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sleep-0-deprived · 4 months ago

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Feels like sugar in me~ (Dom Yandere manager x model male reader) ૮꒰っ˕‹̥̥̥ ꒱ა

WC:. 2.5k

Tags: power abuse, ass eating, voyuer, humiliation, gaslighting/ manipulation, older man-younger man (character is referenced in his mid forties and reader in his twenties) dark content, slight dub con, dacryphilia <33

A/N: my posting schedule has been all wonky the past month! But I hope you guys enjoy and as promised @blond3ang3l ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა

Everybody knew that modeling was a cruel line of work, your father told you so ever since you were just a little boy prancing around your bedroom.

Most male models didn’t last more than a month in the industry, you understood exactly why once you started putting yourself out there. Applying to all the big name brand you could never dream to be taken in by but you wanted to atleast try!

Here you were, halfway across the U.S trying to pursue your own little American dream and how else would you do that if not by working in some rundown diner by your apartment. Well that was until you met Him, tall and undoubtedly handsome with black hair having grey streaks through the sides with a small little beard of mostly white hairs, his name hung infamous to anybody who ever wanted to be a somebody, Dean Carter was his name.

You didn’t know him too well, just a local man who liked the diner you worked at for some reason you always thought. But he’d smile at you a little too long or tip you a little too much with his age showing at every glance he handed you. Creases in the corners of his eyes and lips crinkling up in delight when he watched how your hips swayed in your apron working the floor having him in awe. He had to have you—he absolutely needed you.

He’d simply slip you his business card just trying to swoon you under his wing like any big dreaming boy, whispering honeyed promises of fame and being a star on the runway to you anytime you would doubt him. Your fate was sealed the moment he wanted you, he was a man of greed and power and he wanted you in his pocket like a caged bird.

Here you were, eight months later from meeting dean, a photo shoot just being finished by you but you were far from happy. How could you possibly be happy when all you were seen as was the pretty boy who slept his way to fame, and the worst part of it all was the fact they weren’t wrong and all you could do is sit in your designated seat in your dressing room feeling the cold hand clasping your cheek “don’t listen to them baby, you’re just so much more than a pretty face and you know it”

Dean leans down kneeling on his knees with his chin resting on your shoulder blade holding your chin making you look at the mirror straight ahead of you. “Sh-sh doll don’t pout, you’ll ruin your makeup” his lips press to the back of your ear as his hands grip the sides of your seat turning you facing him.

“Not right now dean..” you whimper out silently feeling the hotness in your eyes bubbling up with tears that threaten to peak. “Don’t be that way baby doll, let me make it all better, you know I just wanna help” his voice softens so much your heart wants to believe it’s all real but atlas, you knew so better and yet you still fell.

“Not tonight dean, I don’t feel like it” you sniffle put rubbing your face feeling your warm cheeks under your palms while his hands slip down massaging your thighs in the slacks you were modeling. His thumbs tracing up slowly to your zipper giving it a little tug, you already knew what he was getting at and you couldn’t bring yourself to stop him.

“Hush darlin, it’ll all feel alright so soon” a elicit purr fell from his thin lips when he stops after opening up the top of your pants leaving them hanging up on your hips, his hands slipping up to your hip bone and grabbing it gently lifting you up out of the chair and getting you on the counter of your dressing room while his hands guide your thighs apart.

“People will hear us dean” you hush out and tilt your head back looking upwards at him trying your hardest to not let your emotions win tonight. “Well then they’d be lucky, you’re my little show-boy aren’t you [name]? Always strutting down that runway”

Dean’s hands slide up your sides gripping your boxers and the waistband of your bottoms and slid them off down your thighs with ease leaving you in your white socks and the designer shirt, having not made it to putting on the shoes yet.

“O-h shit—“ you go slack in the face with your jaw hanging pinching your brows together when his face shoves between your thighs and nuzzles his way between your cheeks having you spread wide arching your back and holding the marble counter top.

“Taste’s so sweet doll, like sugar on mh tongue” his voice deepens rolling his own eyes back into his skull leaving red irritation marks on your ass cheeks from his stubble while he groans against your hole before lapping his tongue out from his mouth giving a long lick going down your crack leaving your balls neglected while your cock stands half hard.

