, and thank you so much for the message, it was very very kind and I can only thank you for those sweet words. I hope you can enjoy this, darling (and I'm sorry if I deviated a little from the request)

You always looked at him.

Sometimes subtly, when he walked down the school hallway with that casual stride, balancing his backpack on one shoulder, his headphones hanging around his neck, his brown curls falling slightly over his forehead. Other times, you didn’t even try to hide it, like when he laughed at something stupid during lunch and his blue eyes sparkled behind his glasses, or when you saw him from afar during gym class, not understanding how no one else noticed how good he looked in that blue shirt.

It was a mystery to you. How was it possible that no girl at school looked at Dave Lizewski? How was it possible that no one saw what you saw?

"You should just tell him you like him and get it over with," your friend casually remarked, while you checked your phone for the thousandth time, waiting for Dave’s reply.

You pretended not to hear, but the heat on your face gave you away.

That was it. You liked him. More than you should like a friend you only exchanged messages with and talked to when you bumped into each other in the hallways. More than you should like someone who, probably, didn’t see any of it.

So, when Dave suggested you two go to the movies together to watch a Batman re-release, you tried not to overthink it.

But that became impossible when you found yourself standing in front of the mirror for too long, adjusting your top, letting your hair down and tying it up three times before deciding which way looked the least intentional. Your hands were a little sweaty, and you rolled your eyes at yourself when you realized you had chosen that specific perfume, the one that always made someone comment on how good you smelled.

It was just Dave.

Just Dave, who got adorably awkward when you accidentally complimented him. Just Dave, who laughed at your bad jokes and sent stupid memes in the middle of the night. Just Dave, who—when he met you in front of the theater—stopped mid-sentence as he looked at you, blinked a few times, and without even trying to hide it, gave you that quick once-over from head to toe before clearing his throat and adjusting his glasses.

"You look… uh, different today."

You raised an eyebrow, holding back a smile. "Different how?"

Dave opened and closed his mouth once, clearly trying to choose his words. His curls fell slightly over his forehead as he tilted his head to the side, and he made that unconscious motion of pushing his glasses up his nose.

"Pretty."

It was a bit hesitant, but genuine enough to make the heat rise to your cheeks.

"I’m always pretty," you joked, trying to keep your composure.

Dave smiled that awkward smile, scratching the back of his neck. "Yeah… I know."

And then, as if realizing he was giving too much away, he pointed toward the theater doors. "We should go in."

He was right. But as you passed through the ticket booth and grabbed your tickets, you could still feel his gaze on you from time to time.

The theater was packed, and the tight seats meant you were close enough that when he moved, his knee brushed against yours.

The room darkened, and soon the movie started. You tried to focus on the screen, but it wasn’t easy when every little movement of his caught your attention. The way he leaned over to grab more popcorn and, in the process, his fingers brushed against yours, his warm skin against yours in a fleeting touch that left an uncomfortable awareness in its wake. As if, somehow, that brief contact was more significant than it should have been.

He didn’t seem to notice. He just stayed there, leaning on the armrest, relaxed, his eyes lit up by the glow of the screen. Every now and then, he’d bite his lower lip without realizing it, an unconscious habit of concentration that made something twist in your stomach. His jaw looked more defined like that, and you felt an annoying urge to look longer than you should.

And then he leaned in.

You felt it before you saw it. The movement beside you, the sudden warmth of his presence getting closer, and then his warm breath grazing your skin as he whispered:

"Did you know Christian Bale almost lost the role because they thought he was too skinny?"

It sent an immediate shiver down your spine.

Maybe it was the fact that his voice came out lower than necessary, raspy on purpose or by accident. Or maybe it was because he was close, close in a way that didn’t seem normal for two friends watching a movie. His face was almost touching yours, and your mind made a stupid connection, the kind that should’ve been ignored: if you turned your head just a little, if you leaned an inch in the wrong direction, his lips would touch yours.

You swallowed hard.

"Is that true?" Your voice came out lower than you intended, and he chuckled softly, as if he noticed.

"He gained like 100 pounds of muscle in six months."

"Is that even possible?" You forced yourself to keep your eyes on the screen, as if ignoring the proximity would be enough to not feel every detail of it.

"If you’re Batman, it is."

The reply came in an almost playful whisper, and then he pulled back as if nothing had happened, leaning back into his seat.

Unlike you, who stayed there, absorbing the fact that your heart was beating way too fast for something that was supposedly nothing.

But it wasn’t just that.

His fingers were still close to yours on the armrest between the seats, so close that if either of you moved, the touches would repeat. You noticed when he grabbed more popcorn and his knuckles brushed lightly against your skin. Maybe you were imagining things, but he didn’t seem in such a hurry to move his hand away this time.

The movie went on, and by this point, you couldn’t tell if you were following the story or just the small details about him. The way he shifted in his seat, the subtle movement of his chest rising and falling with his breath, the warmth radiating from him so close to you.

His voice came low, breaking the comfortable silence between you.

"Did your soda run out?"

You blinked, needing a second to process the question, before realizing that yes, the cup of soda next to you was empty.

"Yeah."

"Then have some of mine. You must be thirsty after all that popcorn."

It wasn’t a big deal. It shouldn’t have been. But when he tilted the cup toward you, you hesitated for a moment. Your eyes met his, and Dave smiled slightly, waiting for you to take the cup.

So you took it.

You brought the straw to your mouth and drank, feeling the cold soda running down your throat. But that wasn’t all you felt. Dave was watching. Not just casually. He didn’t look away the next second, didn’t glance at the screen as if nothing had happened. He was watching.

When you lowered the cup and handed it back to him, your fingers touched for a moment. Warm, slightly sticky from the popcorn salt, but still soft. Dave blinked a few times, as if processing something, and then drank from the same straw without a second thought.

The rest of the movie went on like that. Little moments that made it seem like you were something more. You whispered that you wanted to try the chocolate he bought, and he offered it, holding the candy near your mouth almost casually. Later, he made a comment about some scene, and you replied softly, leaning your face closer to his than necessary. It was all a silent game that neither of you seemed willing to admit you were playing.

But then the movie ended.

You needed to go to the bathroom, and Dave murmured that he’d wait outside. You nodded, adjusted your jacket, and walked away, trying to ignore the silly feeling that you were leaving something behind.

It was when you came back that you felt something strange.

There he was, standing near the theater exit, and right in front of him was a girl. You didn’t know her, but you recognized that smile. A sugary smile, a deliberate lean of her body toward him. She laughed softly, playing with her hair, saying something that made Dave furrow his brows, confused. And then you understood.

She was flirting with him.

And he had no idea.

Your body froze mid-step. It was stupid, but for a moment, you felt a strange weight in your chest. What would happen if, suddenly, someone started seeing in him what you saw? If someone looked at him and saw exactly what you saw? If someone fell for Dave Lizewski the way you were falling for him?

Your stomach churned.

That’s when he looked at you.

His face lit up in the same second, and he smiled—that genuine, easy smile he didn’t give to the girl in front of him. He muttered something quickly to her, nothing rude, just a hurried goodbye, and then started walking toward you.

And you, who still felt the heaviness in your chest, didn’t know what to do when he stopped beside you and asked, as if nothing had happened:

"Let's go?”

You could still feel the warmth of the movie theater on your skin, the memory of your fingers brushing against the popcorn, the brief touch of your hands, the low sound of his voice, raspy and almost lazy, echoing in your ear. It was absurd how every detail seemed amplified now, as if the simple fact of being alone on this walk made everything feel more real.

Dave adjusted the collar of his jacket, shoving his hands into his pockets, and took two quick steps to align himself beside you. He always did that—making sure you walked together, close, your shoulders almost touching with every movement. He glanced at you, looking like he wanted to say something, but then changed his mind and just let out a short sigh.

You bit your lip. You couldn’t get the image of the girl at the theater out of your mind. Or the way she looked at him, or the casual way Dave stood there, listening, completely unaware.

"She was pretty."

The words came out suddenly, and Dave turned his head toward you, slightly confused. "What?"

"The girl at the theater." You shrugged, kicking a small pebble on the path. "She was pretty."

He was silent for a moment, as if trying to figure out where you were going with this. Then he shrugged. "Yeah."

It was a small, indifferent sound. But for some reason, it annoyed you.

You huffed, crossing your arms, and looked at him. "And she was flirting with you."

Dave furrowed his brows, laughing lightly, as if that were absurd. "No, she wasn’t."

"Yes, she was."

"No, she wasn’t."

You stopped abruptly on the sidewalk, forcing him to stop too, his eyes widening slightly at your sudden hesitation. The cold wind passed between you, but all you felt was the heat rising to your face.

"You’re too much of an idiot to notice."

His smile faltered a little, and Dave opened his mouth, as if to retort, but couldn’t find the words.

"I’m not an idiot." He sounded slightly offended, furrowing his brows in a way that only made him seem more naive.

"Yes, you are."

"No, I’m not."

"Then tell me," you challenged, tilting your head to the side, crossing your arms as you stared at him. "If a girl were flirting with you, would you notice?"

Dave let out a nasal laugh, shaking his head. "Obviously."

"No, you wouldn’t."

"I would."

"You wouldn’t."

He rolled his eyes, sighing in an exaggerated way. "Okay, then. How are you so sure about that?"

And that’s when it happened.

You didn’t think much. You just looked at him, at his messy curls and blue eyes behind his glasses, at the face you knew so well and at the answer that had been begging to come out for a long time.

"Because I’ve been giving you every possible sign, and you haven’t noticed."

The silence that followed your confession wasn’t empty.

It was heavy, loaded with something indescribable, something that tightened your chest and made the air feel denser around you.

Dave stood in front of you, his face partially lit by the nearest streetlight, his hair casting shadows over his eyes. But even with the poor lighting, you could see it.

The shock.

His lips parted, as if he were about to say something, but nothing came out. His gaze fixed on yours, unblinking, and the expression that took over his face was a mix of disbelief and something deeper—something you couldn’t name.

You swallowed hard, feeling your heart hammering against your ribcage, the pulse vibrating in every extremity of your body. Your hands were cold, but the heat rising to your face was almost unbearable.

You had said it.

You had said it out loud.

And now there was no turning back.

Nervousness washed over you like a wave, sweeping away any trace of courage that remained. Your chest rose and fell in an uneven rhythm, and your fingers moved slightly, restless, before you finally let out the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

"I like you, Dave."

Your voice came out shakier than you wanted, but it was too late to fix it.

Dave blinked, as if the words had just hit him with full force.

"I’ve liked you for a while. A long time." You forced a short laugh, looking at the ground for a second before meeting his eyes again. "But you never noticed."

He wet his lips, looking away, at anything that wasn’t you, as if he were trying to organize his thoughts.

His mouth opened and closed again, without a single word coming out.

"Dave," you called, and he finally looked at you again.

His eyes were intense now, as if they were trying to absorb every detail of you, every tiny movement.

You felt the hesitation in the air.

The weight of what had just happened.

But then, he did something unexpected.

With an almost hesitant movement, Dave slowly raised his hand, as if testing his own limits, as if he still couldn’t believe he could touch you. His fingers brushed against the sleeve of your jacket before finally holding your forearm, the touch light, uncertain, but real.

"I’m an idiot."

His voice came out low, almost a whisper, and the way he said it made your chest tighten in a strange way.

You opened your mouth to say something, but he continued:

"I—" Dave took a deep breath, his eyes locking onto yours again, so close now that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. "I didn’t notice because..." He swallowed hard, his fingers tightening slightly on your arm. "Because I never thought it was possible."

Your heart stopped for a second.

His eyes were locked on yours, and there was something so genuine there, something so true, that you felt your throat close up.

"I never thought you could like me."

The confession was soft, said with a half-smile that didn’t match the uncertainty shining in his eyes.

And in that moment, you realized.

You realized he wasn’t hesitating because he didn’t feel the same.

He was hesitating because he had always felt it.

Because he had always wanted it, but never thought he was allowed to want it.

You felt your breathing quicken, and the distance between you seemed smaller now, your bodies leaning in an almost imperceptible way, as if drawn to each other.

Dave blinked a few times, as if he were still trying to understand the reality of the situation. As if he were trying to memorize this moment, to store it somewhere safe inside himself.

And then, he laughed.

Soft, almost disbelieving.

"Shit." He ran a hand through his hair, messing it up even more, and shook his head. "I really am an idiot."

You let out a weak laugh, the nervousness still pulsing inside you, but now mixed with something else.

Something warm.

Something good.

Dave lowered his head for a moment, biting his lip before looking at you again, and then he did it again—that subtle movement of leaning closer. Not enough to break the last barrier between you, but enough for you to feel his warmth in the air, for every cell in your body to be aware of his presence.

"Tell me it’s not too late for me to notice now."

His tone was soft, but his eyes were intense, blue and fixed on you as if nothing else in the world existed.

And the answer came before you could even think.

"Of course it’s not."

[queensunshinee]

Wreck my plans || Art Donaldson x reader

Rating: Explicit (18+) Warnings: SMUT (p in v sex, fingering), drinking, family drama, very slow burn, maybe too slow, I really don't know what's going on here

Word Count: 8.5k

Wreck my plans

Parties were never your thing. Parties are Jenny's thing. But she went away for the weekend with two friends from Harvard and didn’t even think to invite you. So Jenny can go to hell. And you can go to the party.

Luke Thompson's house is huge, and it doesn’t surprise you since you've spent two evenings a week here over the past few months trying to teach him algebra and literature. He had to repeat senior year after his complete failure last year. The party was in celebration of him finally getting his diploma and being accepted to a local college nearby.

"Little (Y/L/N)!" he shouted, spreading his arms wide, inviting you for a hug. "The only reason I managed to finish school," he added, yelling, making you roll your eyes. "You’re the only reason you managed to finish school, Luke," you said, taking a step back. "To be honest, I didn’t think you’d come," he looked around, causing you to do the same and start recognizing familiar faces from your grade and the one above you (Jenny’s). "I've never seen you at a party before." "I've been to parties. we just don’t hang out with the same people," you said as the two of you moved towards the kitchen so you could grab a drink.

The conversation continued for a few more minutes, but your attention drifted to the blond guy in the kitchen- Art Donaldson. Dressed in a pink button-down shirt and jeans, holding a red cup just like the one Luke put in your hand, drinking the same warm beer you're drinking. You hadn’t thought about him for almost a year. Your gaze wandered from him to the living room, where you saw Dave flirting with someone you couldn’t identify, and you found yourself rolling your eyes at the scene. You tried to listen to Luke for a few more moments because it felt like the polite thing to do, but you lost interest, and, like a magnet, your eyes were drawn back to Art Donaldson, who was busy looking you over from head to toe. You wonder if it made you blush or if it's just the cheap alcohol. You left the kitchen with a certain sense of saturation, looking for people you actually enjoyed being around more than Luke, who, as nice as he was, was too sociable for your taste. Tried too hard. You also try hard, mostly to stay out of everyone’s way.

You ended the evening with Chloe and Ron- ironically, friends of Jenny's, since Lia refused to come. They asked about Jenny and told you about their college experiences. Ron finished his first year at Yale, and Chloe went to a local college not far from here. Maybe it’s time to go home, as you feel like you’re suffocating and the place is closing in on you. The thought of staying close, like Chloe, to this suburb made your stomach turn. Chloe loved it, though. She didn’t see anything wrong with it. She planned her life right here. Just like this.

"Can I sit?" A familiar voice stood above you as you stared at Luke’s pool. A few people were in the far corner of it, but otherwise, the yard was empty. You shrugged without saying anything as Art sat down. He took off his shoes and folded up his jeans a bit, dipping his feet into the pool- something you hadn’t even thought to do. You looked at him for a moment as he took another sip from the drink in his hand. He’s probably the most handsome guy you know- a childish thought that’s crossed your mind since you were young, since you remember him. Blond with eyes that could make stars feel embarrassed with how they shine. There’s nothing ordinary about him. He’s exceptional. You don’t think there’s any girl your age who’s known him and hasn’t had a crush on him, at least for a moment.

"Congratulations on finishing school. I heard you’re the reason Luke can celebrate," he said casually, looking at you and causing you to turn your gaze back to the pool in a split second. "He really needs to stop telling people that," you replied, hearing him chuckle. "How was your first year in college? Stanford, right?" you asked, trying to shift the focus from yourself to him. "Yeah, tennis, you know. It’s nice. I’m supposed to choose a major next semester. My mom wants me to pick business management. I’m considering sports management," he said offhandedly, as if it weren’t too personal. As if this wasn’t the longest conversation you’d had since kindergarten. "Then you have to choose sports, of course," you said quickly. "Sorry, it’s none of my business," you added just as fast, realizing you’d stepped into his complicated relationship with his mom. "If only it were that easy, huh?" he chuckled. "To choose what I want," he added.

At that moment, Art Donaldson had no idea that what he was saying touched the deepest parts of your heart, nearly crushing it. Stroking an open wound without knowing the area was sensitive. Jenny decided at the last moment that she didn’t want to study at Yale and preferred Harvard, which meant financially you couldn’t study out of state. It would just be too much. And it surprised no one that you were the one who had to give up your dream. It surprised no one, because Jenny was the first to decide, and you received the scraps of something that might have been hers. Like wearing an old shirt, she no longer wanted. It’s never the other way around.

"Aren’t you planning to go pro?" you asked after a few seconds, trying to shake off the emotions flooding you. "I’m not sure yet, my mom really wants me to finish my degree," he explained, taking another sip. "Patrick’s really suffering on his tour. don’t tell him I told you that." He added information you hadn’t asked for. As if you were in daily contact with Patrick Zweig. As if you’d ever exchanged a word with him. You only know Jenny slept with him a few times, but it’s not something you two talk about, so whatever. "I’m going to Wesleyan," you said suddenly and looked at him; his gaze was already on you. "Damn," he smiled a half-smile, and maybe it was the first time you’d felt a certain pride since you applied there. "Jenny went to Harvard, so it’s complicated for both of us to study out of state, you know how it is," you felt the need to explain the situation, even though he hadn’t asked, and he certainly didn’t know how it is. "It’s a good school tho, I’m glad I got in," you weren’t sure who you were trying to convince, but he furrowed his brows as if he didn’t believe it, as if he had something to say about it. But he kept it to himself, and you appreciated that.

"I have to say, distancing myself from Jenny (Y/L/N) was one of the best things that’s happened to me since I left," everyone knew about Art and Jenny's relationship. They couldn’t stand each other. They competed in every possible subject. From student council to tennis. You don’t think Jenny even likes tennis. She just likes the first place. And without realizing it, you laughed, which a good sister shouldn’t do, but you felt it too. Distancing yourself from Jenny was a relief. The difference is that you’re not allowed to say that out loud, and Art Donaldson doesn’t really care. He doesn’t need to be at family dinners during holidays.

You looked at him for another second and thought this could be a good moment to kiss him. It was as if he hadn’t taken his eyes off you for a second since he sat down. You could lean in a little and press your lips to his. It’s not like you’d see him much again. You wouldn’t see him at all and in six weeks, you will move into the dorms in college. and in few years, maybe after school, he’d probably be a professional tennis player or a lawyer or the president. You think you can picture him as the president. You'd vote for him. "Well, it was nice seeing you, (Y/N)," he smiled another one of his captivating smiles. "Talk to me if you ever find yourself in California," he gave a small nod, grabbed his shoes, and walked away. Maybe one day you’ll manage to actually do something you really want to do. . . . You regretted what you did about three minutes after you politely turned down the full scholarship to Wesleyan. and accepted what they offered you at Stanford. But in your defense, it was late at night, you’d just come back from Luke’s party very tipsy, and you had no real intention of talking to Art when you got to California. You’d never seen your parents so angry. Your mom cried. Your dad said you were inconsiderate. Jenny sat on the couch, watching you with a raised eyebrow. They said they wouldn’t pay for anything, that if you made this decision, you’d have to deal with the consequences. The scholarship covered your tuition, but for housing and books, you’d have to use your savings. Two jobs you picked up over the summer and a part-time job you’d had for three years of babysitting. They didn’t speak to you for weeks. From the moment you told them, all communication between you went through Jenny.

"Tell her dinner’s ready," "Tell her to go down and buy eggs," "Tell her Uncle Barry’s coming over tonight, to act like she still cares about this family."

"They'll come around," Jenny mumbled when she climbed into your bed one of those warm August nights. "I don’t know," you answered with your eyes closed, exhausted from the day at work and the hostility you returned to at home. "I know," she concluded. In the morning, you woke up alone.

You think they’ll never forgive you. Maybe you’ll never forgive them. But you don’t know. . . . The empty bed in your dorm was beneath the window. You didn’t complain for a moment because everything could have been much worse. Jenny bought you the flight ticket to California for your birthday. You cried. You remembered that small moment when Art said he was glad to be away from her and you giggled, not defending your sister. She’s not to blame for being born first. She’s not to blame for needing more attention. Her intentions are good. That should be the only thing that matters.

You only met Billie in the evening when she came back from what she described as a date. She spoke about 50 words a minute, so it was hard to follow. She asked why you came a week late, you wanted to say that you were on time and she came early, but all you managed to get out was "work." It wasn’t a lie. You worked at a camp and an ice cream parlor all summer, trying to save as much as you could because you didn’t know how long it would take to find a job near the university. Turns out, very quickly. The diner across from the university was looking for waiters, and you showed up without experience but with a convincing smile and some recommendations from previous employers, as if anyone cared that you were great with kids. Three shifts a week, and the savings would help you keep your head above water. That’s all you need.