“Dean, they’re gonna hear us~” you can’t help anymore, you slowly crumble on the counter, reaching your hands back and placing them over your mouth trying to hide how you were crying like a little boy and leaning back against the dressing room mirror internally praying that none of the brand executives made it to your room to see you in all your glory hitching your leg up on the older males shoulder and letting him devour you like a helpless lamb.

Deans tongue presses flat to your rim and keeps rubbing against it before his lips press against your hole sucking at it and gripping your thighs tighter looking up at you the whole time wanting to kiss away your tears.

“My baby boy is such a pretty cryer” he hums in a sickeningly sweet tone coating your rim in a glossy layer of his spit making heat build inside your stomach leaving your cock now fully erect pressing it’s way to your belly button.

“I’m not gonna- I can’t handle it!” A sharp gasp falls from your lips feeling like you’re being torn apart by the man between your thighs. His fingers moving off your thighs only leaving his right hand on your knee trying to keep your thighs from fully closing around his hand while he takes his fingers and snakes his way between your cheeks, letting us index finger prod open the walls whilst he keeps flicking his tongue in sync to his fingers.

“You wanna be a star right doll? Let me make you the brightest one” the movement doesn’t slow or waver leaving your lips trembling against your palm understanding his inward promise, the one he’s told you a thousand times over.

“Close dean” you sloppily slur and cry out feeling your hand slipping from hour mouth when his finger works its way against your prostate having the world around you turn white in a buzz and your cock glaze over with a pearl of semen leaking down the sides of your base making your body clamp up ready for the wave of release to wash over you only to have him pull away from your ass leaving your leg sliding off his shoulder when he stands back up.

“I want you to reach your orgasm from my cock, not my mouth baby doll” his words wash over you when he wipes his hands off and starts undoing his belt leaving his slacks undone while he opens up his fly, the grey waistband reading ‘Calvin Klein’ exposes itself to you before he pulls out his cock showing him already stiff from eating you out.

“Look at the mess you made baby, you’ve got my face utterly filthy” stepping between your thighs keeping them spread open while he presses his face into the side of your neck with your legs slowly lifting up to his hips, “the staff will hear us, I don’t want them to know dean” your hand finds its way into his hair and pulls at it, not even bothering to hide the hot tears streaming down your face.

He reaches his hand off your hip, still holding it tight with his other hand while he holds your chin firm and lifts his head from the crook of your neck pressing hot kisses to your damp cheeks. Dean’s cock presses its way between your slick cheeks letting his cock-head rub and make contact with your rim almost daring to push inside you but not doing so yet.

“Don’t worry baby, I’ve got��cha” his words linger muffled and half audible between his lust filled haze and the wet kisses he left across your skin. Your thighs stay parted up on his hips with your eyes looking up at him feeling humiliated in ways beyond words, unable to stare in the mirror behind you, unable to face what you’ve let him break you into.

“Just push in dean” your sniffles fall on deaf ears but he just smiles down at you and takes his lips off your cheeks placing them on your neck while letting your chin out of his clasp making your ruined face fall forwards on his shoulder when he slips his hands back to your hips guiding you down on his cock. “That’s a good boy, my sweet little angel” he talks you through it making your rim ease up when he sinks into you leaving you feeling every vein of his shaft when it pierces you.

“Sh-sh-sh don’t cry, baby. If you stay nice and quiet I’m sure they won’t hear” his words do very little in terms of easing you. Your neck tilts back looking up at the ceiling and staring through blurred leans as you reach your hands off the counter edges and dig your nails into the back of his tailored suit, leaving lighter colored marks on the fabric while the sound of hushed moans and skin filled up the dressing room.

Dean continued to roll his hips and make out with your neck, butting and sucking on every inch moaning into the skin, not bothering to stop your tears “you’re so pretty when you cry like that Y’know angel”

his voice was far to sweet for the ways he was ravaging your body. His cock pressed up against your prostate with every deep stroke he gave, your cock weeped against your stomach the whole time he held your hips flush against him while working between your legs, making sure his cock rubbed and violated every inch of your cavern.

Dean held your hips tight, softly massaging them and rutting his hips fucking you up against the counter with his canines dragging alongside of your neck so soft you felt like you were on cloud nine and yet you wanted to puke. You’ve never felt so beautiful yet so dirty until you were with him.

You finally look down from the ceiling with a sharp gasp “o-oh Dean-“ your eyes zoom out until they see the dressing room door peaking open, then it’s like bells and gears in your head start churning with your toes curled close to cumming. “Don’t even pay attention to it doll” Dean smooths you or at least he try’s to sooth you but fails, you just shove your face into his shoulder moaning and wailing to yourself when you realize there’s someone entering the room.

“Are you almost ready [nam—“ low and behold the door opened wide standing in the doorway was one of the stage managers for your upcoming shoot today, he stood jaw slacked the clipboard nearly falling from his hand staring at you watching how Dean didn’t bother stopping making the tears flow faster when you look up from dean’s shoulder having your eyes meet.

“Scram, boy. [name] is busy right now” Dean’s voice hardens tilting his head back out of your neck with drool smeared on his chin from a the kissing he was doing to your neck. He doesn’t bother to stop your coupling session but instead shoo’s off the other man. Oliver the stage manager scrambles to leave quickly, not wanting to be in the middle of the situation any longer but you knew him.

You knew within ten minutes the whole brand- better yet label. Would know your secret and that alone made your face go red with shame. “I’m close~ let-me come please?” You plead with Dean knowing that you needed your high, you needed the adrenaline that brought you to heaven before throwing yourself back down to sadness like always.

“Come for me darlin, just let go” Dean croons to you holding you up on the counter steadily thrusting into you already starting to leak more pre cum inside you. Your dressing room door still open wide leaving anyone able to see you being ruined by your manager if they just walked down the hall. Your cock starts to spasm and bob upwards jerking on its own about to cum as your legs wrap tighter around his hips, gripping his back and curling your toes tight arching.

Your walls clamped tight around his manhood when you finally hit your peak feeling rope after rope speed from the pudgy cock head when you orgasm. Dean pulls out of you and comes all over your thighs, holding you tight and panting when his cock throbs and releases its load all over your thighs in a thin and runny mess while you sit panting and truth to wipe away your tears before you can even look back at Dean.

“You did great, so great doll” he murmurs his words leaning down kissing your cheek and wiping your eyes leaving you sitting on your dressing room counter all splayed and ruined with cum coating your skin and runny mascara flowing down your cheeks as you watch Dean remove his hands off you and start fixing up his pants, wiping his cock off before putting it back inside his own boxers.

“I’m sorry I have to run honey, I need to straighten things out and I have an appointment with the magazine executives for your next shoot” with one last kiss on your cheek and an infatuatedly pleased smile when he looks down and sees your thighs coated in his cum, a small peck is forced on your lips before you watch him leave as he always did once he was finished.

Sitting alone in your dressing room, still up on the counter with the door now shut feeling the sadness wash over you from the after effects of your orgasm leaving your rubbing your eyes having to get up and get cleaned “I have to learn to stop crying, I swear” you whisper aloud to yourself walking around the dressing room just cleaning yourself off with a complementary rag and looking at your disheveled appearance in the mirror making you sight, after all how could you not? This same scene replayed day after day with Dean and you knew it would continue to.

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hoshifighting · 5 months ago

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famous poker player ! jeonghan x famous poker player ! reader

— Synopsis: Jeonghan, the untouchable poker legend, meets his match in you, that spent years watching his every move, studying his poker game, waiting for the perfect moment to strike, shattering his ego in and out of the bedroom. As you leave him wrecked and humiliated, he’s left questioning everything he thought he knew. The game’s no longer just about cards. — WC: 8.9k — WARNINGS: angst, smut, manipulation, gambling, alcohol consumption, mentions of cheating, ego destruction, heartbreak (reader uses jeonghan's past heartbreak as a manipulation to win), rough sex, dirty talk, dom!reader + sub!jeonghan (his first time being a sub), power play, chocking, hair pulling, gagging, humiliation, degradation, oral (f. receiving), masturbation (m. receiving), body fluids (cum), cock riding, overstimulation, nipple play, jeonghan sucks your fingers and etc.

Jeonghan leaned back in his chair, fingers lazily curling around his glass of whiskey. He couldn’t help but scoff when the whispers about some new poker prodigy reached his ears. His lips twisted into a smirk, eyes rolling as he tipped the glass toward his mouth.

Really? Better than him? That’s what they were saying?