A week after you arrived at the dorms, Billie and Summer, your roommates, forced you to go with them to a party. And it wasn’t too hard to convince you because you weren’t at home. And sometimes, you need to remind yourself that you at home isn’t the same you who’s at Stanford. Here, no one knows you or Jenny. No one expects anything from you, no one will call you "Little (Y/L/N)." Here, you are whoever you choose to be. And that’s enough. Enough to wear almost burgundy lipstick and a tight dress, but still sneakers. After all, something of you stays the same.

Someone named Dean hit on you most of the night, and Billie told him you had a boyfriend. "Babe, anyone but Dean. I’ve been here two weeks, and he’s slept with the entire building already," she whispered in your ear, and you laughed. Someone else hit on you during the night, but you didn’t remember his name. When you lay in bed, you tried calling Jenny to tell her about your night, but she didn’t answer. And maybe that’s okay. . . . The first time you saw Art at Stanford, he was the one who actually saw you. "(Y/n)?" He lifted his sunglasses to his hair. He wore a Stanford T-shirt and pants that made you wonder if they were also Stanford coded. He had a racket bag over his shoulder. He looked confused. "Hey," you didn’t know what to say as you leaned against the only free tree you could find and tried to read one of the books from your syllabus, preparing for your first class. "Hey?" He almost chuckled as he sat down next to you, not taking his eyes off you. Like you’d disappear the second he blinked. He didn’t seem disappointed by your presence. "Shit, I was joking about California," he looked amused, still studying you. He took the book you were reading, like it was his, ran a hand over the cover. Like he knew everything he needed to know about the course just by looking at it. "Stanford was on my list, and it just felt more right," you tried to justify, to explain that it wasn’t because of him. He didn’t think it was because of him tho, not really. "How did they take it?" he asked, probably remembering details from your conversation at the party. "I don’t know, because they’re not talking to me," you said it in the same casual tone, like it didn’t bother you. "Damn," he muttered, "that bad?" he asked. "It’s whatever," you shrugged. "I’ve got to get to class, but I’ll see you around, yeah?" He stood up and walked away. You didn’t know if you’d actually see him around again, but the interaction had been nice. You think that maybe Art Donaldson won’t judge you. And that’s an interesting thought. . . . The next time you see him, you're in the middle of a shift, wearing a ridiculous apron and a ponytail that makes your hair look greasy. Needless to say, you’re embarrassed, but he doesn’t act like it’s a big deal. He says hello, which is surprising because he’s with friends, and you look, well…ridiculous. You say hello back, because you’re polite, and it’s the right thing to do. They sit down at one of the tables, and you hear his voice from a distance saying, “I know her from back home.” You think it’s a half-accurate description, because you don’t really know each other- not like he knows Patrick Zweig or Luke. Not like he knows Jenny. You also think the girl sitting next to him is very pretty. Pretty enough to hate her, but nice enough not to.

Casually, before they leave the diner, Art asks if you're going to a party someone in his dorm is throwing. You shrug in response because you hadn’t heard about it until now. “It’ll be fun, you should come,” he calls out, mentioning the building he lives in before he leaves with his friends. He didn’t have to invite you. He doesn’t have to invite you to places. You’re not his responsibility. You don’t want him to think you are. You don’t know if you’ll go. . . . When you received the email from the registrar notifying you that your account had already been paid and that there was no need for the duplicate payment you’d tried to make, you found yourself confused. When you realized your parents had paid the bill despite saying they wouldn’t, you ended up crying for two hours. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. They haven’t spoken to you in almost three months. They let you stew in guilt but are willing to pay your bills? It’s ridiculous. None of them answered when you tried to call to say thank you. You cried for another hour. 'Busy. Do you need anything?' -Jenny-

You think you need a hug. But that feels childish, so you send her an orange heart emoji. . . . You go to the party Art invited you to with Billie and Summer because, why not? You don’t mention that you got an invitation, just casually say you heard there’s a party and that it might be fun to check it out.

You decide to put on the dark lipstick again, you liked how it looked last time, and honestly, the feedback was great. This time, you stick with a thin shirt, ripped tights, and shorts- keeping it low-effort was part of the actual effort. You think it’s silly. But you look cute, so fuck it.

Art spots you before you notice him again. He comes up to you in the middle of a conversation, gently swiping the beer bottle from your hand, making you look at him as he takes a sip and hands it back. “You’re the hot guy from the posters,” Billie says shamelessly, looking straight at him. “Art,” he chuckles, introducing himself, making you roll your eyes. “Mind if I steal her for a bit?” He asks permission, which is ridiculous and funny, making you feel embarrassed as he hands you back the beer and leads you to another corner of the apartment by your other hand.

“Hey,” he says, brushing your hair back behind your ear. “Hey,” you reply with staged nonchalance. “You look good,” you add, because it’s true. The few times you’d seen him on campus, he was in Stanford sports gear. Seeing him again in a button-down and jeans felt like a privilege. “That’s what I’ve heard,” he responds, referencing Billie’s comment from a few minutes ago, taking the beer from you again. Maybe it’s over the top, sharing the same bottle. It’s relatively intimate for two people who don’t actually know each other.

One of his friends comes over and starts talking to Art about tennis, his gaze lingering on you. You wonder if Art realizes he’s standing closer to you in a slightly possessive way. That his hand is lightly brushing yours, that he keeps taking the bottle from you to drink from it, openly displaying that sense of intimacy.

“Do you want to get out of here?” You’re not sure where the courage to ask came from. Maybe it’s the tequila shots you took with Billie and Summer before heading out to the party. Maybe it’s the joint you passed between each other. But Art looks amused as he nods. You catch Summer out of the corner of your eye, giving you a thumbs-up and making exaggerated kissy faces. If Art saw her doing it, he didn’t say anything. The contrast between the noise in the building and the quiet outside surprises you. The silence between you wasn’t awkward, but you hoped he’d say something by now. He seemed to be enjoying himself too much to talk. “Want to head to the lake?” he suddenly asked, though you were already walking that way. You hadn’t actually been there yet, but you didn’t want to reveal that you didn’t know the area that well.

“Hey, give me your phone,” you said, stopping in your tracks. He stopped too, raising an eyebrow as he pulled his phone from his pocket. “So bossy,” he muttered with his signature smirk, but you entered your number and sent yourself a flower emoji so you could save his number later. When you reached the lake, it almost took your breath away. It looked like something out of a movie. You know it sounds like a cliché, but it really was like that- like an old movie, but not too old. The moon reflected off the lake, and a few people were sitting on the grass nearby. You sat on a table instead of the bench next to it. Art raised an eyebrow at the choice but shook his head like you’d done something funny.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he said, looking at you as if confessing a secret. “I’m glad I’m here, too.” You knew that’s not what he wanted to hear, but he laughed anyway. He sat on the bench below you, between your legs. You felt as if you had some kind of power. Your hand automatically moved through his curls. You thought about apologizing but decided not to. “How are you?” he asked. “I’m okay, I think. How are you?” you tossed the question back at him. “Seriously, how are you?” His fingers brushed over yours, like it was the most natural thing in the world. “With your parents and everything?” he added. “I’m fine,” you replied. You didn’t want to talk about it, and he didn’t push as much as you expected. His hand squeezed yours for a moment, as if he had more to say. Instead, he nodded and stood up, starting to walk with you just behind him.

You're walking alongside the lake, wondering if this path has an end, or if you even want it to. You think you might feel those butterflies in your stomach. "Do you know my first memory of you?" he asks suddenly, and you’re surprised. Part of you doesn’t want to know. It’s probably related to Jenny. Art has so many memories of Jenny, and they’re all negative. Deep down, you hope he doesn't remember you as this girl being attached at her hip. "The day after my dad's funeral, you gave me a daisy you picked from someone’s garden." He chuckles, but it sounds bitter. You don’t remember this. You do remember, though, that for years, until you both drifted and each found your own group of friends—he called you "Daisy." You never knew why. "Oh." You don’t know what to say, so that’s what comes out a bit pathetic. "I didn’t even know it was a daisy, if the story details matter," you try to lighten things up. "I asked my grandmother," he says, and the two of you chuckle. "That’s why you called me Daisy for three years straight?" you ask. "God. Why do you remember that?" He puts a hand over his face, as if he’s embarrassed or something. "I thought maybe you didn’t know my name, and since I was Jenny’s sister, you just rolled with it." You laugh. "It suited you, Daisy," he says, and his hand moves your hair behind your ear. This isn’t the first time he’s done that, but this time he also looks at your lips. You feel like he’s looking at your soul if that's even possible.

"I really wanted to kiss you at Luke's party," you admit, because it feels like the right moment. "Oh yeah? So why didn’t you kiss me?" he asks, wetting his lower lip with his tongue. "I’ve wanted to do it since eighth grade, and then I had the chance and didn't know what to do" You look at him. His smile is still plastered across his face, and you wish he wasn’t so smug all the time. "Maybe I wanted you to kiss me at Luke's party," he says, almost ignoring what you just said. "Little Daisy, sitting by the pool alone. Maybe I approached you with intent? Maybe I was goi-" You don’t give him the satisfaction of finishing his sentence, as you crash your lips onto his like you’re possessed. His smile lingers for a few moments. His hands pull you closer to him as he presses you back against a light pole you didn’t know was behind you.

Art Donaldson is a good kisser. No one can take that from him. He’s an amazing kisser. His tongue is way too skilled. His hands have found their way under your shirt as if that’s their natural place. His lips move perfectly in sync with yours, and when you both pause to catch your breath, he presses his forehead against yours. He places small kisses on your cheek, then on your neck, and only when you lean your head back and bump into the pole do you remember that you’re in a public space. People could see you. This is not your style. "Okay, we’re good," you tap his chest lightly, making him laugh the most delightful laugh you’ve ever heard. "Is this everything you dreamed of before starting high school?" he asks, planting another small kiss on your cheek, as if he just can’t help himself or something. "I didn’t dream about kisses like this, Donaldson." You roll your eyes, thinking it’s pretty ridiculous that you’re smiling right now.

When you reach your dorm, you wonder if you should invite him in. You think he’d say yes. But you also think there’s something beautiful about leaving the night as it is- two people who used to know each other, kissing by a lake. He gives you a small kiss and takes out his phone as he turns to leave, while you head inside, unable to resist leaning against the door.

'Since eighth grade, huh?' -Unknown Number-

'Shut up.' -(Y/N)-

He replies with a flower emoji. You think the intention is daisy. Maybe you’re overthinking it. . . . You don’t expect Art to text you the next morning. You had that night together; it was great, and maybe it was exactly what you needed to get him out of your system. Maybe it was what you needed to finally move on from that endless crush on Art Donaldson. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t a bit disappointed when he didn’t reach out at all, as if he’d disappeared from the face of the earth. But that’s probably fine. He doesn’t owe you anything, and you don’t owe him. You each have your own lives at Stanford. You’re trying to juggle work and studies. You’re supposed to submit a thirty-page paper after Thanksgiving, and you’ve only written three. Clearly, you have enough to keep you busy.

Your mom called a few days ago, and you cried. Because you hadn’t really talked in almost four months. She said Jenny convinced her. It’s kind of messed up, but you don’t say that. You’re just glad someone convinced her. You’ve been thinking a lot lately about how strange it is- how you never behaved outside of what was expected of you, and the one time you did, they reacted as if you’d committed a crime. You think about it even when you’re trying not to think about it. Your mom asked if you’re coming home for Thanksgiving. You said no. You wonder if it made her sad only after you hung up. . . . The next time you see Art, he’s flirting with a redhead at a Thanksgiving party Summer convinced you to attend. Honestly, you could’ve skipped this party, but Summer said she wanted the girl who invited her there. So you bit your tongue and told her you’d meet her there, because that’s what friends do.

It’s easy to tell when Art is flirting; it’s basically exaggerated hand gestures and a level of closeness he’s never tried with you. You’ve seen him in action before. You try not to stare, because it doesn’t really matter. Instead, you look for Summer, who’s on the opposite side of the room, directly in Art’s line of sight. It makes you smile, knowing he’ll see that you’re here. You’ve decided you’re going to ignore him. You made that decision when you passed by him on your way to Summer, feeling his eyes on you but not meeting his gaze.

When Summer slips away to sit with Caitlin -the girl she’s interested in- a guy you don’t recognize approaches you. He introduces himself and offers you a drink. You politely decline, you’re smarter than to accept punch from a complete stranger. He’s nice, but standing a little too close for your comfort. He leans over you, and you feel a bit trapped between him and the wall you’re leaning against. You could walk away, of course, but the whole situation feels uncomfortable. You wonder where Summer is, unable to see her in the crowd.

"Don’t you think you’re a bit too close?" Art’s voice is firm and unyielding as he positions himself next to you, raising an eyebrow at the guy. "Sorry, man, thought she was single," he says, disappearing like he was never there. Neither of you bother to correct him about the two of you not actually being together. You roll your eyes at Art and head toward the kitchen, feeling his steps following behind. You spot Summer with Caitlin on one of the couches, and she gives you a nod, signaling that she’s fine and that you’re free to leave if you want. "Hey, you didn’t go home," he says behind you, as if everything is normal. "Quite the observation, Donaldson," you say, knowing you’re being mean. But, fuck it, he deserves it. You grab a beer from the kitchen and head outside, with him trailing beside you. "You’re mad at me because I didn’t text you," he sighs, prompting you to stop and raise an eyebrow at him. "You really think you’re something special, huh?" Maybe a bit too harsh, but it’s all you’ve got right now. "I don’t think I’m anything special. I just didn’t know what to say." He sighs again as you start walking away from the building. "It was a good night. I didn’t want to ruin it, you know?" You think he sounds almost shy. His voice is softer than usual, and you remind yourself that you also labeled that night as a good one, as a nice experience you didn’t want to spoil. So maybe it’s unfair to be angry- after all, you could have reached out to him, too. But what would you have even said? The three weeks since then passed quickly, and most of the time, you didn’t think about him at all. So it’s fine. Everything’s really fine.

"It’s ok, Donaldson, I wasn’t sitting by the phone waiting for a message from you. You can let it go," you sum up, trying to sound amused and light-hearted, though it comes out a bit too bitter for your liking. "So why didn’t you go home?" he asks, changing the subject. "I’m working." You shrug. He raises an eyebrow, like someone who knows that’s not the whole truth but also understands he’s treading on thin ice right now and shouldn’t push for more. "Why didn’t you go?" you throw the question back at him, trying to show him that it’s all good. "I’ve got a match tomorrow, plus my mom doesn’t really care," he replies, and you nod, understanding a bit of what he means. You knew his mom- she always struck you as the coldest person in the world. "What are you doing at a party if you have a match tomorrow?" you ask, raising an eyebrow, wondering if it’s too harsh, because you’re trying to steer the conversation onto calmer ground. "It’s in the afternoon," he shrugs. "You don’t have to walk with me, my dorms are really close," you say after a few moments of silence. "We’re good? We're friends and you’re not mad at me anymore, right, Daisy?" he asks, nudging his shoulder against yours. You roll your eyes at the silly nickname, but you don’t find it in yourself to correct him.

"We’re good," you conclude, walking into your building, leaving him behind. . . . The next day, you decide to go to his game after your shift, only to find out that Patrick fucking Zweig is also sitting in the small crowd. Most of the students eager to see Stanford’s star in action probably love their families more and decided to go home. You sat far from Patrick, but it didn’t stop him from giving you a puzzled look as he whispered something to the girl sitting next to him, who was fully focused on Art's game. You remembered her from the diner the other day. She’s beautiful.

Art won to the applause of the crowd that stayed to watch until the end. Two hours of the ball going back and forth and sounds that were almost erotic. Whatever. You consider heading back to your dorm without saying anything just to avoid talking to Patrick. But Art smiles at you and gives a small wave, so you know there's no way to get out of at least saying hello. You need to suck it up. “Congratulations, Donaldson,” you mumble, and he gives you the smuggest smile he can find. “Little (Y/L/N), long time,” Patrick says to you with half-loudness. He doesn’t say anything bad, but you shrink a little. Trying to remember the last time someone called you that. Probably at Luke's party. Art looks at you with an apologetic look as if he knows. He probably doesn’t know. But that's okay. “How’s the tour?” you ask politely because it’s the right thing to do. “Good, good,” he says, shifting his gaze from you to Art and back to you. Like a man with a plan. “Want to have dinner with us?” he asks. In any other situation, you’d laugh, because the odds of you sitting at the same table with Patrick Zweig would be slim, especially considering his history with Jenny. “I wish, but I have a paper due in a few days, and I really have to work on it. Maybe next time,” you smile the most genuine smile you can find and quickly move away.

“Dude, you didn’t tell me Little (Y/L/N) was here,” you hear Patrick laugh. “Shut up, Patrick,” you’re almost sure you heard Art reply.

'You wish?' -Art Donaldson- He sent it half an hour later when you were already sitting at your computer with a cup of coffee in hand.

You turned off your phone. You need to focus. . . . Art came to your work far more often than you expected. He probably tried every dish on the menu, including the pancakes with the “secret” sauce that you suspect is just chocolate mixed with overly sticky jam. He sometimes studied there or came with his friends. He talked to you but not too much, and you texted each other from time to time. Were you friends? It felt strange to think that Art Donaldson and you were friends- not because he wasn’t someone you’d want to call a friend, but because you’d finally let go of the idea of him as someone out of reach.

One day, when he walked you home, he asked why you took on a fourth shift, since you usually didn’t work Mondays. “Are you keeping tabs on me, Donaldson?” you asked with a half-smile. “Daisy,” he sighed, as if you were being ridiculous, even though he was the one who knew your schedule and which days you didn’t usually work. “I’m saving up for a ticket home for the holidays, so,” you shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal. “You haven’t bought a ticket yet?” he asked, looking at you with raised eyebrows. “I’m buying it myself, so it’s taking me a minute.” Your parents had made it very clear they were only paying for your dorm. You bought your own books, and you had to cover your own flights. You didn’t look at him when you said it, afraid he might judge you- even if it was silly.

He stopped and looked at you. “That’s fucked up, (Y/N).” Whenever Art said your name like that recently, you knew he was serious, and that the conversation was drifting somewhere too deep. Like the time you talked about his grandmother, or his dad. “It is what it is,” you replied, continuing to walk, hoping he would keep walking too. You didn’t want to dwell on the fact that they bought Jenny her train ticket. You didn’t want to dwell on the thought that even if it was cheaper, no one made her feel guilty for the only choice she’d ever made in her life. “I could get you a ticket,” he said, and this time, you stopped. “What the fuck?” you asked, your voice going up an octave. “I don’t need you to–” “For the miles. You can pay me back later,” he shrugged like it was no big deal. “I don’t need you to buy me a ticket. I don’t need your money, Art, let it go.” Your voice shook a little; you wondered if he heard it. “It’s not out of pity,” he said, voicing what you didn’t say. But you kept walking as if you hadn’t heard him.

“I wonder if we’ll find a spot in the library tomorrow,” you changed the subject to the first thing that popped into your head. Art didn’t say anything, but you knew it was the last thing he cared about at that moment. . . . A week before your flight, Billie cut your bangs. It’s not a cry for help, you told everyone who gave you a weird look. It’s cute. It’s fucking cute, ok? Art watched you from across the room at Patrick's party. You wondered if he'd say hello or if you'd both act like, at best, casual acquaintances- or, at worst, like you were just Jenny's little sister. You missed Lia and a few others who were fun to drink with and gossip with. You found out that Michelle was pregnant, which was a fucking scandal.

“Hey, stranger.” Art said when you walked into the kitchen. His eyes were redder than usual, and his smile was mischievous but tired. “I didn’t think you’d come,” he said, making Lia glance between the two of you. “Did you see she cut her bangs?” she asked, taking a sip from a drink you couldn’t quite identify. “It’s not a cry for help.” “It’s not a cry for help,” you both said together, but Art used a screechy voice, like he was imitating you, making Lia laugh. “She’s been yelling that at people all week,” he said to her, as if you weren’t standing right there. You considered grabbing a glass of wine and leaving them to talk alone. “Dave’s here,” Lia said suddenly, and you saw Art tense, his smile fading as if he sobered up instantly. If it weren’t for his telltale red eyes, there’d be no trace of it.

You and Dave had been together most of your last year in high school. He was the first guy you slept with, which was fine. It was just that everything felt a bit weirder whenever he was around since you broke up. It felt like you’d gone from friends to lovers to people scared of catching some incurable disease from each other if you'd even look at one another. “It’s totally fine,” you rolled your eyes, because, well, it really was fine. You hadn’t felt anything for Dave for almost a year. You regretted not knowing how he was doing or how he was handling college, but that’s life- you win some, you lose some.