He glanced around his lavish apartment, the expensive art on the walls, the sleek black car parked downstairs, and the designer clothes hanging in his walk-in closet. Who the hell was this person, thinking they could come into his world and steal his crown?

He heard how you took the big names down one by one, storming through the tables like a tornado. Maybe they had a point. But better than him? He wasn’t convinced.

As he buttoned up his black shirt, leaving the top half undone, he thought about what they said. He liked his shirts that way, just enough to show off his chest, always a little provocative without trying too hard. The sunglasses perched on top of his head held back his long hair, and a Rolex gleamed on his wrist. He liked to dress like this—clean, sharp, unbothered.

The whiskey burned his lips as he sipped, plumping them slightly from the alcohol. His head tilted back, gaze narrowing at the ceiling before pushing out a breath. So, this sensation was gonna sit at his table tonight. Fine. He wanted to see what all the fuss was about. He set the glass down and made his way to the poker room.

The place smelled of money and desperation, just the way he liked it.

— // —

You knew the moment you stepped into the room, all eyes would be on you. It wasn’t the dress, although it clung to your figure in a way that left little to the imagination despite its attempt at being ‘discreet.’ It wasn’t even the necklace, though anyone who knew their jewelry could tell the diamond hanging from it was worth a small fortune. No, it was the fact that you walked in with a purpose. Like you owned the damn room, because in your mind, you already did.

You’d been watching Jeonghan for a long time, standing in the shadows while your father pointed out the way he played—strategic, patient, never letting emotion cloud his judgment. You’d learned from the best. And now you were here to take it all. Just like he did, over and over again, watching others lose everything while he walked away with the spoils.

The poker room buzzed with energy as you made your entrance, the soft click of your heels barely audible over the hum of conversation and the clinking of glasses. And there he was, Jeonghan, sitting at the table with that lazy confidence that made him so irritatingly attractive. Black shirt half-buttoned, a glass of whiskey hanging from his fingers, his lips soft and plump from the drink. Sunglasses held his long hair back, giving him that laid-back, don’t-give-a-shit aura.

The dealer froze, eyes flicking between you and the table. “We’re missing one,” she announced.

Jeonghan’s eyes finally darted your way, trailing up your form with a slow, deliberate sweep. You could practically feel his curiosity, maybe even a hint of amusement. You gave him a brief glance, then turned your attention to the chair that was waiting for you.

“Well,” Jeonghan drawled, “Guess we’re starting now.”

You slid into the chair, ignoring the stares from around the table. Emotion? Distraction? None of it touched you. You had one focus. Winning.

The game started slow, with each player eyeing the table as if the cards themselves could tell secrets. You already knew what Jeonghan was up to; you’d seen it a thousand times before. He was the type to play people, not just cards. He watched everyone, but he never let on how much he was paying attention. Those sharp eyes darting from one player to the next.

You glanced at the woman on the other side of the table, her mirrored glasses catching the shady light. Amateurs. You could see her cards in the reflection—oblivious, reckless. A snort almost left your lips, but you held it back. Instead, your brows furrowed, unable to comprehend how someone could be that careless.

Jeonghan noticed too. His eyes flicked toward the woman, then shifted back to you. He caught the disgust on your face and had to suppress a laugh, a short breath escaping his nose. It was barely noticeable, but you didn’t miss it.

That’s how he played—small reactions, little observations. He wasn’t just studying the cards. He was reading the room. But that’s where most people faltered. Poker wasn’t just about reading your opponent; it was about mastering yourself. Turning off every feeling, every twitch of emotion. You weren’t here to feel. You were here to win. And to win, you had to make choices that seemed heartless to everyone else. But for you, it was all part of the plan.

Jeonghan, on the other hand, was searching for something. His eyes scanned your face, looking for any sign, any crack in your composure. But there was nothing. Your expression was stone-cold, eyes devoid of the shine he’d seen in others. Where most people’s emotions played out on their faces—joy, fear, anger—you gave him nothing. Your gaze was lifeless, almost opaque, like you weren’t really there. You were present, but distant, your mind somewhere else entirely.

And for once, he couldn’t figure someone out.

In poker, most people give themselves away without even realizing it. The way their breath catches when they get a good hand, or how their fingers tap when they’re bluffing. Some people can’t hide a damn thing, spilling their favorite music, their past traumas, their entire soul with a single look. But you? Jeonghan couldn’t even tell if you were a real person sitting across from him. You were like a ghost—untouchable, unreadable.

He detested that.

Still, he didn’t let it show. He leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing as he raised the stakes. His movements were plotted, but you could tell his focus had shifted. He was no longer playing to win. He was playing to figure you out. Watching the way your fingers hovered over the chips, how you folded your cards with meticulous, emotionless care.

You saw it. The way he tried to bait you. He’d push, then pull back, testing the waters, throwing small bluffs, but never fully committing. That was his game��slow manipulation, never giving you too much, always keeping you on your toes.

But you’d already seen it. You’d watched him do it time and time again. You weren’t fooled by the charm, the calculated nonchalance. You knew exactly what he was trying to do. He wanted to get inside your head, unravel whatever mystery he thought you were hiding.

The game stretched on, cards dealt, chips thrown in. But as the final hands approached, something strange happened. Neither of you was winning.

Jeonghan was too wrapped up in his obsession with breaking you down, and you? You were too focused on figuring out his game—confirming every theory you’d ever had about how he played. His tells, his habits, the way his fingers always lingered a second too long on his cards when he was bluffing. You knew him. Inside and out.

But that didn’t help you win. Not tonight.

The dealer called the game. Neither of you took the pot.

Jeonghan leaned back in his chair, a slow, lazy smirk curling on his lips. “Guess we’ll have to do this again sometime,” he said, though you could tell he wasn’t as calm as he wanted to appear.

You just looked at him, eyes still flat, still unreadable. “Maybe,” you replied, voice cold and detached. “But next time, focus on the cards.”

For a moment, he just stared at you, trying one last time to peel back the layers. But he couldn’t.

You are going to be a pain in his neck.

[...]

Jeonghan had been searching for you everywhere—tax records, statements, social media, anything that could give him a glimpse into who you were outside the poker room. But nothing.

And the irony of it all? You were right under his nose, standing behind his back in the past, unnoticed, more times than he could count. Just another face in the crowd, a "normal" girl, blending into the background while making small talk with the people who mattered. Someone important, someone worth impressing—but not you, not in his eyes. He never paid enough attention to connect the dots.

That was Jeonghan’s weakness. He could size up the players at the table, but in the real world? He let things slip. You remembered when you caught him, the moment he faltered at the table—a time he lacked patience, maybe it was the alcohol, maybe he was too sure of himself, but his fingers twitched when he was about to bluff too big. You’d hissed under your breath, watching him give himself away with that tiny tell. He was good, no doubt, but even the best had cracks.

There was also that time, years ago, when he had a girl by his side. A classic, picture-perfect trophy—long legs, expensive clothes, hair and nails done like she was auditioning for a role in some gangster flick. She was the stereotypical “pimp’s wife,” hanging off Jeonghan’s arm while he gazed at her with those stupid, love-drunk eyes.

You had rolled your eyes so hard they almost got stuck.

The entire casino buzzed with rumors about her—the way she’d swindled money under his nose, how she was there for the money, for the benefits. And Jeonghan? He didn’t even see it coming. Too wrapped up in the fantasy, too blind to notice how she played him. Eventually, she broke his heart in the most humiliating way possible, leaving him behind with nothing but those pathetic rumors, the gossip about his downfall trailing after him like perfume.

Tonight, though, things were different. This game wasn’t in the usual place. No, it was on a luxury cruise, far outside any regulations, outside the safety of controlled territory. Here, anything could happen, and everything was allowed. You made sure your presence was felt before you even sat down. A bigger diamond hung around your neck tonight, matching the heavy stones on your earrings and the glint of the ring on your finger. It was subtle, but anyone with half a brain could tell what you were signaling—wealth, power, danger. A quiet boast that you could bury anyone at this table if you wanted to.

As you sat down, you noticed the last game’s winner strategically choosing the seat next to yours, clearly hoping to ride the wave of luck or maybe get a read on you. A smile tugged at your lips. Not today, ma boy. He thought he had an advantage? Not even close. You glanced at him, knowing full well that every smile you gave, every tiny reaction, was another move in the game. But you were always three steps ahead of them all.