“Little (Y/L/N),” Patrick Zweig’s voice grated in your ear. “Where’s (Y/L/N)?” he added quickly, probably drunker than usual, though you weren’t surprised. “Patrick,” Art muttered toward him, almost whining, like a man shocked by his best friend’s crudeness. “She’s at home, wasn’t feeling well.” You wondered if that was a convincing excuse for Jenny skipping Patrick’s party. But it was the excuse she left with you, and that’s what you’d stick to. “Well, at least we’ve got one family representative. What can you tell us about Art in California?” he asked, and you wondered why he was so desperate to put you in the spotlight. “Patrick, leave her alone,” Art’s tone was defensive, giving the guy next to him no option to dig any further. Patrick just flashed a mischievous grin and raised his hands in feigned surrender. “I like the bangs, you wear a mental breakdown well,” he chuckled and left the kitchen as chaotically as he’d entered, yelling something to Luke about beer pong. “Sorry, he’s an asshole,” Art said, sighing. You wondered when Lia had disappeared from your view. “He’s… Patrick,” you rolled your eyes. And it was true, you knew he didn’t act this way out of malice, he was just like that. “Want to get out of here?” Art asked. “Don’t you want to spend some time with your friends?” you returned the question. “I could use some air. Besides, who’s my friend here?” he shrugged. And as you both headed outside, you thought that was the saddest thing Art Donaldson had ever said to you.

"How does it feel to be home?" he asked. You want to say it’s ok, that it’s exactly what you dreamed, but it’s more like what you expected it would be. Your parents aren’t mad at you anymore, but they don’t approve of your decision either, and they remind you at every opportunity that they think you made a mistake. “It’s fine.” You shrugged. “I hate it when you say that,” he had this bitter laugh. “What?” You stopped for a moment and looked at him. “Every time you say something’s ‘fine,’ I know it’s not, and I have no idea how to get you to tell me.” He sighed, sitting down on a bench that hadn’t gotten wet from the rain that fell earlier in the afternoon.

“I’m not lying to you,” you tried to defend yourself, searching through your mind for other times you’d said something was ‘fine.’ You think he’s exaggerating. “I don’t think you’re lying. I think you don’t want to say things out loud,” he said. You think that if he weren’t a little drunk, he wouldn’t have brought up this conversation. “It’s weird, being home,” you said after a few seconds. He looked at you with wide eyes, waiting for you to say more. “I hate it when people call me ‘Little (Y/L/N).’ It feels like I don’t exist without Jenny,” you said, sharing something you hadn’t even told Lia. “I know,” Art said. “That’s why I get mad at Patrick when he calls you that.” He sighed for what felt like the hundredth time. “How did you know?” you asked, surprised by the nonchalance with which he said it. “Haven’t you figured it out yet?” he asked with a half-smile, “I just know you, Daisy.” And if you didn’t know he was drunk and tired, you’d think there was sadness in his eyes. . . . A few days later, you saw Patrick at the grocery store, which was strange in itself because you were pretty sure Patrick Zweig had assistants to go grocery shopping for him. “Little (Y/L/N),” he said, and you’re fairly sure the smile on his face was genuine; he was actually glad to run into you. “Happy Christmas,” he said, stopping in front of you, holding a carton of orange juice and what looked like a frozen pizza. “I’m Jewish,” you rolled your eyes, only making him smile more. He knew that- he could deny it all he wanted, but Patrick knew Jenny very well, and you and Jenny shared genes. You both paid quietly for your items at the checkout, and as you stepped outside, he lit a cigarette, looking at you with an expression that seemed to expect you to stop and stand with him.

“I’m really glad you’re there with him at Stanford, you know?” he said after a few puffs of smoke. “Yeah? Why?” You tried to avoid smiling at him. You didn’t think he deserved a smile; he’s a jerk. “Because he’s better when you’re around,” he said softly, with a kind of depth you hadn’t seen in him before- something that made you think you understood what Jenny saw in him, how he managed to break her heart. “At tennis?” you asked. Because that’s all Patrick cared about- tennis, girls, and maybe Art. “At everything.” He shrugged, all the depth disappearing as he began to walk away. “Happy Hanukkah, Little (Y/L/N). Say hi to your sister for me.” You could see a wink. Patrick Zweig is defiantly an asshole. . . . You and Art went together to the New Year’s party at Stanford. Billie and Summer haven’t returned yet, and you’re almost certain Art moved his flight to catch the same one as yours, but you didn’t ask him about it because you think it would make you seem too smug. And you’re not. You really aren’t. You just think that if anything had changed from the last time he asked if you two were friends, he would have told you. But he hasn’t, so…whatever.

He sat on your bed today while you did your makeup, never taking his eyes off you through the mirror. Someone watching might think you’d hypnotized him. You don’t think you saw him blink once in the fifteen minutes he stared at you. “You like what you see?” you asked with a half-smile, still looking at his reflection. “What if I do?” he shrugged, as if this ridiculous flirtation was the truest thing he’d said in ages.

You decide not to linger too hard on his hand holding yours all the way to the party. Or on the fact that he kept you close to him while talking to people you didn’t know. On the effort he put into participating in a conversation with a friend you met in one of your courses. You try not to blush when he leans in and asks if you’re planning to kiss him at midnight. He's being bold. You think he’s acting like a brat. It should bother you. It doesn’t bother you.

You kiss him at midnight. Or maybe he kisses you. You’re not exactly sure, because you’re both so wrapped up in your own bubble, ignoring the drunken students around you. Your foreheads touch, and in an instant, your lips are on his, or his are on yours. It doesn’t matter. The result is the same. Beer and gum, and something else you can’t quite identify, maybe desperation. You like the mix. Maybe you shouldn’t, but you could get used to it. “It’s not silly, right?” you ask quietly while you both catch your breath. “It’s anything but silly, Daisy,” he says with certainty. And you don’t think you’ve ever heard Art Donaldson sound so resolute.

He kisses you all over when you get to your room. You thank the holiday gods for keeping your roommates away. Your red dress finds itself on the floor much faster than you expected. He’s too good at this. You’d feel much less confident if he didn’t look at you like you held the sun in your left hand and the moon in your right. You find yourself sitting on top of him in your bra and underwear, his hands on your hips steadying you. You’ve never felt sexier than you do right now. A little voice in your head screams at you to engrave this feeling. But you silence it; it’s insecure and reminds you of Jenny, the last person you want to think about when you’re at second base with Art Donaldson.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs as his lips trail down your neck to your chest, unclasping your bra with one hand like a pro. “Shut up,” you manage to say, and he chuckles into you, as if he’s trying to bury himself within you. It's hot, stupidly hot. In a few minutes, he half-gently tosses you onto the bed, stripping down with a speed you didn’t think possible. He leans over you in boxers, and you close your eyes for a moment, knowing you have to remember this. Because he really is a work of Art. You’ve never known anyone whose name suited them more.

His lips were everywhere on your body at once, if that’s even possible, and his fingers slid in and out of you before you even realized you’d lost your underwear or when you’d started making that sound from your throat. Everything embarrassed you but also felt natural. You’ve never experienced such a range of emotions with anyone else, and the second that thought crossed your mind, you found yourself on the edge, and Art was above you, pressing soft kisses to your stomach, whispering soothing words while you caught your breath.

He entered you, and you felt like he was enveloping you from every angle, your moans blending together. You think a tear slipped down your cheek. You’re almost sure Art kissed you right where it fell. He was both gentle and rough at the same time. You don’t think that makes sense, but a lot of things tonight don’t make sense. You almost laugh at that thought but decide against it. Instead, you look at him, only to find his eyes already on yours, and he’s so beautiful, with his blond curls and that smile stretched across his face. “Fuck, Art,” you manage to mumble as you feel another orgasm building within you, you didn’t know you were capable of more than one. To be honest, even one was rare until recently. “I know, Daisy, I know,” he says in a half-strangled voice before his lips are back on yours, his hand wrapping around yours, and you think it’s incredibly intimate. You’ve never had sex like this before. You don’t think there’s any trace of your old crush left. You think it might be love. After he cleans you up with a towel he soaked with warm water, he lies beside you, and the small bed forces you to stay close. Maybe it’s Art who refuses to let go. You’re not sure why, but your legs are tangled together and your head is resting on his chest. “Are you going to break my heart again?” he asks, and you don’t know what he means because you’ve never broken anyone’s heart, least of all Art Donaldson’s. But he’s so certain in his question, he doesn’t take it back. He doesn’t correct himself. “When did I ever break your heart?” you asked. “When didn’t you?” he replies with a half-laugh. “You gave me a flower when I was eight and then didn’t talk to me for ten years,” he says quietly, like he’s sharing a secret you already knew but never understood.

It’s definitely love. You think you’re okay with that.

Hey? I don't even know what's going on but i'd like you to tell me what you think about that? that's it. Talk to me I guess.............

[spideysbruh]

happier than ever

a/n- love shawn, but he was a lil bitch for a while LMAOOO

~

y/n just posted a story!

caption- my love 😍😍

@y/n just tweeted- dave franco is a different type of fine in now you see me 😩

@ynsmuse replied- IT RHYMES WITH GRAPE.. it rhymes with grape 😔😔

@ynssweet replied- no literally he's so cute

@y/n replied to @ynssweet- LIKEEEE he can perform any illusion he wants on me idccc

@y/n just tweeted- sexiest movie of the year might be Dune tbh... literally just bc oscar isaac is naked and in distress... and then his Hot Son has to take over. can't wait for part two!!!

@dunetimmy replied- YESSS YOU GET IT

@laurieslaurence replied- what did you think of timmys performance

@y/n replied to @laurieslaurence- oh he's amazing. everything he's been in ive enjoyed so so much !!

@shawnmendes just tweeted- "There is a distinct, awful pain that comes with loving someone more than they love you" — Steve Maraboli

@yndefensesquad replied- boy bye- he always does this bs

@shawnyn replied- you're doing wayyy too much bro😭😭

@ynsjacket replied- she's always talked a lot on here to us... don't act surprised ? 😭

@ynssabs replied- is he a child 💀

@ynsshoes replied- she's gotta be tired of shawn's insecurity atp 😭😭 god forbid she has a celeb crush 🙄

@ynshawn replied to @ynsshoes- or god forbid someone wants their girlfriend to be loyal

@ynsheadphones replied to @ynshawn- loyal ?!?!!! girl she's not out there sucking their dicks, be so fucking fr 💀💀 just cause they're celebs doesn't mean they still can't think someone is attractive

liked by tchalamet, rachelzegler and 3,177,388 others

y/n 🌦🌦

view all 34,377 comments

shawnmendes do u need a jacket

y/n where's yours at?

busyyn no way he said that 💀

finesseyn hello????

ynscurtains y/n girl STAND UPPPPPP LEAVE HIM

ynslipgloss this picture has changed the trajectory of my life btw

amyxlaurie she has timothée chalamet liking her posts and she's still w mr canadian 😭😭😭 get yourself a french man !!!

loveryn HE CAN LITERALLY TREAT YOU BETTERRRRRRRR 🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶

tchalamet liked

rachelzegler HOT SEXY BEAUTIFUL GORGEOUS

ynbilliestan @shawnmendes is it so hard to do this ???

@y/n just tweeted- I'm actually a big believer in being mean to men. Especially if they give you sooooo many reasons for it.

@billieyn replied- every day he does or says some shit that pisses me off even more. props to you girl.

@exesyn replied- DUMP HIM PLEASE

@lunchyn replied- we got your back girl fuck him 😭

@souryn replied- you deserve better...

liked by y/n and 982,277 others

shawnmendes !!! new song out tonight

view all 23,287 comments

lostinshawn yall are too cute

ynscat how has she been w him for three years, she can do sm better!!!!

shawnswoods his promo is always so bad 😭😭💀

y/n heyyy it's me

ynsdefender lowkey feel like he uses her for likes... hate to say it but 💀

ynsbeatbox i agree!! he never posts her otherwise 😭😭

liked by tchalamet, billieeilish and 3,165,726 others

y/n what really matters

view all 54,277 comments

nonsenseyn did you and shawn FINALLY break up pls say yes omg

shawnmendes love you

ynsmuse he didn't even like the post what da hell

ynsdove she didn't like his comment either 💀

featheryn GAG HIMMMMMMMMM DROP HIMMMMM DATE LITERALLY ANYONE ELSEEEE

rachelzegler i love you ❤️

y/n i love you more 🥺🫶🫶

rachelzegler should we kiss?

@ynupdates just tweeted- RECENTLY ‼️‼️ While Shawn Mendes was meeting fans, he let it slip that he is now single. Him and y/n have seemingly broken up after a 3 year relationship.

@monayn replied- FINALLY GIRL DAMN

@huffleyn replied-good for her he's a loser

@snlyn replied- three years.... I hope she's okay :(

@ynsdress replied- "let slip" girl yk he said that shit on purpose so ppl start talking ab him and that shitty ass song he released a couple months ago don't pmo

@ynsblanket replied- the way no one gaf ab shawn 💀😭😭

@shawnmendes just tweeted- I didn't want to make it a whole big thing. But yes, me and Y/n broke up a few months ago. I have seen so many horrible accusations about me, basically saying I was a shitty boyfriend. Me and y/n loved each other, it was simply time for our relationship to end. That's it. That's the full story, to say it was because of anything else is just ignorant.

@ynsback replied- y/n is too classy to respond, so we'll never rly know the full story 😭 but we all saw how you acted w her...

@shawnfan replied- we love you!!!

@ynsheadphones replied- omg he sucks.

liked by tchalamet, yourfriend and 3,277,388 others

y/n give me a day or two to think of something clever...

comments on this post have been limited

tchalamet love that song

liked by y/n

liked by y/n, kidcudi and 3,277,388 others

tchalamet 😝😝

view all 92,277 comments

chalshal bro posted this for y/n for SUREEE 💀💀

afteryn bros trying to be mysterious and nonchalant sooo bad 💀

dunesarrakis he's so cuteeee

~~~

liked by tchalamet, sabrinacarpenter and 2,029,327

y/n in new york, you can try things

view all 99,929 comments

tchalamet who took this picture you look so cute

y/n some really weird dude idfk

chappellyn DID YALL SEE THOSE PAPARAZZI PICS

fasttimesyn WE'RE OUT OF THE TRENCHES FINALLYYY

dontsmileyn how a boyfriend SHOULD act.... @ sh*wn

lookingatyn new york.... timothée... HMMMMM

tchalamet just posted a story!

caption- 🏞

@chalametupdates just tweeted- Timothée and Y/n L/n seen recently walking around New York City by fans.

@slimyn replied- BOOM SHAKALAKA YES LORDDDDD

@timmysgreeneyes replied- stop they're so cute

@laurieslaurence replied- MY PARENTSSSS

@ynslaurie replied- SUCHHHHHH an upgrade from shawn ugh thank god

liked by y/n and 3,276,837 others

tchalamet like a rolling stone

view all 111,929 comments

y/n wowzers

liked by tchalamet

tchalamet y'know what, hell yeah

y/n my favorite actor, singer, basketball player, ARTISTTT

liked by tchalamet

bilabyn i love seeing y/n in love

timmysgreeneyes so excited for this movieee

y/n just posted a story!

caption- 💤

liked by y/n, zendaya and 2,777,388 others

tchalamet 👩🏾‍❤️‍💋‍👨🏻

view all 98,277 comments

junoyn the emoji 💀💀💀💀

ynsbeatbox soooo refreshing to see her w someone who isn't afraid or ashamed to post about her

ynscat the way shawn would've neverrrrrr posted that second pic 💀 he seemed so conservative it was weird

liked by tchalamet, rachelzegler and 3,377,838 others

y/n pretty, four time golden globe nominated boy

view all 101,377 comments

tchalamet i love you

tchalamet how did i get so lucky

ynshoodie iktrrrr

timmyxyn mbn to show off your man who's actually talented and gives the same energy as you

tchalamet just posted a story!

caption- early mornings 🌄 😍😍

liked by 781,287 people

shawnmendes changed man. out now.

view all 3,277

lonesomeyn BYEEE

sabxyn bro thinks going out to the forest will make him a better person 💀💀

lauriejo the likes 💀💀💀 the comments 💀💀💀💀💀💀

pauldune can somebody PLEASE lmk if the song is good 😭

ynbillie be fr 💀

yndefender the lyrics are so... she doesn't want you bro 🗣🗣🗣🗣🗣

tchalamet just posted a story!

caption- 😍😍😍😍😍🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🥰🥰🥰🤭🤭🤭🤭❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️👩🏽‍🤝‍👨🏻

@y/n just tweeted- L O L. I'm the happiest ive ever been. let's just leave it at that. happier than ever !!!!!!

@spideyyn replied- it's disgusting to see how he's using yalls relationship for clicks and streams almost two years later, he knows ppl will start talking again

@dreamyn replied- im sorry that he's milking ts. he's so fucking weird

@hummingbirdyn replied- AND I DONT TALK SHIT ABOUT YOU ON THE INTERNET NEVER TOLD ANYONE ANYTHING BADDDDDDD 🗣🗣🗣🗣🗣🗣

y/n just posted a story!

caption- i think i got an ex but i forgot himmm

liked by tchalamet, yourfriend and 4,277,837 others

y/n i think you're gonna change my plans

view all 201,277 comments

tchalamet hold on im trying spell gorjos

y/n liked

staryn WITH THOSE EMERALDDDD EYES

finneas im honored

tchalamet we take the best pictures of each other

butteryn i love seeing her in a healthy relationship, where the feelings are reciprocated 🥺😭😭

tchalamet so do i

tearyn HELLO ?!!

liked by y/n, zendaya and 4,727,288 others

tchalamet yeah, no big deal, just the hottest girl in the world loves me.

comments on this post have been limited

y/n who is she 👿

liked by tchalamet

y/n i know an office quote when I see it

liked by tchalamet

tchalamet yeah cause we just finished watching that ep

y/n i love you more than anything

liked by tchalamet

y/n did you only give me permission to comment 💀💀😭😭😭

tchalamet ....yeah. 😁😁😁

*

[dumbbitchenergy17]

Accident on Set

Plot: During a Buzzfeed interview stories of accidents on set happen to come up.

Word Count: 1.7K

Pairing: Paul Mescal x Reader, Pedro Pascal x Platonic!Reader

Warnings: blood/injury, sweet "father-daughter" moments, laughter giggles, just general fluff

—————

Doing a cute little BuzzFeed interview with Paul and some puppies was fun. The baby pitbulls play around between you, a gray one rests on your lap as you scratch its head, Paul using toys to keep their attention focused.

“Have you ever gotten an injury on set?” the interviewer asks, and Paul hums, letting one of the puppies gnaw at his hand as he plays with it.

“On Gladiator 2 during one of the fight sequences I pulled a muscle in my leg badly and was constantly on icy hots for a week straight, I strained something but it was not fun,” he says rubbing his muscle over his pantleg, “They had to work around shooting other scenes earlier while I was put on bed rest. I felt so bad.”

“I remember that call,” You pull another puppy onto your lap and it joins the sleeping one, “Luckily you had nurse Pedro to help with the healing process.”

Paul laughs, “He was just as banged up with his arm. What do they say misery loves company. And you?”

You give a sheepish look stroking the puppies’ fur, “I got my shit rocked by Giancarlo Esposito.”

The people behind the camera react with gasps and laugh at the normalcy of your words, while Paul looks shocked. “I don’t think I ever told you this, " you say honestly to him.

“I feel like I wouldn’t know if my girlfriend told me about getting assaulted,” he says.

“I wasn’t assaulted it was a complete accident,” you defend yourself and Giancarlo, “So it was during Season Three of Mandalorian in the finale there’s a portion where I’m taunting Moff Gideon and he punches me to shut me up.” you grimace already seeing the gears turn in Paul’s head.

You hear the doors open behind you as Gideon stands before a large hologram map, “Sir, the fighters and bombers have launched,” A commando says, “Their capital ship will soon be destroyed.”

Gideon is silent before speaking up, “But the Mandalorian has escaped.” Your heavy head perks up slightly upon hearing the news. Din had escaped. He was moving through this base. The whirring of Gideon’s armor as the Commando looks at him waiting for orders,

“Shall we engage?” The helmet is put on Gideon and you hear his modulated “No, I'll take care of him myself.” A hoarse chuckle comes fills the room and the commando stiffens Gideon is silent as it starts soft until it’s the only thing he can hear seeing your head shake. You look up at him the blood mouth and chin dried the hollow look in your eyes having a spark of malice.

“You’re dead…he’s gonna kill you.” You rasp a huff of laughter in your tone and you hear the whirring of his armor as it curls into a fist, “You won’t even last a minut-”

What was meant to be a faux punch you hadn’t realized you were too leaned forward until his fist, which was dressed in a decently heavy material that created the ‘beskar’ armor collides against your temple. If the scene was done correctly you would’ve ‘hit’ the ground before they paused to add the effect of a split eyebrow and a quickly growing bruise. What the crew hadn’t expected was the loud cry to come for you and with Tiya chained with her arms behind her back you hit the ground hard.

“Holy Shit!” Giancarlo shouts and it’s utter chaos. You can say you blacked out for just a second when he hit you, immediately feeling the pounding headache. You heard someone shout for a medic someone on the crew undoing the restraints so you could properly lay on your back.

“You’re alright Y/n,” Rick, your director calls out from beside you blinking back tears and seeing this crowd around you, Jon Favreau, Dave Filoni, and Giancarlo who has his helmet off a shellshock look on his face.

“Y/n I’m so sorry.” he pleads and you wave him off.

“It’s fine.” You reassure him though wince as your headache grows worse. The medic finally pulls up and the crew makes space for them to work. It didn’t help that you were already covered in fake blood.

“Y/n I need you to focus and follow this light,” one of them says before a tiny flashlight is shined and you follow his directions as he moves it from side to side.

“Pupil reaction looks good,” he says and you hiss as something is pressed against your brow, “You have a laceration across your brow we’re gonna get you to the hospital.”

It seemed almost unreal hearing laceration and hospital in the same sentence directed at you. It was hard to stop the waterworks, you’ve never been to the hospital before. You were going to be in one all by yourself, your family was across the fucking country and here you were crying getting put on a stretcher. Your assistant has to practically talk you down a panic attack during the ambulance ride to the hospital.

“I think I felt worse ‘cause I forgot I still had Pedro as my emergency contact for when he was on set for filming,” you pick at a hangnail, “I probably gave him a heart attack when he got that phone call.”

And a heart attack you gave him. Your assistant was on the phone with your parents informing them of your injury. Give them constant updates of being admitted, the concussion tests issued, and needing stitches. Then having to speak with your team while getting stitches put in to assure them, no you didn’t want to sue or press charges.

“Like I said for the fifth time Jeanine I don’t want to do anything. It was an accident. I just want to get back to set and finish today,” you say holding your phone on speaker.

“Are you sure you’re alright returning to set?” you hear her ask a bit frustrated but mainly concerned. No manager wants to receive a call that their client had an accident at work and was in the hospital.

“I passed all their tests and they are stitching me up as we speak. I just need to take antibiotics and I’ll be good. I wouldn’t be adamant if I didn’t believe I was truly alright.” you hear her sigh on the other end.

“Alright, I’ll have Cathy come to check on you after you finish filming today,” Jeanine says, “I hope you feel better.” The phone call ends as the doctor finishes with the last stitches. You were grateful for all the work they did, but you felt bad when they quickly rushed you seeing you covered in fake blood believing it was real.

Signing and giving any information needed to the hospital you had your team call head to the set that you would be returning to finish filming the sequence. Giancarlo gave you the biggest hug and apology on the planet with you constantly reassuring him it was an accident.

“If it makes you feel better we don’t need your coverage for that shot,” Rick says, “It’s a good take.” That makes you laugh loudly begging to watch playback to the crew’s horror to watch your accident. The scene was pretty sick and you took that punch like a champ. You all kept up with the rest of the filming schedule with a few scenes needing to get pushed to the next day given your hospital visit. Cleaned up and pampered by the makeup team when cleaning you up being extra wary of the stitches across your browbone. Like your manager said your agent Cathy arrived with a shocking guest.

“Pedro, what the fuck are you doing here?” your question is muffled in his chest as he draws you into a fierce hug before he pulls back. You can see the immediate concern on his face grimacing at the stitches.

“I got a call from a hospital saying you got hurt as your emergency contact, christ kid are you trying to kill me.” he pulls you back into another hug.

“Fuck I’m so sorry I completely forgot to remove you when you left,” you say before immediately pulling back it looked like he threw on the first thing and rushed here, “Did you fly from Calgary!” The wave of guilt crashes over you and he soothes you.

“Kid I’d drop anything to make sure you’re alright. I checked in with your parents before I boarded to tell them I’d make sure you’re alright,” he says resting his hands on your shoulders and rubbing circles to calm you. Your assistant never mentioned Pedro coming over but you were on such an adrenaline high and crash that the hospital seemed like such a blur.

“Now let’s get you home and get you all cozy,” he wraps an arm around your shoulder guiding you to your car, “I’m pulling out all the stops, Tex-Mex, true crime documentaries, and wine.” You and Cathy give him a look at suggesting you drink following your injury.

“The wine’s for me since you’re stressing me the hell out.” he says and you give a slight ‘oh’ as he keeps guiding you.

“Maybe it’s a sign for us to work on this project,” you say out of the blue as you climb into the passenger seat and he starts up the car, “I mean we both have given a blood sacrifice to Star Wars now.”

Pedro lets out a loud laugh at the realization you both have. Yours was a more serious scenario regarding getting injured while back in Season one broke his nose when he walked into a piece of plywood not paying attention.

“So this little scar I got,” you point right above your left browbone and Paul leans in close and hidden beneath the makeup you wear now he can see the shift in slightly raised skin from the scar. “Pedro and I are forever bonded to this show. Funny enough if you watch the finale they ended up using that take.” This makes the crew laugh at the comment. You see Paul’s slightly pouty face poking him until he scrunches it pulling away from your attack.

“I’m fine Paul. I handled it like a champ,” you say brushing fake dirt off your shoulder and he smirks.

“Didn’t you just say you cried the entire way to the hospital?” That only makes the crew laugh louder and you smack his shoulder drawing a chuckle from him.

“Shut up!” The laughter only gets louder before dying down allowing the interview to continue.

[almostempty]

because of you (dave york x f!reader)

wc: 7k | other fics | rating: 18+ dddne | read on ao3 |

summary: You reveal at a party that you've never cried during sex, but Dave is going to fix that for you.

note: as per usual i took a prompt that could’ve been simple.. ‘never have i ever cried during sex’ x dave york .. and i thought.. how can i make him worse? so…here’s some dark!dave and no worries if any of the tags are a nope, i’ll be back with more threesomes soon

tags/warnings: explicit, dead dove do not eat, non con, unreliable narrator, delusional dave, infidelity, just a little bit of knife play 🔪 (no blood), pussy slap(s), face slap(s), a few uses of whore and slut, raw non-con piv and creampie (duh), bi reader has a wife!, crying during sex, little bit of ass play (whoa, who did that), obsessive behavior/ruminating, no york kids, no y/n, able bodied afab reader, ooc dave but also he’s a loving husband okay

thanks to: @auteurdelabre @gothcsz @syd-djarin @slimybeth69 @hoelaris @miss-oranje-disco-dancer @yxtkiwiyxt (…i think the gang’s all here lmao <3) it takes a village and thanks to y’all for support at different stages of this idea and over the darkest days of the year. i think this is the first thing i’ve been able to finish since December, so like we’re so back! (i hope) And to kiwi <3 i was so flattered you would trust me with a prompt for your man and, uh, i hope you would again after this lmao! 

"Oh! Marina, do you still have that game?"

Heads swivel, all focus shifting to you–bouncing on the balls of your feet and sporting a sheepish grin as you realize you’ve interrupted your party host. Your neighbor is unfazed and parts easily from the other neighbors she was entertaining, finding the game for you as the party-goers voices resume buzzing.

The light in your eyes brightens, your whole face awash with excitement. Dave watches as you find a seat for yourself, cross-legged on the floor in front of your spouse, reaching for the box the hostess grabs from the shelf.

“I loved playing this in college!” You look like a kid on Christmas as you open up the box. 

Autumn, your wife, shakes her head as she laughs. “You just loved using this game to make your move in college.”

Dave exhales a quiet chuckle, though something darker hums beneath it. He turns his wedding band between his fingers, but his eyes haven’t left you.

“Yeah, well it worked on you,” you jest over your shoulder as she passes your wine glass to you, in sync. 

You’re too expressive—your reactions are instant, unguarded. Loud laughter, teasing quips, a warmth that feels too good to be real. He’s spent most of the night cataloging them, the faces you make, the sound of your voice, and the curve of your lips. 

He wonders what your eyes would do if he wrapped his hand around your throat. Would they sparkle with the same joy? Would you be willing and eager for him? 

That thought slithers in and settles in the front of his mind.

He can’t make out what it is about you that draws him in. But he keeps watching. Waiting.

And now, in a room full of people, you have his rapt attention. He’s glued to everything you do. 

“What was your move?” Carol asks before Dave can. 

Autumn starts to tell the story for you. In college, you were always that person who stayed up the latest. The one that was still in the kitchen at three in the morning, having a heart-to-heart with a friend or a stranger. How you’d convince anyone to watch the sunrise with you. 

And that you had this habit of asking everyone their middle name before you’d finish your second drink.

You nod along as she describes the college version of you. Dave can picture it all clearly. He thinks you’d still stay up to watch the sunrise if anyone else at this party was willing. There’s something different about you–an energy that the rest of the run of the mill neighbors have had beaten out of them with HOA meetings and shitty bosses. 

“But her real trick,” Autumn continues warmly, with just a hint of teasing, “she’d lure you in with her magnetic personality—” 

“Is that what you’re calling my tits now?” The two of you laugh, ignorant to some of the uncomfortable husbands and wives shifting their weight as their eyes dart away from your chest. 

“No. They know what I mean!” Autumn addresses the room again, “She’d take you by the hand and pull you somewhere secluded…” 

“Not, like, immediately! I like to actually play the game too,” you edit before taking a sip from your glass, mesmerizing Dave with a behavior as simple as swallowing.

“I think you just liked trying to set up your friends before you’d run off with whoever you’d picked to get lucky.” 

“I’m good at matchmaking.” You shrug. 

“Is that what you wanna call it?” your wife teases. 

“Mmm, what about..” you roll your head around like it’s heavy, “I’m good at reading when two people wanna fuck. And giving them a little push.” You squish two invisible people together between your hands with a satisfied grin, and when your eyes flick to match Dave’s he feels the world start to narrow. 

“Right.” Autumn agrees, reluctantly. “So picture this,” she goes on addressing the whole party. “It’s late, you’ve been drinking, and now she’s got you with this look that says, ‘I wanna know everything about you.’” 

“I do like getting to know people,” you mouth quietly, aware you’ve been interrupting. Your eyes are still on Dave and he lets the meaning of your attention sink in.   

Until Autumn squeezes your shoulder, a silent I know, and you tip your head against her hand affectionately as she continues. 

“But the thing is, you see, she’s still got your full name in here,” she taps your temple gently. “She’d play everyone right into her hand with ‘Never have I ever’ rounds that would make you blush.”

“So, now she’s got you all starry-eyed, right? All worked up and flirty, spilling your secrets... And that’s when she pulls out her move—” She cuts herself off with a smirk, looking across the room. “Dave, what’s Carol’s middle name?” 

“Marie.” 

“Show her,” Autumn murmurs in your ear. With a wave of your hand Dave shifts on the sofa, so you can squeeze in next to his wife. He lets you in, but stays unnecessarily snug. 

Pressing your knee into Carol’s, you give her your undivided attention, gleaming eyes locked on hers.

“Never have I ever…” you tap your lip in thought, a hint of a smirk curling, “kissed a woman named Carol Marie.” 

Neither of you move. 

Dave’s skin heats up watching you hit on his wife—even if it’s just a demonstration—the chemistry is palpable. You hold his wife’s gaze for a long pause, letting the charge fill the whole room. 

“You think you could help me change that?” you ask, putting on an innocent voice, and tucking Carol’s hair behind her ear like a hallmark romance movie. 

For a second, Dave swears you start to lean in, but his wife breaks the spell. 

“Well, I can see how you’d seal a deal with that move.” Carol laughs, a little breathy, shaking you off. You skip back across the room like you just won something, or stole it. 

“All in good faith,” you claim with a wink, and everything comes into focus for Dave. You wanted him to watch, to get the front row seat. To feel the warmth of your body next to his. You were planting a seed, making a show of toying with Carol. 

You’re good. He smirks to himself, before sliding back to his wife, a possessive hand resting on her thigh. “Thought you were going to whisk this one away from me for a second there,” he says, eyes locked on you. 

“It’s powerful, right?” Autumn shares with pride, clasping her hands on your shoulders as you lean back against her knees. 

“I did alright with it,” you add on. “College boys were almost too easy, though. Some strong eye contact and they’d fold without even getting into the game!” Your quip lightens the room, the charge between you and Carol fading away. But Dave knows it was a coded message. He’ll play your game. 

Your story inspired some other college tales from the other neighbors. Marina’s husband brings out some more snacks and the conversations carry easily as the night wears on. 

The room is softly lit and the drinks flow. Eventually couples file out and soon the party has dwindled just to you and your wife, the hosts, and Carol and Dave. 

You convince the remaining couples to play the game for real, rifling through the cards and frowning at a few of the pre-written statements before shuffling them up. “After dark my ass,” you chide reading the marketing claim on the box. “Some of these are more like icebreakers for a corporate team building event but I saw some good ones in here too.” 

There’s some kind of point keeping system written in the box that you immediately decide to ignore in favor of just ‘getting to know each other’s secrets’. 

And, you’re right, of course. Some of the cards are more tame like, ‘never have I ever been in a hot tub’ or, ‘never have I ever shoplifted,’ though, you do end up revealing your sticky fingers as a youth to the room. 

You laugh it off, claiming you were just a dumb kid that should’ve been caught. But Dave sees beneath it. You’re a thrill chaser. Too smart to get caught, even as a teen. Or maybe if you were caught, you’d talk your way right out of it. 

Some of the cards are a little racier, revealing some intimate details Dave didn’t expect to learn about his neighbors, along with some “scandalous” stories he finds boring. Strip club stories, faking orgasms, a story about role playing in the bedroom that had Marina’s husband shrinking in his seat before she cut herself off. 

Your answers are consistently on the adventurous side, he doesn’t see any shame in your face. Even when you surprise your wife with some answers.  

Dave knows you watch him, he can feel you studying his reactions and keeping track of every answer. He feels you when he’s not looking, feels the connection between you tugging at him. 

You hide it well, such a smart girl. Nobody besides him would be able to decode your silent communications. It makes the entire game more interesting to Dave. 

You find yourselves locking eyes again as your lips meet your glass. The gleam in your eyes shoots straight down to the base of his spine, but he keeps cool. The game keeps unfolding as you take turns drawing cards and swapping stories. 

Dave doesn’t volunteer any stories, more content with listening. He doesn’t balk when Carol shares anything, if anything it only adds to the buzz already present in his veins from the liquor, and strokes his ego. He decides your wife seems open, not embarrassed by much. 

Marina giggles again. Dave clenches his jaw. If this game got really dark, she’d be the first to pass out. He bets she’d faint before he even reached for his drink.

‘Never have I ever stabbed someone and watched the light fade from their eyes,’ he swirls his tumbler imagining the thud of Marina hitting the floor. She’d definitely pass out if he drank to that. But, you? You wouldn’t. He can tell. 

Turns out none of the cards have any prompts about murder or espionage. Just more first date types of questions or kinky ideas for housewives. 

But, there is one. One unassuming card that does something sinister to Dave. It sinks sharp little claws into Dave’s mind and latches on tight. 

It’s not the most sexually depraved card. It doesn’t uncover some shocking truth about you. It’s not something he would’ve thought twice about before tonight. 

But then, you read it out loud. In your too sultry voice for present company. 

“Never have I ever…cried during sex.” 

Your brow furrows in thought. Everyone, including Marina’s husband, takes a sip of their drink admitting they’ve shed coital tears. 

But you’re still. Head tilted, staring into space like you’re trying to run calculations. 

“This is what stumps you?” your wife jokes as you continue sorting through memories. “You saying I’ve never fucked you to tears?” 

That gets a smile out of you. “No, things definitely get wet. Maybe some tears, but not, like–really crying? I don’t think so.” 

“Not even messy makeup sex? After a fight?”

You shake your head. Marina frowns. 

“Makes it more intense,” Carol floats. “Physically…emotionally.” 