Across from you sat Jeonghan, his gaze as slutty as ever, eyes dragging over you with zero shame. You knew that look—he wasn’t even trying to hide his interest. But you didn’t bite. You didn’t act on impulse, never did. Every move you made was calculated, every risk weighed and measured long before you stepped into this room. That’s how you won. While everyone else was still trying to figure out the rules, you’d already written your own.

The game started, tension building as the cards hit the table. You could feel Jeonghan’s eyes on you, trying to catch something, anything, but you gave him nothing. He was good, but you were better, already mapping out his play. You watched his fingers, the way they tapped against his chips when he was thinking.

But what really caught your attention was the way he murmured under his breath, almost absentmindedly, when he was sizing up his opponents. It was like he was narrating his own game, whispering little clues while doing the opposite of what he wanted people to think.

He was messing with their heads, giving them false signals while slipping in moves they didn’t expect. You could see the way the other players were starting to falter, misreading his intentions, stumbling over their decisions as Jeonghan fed them just enough to confuse them.

But you weren’t fooled.

You knew his game too well, knew the way he liked to play with people’s minds. He was trying to throw you off, make you second-guess yourself. But every look, every murmur, every bluff was something you had already anticipated.

Jeonghan was talking too much.

He always did this when he was trying to manipulate people—narrating his moves, acting like it was just him thinking out loud. But tonight, it was getting under your skin in a way that made you want to roll your eyes so hard it hurt. Every word that spilled from his mouth, every cocky smirk, every calculated glance was just noise. Too much noise.

And you were done with it.

So, with a calmness that could make ice seem warm, you leaned back in your chair, eyes narrowing as you shuffled your chips between your fingers. Then, with a voice that cut through the air like a knife, you asked, “Mr. Yoon… how’s your ex?”

You didn’t miss the way the room collectively held its breath. Players around the table stilled, the soft murmurs from the crowd fading into a stunned silence. People thought it was just a curious, innocent question, maybe a playful jab at his famous love life. They didn’t know the weight of it, the way it pierced straight into him.

But he knew.

You had crossed a line. A very delicate one. And you did it with a smile, like it was nothing. Like stepping over the line was as easy as stepping over a crack in the sidewalk. And that’s what set it off.

Jeonghan froze, his hand hovering over his cards. For a moment, he didn’t move, didn’t speak. His mouth opened slightly, but no words came out. It was as if your question had punched the air right out of his lungs. His cool, confident conduct cracked, just for a second, but enough for you to see the split.

That girlfriend. The one who crushed his heart into dust and didn’t even look back. She wasn’t just a sore subject—she was the wound he never let anyone touch. And you? You didn’t just touch it. You pressed down hard, twisting the knife until the pain reflected in his eyes.

“She… uh,” he stammered, trying to regain his footing, fingers twitching around his cards. His face didn’t show much at first—Jeonghan was too practiced for that. But it was in his hands. The way they fumbled for his chips, the way his thumb nervously tapped against the table.

His mind was unraveling, and you watched it happen in real time. The words you’d thrown at him weren’t just a blow—they were a ticking time bomb, going off in his head over and over again. He couldn’t focus. Couldn’t pull himself back together fast enough. You’d cracked something in him, and now all those emotions he usually buried deep were flooding to the surface.

"She’s good," he finally managed to mumble, forcing a shrug, his attempt at brushing it off. But it was too late. He had faltered, and everyone saw it.

You smiled, your eyes cold and sharp, watching as he tried to hide behind that stupid grin of his. But the damage was done. You had used his own tactics against him—poking and prodding at the weaknesses until he couldn’t help but crumble. Only this time, it was worse. He wasn’t used to being on the receiving end of this kind of mind game.

Jeonghan tried to refocus, pulling his attention back to the cards. But his hands were shaking now, and he made a mistake. He matched a bet he shouldn’t have. His stack of chips was dwindling, and everyone at the table could see it.

You caught the twitch in his fingers when he was about to bluff, the way his eyes darted to the side, just for a split second. He wasn’t even aware he was doing it, but you were. You watched every tiny movement, every subtle tell he gave away as the game went on. He was unraveling, and you were loving every second of it.

As the rounds continued, his frustration became more and more apparent. His jaw clenched, his mouth pressed into a thin line, and his usual smooth talk started to falter. His voice was quieter now, unsure. Every time he looked at his cards, you could see the doubt in his eyes. He was playing on autopilot, too distracted by the question still gnawing at his brain.