Dave glances at his wife with a smirk. He can feel the weight of everyone’s attention shifting between him and his wife. Whatever they’re picturing probably isn’t far from the truth. 

“Right.” Your eyes flicker with something before you nod your head. You draw a card for your wife to read, clearly hoping to move on. But you don’t. 

“Never have I ever…had sex in a car.” Autumn reads out. The whole room drinks to that one, and you raise your glass, jokingly toasting the room for the shared debauchery. But Dave sees the curiosity still brewing inside of you. He sees it the rest of the night. Between rounds and as conversations fizzle. 

You never move on from the thought of really crying during sex. Breaking down, sobbing, wailing. The emotional release. 

He knows you’re still thinking of it. 

He’s still thinking of it. What you’d sound like. The way your entire body would jerk beneath him with every sob. 

It’s late and Dave can tell Carol’s nearly ready to call it a night. She gives him a nod and they’re up and saying their goodnights. You and Autumn take the cue to leave as well, gathering your things and heading for the door at the same time. 

You head out into the clear night, walking together for a block before waving Dave and Carol off and turning into the cul-de-sac. Dave can still hear your warm voice in the air as he opens the front door for his wife. 

It echoes in his head the rest of the night. 

He can still hear it when he wakes up. 

When he closes his eyes he sees yours glinting back at him. Your smile and the long line of your neck when you toss your head back with laughter. 

He can still smell the perfume you wore. The one that wrapped around his mind and lodged itself in his memory bank. 

He can still feel the warmth of your body from when you sat next to him to put your move to work on his wife.  

But, above all else one moment rings loudly–so salient he can touch it and taste it. It’s the wrinkle between your worried brows. The faraway look he aches to correct. The dreamlike yearning behind your eyes for a fantasy yet to be fulfilled. A fantasy he will fulfill. An idea. 

An idea he cannot stop picturing. …a plan.

It haunts his waking consciousness and fills his dreams at night. Visions of you with tears streaming from your eyes, lips parted with his name rolling off your tongue. Between gasps you’re pleading, choking his name out between sobs, eyes wide, begging for mercy. It stirs something he can’t ignore, and it burns like embers, day and night. 

At first, Dave indulges. 

When he wakes with a throbbing erection and the ghost, the dream version of you against heating his skin, it’s simple. He transfers his passion to his wife, finding some relief as he spills hot and desperate inside of her. 

If they don’t have time in the morning, he makes time in the shower, tugging earnestly at his cock until it pulses in his fist as your name haunts his mouth. He goes on like this for days, waiting for the intensity to pass. To ease. 

But over time, Dave becomes irritated. 

He can’t get you out of his fucking head. At work, at home, in bed, in the middle of the night, before he wakes up. Unprompted, unprovoked. You’re in his skin, in his blood, in his subconscious. 

Your roots grow deeper. No matter how he twists it, the same image plays on repeat. Over and over. You, fixed in his mind.

Dave decides to start getting up even earlier. He goes for long runs in the morning, trying to reprogram his own body. Soldiering through this affliction. The exertion should be enough of a distraction, some other kind of physical outlet has to help. But as well intended as it is, the plan backfires horrendously. 

Because of you. 

You’re also an early morning person. Of course. 

Dave passes you on the sidewalk, on the walking trail, in another neighborhood entirely. No matter which direction he starts in, he can’t escape your path. And worst of all you’re just as chipper before the sun is up as you are after it sets. 

You wave and say good morning or hello or maybe you’re calling him an asshole he doesn’t know. 

He doesn’t stop. He can’t. 

Dave only nods, muttering a good morning as he passes you. His feet pound against the sidewalk as loud as his heart pounds in his ears. 

He can’t stop. He won’t stop. 

When he stops you’re thrilled, a wide grin spreads on your face as you confess you’ve been hoping to catch him on a cool down. That you’ve been delighted to see another person taking advantage of the calm before the world wakes up. You chat away softly as his mind races and he responds with appropriately timed grunts and nods. 

Sweat cools on his back and his shirt sticks to his skin between his shoulder blades, a discomfort that pales in comparison to the twisted scream in his gut before it all goes quiet. Calm. 

Dave walks back through the neighborhood with you mirroring the same glowing smile you wear.

He can allow this. Walking together. It's a coincidence really, it wasn’t something he planned. 

And it’s easy. 

Because of you. 

You’re talkative and reliable. In the same place at the same time. Full of stories and jokes, and with an exceptional memory for details—at least for anything he shares about himself. 

You don’t have the same strength as him—not cardio wise—but to resist. To abstain from the pull that connects you. The fated path that draws you together like gravity. 

You brace a hand on his bicep when you laugh, you hold his gaze longer than necessary when you share something personal, and you only cement yourself deeper into his soul day by day. His walls stay up, he’ll hold the boundaries for you both. 

He won’t break them. He can’t. 

Danger is unpredictable and lurks in the most insidious places. A neighborhood barbecue. The draw between you is overpowering and with every glass of wine, you’re closer to asking a question he won’t be able to resist. 

The night pulls in closer, wrapping around just the two of you. You want this. He can see it. Feel it in the way your body leans toward his and the whispers in your smile. When you sit next to him on Marina’s back porch he can taste the trouble rolling off of your tongue. 

You ask for his middle name with what he swears is a wink, and you lean against him shoulder to shoulder, sighing so deeply he feels it in his bones. Like you were meant to hold each other up, to ease the weight of the universe. 

Before you say anything else, Autumn saunters through the yard. She takes your hand and walks you home and Dave finds his own wife and does the same. Leading Carol just past the entryway of their home before he’s tearing off her clothes and sinking his cock deep inside her. It dulls the ache, but doesn’t fully soothe the pain. Nothing will. 

Because of you. 

You’re a splitting headache demanding his attention, pulsing beneath his skull and racing down his spine. Relentless and insatiable. 

After that night, he notices you change tactics. You feed him little crumbs in every conversation. Leads you know he’ll follow. Hints about the weak spots in your relationship, your unlived dreams, your pent up desires. 

He knows what you’re asking for. He reads exactly what you’re saying between the lines. His walls are crumbling and it gets harder and harder to be the one solely responsible for keeping the boundaries between you. 

He compartmentalizes. Conceding. You can have his dreams, his showers, his mornings. Take them. Keep them. 

But it’s never enough. 

It grows stronger. 

To obsession. 

Inky and dark it slips through his morality calling to the part he keeps locked up. The part that lets him take a life and twelve hours later be a husband. The part that lets him distort casualties to unfortunate consequences of the work. The part that perverts complexities into black and white decisions. 

Simplified. 

Dave blinks again. 

When he opens his eyes he stares at his dark ceiling listening to the sound of Carol’s breathing. And when he closes his eyes he sees you. He hears you begging for him. He can taste the salt on your skin and feel your nails digging into his shoulders. And it’s clear. 

Because of you. 

Clarity is a drug. You aren’t a distraction—you’re his path. This is what he was made for. Missions, execution. Giving you what you’ve been asking for? Child’s play.

He already has most of the information he needs. It’s a game of waiting and watching. 

Learning. 

It doesn’t take long to figure out the details. The challenge is that you and Autumn are rarely apart. You both work from home, leaving such small windows of time where you’re reliably separate. It’s not hard to get the intel he needs, he has all the connections he needs to find out about the companies you work for. 

He knows every meeting on your schedule. Every professional development conference on Autumn’s company calendar. 

From here, it’s effortless. 

Dave walks up your steps, checking Autumn’s schedule once more on his phone before slipping it into his pocket and knocking on the door. You answer with surprise before inviting him in, apologizing that your wife is on a work call upstairs. He assures you it’s fine, he just wanted to give something to you. 

Cookies. 

Dave brings cookies that Carol made. A neighborly gesture. No ulterior motive. Aside from taking the opportunity to snoop around the house, scoping out everything he needs to know while you’re none the wiser and your wife never even sees him. 

You’re gracious, of course, offering coffee or something stronger. And then your voice lowers and you’re closer without even moving your feet. 

“You didn’t have to do this.” 

“I know.” 

It’s in your eyes again, that look he knows how to fix. “Thank you,” you speak deliberately, slowly. “Thank you for being more than a neighbor. For being…a friend.” 

But you don’t mean friend. Not the way you tilt your head and the dopey smile you flash. No, he knows exactly what you mean. You don’t have to say it out loud. 

He smirks to himself, satisfied not just with the intel he collected, but with how smitten you are with him in your kitchen. How bad you must need him—he can practically smell it on you. His fingers twitch, idly at his side. 

He knows exactly how many minutes are left before Autumn’s meeting ends. The daylight and open windows don’t deter him. He could have you wrecked and put back together, presentably, in the minutes he has to work with. But he’s greedy. When he gets you to himself he’s not going to stop until presentable is no longer an option. 

Days pass, routine and bland. He doesn’t see you for a few days. Then you’re back to your morning run. But it doesn’t matter. He’s consumed by the details of the next step. He channels everything into it. He’s been given purpose. 

And when it’s finally here, the night he intends to execute his plan, he’s calm. His heart beats slowly, rhythmically, and he moves with steady, premeditated motions.   

Carol is out of town, that was easy to arrange. Autumn is out of town. That required some coordination, pulling strings and cashing in on a favor. He organized an invite to an elite seminar in another state, confirming her arrival and attendance earlier this evening. 

Everything is aligned as he designed it to be. He almost wishes his team was here, just because they work so seamlessly together and he gets off on the rush—but you’re going to be his and his alone tonight. 

He slinks inside, avoiding the front door camera, disabling the alarm. Straight to your bedroom. As planned. You’re sleeping soundly for him.

You’re perfect. 

The strap of your thin top is askew over your shoulder, the rest of you hidden beneath your covers. He could watch you longer, but that would be a disservice to you. You’ve been waiting so long. 

You need this. You need him. 

He pulls the cover off of you, pausing for the briefest moment to take in the smooth skin of your thighs, the dips and curves of your entire body, the serenity in your resting form. 

He crawls over you slowly, his weight sinking into the mattress and pinning you down. He soaks in your sleep-warmed body beneath him, your scent coiling around his spine and your deep breaths. Your chest expands as your lungs fill with air, but it’s his blood that is oxygenated by your body. 

The reality creeps into Dave’s mind. Here he is with you completely unconscious on your back underneath him. It’s a miracle you’ve both waited so long—or maybe it’s been purgatory. 

Either way, you’re no longer a vision. You’re flesh and blood and he’s desperate to fulfill your fantasy. To make your dream and his a tangible experience. 

He covers your mouth with one hand–you’re alone, but you still have neighbors, and he worries you might be disoriented at first. 

Thankfully, Dave waited long enough that his eyes adjusted to the dim light in the bedroom, because he’d never have forgiven himself if he’d missed the expressions that flash across your face as you wake up. 

Holding a finger to his lips, he conveys his request for quiet. With only the moonlight pouring into the room your eyes shine as they widen. Dave is struck by your beauty and the overwhelming closeness. 

Your voice is muffled under his palm, but he can’t let you talk yet. The heat between your bodies keeps building and he lowers more of his weight against you. It’s intoxicating, just the shape of your body against his. 

“It’s okay,” he coos, “I’m here now.” 

You push and shove at his chest, then claw at his arms, it only makes him chuckle dismissively. You ease up eventually, just waiting beneath him for what happens next. Good. 

The blanket shifts. It’s almost gentle—like a slow Sunday morning—until he adjusts. And then Dave grinds against you, expression darkening and a smile splitting across his face when you squirm and whine. “So sensitive, I know. Must be just aching already.” 

You fight him again—hands pressing, nails biting into his arms, little jerks of your body beneath him. But Dave just watches. He lets you get it out of your system. And then, just as he knew you would, you go still. A little more acceptance settling in this time.

You still flinch and arch as he keeps one hand on your mouth, straddles your waist, and cups the swell of your breasts with his free hand. 

Tears start to well and one rolls down the side of your face. Dave leans down and presses a kiss to the wet corner of your eye. 

“Crying for me?” His voice is thick, drenched in lust and awe. “So pretty like that.” He pulls out a knife and you go rigid beneath him, head straining uselessly under his large hand. 

The sound of metal sliding free makes your breath stutter. Then cold and sharp against your chest. You freeze. Heart hammering, every muscle tense.

"Oh, you like this?" he murmurs, almost amused.

He presses the flat of the blade against your sternum, dragging it up—just enough for you to feel it, for panic to crawl up your throat. Then he shifts it lower, skimming between your ribs, unhurried. 

Teasing.

"Bet you’d let me cut these off," he muses, toying with the thin straps of your top. He could just rip them. But he wants to draw it out. 

You don’t move. Can’t. Your breath is short, chest rising in shallow gasps beneath the steel.

You suck in a breath, but he’s already tilting your chin up, smirking down at you. "Smart girl," he purrs, tracing the blade’s blunt edge down your stomach, inch by inch.

Fear locks up your joints. He mutters to himself about how you’re better than he imagined. Going to be so perfect for him. Not good—because you’re not a good girl—but perfect. For Dave. 

Tears roll freely now, your body trembling beneath him, making Dave groan. He kisses your cheek, savoring the way you shake for him. You’re wired tight and he’s flooded with everything he wants to do with you all at once. Your chest racks with sobs, pulling him to the present. The sounds are muffled beneath his hand, but Dave hears the way your breath hitches—you’re so tense. You need a release. Of course you do, that’s why he’s here. Ready to be what you need. And incredibly turned on. 

Because of you.  

“Fuck–” he hisses, grinding you deeper into the mattress with his pelvis pinned to yours. 

You squirm, hips bucking, but it only makes his cock pulse with heat. 

“You feel that?” His voice is dripping with pride. 

Your eyes are squeezed shut and your crying gets wilder. Louder. “The more you sob, the harder it makes me.” 

He doesn’t need to hear you to know. Your muscles respond to his lewd statement, quivering for him. 

Impatient. 

The corner of his mouth quirks. A subdued portrayal of his excitement. He drinks in the moment, the heat blazing between you and the glow of your dewy skin. 

Your muted voice is amplified by the stillness of the night. The calm cover of dark. Dave was built to be nocturnal–like a wild cat, and he’s patient. Precise with his prey. 

But that’s not what you are to him. You’re an equal. A creature of the night, just the same. 

So as bad as he wants it and as vulnerable as you are right now–he waits. Swallowing down groans as a fierce need courses through his veins. His weight holds you in place, but he still feels all of the tension rolling within you. 

He knows you can’t ask for this, that he has to give it to you. But, fuck, when you resist it makes him want you even more. Has him practically buzzing. Using the last of his patience. 

Until you’re ready. 

Surrender sinks in, deep, softening your limbs as you melt. He can feel the swell of emotions crescendo and dissipate as you transform with grace, becoming pliable and moldable.

And when you open your eyes, he knows. You’re offering yourself wordlessly, to him. Now. 

He drags the back of his knife down your chest languidly, before dropping the tease and slicing your top and panties with finesse. You protest into his palm but he doesn’t stop exploring, he’s sure you have other sleep clothes or he’ll replace these. 

He traces your body with the weapon, mapping different paths he’d like to trace with his lips instead. Dream versions of you feel like an insult, he confesses in murmurs–nearly imperceptible. 

Your heart beats loudly for him, increasing as he toys with pressure and misdirection. He touches you everywhere except for where you expect. A mastermind. You don’t know when he’s going to touch you. 

Time is an exquisite luxury tonight and he meditates with a clear mind as he breathes with you. Dave could stay like this for hours. But you start to twitch and flinch and toss your head. He laughs, amused with your show of discomfort. 

He’s in control. Like you wanted. The longer the tension builds, the more your tears flow, wet, warm, and constant. 

He drops his hand from your mouth, knowing you won’t scream now. 

“Please,” you whisper into the dark. “Dave, please.” He’s darkly devoted to you, obsessed with how your body tells him everything. Your chest heaves, nipples strained and taut without being touched. Just at the prospect of it. And then there’s your glistening pussy, crying so pretty for him, just like you. He’s so entranced he almost doesn’t hear you. 

“Please,” your voice cracks as another violent sob steals your breath. 

“I know,” he purrs above you. “I’m here.” 

Your words slur into garbled wails as he leans in close, pressing kisses to your wet temple, down your jaw and neck. He can taste the salt on your skin and it’s immediately addictive, but he stays focused. 

“Let me take care of you.” His voice dips, velvety and gentle. The blade in his hand tells a different story, teasing a direct path down your stomach.

"She’s so swollen, poor thing,” he murmurs, tapping the flat of the knife against your cunt, making you jerk. "You need this. Don’t worry, I’ll fix it.”

His fingers replace the cold metal, stroking you, rubbing over your clit—slow at first, then cruel, faster and faster. You twist, struggling to get away, but it only makes him laugh under his breath.

“Relax.” He dips two fingers inside you, curling them and teasing. 

“That’s good,” his breath is hot against your ear and he works quickly to free his drooling cock and guide it up and down your wet lips. You jolt, bumping against him at the raw heat and the pressure. 

“She’s meant for this,” he murmurs drunkenly, “made for me.” 

“Dave,” you cry weakly. He grins, pleased that you’re already so wrecked you can barely speak up. 

"Say it louder."

You shake your head, biting your lip. Refusing. 

He hums, low and disapproving. His cock slides against you, teasing—pressing, not quite giving in. Until he realizes you’re serious about arguing. Then, he pulls back and with a quiet, steady voice tries again. 

"Say my name."

When you don’t, his palm comes down against your clit—sharp, shocking, and disorienting. You gasp, writhing, but he only looks pleased.

"Oh, she liked that," he purrs, doing it again. Another slap. A roll of his thumb, a wicked, relentless rhythm that makes your body push against him, reaching for more. He watches the pain and pleasure on your face meld. 

"Say. My. Name."

You choke on it, barely more than a whisper—“Dave.”

“Mmm. Again.”

You hesitate. Another slap. Harder. 

“Louder.”

You sob his name. 

“Good.”

He knew he’d win, but he decides you deserve a reward for that. He doubles down, using his hands and keen observations to work you closer and closer, catching every tremble of your muscles and tensing of your hips until he feels your cunt clenching pathetically around his fingers. 

“There you go.” 

You gawk openly as he coats his cock with the arousal shining on his fingers, before he’s sliding it along your seam once more. Then, he starts to sink inside of you, forcing himself to take it slow. Savoring the tight stretch, the resistance, when you yelp— “Wait!” 

"No," he growls, pressing your hips down. “No more waiting.” Then he buries himself inside you with one hard stroke. "Oh, fuck—"

It’s slow at first. He saws into you with long, drawn out strokes. Unhurried and mesmerized by the tight grip of your cunt and your hands. You dig your nails into his shoulders like his dreams predicted, but he never could’ve imagined how soft and wet you’d be for him. 

He thrusts in deeper and deeper as you clench firmly around him. “You feel so fucking good,” he rasps, losing himself to the perfect fit of your bodies. He rocks into you, steadily building up speed, and his groans cut off his words. 

He fucks you like you’re the love of his life. Giving you all of this part of him. Determined to prove that he’s been listening this whole time. 

The way you sob—it’s different than he imagined. More raw. But the way you arch under him? That’s real. That’s instinct. You don’t even realize the way you’re sucking him in.

"Yeah,” he groans. “So fucking pretty when you cry for me."

His lips brush softly over your temple, so gentle it feels mocking. Then, in the same breath—

"My perfect little whore. Look at you—a mess. So needy.”

He pounds into you, hard enough to knock the air from your lungs.

“Listen,” he orders and you stifle your gasps and pleas. The only sounds are the slick, slapping noises where you’re joined and the grunts he tries to muffle when he meets the end of you. 

“Taking it so well, just like that. So good for me.” 

You wince when he praises you. He notices. He laughs.

"Oh, but good girls don’t drip all over my cock like this, do they?"

You don’t say anything. Letting your head loll as he keeps up the same pace. 

“That’s it,” he encourages. Praising you for existing. The moment stretches and shrinks from forever to fleeting. 

His words dissolve into grunts. He folds your knee to your chest, fucking you harder—brutal now.

Quiet whimpers escape your lips as your body bounces from the force of him. The sweet sound incites a primal fire inside of Dave, drawing all of his focus. 

“You like it rough, don’t you?”

Your answer is just a choked, broken sound. It’s not enough.

“Say it.”

You slam your eyes shut, refusing. He’s not playing this game again. The slap is instant. A sharp crack across your cheek that stuns you.

“Say. It.”

Your voice shakes. “I like it rough.”

“My filthy fucking slut,” he groans, fucking you deeper. Your hips shift, proving his point.

“Of course my perfect girl likes it rough. Wants it harder too.”

His voice drops lower, rougher. “Now say thank you.”

You whimper, shaking your head. The slap is instant. Sharp. Blistering.

“Say it.”

“Thank you.” You spit the words out quickly. 

“Mmm, that’s better. So polite.”

He manhandles you onto your stomach, pinning you ass up. His weight crushes you into the mattress—and then he slams back inside, deep.

The angle knocks the air right out of your lungs, choking gasping breaths fill the room and he curses behind you. 

“Look at you. Clenching down on me like you don’t want me to leave.”

He watches as he sinks inside you again and again, and you cry louder, unable to quiet yourself. Not when he’s giving you what you’ve been begging for all this time. 

Your whines are stuttered by his hips snapping into you and muffled by the mattress you’re pressed into. If you had anything to say he wouldn’t be able to listen now. But it doesn’t matter anyway.

You rock against him, not coordinated in your timing, but more urgent, primal. The tight, wet squeeze of your cunt pulling him deeper is close to divinity—debaucherous maybe, but still heavenly. Engulfed by your warmth, deep as he can reach, your muscles contract pulsing around him dangerously. But he catches on. 

“Trying to milk my cock, already?” He huffs the question, memorizing the way you mewl with disappointment as he slows down. 

“No. You’re not done yet.”

You sway, relying on him for support. He steadies you easily with a firm hold, fingers digging into your waist, gliding his other hand up your spine. It’s a soothing touch, just resting along the curve of your ass, until he starts to knead and spread your cheeks wider for a better view. 

He grins as you twitch under his gaze, before he spits on your other hole. He groans, a deep rumbling sound that comes from his chest as he spreads his saliva with his thumb. 

As if compelled by a voice from within, Dave resumes his pace. He fucks you hard and fast now, watching your plush flesh ripple as you bounce against him. He keeps hitting it just right, adding pressure at the perfect angle to make you cry out his name. 

He knows you’re getting close, the tension in your core pulls tighter even despite your exhaustion. You almost let go before he makes it a guarantee, working his thumb into your ass until he hears it. The moment you stop thinking. You’re too fucking full to think, to speak, to feel any shame. 

“Come for me.” 

Honest, ragged sounds pour out of you. 

“Of course, my needy whore isn’t happy with only one hole filled.” 

Everything is unfiltered as your muscles contract and you writhe against him. The strength builds from somewhere deep, beyond your control. Your body all but gives out, jerking faintly as you take everything he gives you. 

The sounds you make go straight to Dave’s head. You’ve gone dumb for him, empty-headed, out of tears. The satisfaction gives him a heady rush, and he surges into you with renewed vigor. His grunts and curses punctuate the obscene sounds coming from between your bodies as everything starts to blur. 

In one swift show of strength, he lifts your upper body, holding you against his chest. He kisses your cheek, wet and sticky from your tears—then he’s gasping, low and raspy as he fucks his come into you as deep as he can manage. 

“Fuck.” 

Your intermingled breathing is louder than any other sounds you’ve made tonight. 

“Easy,” he husks, “let me stay.”

He lowers you with care, ultimately pinning you under his weight. His cock is still buried inside you, thick and leaking, making sure every drop stays where he put it.

“Stay just like this. I want you to feel me dripping out of you all night.” You’re still collapsed in a heap when he gets up, and still stuck to the sheets when he returns. You barely stir when he sets a glass of water on your nightstand, or when he peels the torn scraps of fabrics you’d worn earlier from beneath you and drapes the covers back over your body. 

But, when he leans toward your face you flinch away, turning your head. He doesn’t like that. 

He grabs your chin, forcing you to look at him. His thumb strokes over your bruised cheek, mocking softness. 

Then, a kiss—pressed against your damp temple. His breath lingers, warm. You shudder.

Overwhelmed. 

He sees the fatigue clouding your eyes and his pride swells knowing you’re as sated as he is.

“Because of you,” he whispers. 

He doesn’t wait for you to reply, leaving as quietly as he entered. 

A few months later it’s game night at Marina’s again. The Never have I ever box is open on the table. 

The prompts spark laughter and more stories of mildly adventurous escapades and college memories. 

They’re a few rounds into the game when Dave pulls another card. He stops himself from rolling his eyes at the prompt. It reads like an idea pitched by a 21 year old corporate intern. Instead, he pretends to read from the card using his own idea. 

“Never have I ever…cried during sex.” A crooked smile spreads on Dave’s face. You sip your drink this time, holding eye contact without blinking.

sign up for my new tag list here! 

divider by @/saradika-graphics

general tags <3

@lovely-vamp-princess

@gothcsz

@auteurdelabre

@adoreyouusugar

@swankyorange

@itwasntimethatdidit40

@ivoryandflame 

@indiegirlunited

@syd-djarin 

@harriedandharassed

@bbyanarchist

@94namkooksworld

[asterias-record-shop]

╭════• ೋ•✧๑♡๑✧•ೋ •═══╮

— fuck his brains out

╰════• ೋ•✧๑♡๑✧•ೋ •═══╯

In which you pretend not to know your boyfriend is Kick-Ass. maybe OOC characters, I got a little carried away, and maybe mixed timeline, I haven't watched the movies in a while... Also, Dave x Mean! reader because who doesn't love that?

𓆩[main masterlist]𓆪 𓆩[request/ask me something!]𓆪

“I think Kick-Ass is hotter,” you look over at Dave, licking your ice cream almost teasingly. “If I had the chance, I’d fuck his brains out.”

Dave blushed madly, rubbing his cheeks before you stand and tug on his arm. “Dave, I think we should start heading out. You’re walking me home, right?”

Dave nodded quickly, as you thought that it was best because you had been taking care of him since his injury or said that because it had been a while. “Y-Yeah! I will, I’m coming.”

He waved at his friends as you tugged him out, throwing away the napkin that previously held your ice cream cone away. “I mean it,” you said abruptly, smiling over as you held his hand. “I would fuck him so hard he wouldn’t be able to talk.”

“W-Would you?” Dave finally speaks, looking over at you as you smiled.

“Hell yeah I would.”

Later that night, Mindy stared at him as he fixed his mask. “This isn’t a good idea, Dave."

In all seriousness, he really thought she would fight him to make him stay. What he was doing was stupid, but he was about to get laid. By you. The most beautiful girl in the world.

"This," he grinned back at her. "Is an amazing idea. I'm going to get laid so fucking hard."

"What if she wants to take off your mask?"

"She won't."

"What if she recognizes your voice?"

He paused, then smiled. "When I'm nervous, my voice gets higher. She won't recognize it. I'll see you later!"

He ran out, quickly going to your home. How was he going to get in? Would he sneak in through the window you always had unlocked that was right next to your dresser? Or would he throw rocks at your window, begging for you to let him up so you could fuck him?

He started to panic, how the hell would he sneak into your house?

In nervousness, he paced in the back alleyway behind your house before his phone buzzed, your name blaring on the screen.

Y/N 8:57PM come in through the window ;)

It made him pause before he looked at your window, gasping as you stared at him with your body lit in light of your bedside lamp. He could see your bright smile as you gave him a small wave, a gulp echoing through the alley as you opened up the window a bit and leave it open with a hairbrush.

He inhaled deeply as he slowly jumped over the fence, climbing up the tree that led up to the window, easily slipping through after pushing it up before carefully pushing it down. He gasped as he looked back, staring at his reflection through the mirror from where you sat in front of your vanity.

"It's slightly... perverted to sneak into a woman's house, right?" Your fingers rubbed moisturizer into your face like he had seen you do in the nights he slept over. "Dave knows that, but I'm assuming Kick-Ass doesn't."

Dave cleared his throat, pushing his hands to cover the front of his suit, specifically over his crotch. He loved it when you said his name. "I-I uhm... you know Dave as well? I know Dave too."

He watched as you giggled. "I do know Dave, very well. But something's telling me you know him a little better than I do."

He swallowed, humming before making his voice deeper. “I-I’ve known Dave a long time… Y/N.”

“Have you now?” You stood, slowly walking over and swaying your beautiful hips before you stood in front of him. “How long?”

“M-My whole life.”

You giggled as he slowly stepped forward to meet you in the middle, your fingers trailing down his chest as you pressed firm kisses wherever your fingers went and you slowly got down on your knees, your skimpy lingerie-like pajamas. "Did Dave ever tell you what I want to do to you, Kick-Ass? Hm?"

He whimpers, his false persona of confidence never even giving the chance to rise as you kissed over the bulge that he tried to hide. "H-He did... oh fuck, he did."

"Oh, well he didn't have to tell you, right? You knew it because you are Dave, right?" You licked over the material of his suit.

His head lulled back as he nodded, groaning. "R-Right, fucking hell, please! Please, please don't stop."

You scoffed as you stood, pressing your finger to his chest. "I knew it! I knew it, you bastard, why would you keep that from me?! Did you like me gushing over your alter ego?!"

He gasped as you shoved him, a groan falling from your lips. "What? No! No, of course not!"

"For fuck's sake, Dave! What, you're such a virgin that you loved the thought of some girl talking about her fantasies with your alter ego?! Fuck you!" You groaned as you sat on your bed, covering your face to hold back your smile. This had to work.

"No! No, of course not, of course not! I'm sorry, I am so sorry," he whined as he kneeled in front of you, holding your knees. "Please, you have to understand..." He takes off his mask, whimpering as he stared up at you. "I did it to keep you safe. I didn't... I don't want you to be a target."

You inhale deeply as you pulled your hands away from your face, glaring down at him. "You promise?"

"I promise."

He inhaled deeply as you squeezed his face, raising a brow. "Well then, what are you going to do to make it up to me?"

He paused, clearing his throat as you ran your fingers through his hair. "Wh-Whatever you want me to," he whispers, swallowing loudly. "Whatever you want me to do."

Oh, you knew it would work.

Maybe that's how Dave got here, laying on his back as he sobbed underneath your touch, the vibrating cock ring settled right at his base and your tongue licking at his tip, lapping and sucking teasingly. You giggled as he squirmed underneath your touch, your hand pumping him slowly. "I don't know if you've done enough to cum, Dave. I don't think... you've made it up to me."

He whined, shaking his head as he covered his mouth. "No, no please! I'll do anything you want, just please! I need- I need to cum inside of you."

You hummed teasingly, pursing your lips. "Inside of me? You want to ask that much of me? Do you think that you've done enough to get the pleasure of cumming inside of me?"

"Yes!" He whined loudly, groaning. "Yes! Yes, I'll make you feel good, I promise!"

You hummed, pumping him even harder. "No... I don't think you can. A virgin like you? Please."

"I promise! I promise I will, I promise." He whimpered, his hips bucking into the air.

He probably could, to be honest. His cock was bigger than you could ever imagine, his girth barely able to fit into your mouth without making your jaw ache and could barely go down your throat without choking. He had the prettiest dick you'd ever seen, definitely the biggest and girthiest too, just because the last few guys you saw were fucking assholes.

"Maybe I will let you cum inside of me," you mused, humming as you sucked on his tip to make loud popping sound echo across the room. "Maybe, if I'm feeling... nice."

He whined, nodding desperately. "Fuck, please! Please, I'll do anything!"

"Where do you want to cum inside of me, baby? Dave knows I'm on birth control, but does Kick-Ass?" You giggle, rubbing his thighs as you gagged on his cock.

"C-Can I cum i-in your... in your-?"

"You can't even say it, can you?" You giggled as you switched the ring into the highest power, humming. "You want to cum... inside of me, right? That narrows things down a little bit... you want to cum inside my mouth? Or... my ass, that's going to take a minute though. Maybe my pussy? Hm? It's already stretched out for you, Dave. Inside my pussy, inside of my cunt?"

"Y-Your cunt! I want... I want to cum inside of your cunt."

You giggled. "Just don't cum as soon as I take this ring off, alright?"

He let out a loud whimper, nodding as you slowly slip it off, putting it into your mouth to suck loudly, groaning as his taste filled your mouth. He groaned as you take it from your mouth, straddling his hips and holding his cock up. You could feel your eyes roll back, humming as he whimpered. "I-I'm close, I'm so close!"

You giggled as you sunk down onto him, yelling out as he screamed out, groaning with a strong buck of his hips to bottom out inside of you and his cum filling up your stomach. You gasped loudly, whimpering as you held onto his chest, your nails digging into his skin. "H-How are you still cumming?!"

"I-I can't stop," he groaned flipping you over to hold your thighs as he pressed his face into your neck, thrusting his hips. Your eyes rolled back, groaning loudly as the loud slaps of skin against skin filled your room. "Fuck, you feel so fucking good! Better than I could ever imagine, fuck!"

You whined as your nails dug into his back, Dave pulling away for just a second with a grin. "Who's fucking who's brains out now?"

taglist: 𓆩[@lem0ns77]𓆪   𓆩[@cecepop15]𓆪   𓆩[@memeorydotcom]𓆪   𓆩[@your-favorite-god]𓆪   𓆩[@xyzstar]𓆪  𓆩[@just-my-shit]𓆪   𓆩[@your-mom21]𓆪   𓆩[@c78r]𓆪   𓆩[@dizscreams]𓆪   𓆩[@asrt5]𓆪 𓆩[@xoxomoonlightbabe]𓆪

© asterias-record-shop

[pedroscurls]

eyes on you (one-shot)

summary: dave has been single for a while now - focused on his work, but you manage to capture his attention. the only downside? you're already spoken for and your husband is his colleague.

pairing: dave york x fem!reader content warnings: 18+, legal separation (not with dave!), neglect in relationship (again, not with dave), mutual pining, sexual tension, dave wants to take care of you basically, brief mention of dave's PTSD, reader has a child, no use of y/n. word count: 5.1k a/n: ok - please bear with me. this is my first time writing for dave york and i hope i did his characterization justice... i wanted to write a softer kind of dave 😭 anyway, this year has honestly been about stepping out of my comfort zone! this story is part of dev's (@penvisions) "give a little love" writing challenge! i got forbidden romance with dave york. hope y'all enjoy <3

On his way to his office one morning, Dave catches a glimpse of you from outside of the nearby coffee shop. You have a younger boy in your arms, who’s snuggling against the crook of your neck. Your body sways side to side with him and despite the crowd and business of the coffee shop, there’s a calm aura about you. 

There’s a part of him that misses his girls—Carol having full custody of them in the divorce. He tosses his coffee cup into the trash and steps inside the coffee shop. Immediately, he’s welcomed by the sound of chatter, the coffee machines whirring, baristas yelling people’s names and he’s suddenly overwhelmed by the everything. He grips the strap of his messenger bag when he feels the walls beginning to close in around him—his eyes scanning the entire area, out of habit. 

He’s forgotten momentarily why he even walked inside until his eyes meet yours. Dave watches your eyes soften at the sight of him, the corners of your beautiful lips curling upwards as if you knew what he was feeling. A barista yells your name and you break the gaze to retrieve your drink and Dave quickly walks to the register to order a black coffee—something quick, low effort because he sees you already begin to make your way towards the front door. 

Dave doesn’t bother to make small talk with the young girl at the register. He just hands her a twenty, mumbles to keep the change, grabs his coffee and turns on his heel to catch up to you. He isn’t sure why he feels a sudden pull to you, but he knows that he’d regret it if he didn’t get the chance to at least speak with you. 

Someone bumps into him and he’s already on edge that the coffee slips out of his hand and falls to the floor on his shoes—great, he thinks. 

“I’m so sorry, man,” the stranger mumbles before rushing out of the door. 

Dave sighs heavily and turns around to walk back towards the register. He doesn’t bother sparing you another glance because he’s sure that you’re already gone. At least I tried, he thinks. At the register, he’s about to open his mouth to speak until he sees you in his peripheral. 

“Can we get a stack of napkins and can we get another refill of whatever he ordered?” you ask the barista who’s already smiling so brightly in your direction.

“Oh! Don’t sweat it. We’ll clean it up,” he says, turns around to grab a large cup to refill with coffee for Dave. Then, he turns back around to set it in front of you. “And this is on the house.” 

“That’s sweet,” you smile. “Thanks so much.” You grab a sleeve to put on the hot cup of coffee before you turn to face him. “Figured you will probably need this.” 

Dave looks down at you—this close, he can see the way your eyes sparkle against the natural sunlight that comes through the windows. The younger boy in your arms seems to be fast asleep, but Dave can’t help the way your smile makes him feel. Everyone around him disappears—all of the sounds seem to fade until all he can see and hear is you. 

“You didn’t need to do that,” he finally answers. Dave reaches for the cup, feeling his fingertips brush against your own when you hand the cup over to him and he feels the heat in his cheeks rise. “But thank you.” 

You shrug a shoulder—your eyes are staring so deeply into his own. “I won’t be cleaning your shoes, but—” you giggle and the sound makes his heart flutter. 

“Do you work here?” he interrupts. 

“What? Oh no,” you smile. “Just saw someone who needed help, that’s all.” 

Dave isn’t sure why that made him feel so warm inside, but he smiles and begins walking out of the coffee shop alongside you. “He’s out like a light,” he points out. 

You giggle again and Dave suddenly realizes that he wants to hear more and more of it. “He had a late night,” you tease. “I let him stay up an extra fifteen minutes—story time was very intense,” you smile. 

“I have two of my own,” he adds. 

“Two?” you say with a shocked tone. “I can barely handle this one.”

“They stay with their mom,” Dave says, holding the door open for you. You walk through it and he can’t help but let his eyes drift down your back to your ass—god, those yoga pants are definitely working in your favor. 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you tell him, waiting for him to step out after you. You bite your lower lip and tighten your hold on the younger boy in your arms. Soon enough, it’s only going to be you and your son will end up having to go to two homes, alternating holidays with you and his father. 

“Don’t be,” Dave smiles. “We tried to make it work and sometimes, it just isn’t enough. I just try to be with them as much as I can.” He sees the distance in your eyes and he furrows a brow—it’s obvious that you’re thinking about something else. “Hey…”

You finally look up at him, shaking yourself out of your thoughts as you look back up at him. “Sorry,” you laugh nervously. “Anyway, I should go. I hope you have a great day…”

“Wait, hey…” Dave sighs. “I’m Dave.”

Then, you smile—the same smile that managed to calm all of his nerves. You respond and tell him your name, see him smile as well and you notice the dimple on his right cheek. 

“Can I walk you to your car?” He asks. 

You nod, feel the young boy shift in your arms. “Sure.” 

Dave walks alongside you and smiles to himself, glancing over at you. “So, what do you do?” He asks. 

“Full time mom,” you answer. “But it’s the best job there is.” You glance over at him—you’re obviously very attracted to him, but your husband looks in the back of your mind. “What about you? What do you do for work?”

Dave shrugs. “Nothing exciting,” he answers too quickly. He doesn’t want to reflect on what he does for a living—if he’s being honest, it’s not something he’s proud of anymore. Especially since it cost him his marriage. “So, full time mom… What’s the plan for today?”

“Well, definitely needed my coffee,” you smile. “Then head to the store to grab some groceries…” you arch your brow and notice that his attention is solely focused on you. “Nothing exciting,” you repeat. 

Dave laughs quietly to himself and stops alongside you when you near your car. He holds open the door for you when you begin to put your son in his car seat—the young boy wiggling slightly before he makes himself comfortable. 

With your arms free—save for the coffee in your hand—Dave finally gets a better look at you. You’re wearing a faded dark grey v-neck and it’s low enough that he can see your cleavage and he has to quickly look away before you notice. 

“Well, I hope you have a great rest of your day,” Dave says quietly. He’s usually so alert when he’s walking to work—making sure that he can hear and see everyone around him, but you’re making all of the tension that he normally feels disappear. It’s strangely comforting because he can feel—for once—like he can take a deep breath without having to worry about the possibility of something happening. 

“Thank you, Dave. I hope you have a good one as well,” you smile in his direction. “And thank you for walking us back to the car.” 

Then, Dave blurts out, “I hope you know that you made my day today. So, thank you.”

“The day just started,” you laugh quietly, cheeks heating up. 

“Yeah,” Dave grins. “And it’s already starting out great.” 

You bite your lower lip and then gently tap your coffee cup with his own. “Hope I get to see you around, Dave.”

“Me too,” he says softly. “Me too.”

The next time Dave sees you, it all but crushes him because there you are—hand in hand with one of his colleagues. You don’t seem to want to be here though, smile not reaching your eyes like it did that morning he met you at the coffee shop. He can see the way you tense up when the other man whispers in your ear and you immediately pull your hand from his grip to walk towards the bar area. 

“Baby,” the other man calls out, but you just keep walking. 

Dave bites his lower lip and walks after you, ensuring that none of his coworkers have yet to see him. He hears you let out a shaky sigh, waves to the bartender, and even despite the tension he can see in your body, you’re still so polite, so kind to the man behind the counter. 

Dave straightens his tie, takes a deep breath and walks over to you. He tells the bartender to put your drink on his tab and when he finally gazes down at you, that same fucking smile is lining your lips. He can see the shock in your features, but before he can even say anything, you wrap your arms around him in a tight embrace. It catches him off guard, but he leans into you nonetheless. The way your body feels against his own makes his heart race even faster. 

“Hey,” he whispers, his arms snaking around your waist. “Nice surprise seeing you here.” 

You pull away and look up at him—you had been thinking of him every day since meeting him about a week ago. You would be lying if you said that you tried to go back to the coffee shop in hopes that you’d get to see him again, but you never could find the time to go back. 

“Dave,” you say quietly. “It’s you.”

He smiles, arms slowly slipping away from you. Dave looks at you from top to bottom, biting the inside of his cheek at the way your dress clings to every curve. When he gazes back at you, he can see the way you pull your lower lip between your teeth. 

“And it’s you,” he finally answers. “You know, I’ve gone back to that coffee shop every morning in the last week. Thought I’d never get the chance to see you again,” Dave admits. 

“Me too,” you answer honestly. “Are you here with your girlfriend?” you ask quietly, hesitantly. 

Dave shakes his head. “Work dinner.” 

“Oh,” you reply. “Me too actually. Well, not me specifically, but…” 

Dave nods, “Didn’t realize that you’re Robby’s wife.” 

You clear your throat and suddenly take a step back away from him. “You work with Robby…”

“I do,” he sighs—Dave sees the change in your behavior and he glances over at the bartender who sets your glass of wine on the counter. He mutters a quiet thank you and sets the glass in front of you.

“You were in the military.” 

“I was,” he answers. 

“I can’t talk to you,” you finally say. “Robby will get upset and—”

“We’re just having a conversation,” Dave shrugs. “I wouldn’t worry about him.” He tilts his head, sees you glance over in Robby’s direction and quietly lowers his voice. “D–Does he hurt you?”

“No,” you answer quickly. “It’s just,” you sigh. You grab a hold of his hand and lead him back to the bathrooms, pushing him inside a vacant co-ed bathroom and locking it behind you. “I’m just here for show.”

“For show?” 

“We’re getting divorced,” you sigh quietly, biting the inside of your cheek. “This is the last dinner I’m supposed to attend and he’s not making it easy.” 

Dave lets out a sigh of relief—divorced, or at least about to be. He can’t help the excitement that he feels bubbling inside of him and he crosses his arms over his chest, watching your eyes trail down his face to his arms and back up. The mutual attraction is there, he knows it. 

And you know it too. 

“So, for show…” he repeats. 

You nod. “I’d rather be at home with Mateo.” 

“Mateo?” 

He sees you relax, a large grin lining your lips. “My baby.” 

“Ah,” Dave smiles. “Cute name. Didn’t get a chance to meet the little guy. He was knocked out when we met.” 

You laugh quietly and Dave perks up, suddenly takes a step closer to you at the sound. “Yeah, he’s with the sitter tonight.” 

“So, I’m guessing no intense story time tonight,” he teases. 

You laugh again and it only fuels him further—excitement coursing through his veins until he’s inches away from you. You lean back against the sink and stare up at him, biting your lower lip as you stare into his eyes. 

“No, not tonight,” you whisper. You feel his fingers brush your hair away from your face and you let out a quiet gasp—your body reacting to him instantly because you tilt your head and lean against his touch. 

“You look beautiful tonight,” Dave whispers. 

“Dave…” 

“Yeah, baby?” 

“We can’t,” you sigh. “Robby—He won’t make it easy if he knows that I’m seeing someone. We haven’t finalized the divorce, haven’t even told Mateo yet, and—”

Dave just nods, but he gently cups your cheek and brushes the pad of his thumb along your soft skin. He leans down and presses his lips against your forehead to place a light kiss before he’s pulling away. 

“Okay,” he answers. 

“I’m sorry. I really want to,” you shut your eyes against the soft kiss he places on your forehead. Even though he pulls away, his hand is still resting on your cheek. 

“Me too,” he whispers. Dave lowers his hand to the side of your neck, brushes the pad of his thumb across your jawline and now across your lower lip. He watches you part your lips for him and he fights the urge to slip his thumb inside—to feel the warmth of your mouth, your tongue, and—

“Dave,” you sigh quietly. 

“You can push me away, you know?” He teases. 

“But I don’t want to,” you admit. 

“Making it real hard for me to not kiss you right here, right now.” Dave adds, slowly pulling away as his hand drops back to his side. He makes it obvious now that he’s looking at you, at every inch of your body and he can feel his manhood stirring awake. 

You don’t feel shy under his gaze. In fact, you feel empowered, sexy. Your cheeks heat up and when his eyes finally land on your own, a broad smirk lines his lips—and there’s that fucking dimple again.  

“I’ll see you out there, baby.” Dave presses one last kiss against your cheek before he pulls away from you and leaves the restroom. 

You sigh quietly, slumping against the sink as you turn to look at yourself in the mirror. Technically, you’re single, but you know Robby… if he finds that you’ve already moved on, he’d make this so much more difficult than it needs to be. 

Throughout the dinner, you’re seated in between Dave and Robby. Robby’s arm is draped around the back of your seat, his fingertips brushing against your arm. You look up at him and he catches your gaze—he drops his hand immediately. 

Dave switches his persona—professional but charming. He can keep the conversation going and you notice that the other men at the table—Robby included—hold onto every word that leaves his lips. The respect is evident, and when the other women look at him, you know just exactly what they’re thinking. 

Because you’re thinking it too. 

Dave is fucking sexy and he knows it. He flashes that smile that makes his dimple appear and his deep brown eyes lure you in. It’s only when he looks down at you that you feel the heat in your cheeks. 

“Robby, you have a little boy, right?” Dave asks. 

“Yeah, Mateo. He’s three.”

“Four,” you correct. “He’s four,” you answer, looking up at Dave with a small smile. 

Robby’s jaw tightens but he masks it with a forced smile. His hand comes down to rest on your thigh and it startles you, feeling his grip around it. “Sorry, baby. Been busy at work lately,” he laughs nervously. 

You don’t respond—instead, you grab his wrist and push his hand away from you. He looks down at you with narrowed eyes and you lean forward to whisper in his ear. “Stop, Robby. Or else I will walk out of this dinner.” 

Robby just grunts in reply and nods, pulling away from you and flashing everyone else a smile. “I’ll definitely be in the dog house for that one,” he says, everyone else but Dave erupts in laughter. 

“Anyway, he’s four and he’s just the sweetest little boy,” you continue, pulling the attention away from Robby. “The other day, he wanted to make me breakfast because—and these are his words—he wanted to take care of me.” 

The women at the table melt at your words, hands gripping their husbands’ arms—you and Robby are the only ones with a child. Well, and Dave too. 

“He’s a little protector,” Robby chimes in. “And he’s a momma’s boy.” 

You force a smile and stay quiet for the remainder of the dinner. The other women at the table opt to do the same, only speaking up when their husbands are speaking to them—or if Dave addressed them specifically. There’s a part of you that can’t wait for this dinner to end, but another part of you that doesn’t want it to.  

Only because of Dave. Having him sit next to you provides a sense of safety and security, and you yearn to just have another moment alone with him. You spend the rest of the evening with your eyes on your plate, but when your phone rings, you excuse yourself and stand from the table. 

“It’s the sitter,” you smile apologetically. Your eyes meet Dave’s and the corner of his lips curl upwards before he turns back around to continue the conversation. 

Robby makes no effort in walking after you—you know that he would rather have more time with Dave than with your son. 

After about five minutes, you walk back to the table and grab your coat from the back of your chair. “I’m heading out, Robby.” 

“Oh, okay. I’ll see you at home.” 

You tighten your jaw and you’re about to say something before Dave chimes in. 

“Everything okay with Mateo?” Your eyes soften instantly, but you can’t help the conflicting emotions that you feel. This is a question that your husband should be asking, not his colleague. 

“Oh, everything’s okay. Something just came up with the sitter and she has to head home,” you answer. “It was great meeting all of you.” 

Robby doesn’t stand up, doesn’t offer to walk you outside. Instead, he just leans further back in his seat with another glass of alcohol in his hand. You feel anger rushing in your veins and you want so badly to scream, to yell at him but instead you pull on your coat. Nonchalantly, you slip off your wedding ring and gently rest your hand on Robby’s shoulder. 

He looks up at you and furrows a brow until you place your free hand in his—dropping your wedding ring into his palm. His eyes widen slightly and tears build in your own. Leaning down, you place a light kiss on his cheek and whisper, “We are done, Robert.” 

A month later, you and Robby have established boundaries. While you’re both still living in the same house, he sleeps in another room. In front of Mateo, you both try to keep up with appearances and luckily, the younger boy doesn’t notice anything differently. 

On one Friday afternoon, Robby lets you know that Dave and some other guys from the office are coming over for dinner. You tell him that you plan on leaving the house with Mateo, but he insists on you staying—mentioning that Dave actually wanted to see you again and also meet Mateo. 

To him, he thinks he’s making an impression on Dave. 

But you know what Dave really meant, and it made your heart race faster. 

So, you set the table with the dinner you made just in time to hear the doorbell ring. Mateo’s small feet echo throughout the home when he runs towards the front door, standing on his toes to try and open the door. You look over in his direction, expecting Robby to answer the door but he’s nowhere to be found. 

With a heavy sigh, you walk over to the front door, scoop Mateo into your arms as you gently tickle his sides. “You’re naughty, baby.” 

“Just wanted to help, mama!” 

You smile and place a gentle kiss on the tip of his nose before you open the door. Dave’s grinning at you, holding a case of beer in one hand. 

“Hey,” he says quietly. 

“Hi, Dave.” You can feel the heat in your cheeks as you open the door wider for him. “This is Mateo.”

Dave steps across the threshold and keeps his eyes focused on the both of you. “Hi, Mateo.” 

“Hi!” He smiles, nuzzling your neck. “Mama made dinner.” 

“She did, did she? No wonder it smells delicious in here,” Dave winks. 

“She made my favorite.” 

“Oh yeah?” 

You bite your lower lip, feeling your heart race even faster at the interaction. 

“Mhm! Pasketti!” 

Both you and Dave laugh quietly. Mateo wraps his arms around your shoulders and rests his head against your own. “I did, baby. Now, can you go and be a big boy and get ready for dinner?” 

He nods. “Okay, mama. I’ll wash my hands too.” 

“Thank you, honey.” You set him down on his feet and watch him walk down the hallway to his own bedroom, leaving you and Dave alone. “Sorry, Robby’s probably in his office. I’ll go get him.” 

Dave bites his lower lip and gently reaches out for your hand, turning you around. “I’d rather you didn’t.”

“Dave…”

He plays with your fingers with his own before he lets his hand drop back to his side. “Can I put these in the fridge?” He asks, motioning towards the case of beer. 

“Oh, yeah, follow me.” You turn on your heel and walk ahead of him, leading him to the kitchen. 

Dave glances around but his eyes stay focused on you. You’re wearing those same yoga pants and it sculpts to every curve—he clears his throat and tries to rid his mind of every dirty thought. 

He bumps into you when you stop walking—too distracted by you. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles. For a brief moment, he feels the curve of your ass press against the front of his slacks and his manhood begins to stir awake. “Clumsy me.” 

“Distracted?” You tease, turning around to grab the case of beer from his hand. 

His eyes narrow at you. “You wore those pants on purpose, didn’t you?” 

You grin, tongue darting out to lick your lower lip and you watch his eyes stare at the action. “They’re comfy.” 

“And your ass looks fucking great in ‘em,” he grins. 

“You’re flirting.”

“I’m complimenting you,” Dave corrects. 

You let out a quiet laugh and shake your head, placing the beer into the fridge. As you’re about to turn around and quip back, Robby enters the kitchen. Dave catches your gaze when you turn around—his big, brown eyes soften. 

“Thanks, baby. Was in the office.” Robby says. You don’t respond, just give him a quick nod before you excuse yourself quietly to check on Mateo. You glance over your shoulder—Robby begins talking animatedly to Dave, but he’s staring right at you. 

“Your wife not joining us?” Dave asks, sitting at the table with Robby and his other colleagues. 

Robby shakes his head. “Nope. We have an agreement.” 

The other men grin. “A woman who knows her place. Lucky you.” 

Robby laughs. “Gotta train ‘em early.” 

Dave tightens his jaw—he’s the only one not laughing, the only one who doesn’t find it funny. “That woman cooked you and your colleagues dinner and you talk about her like that? You let them talk about her like that?” 

Everyone at the table quiets immediately. They are all intimidated by Dave and they clear their throats, beginning to apologize. 

“It was just a joke,” Robby says nervously. 

“Joke or not, you shouldn’t talk about your wife like that.” Dave can feel the anger in his veins—you mentioned that you were getting a divorce, but why in the hell are you still here? 

“Well, won’t be my wife for long,” Robby shrugs. “She asked for a divorce. We haven’t told Mateo yet.” 

“Oh shit, sorry man,” one of the other men comments. The rest of them share the same sentiment, but Dave wants nothing more than to be with you. 

“Hey, Robby. Where’s your bathroom, man?”

“Down the hall, to your left.” 

Dave nods his thanks and stands from the chair. He walks down the hallway and finds the bathroom, but he looks at the other door across from it that’s slightly ajar. He hears the sound of Mateo’s laughter, followed by your muffled voice. He glances over his shoulder and takes a deep breath, knocking on the door quietly. 

He can hear you getting up and within seconds, you open the door and smile instantly at the sight of him. 

“Hi.” 

“Hello again,” he says softly. “You and Mateo not hungry?” 

“We’ll be out in a few. Just want Robby to have enough time with you all first.” 

“Why are you so nice to him?” Dave blurts out, shaking his head. “I’m sorry. That’s none of my business.” 

“Mama’s gonna be right back, baby.” You tell Mateo, stepping out of the room and gently pushing Dave into the bathroom across the hall. You shut it behind you and lock it, staring up at him. 

“I crossed a line. I shouldn’t have and—”

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” you admit, interrupting him. “Since that morning at the coffee shop, actually.”

Dave arches a brow and steps closer to you. He brings his hand up gently to cup your cheek and he watches as your eyes fall shut. You let out a quiet sigh and bring your hand to wrap around his wrist gently. 

“Me too,” he confesses. “Robby doesn’t have to know,” Dave says quietly. “We can keep this a secret until you finalize the divorce.” 

“He’ll find out, Dave,” you whisper. Slowly, you turn your head and kiss the inside of his wrist, lips moving upwards to press light kisses along the inside of his palm. You can hear Dave inhale sharply before his thumb brushes across your lower lip. 

“Baby,” he says quietly. Dave steps closer—his front now inches from your own. He can feel your breasts lightly pressing against his chest and his free hand moves to rest on your hip—ready to pull you into him when the time is right. “Robby won’t even think about doing anything where I’m concerned.”

“You don’t know that,” you whisper. You can feel your resolve slowly slipping as you bring your hand up to gently play with the ends of his tie. 

“Trust me,” Dave responds quietly as he steps closer—caging you in against the sink. His hands move to rest on the edges of it at either side, dipping his head lower until his nose brushes against your own. “You make all the noise go away,” he admits. 

“The noise?” you ask quietly, eyes falling shut—you can feel his breath against your lips.

Dave nods. “My mind races all the time. It gets worse when it’s crowded and I’ve worked on getting it under control, but losing my girls, failing my marriage… It just amplified it.” He presses his lips against your cheek—lips catching the corner of your own. “But I saw you at the coffee shop when I was walking to work that morning and you—” he sighs. “There was just something calming about you. Then, you looked at me and smiled.”

You smile and move your hands up his chest to his shoulders, linking your hands now at the nape of his neck. “Dave…”

“I really want you,” he interrupts, “In any way that you’ll let me.”

“Will you kiss me?” 

Dave’s smile broadens and he nods, closing his eyes slowly and pressing his lips firmly against yours. When he feels your soft lips, his hands move from the sink to rest on your hips—-holding you tighter, closer against him. 

You lean into him instantly, fingers carding through his hair. His lips are softer than you imagined and the tension between you builds even further when you deepen the kiss. It isn’t quick or hurried—it’s slow, intimate, and almost as if you’re both savoring the moment. Your lips move with his own and you can feel the grip around your hips tightening even further. 

He pulls back only slightly to gently nip at your lower lip—it causes a quiet whimper to escape your lips. It’s just enough for you to remember that you’re both on limited time. You have to get back to Mateo and he has to get back to his dinner. 

Slowly, you pull away and Dave rests his forehead against your own. Neither of you make any move to pull away from each other, but he leans in repeatedly to peck your lips—he just can’t get enough of you.

“We’ll make this work,” he whispers. 

You nod in agreement. “Just in the meantime,” you repeat. “Until the divorce is finalized.” 

“I’m a patient man,” Dave smiles. “At least for you, I can be.” 

You smile, eyes gazing at his lips. Dave lets out a quiet chuckle and moves a hand to your cheek, thumb brushing against your soft skin. “If you wanna kiss me again, baby, just do it.”

You roll your eyes playfully and lean in to press your lips firmly against his own—this time, more rushed, desperate. Dave growls lowly against your lips, his hand on your hip moving to reach back to squeeze your ass. You quietly let out a moan and he uses this chance to slide his tongue past your lips—hand moving from your cheek to tangle itself in your hair. 

“Gonna be real hard for me to let you go after this,” he mumbles, breaking the kiss momentarily to press kisses along your jawline. Dave glances up in your direction and he smirks—he sees the way you tilt your head back, eyes shut, and your lips slightly agape as a quiet whimper leaves your lips. 

“Dave,” you moan quietly, feeling his teeth graze your pulse point along the side of your neck. 

He presses one last kiss on your throat before he pulls away. Dave bites his lower lip and watches you open your eyes. 

“Robby’s out of town this weekend,” you tell him. “I can have the sitter watch Mateo.” 

A large grin spreads on his lips. “Dinner at my place?” he asks. 

“It’s a date,” you smile. 

[lilithknoxville]

Could u do a Johnny smut where her nipples are pierced and he gets turned on by it???

Barbells and Bitemarks (Johnny Knoxville x Fem! Reader) (18+!)

Summary: “What - Nipple piercings a turn on for you or somethin’?” You teased, chuckling awkwardly.

“Yes, actually.” His answer made you stop short. Your eyes raked over his face. His eyes were dark, pools of lust swimming in them. The sight alone was enough to make your knees weak, and you let out a breathy laugh.

“Wh-What?” You stammered, making him snicker. His hands, which had fallen down by his sides, came up to your shoulders.

“Do I gotta spell it out for you, doll?” Johnny’s voice dropped a couple of octaves, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smirked, “I’m into girls with piercin’s, and I’m much more into them when they’re on your gorgeous ass.”

Content Warnings: Graphic Smut, 18+, Swearing, Dirty Talk, Johnny is a massive whore here, Oral (Fem Receiving), Mild Dacryphilia, Semi Public Sex, Daddy Kink

Word Count: 4,285

AN: MY FIRST EVER ASK EEEEEEEEE!!!!! I literally wanna kiss this anon on the mouth for giving me this idea /j. Thank you so much for requesting something from me, and my inbox is ABSOLUTELY still open for more requests. I may have forty documents open of smuts but I will absolutely drop them for a request. This is high key the most fun I’ve had writing a story in a while :3 again no beta reader we die like men. Also I’m posting this at 4:00 in the morning so MANNNNNNN I’m tired. Prolly gonna pass out after this LOL. Okay here we gooooooooo! ✨

You huffed out a sigh, resting your head back against the wall you were leaned up against. Jeff’s voice droned on and on, giving information and safety on a stunt that you weren’t thrilled about being a part of. So you had tried to tune Jeff out as much as possible, but his loud and booming voice wasn’t letting you zone out. You kicked a leg over your other one, shifting uncomfortably on your feet. You looked over, seeing Johnny leaned over on the opposite wall from you. You smiled slightly, and an easy smile graced his lips as well. He pushed himself off of the wall, coming over to where you were standing. He dipped his head down, his voice hushed in your ear.

“Well ain’t you the vision of bein’ enthused?” Johnny asked, his lips quirked up in a smile. You snorted out a laugh as you looked up at him.

“I’m not exactly thrilled about being up on your shoulders, Knox. I’m fuckin’ terrified of heights, and you’re not exactly short.” You smiled at him, and he shook his head, laughing.

“I promise I ain’t gonna drop you, doll.” He gave a smile that had your stomach doing somersaults, and you growled uneasily.

“I’m holding you to that.” You wrinkled your nose, a smile on your lips, and he clapped a hand on your shoulder. Jeff’s booming voice caught your attention and you cast your gaze back towards where Jeff was standing.

“Hey lovebirds, you two wanna join our conversation?” Jeff called, and the amount of hoots and hollers from the rest of the cast had you pulling your beanie down to cover your face, “Anyways - Johnny, Bam, Ryan, and (Y/N), you guys are gonna be next up for shooting. We’re going to go ahead with Steve-O, Dave, and Ehren’s stunt.” Jeff looked down at his clipboard, nodding to cement what he had just said, “But stay on deck, I’m thinking this one’ll take about an hour. Go ahead and get changed into different clothes, and be on standby. Your guys’ stunt involves mud, and we’ve still got a whole day of shooting.” Jeff clapped his hands and you were all sent on your separate ways. You headed to the trailer they had set up specifically for you, Johnny on your heels like a lost puppy. Your feelings for Johnny were… confusing, to say the least. On one hand, he was your absolute best friend in the whole wide world; You were nothing but comfortable around him. You both laughed until you cried, leaned on the other for support, and you loved each other fiercely. On the other, you were beyond in love with him. Any laugh he gave at your jokes, any smile cast your way, and anytime he touched you (albeit all of them were innocent) lit you up from the inside out.

You entered the trailer, propping the door open with your foot as you waited for Johnny. You rolled your eyes, chuckling as he stepped into your trailer.

“You gotta follow me everywhere I go like a lovesick puppy?” You teased, watching as Johnny flopped down on the small couch set up in the trailer.

“Hey, I’m makin’ sure no one fucks with you, doll. You know how these boys are.” Johnny shrugged, resting one of his arms on the back of the couch. You rolled your eyes, leaning against the doorframe with your hands behind your back. You kicked one leg over the other, rolling your eyes hard at Johnny’s comment.

“And you act like I’m not scared to beat anyone’s ass.” You snorted out a laugh, pushing off of the wall and going to the small wardrobe that was set up for you. You looked through the clothes, humming. Each outfit was marked with a name of a stunt, and you got to the one for this stunt. It was a sheer, white tank top with jean shorts. You held it up, looking at the outfit with scrutinizing eyes.

“Really?” Johnny barked out a laugh, shaking his head, “I mean - Sex sells, but if we’re sticking our only female cast member in somethin’ like this…” He chuckled again, letting out a puff of air from his nose. There was something unreadable in his eyes, and as you stared at him, trying to figure it out, he looked away, avoiding your eyes, “I dunno what they’re thinkin’.”

“Your guess is as good as mine.” You tore your eyes away from him, rolling them hard. You heaved out a sigh, giving the outfit one last scrutinous glare, “But I don’t think I really have that much of a choice.” You hung the hanger on the back of a chair, your hands coming to your hoodie’s hem. You pulled your hoodie off over your head, but you failed to realize you had grabbed the bottom of your shirt as well. Immediately, you were standing in a sheer, lace bralette in front of Johnny.

Time seemed to freeze as his eyes raked over you - how the bralette pushed your boobs together, the black lace against your skin, and the two barbells pushed through each of your nipples. You yelped and covered your chest with your arm, your face flushing a bright red.

“Shit! I’m fucking sorry!” You cried, moving your arm from over your chest to try and get your shirt out of the hoodie. Your hands trembled as frantic apologies tumbled from your lips, when suddenly Johnny’s hands were covering yours.

You looked up to see him standing in front of you, his face the same shade of red as yours. His face was calm, however, and a smile ghosted over his lips.

“Doll, you ain’t gotta freak out.” His voice was quiet, a murmur, as he helped you pull the shirt out of the hoodie, “But when were you gonna tell me you’ve got piercings?” He asked, a wolfish grin on his lips. You smacked his arm with a hand, your other hand covering your chest with your shirt.

“You’re an ass!” You chuckled, your face still feeling warm, “What - Nipple piercings a turn on for you or somethin’?” You teased, chuckling awkwardly.

“Yes, actually.” His answer made you stop short. Your eyes raked over his face, looking for any sign he was joking, but there was nothing more than a cool smirk on his face. His eyes were dark, pools of lust swimming in them. The sight alone was enough to make your knees weak, and you let out a breathy laugh.

“Wh-What?” You stammered, making him snicker. His hands, which had fallen down by his sides, came up to your shoulders.

“Do I gotta spell it out for you, doll?” Johnny’s voice dropped a couple of octaves, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smirked, “I’m into girls with piercin’s, and I’m much more into them when they’re on your gorgeous ass.”

Your head was absolutely swimming, the thoughts swirling through your head nothing that would be considered safe for work. But Johnny’s voice brought you back down to Earth;

“Now, you gonna let Daddy see my babygirl’s piercin’s?” He purred, his hands tracing circles on your shoulders. You shuddered under his hands, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

He leaned forward, dipping his head down, and captured your lips in a kiss. Immediately, all of the breath was stolen from your lungs, and your hands scrambled to his shoulders. The kiss started off as slow and soft at first, but it slowly progressed to bruising and passionate.

He growled against your lips, something primal flaring in his chest. This wasn't just some casual kiss; this was a decade of suppressed emotions and desires erupting to the surface for the both of you. His hands tightened on your waist, pulling you against him firmly, as if he was afraid of you slipping away.

He deepened the kiss, his tongue darting out to tease at the seam of your lips, begging for entrance. You opened your mouth, accepting his tongue to touch around. You were secretly very thankful that he didn’t try and jam his tongue so far down your throat that you gagged. His free hand moved up to cup the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair, holding you captive against him.

Finally, you broke the kiss, gasping for air. Your chest heaved with every breath you took, and your cheeks were flushed a brilliant red. You searched Johnny’s eyes for a moment, a small, breathless giggle leaving your lips. Johnny had the same breathlessness you did, his lips quirking up in a half smile.

“Well, if I didn’t know any better, doll, I’d say you’ve been waitin’ for me to do that for a while.” His voice was barely above a whisper, his hand cradling your face. You looked up at him with humor filled eyes, giggling.

“Good thing you know better, hmm?” You asked, giving him a teasing smile. His smile darkened and before you knew it, he had you up in the air, his arms locked around your waist. You squealed and giggled, as Johnny walked over to the small couch that was in your trailer.

He tossed you on the couch, your back pressed dully into the cushions. He crawled in between your legs, his face ghosting over yours. His breath was stolen from his lungs as he looked down at the goddess laid before him, your cheeks flushed the prettiest salmon. You looked up at him, pupils blown wide with lust and want. It intoxicated him in the best way possible, and it made him want more.

More he got, as your hands snaked around his neck and pulled him back down roughly. Your lips reconnected and Johnny grunted against your lips, his hands going to your hips to raise them up against him. In this new angle, you could feel the hard press of the growing bulge in Johnny’s jeans.

He pulled away from the bruising kiss, his breath fanning heavy over your face. A smile tugged at his lips, his head dipping down to your neck. Hot opened mouth kisses were pressed into your skin, the sharp edges of his teeth pressing gently into your neck. You writhed and whimpered under him, his hands tracing your sides with the softest of touches.

“This okay?” He murmured against your skin as his fingers danced at the hem of your bralette, “Wanna make you feel good.”

“Yeah, ‘m good.” You breathed out, helping him take off your bralette. He threw it into a random corner, his hands shaking as they ghosted over your breasts.

His eyes stayed stationary on the black barbells pushed through either of your nipples. Slowly, as if he was hesitant, his hands came to your breasts, kneading them. You let out a shaky breath, your heart hammering in your chest. His nimble fingers danced over the barbells, and you sucked in a breath through your teeth.

“Yeah? Sensitive, ain’tcha?” He breathed out, his eyes flicking back and forth between your face and your breasts, “My pretty girl.” He breathed out, pressing kisses to the tops of your breasts.

His head dipped lower, his lips attaching to one of your nipples. It was like an electric current was sent through your whole body, the warm feeling of his mouth on the cold barbell made you shoot up. Your back arched, as a shaky wail came from your mouth. Johnny pulled back immediately, his face flashing with concern.

“No, no, no!” You babbled, whining deep in your throat, “Pl-Please.” You begged, your breath coming out in pathetic sounding pants.

“Well, I gotta listen when you’re beggin’ so pretty for me.” Johnny chuckled, dipping his head back down. His mouth went back to your nipple, the warm feeling of his tongue swirling around your nipple making you wail again.

His hand dipped to your jeans, fumbling with the button as he tried to undo it with one hand. A huff of breath left his nose and he pulled off of your breast, focusing his attention on your jeans.

“Fuckin’ - goddamnit.” He cursed under his breath, making you giggle. You gently covered his hands with yours, helping him undo the button on your jeans, and you started to push them off of your hips. He caught the hem of your panties in his blunt nails, practically ripping both of them off of your legs. He threw both pieces of clothing to a random corner of your trailer, pushing your legs open. You tried to close your legs, a flare of embarrassment running hot through your veins, but he was much stronger than you were.

He growled, his lips kissing down your stomach, along your hip bone, tasting the cream of your skin mixed with the salt of sweat. He kissed down along your thigh, stopping just before where you needed it the most. You watched as his cheek pressed into your thigh, as he watched how you dripped and keened.

“Look at you, little one,” Johnny purred, causing you to whimper, your fingers tightening in his hair, “You got this wet just from Daddy playin’ with them sexy piercin’s?” The southern twang in his voice drove you crazy, but the fact that he bit into the soft of your thigh caused you to keen again.

“Jesus, don’t fucking tease me.” You whined, your voice coming out breathless and needy. Johnny nipped at the junction where your thigh met your pelvis, and the feeling made you shudder underneath his hands.

“You ain’t got a single idea how bad I’ve wanted you like this.” His breath fanned hot over your clammy skin, his lips kissing lower and lower until he was right above your clit, “Hearin’ you say my name like it’s the only prayer you’ve known.” He groaned, his tongue darting out and kitten licking across your clit.

His lips attached to your pussy, his tongue exploring every single part of you. You whined, throwing your head back against the couch, as his movements were slow, agonizing in the best way possible. He switched between his tongue thrusting in and out of your dripping pussy and sucking on your clit. You let out a strangled moan as he offered a hard suck of your clit.

“Goddamn, babygirl. You taste just like honey.” He grunted against you, pulling back slightly, and wetting his middle and ring finger with his own saliva, “Could spend the rest of my life right here, face pressed into this fuckin’ pussy.” He murmured, lowering his head again. His lips attached to your clit, his middle finger slowly dipping into your pussy.

You came lighting up off of the couch, wailing out his name as he curled his finger, finding the spongy tissue that had you seeing stars. He chuckled against you, the vibration of his laugh making your heart flip in your chest.

His ministrations were eager, and before you knew it, he was adding the second finger into you. He curled his fingers hard, the pleasure thrumming through your veins hitting an all time high. Your hands came to his hair, your hips rolling against his face.

The coil inside your core started to wind tighter and tighter, as you shamelessly grinded against his face, trying to pull yourself closer to an orgasm. He moaned eagerly against you, clearly enjoying the entire situation himself. Tighter and tighter the coil inside you wound, Johnny’s little grunts and moans against you doing nothing to help the situation.

The coil snapped, your orgasm rattling through your bones - your moans breathless and high pitched - as Johnny drank up all of your slick. Your breaths were heavy and ragged, Johnny’s face still firmly planted between your thighs. The feeling started to border on overstimulating, so you tapped his head three times shakily. Johnny finally pulled his head back, his chin and lips wet.

“Fuckin’ hell, you’re gonna kill me, doll.” He grunted against your hipbone, laughing shakily, “Usin’ my face like your own personal throne, I could get used to that.” He looked up at you with humor filled eyes, crawling back up towards your lips.

You kissed him breathlessly, tasting yourself on his lips and tongue. You moaned shamelessly into his mouth, your hands making quick work of ripping his shirt off of him and pushing his jeans down to his knees. He kicked off his shoes, awkwardly shoving his jeans off of his legs, the denim falling unceremoniously to the floor.

You adjusted on the couch, laying flat on your back horizontally, and Johnny slotted himself between your legs, the thick press of his cock against your weeping slit making you mewl. He fumbled around for a moment, trying to find his jeans.

“I’m on the-” You raised your arm, tapping your bicep, “-thing in arm. Good for three years.” You dropped your arm, your hand running down his chest. “You’re good. I’m clean.”

“You sure?” He asked, his eyes meeting yours, “Can’t promise I’m gonna last long feelin’ this pussy raw.” He admitted, laughing awkwardly.

“I’m sure. No babies.” You pulled his face down to yours, kissing him breathlessly, “Pump me full of cum, Daddy.” You purred.

“Jesus Ch-“ He let out a strangled grunt, resting his forehead against yours. His breath fanned hot against your face, his breath shaky, “You tryna give an old man a heart attack?” He asked, his voice shaking. He opened his eyes, silently asking if it was okay again. You nodded, and he slowly started to push into you.

The feeling of his thick cock stretching you out made you wail into his shoulder, your blunt nails digging into his shoulders. Slowly, agonizingly, he pushed in until he bottomed out. His breath was catching in his throat, his arm twitching as he gripped onto the back of the couch for dear life.

“Fuckin’ hell, babygirl.” He grunted out, letting out a trembling exhale of breath, “Pussy’s like a goddamned vice around me.” He spoke through gritted teeth, staying still to let you get used to the feeling of him inside you.

It was a silent couple of seconds before your muscles started to relax and he was able to start thrusting shallowly in and out of you. You whimpered and keened underneath him, and he hadn’t even gotten started yet.

“Harder…” You whispered, your voice begging helplessly, “Daddy, please.”

“Anything my babygirl wants.” Johnny whispered back to you, his hands moving to wrap around your neck, pulling himself impossibly closer to you. His hips slowly sped up, the pace rough but not brutal. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath heavy in your ear.

“Shit, Johnny.” You sucked in a breath through your teeth, whimpering in his ear as he set a steady pace. His hipbones smacked against your ass, causing a dull pain that only accentuated the pleasure.

It was a few moments of this steady pace before Johnny suddenly pulled back from where he was buried in your neck. You looked up at him with dazed eyes, confusion etching into your features. He shuddered out a breath as he met your eyes, a shaky smile crossing his face.

His hands shoved your thighs back, pushing your knees almost to your chest. In this angle, you could feel every inch of his cock as he pounded into you. You threw your head back, wailing out a mix of his name and a guttural scream. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you threw your head back against the small couch.

“Yeah, that’s it, my sweet girl.” He grunted through gritted teeth, his breath coming out in bursts, “You take Daddy’s cock so fucking well. This goddamned pussy was made for this cock - Fuck!” He snarled, his hips speeding up. All you could do was hold on for dear life, your mind swimming with nothing but him and how fucking good this felt.

His hands came to your breasts, his fingers tweaking one of the barbells. Between his nimble fingers on your nipples sending waves of heat to your core, and him making a complete mess of your pussy, you felt yourself coming undone at the seams. The familiar coil in your core was winding tighter and tighter by the second, and the tears that pricked at the corners of your eyes fell down your face. The pleasure was starting to border on the perfect blend of amazing and almost cruel. You met his eyes, your vision blurry from the tears, and you could see he had a wolfish grin on his lips.

“Yeah, that’s it. Cry over how fucking good this cock is.” He snarled, dipping his head down to your neck and leaving hot opened mouth kisses against your skin, “Could fucking live in this pussy, babygirl, Jesus Christ-!” His thrusts were getting sloppy, and you wailed out his name again, the coil suddenly snapping in your core. Your eyes rolled back in your head as your body trembled, your pussy fluttering around him. Your body felt taut, as your orgasm rippled through your bones.

“Oh fuck, babygirl-“ He grunted out, his thrusts brutal and rapid, “Just like that… Daddy’s gonna fucking cum all in this pussy.” He growled in your ear, and all you could do was hold on for dear life.

A couple seconds later, he stilled, letting out a moan that would make a pornstar blush. His cock twitched and pulsed inside of you as thick, hot ropes of cum filled you. You writhed, still trying to come down from your high.

It was a silent couple of seconds as the two of you remembered how to breathe, and you were the first to make any form of a sound. You chuckled breathlessly, meeting Johnny’s eyes.

“Well, remind me to accidentally strip in front of you more often.” You panted out, bringing your arms up and pulling Johnny into a kiss. His hands cradled the back of your head, holding your lips to his. He broke the kiss, laughing softly against your lips.

“Ain’t gotta be accidental no more, doll.” He pressed kiss after kiss to your lips, “You got me hooked around your lil’ finger.” He smiled down at you, before the sound of someone banging on the door made you both jump. You swore under your breath, your heart racing.

“Ye-Yeah?” You called, putting a finger to Johnny’s lip to shush him.

“Hey, are you two done fucking already? Your guys’ stunt is about to start.” Ehren’s voice, which had the edge of awkwardness to it, rang out through the door and it took everything in you to not want to melt into the floor from embarrassment.

“Why, you wanna join?” Johnny called and you smacked his arm, his loud cackle of a laugh making you roll your eyes.

“Gross! Fuck no!” Ehren’s voice was high pitched, and you could almost see him cringing, “Fucking hell, Knox. Just get dressed and get your guys’ asses out here. Jeff’s pissed.” Ehren walked away from the door, and you could hear his soft muttering as he walked away. You snorted out a laugh, cringing as Johnny pulled out of you. He grabbed a couple of tissues from a table nearby, getting you as cleaned up as possible.

“Well, I’m gonna have my own cum running down my neck.” He joked, and you groaned.

“Ew! Johnny!” You whined, and he barked out a laugh.

“What? I’m right!” He had a twinkle in his eye, helping you get up from the couch. Your hair was a mess, and your neck was covered with all sorts of love bites, “I ain’t the one who decided you were gonna wear shorts that barely cover your ass while you’re up on my damn shoulders!” He helped you get dressed, putting on his own clothes quickly afterwards.

“So…” You trailed off, letting him run a brush through your hair. You smiled at the odd intimacy of the action, and he hummed, a question of ‘Go on?’, “When’s round two?” You asked, the question hanging thickly in the air.

“Let’s win this stupid chicken fight ‘tween Bam and Ryan, and maybe then we’ll talk.” He chuckled darkly in your ear, pressing a kiss to your cheek, “Don’t worry, babygirl. I’ll have you walkin’ funny sooner rather than later.” He growled in your ear, sending a rush through you. He patted your butt, shaking his head, “But come on. Before the Almighty Tremaine slits our damn throats for fuckin’ up his perfect lil’ schedule.”

You exited your trailer, and if it wasn’t for the love bites on your neck and the flush that covered your cheeks, you were sure no one would have pegged you for having just had sex with Johnny. You, of course, would have been wrong.

“How big’s his cock, (Y/N)?” Bam all but screamed at you when you and Johnny made it to the set, and you bristled for a moment, “Come on, everyone heard you screamin’ his name!”

“Jealous, are we?” Johnny asked, wrapping his arm around your shoulder, “Too bad she ain’t gonna ever scream your name, Bambi.”

You chuckled, trying to pull your beanie down to hide your face in embarrassment. But as you looked up at Johnny, who was harassing Bam about being jealous still, that weird love you had for Johnny settled in your stomach again. But those were feelings for another day. You had more pressing matters, namely throwing Bam and Ryan off of a wooden beam so you could get round two.

You had a pretty good feeling you’d be getting what you wanted, regardless of what Johnny had said.

[sizzlingcloudmentality]

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

[womanofwords]

Silver Swan (Part 9)

Neglected!fem!reader x yandere!batfam

You heard it before you saw it. The complaints and yells of horror. Not wanting them to see you too early (as Damian put it, you make good moments bad and bad moments worse), so you searched it up on your phone and wore headphones so you wouldn't disturb anybody.

That was a lot of fun.

"How are you all not obsessing over Silver Swan?" a wide-eyed influencer asked, screaming into the mic. "She hears about a catwalk with fur, pulls up, somehow gets into the event and fucks shit up from the inside, and then shows up to confess and tell the producer to do better. She's an icon."

An icon? You? It felt impossible, but it was true. You (or rather, Silver Swan) were an icon, and a legend, and loved. A new hashtag was there to grace the presence of social media.

#itsonlyawayne

"That Silver Swan is a menace," Damian said. "She's a bigger humiliation to the family name than Y/N is. Our family name is part of a hashtag because of her!" He said the word hashtag like it was a death sentence. His pain was sweet music to your ears.

"What are you planning on doing about it, shrimp?" Jason taunted. "She's already gotten your stupid hair spikes shaved off, Damian. What else could you do?"

"I'll break her precious board over her head!" Damian roared. "She's going to pay for embarrassing me, Jason. She handed me a glue bomb with a smile! She knew exactly what would happen to me!"

"Why don't you take some father-son time and find her while you're on patrol?"

Patrol? What patrol was Damian doing?

"Father doesn't let me do anything! I'm not allowed to press a single button or even sit in the front seat! Why would he let Robin decide what happens when we're on patrol?" Damian asked.

What did Robin have to do with Damian? This was making no sense.

"Yeesh, he's really tightened up. When I was Robin, Bruce trusted my judgement about some things," Jason said.

That threw you for a loop. Damian was Robin? Jason was Robin too, but then . . . stopped? And if Damian was Robin, Bruce was . . .

Batman.

Bruce Wayne was Batman.

All of these bitches were doing vigilante stuff except you.

You went to your room as quietly as you could, having a mini heart attack with every step. You'd been beefing with billionaire vigilante geniuses? And now you were Silver Swan, Batman was probably going to be on your tail. Batman, who was Bruce Wayne, who was your dad.

"Well, if they really want to mess with Silver Swan," you muttered to yourself, "it's about time they learned how aggressive water fowl can be."

*_*_*_*_*_

The next time you went out, you did so on a mission. A mission to mess with the twerp that you knew as Damian Wayne and now Robin.

"Hello, Boy Blunder," you said, flying tauntingly close to him.

"You!" Damian - Robin - looked at you as if you had spat onto him. "I'm going to get you and throw you into Arkham myself!"

"Whoa, little boy, what's with the anger? I only went after those rich snobs!" You dodged effortlessly. "And it was for the greater good."

"Greater good? Don't lie to me! You did it because you enjoyed seeing me stuck with glue!" Robin said.

"Look, Boy Blunder, I've never met you before - ooooooooooh." You pretended to join up the dots in front of him. "You must be Bruce Wayne's son . . . Dave."

"Damian."

"Daniel."

"Damian."

"Dynasty."

"Damian."

"Oh, right. Dominion."

"Damian! My name is Damian!" Damian hissed, shoving a hand over his mouth exactly too late.

"Oh, right, Damian Wayne. Good to know. Now, what do I do with an annoying brat that won't leave me alone?" You pretended to think while activating another glue grenade. "Ooh, I know!"

You threw the grenade at Damian's feet just in time, coating him in glue just in time. "I'll get you one day, Silver Swan!" Damian groaned, getting out his comms link to text Batman.

"Yeah, yeah, cry to Daddy Batman about it," you said, booping him on the nose just before you flew off home.

That ought to send him crazy until Bruce or one of your numerous siblings could pick him up.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9 <- You are here

Part 10

Part 11

Part 12

Part 13

Part 14

Taglist: @tinybrie, @hopingtoclearmedschool, @simpingfor-wakasa, @kittzu, @simpingpandas, @devotedlyshamelessdetective, @galaxypurplerose, @wisefuncherryblossom, @vanessa-boo, @deathbynarcisstick, @sirenetheblogger, @asillysimp, @toxicvoidsstuff, @kneelforloki, @trashlanternfish360.

[noodlewritez]

Hello!!! Discovered u recently and im already loving ur work♥️

Can u write a smut fanfiction of Dave sneaking up in the bimbo!reader room with his Kick-Ass suit(bc she fantasises abt Kick-Ass pounding her at her room), he has to sneak in her room because her house has alarms for intruders in the front door(also her parents arent home.. soooo---😜😜) ifykyk..

Something hot like him being a bit of a munch, tit-lover and a sub..

And the suit and mask stays own!!!

Hope that makes sense and reading that out loud, i realise how i am a SLUT for him

The mask stays on

Pairings: Dave Lizewski x Bimbo!Fem!reader

Warnings: long, (i'm sorry), smut, oral, cussing, a ticket to poundtown etc etc

A/N: Thank you so much for loving my work! I am so sorry this took so long i have been so very busy😔

When you first saw that clip of Kick-ass defending that other man, late at night, something in you awoke at his voice, the way he spoke, the mask, oddly enough. Oof. You've got a crush on kick-ass.

One night, you sit in your room, the only light being your laptop in front of you, music playing as you bite your lip and start a message to Kick-ass' Myspace.

'Kick-ass, i might need some help with something'

No.

'Kick-ass, i need to talk to you...something personal.'

You smirk as you send the message and your address, biting your lip harder than before, Hoping he would show tonight, you get up amd change your panties to a hot pink thong that wasn't afraid to show itself

You hear a knock on your window, staying up to see if he would show up tonight and here he was. You smirked as you got up from your bed and opened the window. "Oh, Kick-ass...Thank god, you're here." You feign worry as he climbs in.

He deepens his voice and you internally roll your eyes. "What's the problem, ma'am?" He asks, his eyes darting to your thong then to your tits in your push-up bra in the playboy tank top. "Well..."

You sink to your knees. "Do you think you could help me...hero?" His mouth drops, nodding frantically, his eyes going back to your tits as you fishing him out of the suit. His dick springs out. Jesus...Christ...He has to be at least 8 inches. You look at him in disbelief and he smiles, finding it amusing. You push him back against your desk and he grips onto the edge as you begin by sucking on his pink tip, looking up at him through your eyelashes. "Fuck..." He groans. You choke on it, pulling back and spitting on your tits just for his pleasure and boy, did he find it amusing. He gasps, you feel him twitch and he almost doubles over at the sight. A virgin, no doubt.

You smirk as you continue taking him down your throat, occasionally gagging. You knew he was about to cum when his fingers turn white, gripping your desk with all his might, clenching his eyes shut. "Sh-Shit-Gonna cum-"

"Please cum for me, be a good boy, spill your kids down my throat." You encourage and he holds himself back, pulling away from your warm throat. "Can i-Can I fuck you-?…you are so hot..." He pants. You stand up, kissing him, giving him the answer.

He kisses you in a rush, his hands staying at his side as you have to guide them to the small of your back. His face gets hot and red. "Y-Your parents.." He breaks away from your kiss. "Not home." You sit on the bed as he gets down on his knees. "They gonna be home anytime soon?" You shake your head as you lay down on your back and he nods, getting to work. Darting his tongue out, licking your folds then making his way up to your clit, sucking on it, making your eyes roll back and clutch your leopard print sheets. "Yes! Yes, Kick-ass!" You feel him smirk as he puts his tongue flat against your clit, licking back and forth. His hands come up to your chest, feeling up your huge tits, rubbing his fingers over your sensitive nipples, taking it all in like the good boy he is.

He hikes your knees over his shoulders, getting more comfortable and using his whole hands to squeeze at your tits. "God, I'm gonna cum...Kick-ass..." You warn in your whiny voice, squealing and holding onto your sheets as you cum, him licking up all of it. You sit up, kissing him again, panting against his cracked lips and taking your playboy tank top off in one swift motion, breaking the kiss to pull it over your shoulders.

You lay down on your stomach, arching on all fours at the foot of your bed in your pink thong. You turn around and look at him, gesturing to come to you. "Gonna beg to fuck me then not do it? Condoms are in the vanity drawer" You tease, winking. He gets up quickly, sliding the drawer open and grabbing a condom. He crawls back on the bed, sliding it onto himself smoothly then taking his time peeling the thong off of your ass almost like he's unwrapping it carefully.

As soon as it slides down your glass thighs, he quietly gasps, biting his lip and smirking. "Can I-?" He asks and you know what he's implying. "Fuck me like an animal, kick-ass." You sway all of your hair onto your left shoulder, leaving your right one bare while you lay your head down, ass still up. He slowly slides into your wet heat and leans down over you, his hands digging into the bed and keeping you in place as he starts to pound into you. You feel him hit that one fucking good spot, moaning and grabbing at his forearm, nails digging into the skin. "Fuck..!" You cry.

He looks down at your slobbering pussy dripping all over the blankets, panting. "That feel good?" He asks you, fucking you harder than before, his tip hitting your g-spot over and over again. "Fuck yeah it does." He starts going faster, a little bit harder; a panting mess above you. "Fuck your pussy's so tight." He mumbles, screwing his eyes shut and fucking you faster, his hands flying to your hips, starting to use you as a sex toy. "Yes! Yes, yes, yes, Kick-ass, right there!" You whine, throwing your head down against the bed as you cum all over his hard cock, the rest dripping down onto the bed.

He feels you squeeze the cum out of him and his eyes roll back and he cums right then and there, spilling into the condom. He buries himself deeper and catches himself on his hands, leaning his weight on them. "Fuck, you are so fucking good." He pants out.

"We should do this more often..." You lift your head from the bed and reply. He lazily smiles at you, promising that to you right then and there.

"Fuck yeah."