How’s your ex?

The question echoed in his mind, louder than the crowd, louder than the sound of the cards being dealt. It was a constant hum, a reminder of his failure, both in love and in the game. The more he thought about it, the more mistakes he made. He couldn’t shake it, couldn’t compartmentalize the way he usually did. You’d crawled under his skin, and now he was lost in his own head.

The more uncomfortable he became, the more the game tilted in your favor.

And then, it happened. His final misstep. Jeonghan threw in all his chips on a hand that he was convinced would win, but his bluff was too obvious, too desperate. You saw it from a mile away. With a slow, deliberate smirk, you laid your cards on the table.

Straight flush.

The room gasped. Jeonghan’s face went white, his jaw literally dropping as he stared at the cards in disbelief. His mouth hung open, but no words came out. His brain was still trying to catch up, still reeling from the question that had taken him out of the game long before the cards were even dealt.

You leaned forward, your smile turning into something sharper, more vicious as you pulled the massive pile of chips toward you, raking them in with your arms. “Better luck next time,” you said.

Jeonghan just sat there, stunned, watching as you claimed victory without even breaking a sweat. He wasn’t used to losing, especially not like this. Not when someone used his tactics and twisted them until they cut deeper than he ever intended. He tried to say something, anything, but all he could do was stare at you, his mind still spinning, still trying to figure out where it all went wrong.

But you already knew. You’d gotten inside his head, turned the tables on him, and left him gutted, just like his ex had done.

Jeonghan couldn’t stop. After that first loss, he played again. Then another game. And another. Each one worse than the last. Every time, he thought he could regain control, pull himself together, get back into his rhythm—but no. He was spiraling, his thoughts spinning out of control. His hands trembled with every bet, his bluffs grew weaker, and his confidence bled out with every chip that slipped through his fingers.

At one point, his friend—a familiar face, someone who’d watched him dominate this scene for years—touched his shoulder, giving him a sharp look. “Stop, Jeonghan. You’ve lost enough.”

But he couldn’t stop. He needed to win something. He needed to claw back even a shred of his dignity, anything to remind himself he was still Jeonghan, the legend. But the more he tried, the deeper he dug his own grave. Every hand was a humiliation.

By the time the final round ended, Jeonghan wasn’t even sitting anymore. He stood, arms crossed, shoulders tense as he watched the game from the side, a silent observer. He didn’t need to say it—the shame on his face was clear enough. He never had to stand and watch. It was beneath him. But tonight, he was left with no choice, stripped of everything he had worked for.

And you? You rose from your seat like it was nothing, your body language as casual as if you had just finished a friendly round at a small-stakes table. You didn’t even bother to look at him, didn’t care about the people whispering around you, the ones who were still buzzing over the fact that you had won every round. You walked out like the night didn’t matter. Like it was just another game.

For Jeonghan, though, it was devastating. His ego lay shattered, a million pieces scattered on the floor. The heartbreak from his ex? That pain had dulled over time. But you had ripped open that old wound, making it raw again, bringing back every piece of humiliation he had tried to bury. He felt himself fumbling, trying to grasp something solid, but everything was slipping through his fingers.

And then he saw you.

Like some kind of devil on his shoulder, you were there, watching him as you stood by the bar. You didn’t even need to say a word. The sight of you—so calm, so unbothered—made him feel sick. You ordered a drink, took it in hand, and with a quiet smirk on your lips, you started walking towards your room.

Jeonghan couldn’t let it go.

His feet moved before his brain even caught up. He followed you, his pulse pounding in his ears, that familiar swagger of his long gone. He didn’t even know what he wanted from you—answers, confrontation, something—but all he knew was that he needed to speak to you.

You walked into your room like you knew he’d be behind you, the door clicking shut behind him as he entered. There you were, standing by the window, holding your drink like nothing had happened, like you hadn’t just ripped his ego to shreds in front of everyone.

Jeonghan's voice was low, strained, almost shaky. “What the hell was that?”

You turned, eyes cold, that same infuriating smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “What do you mean?” you asked, sipping your drink slowly.

“Don’t play dumb with me,” he snapped, stepping closer, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. “You knew exactly what you were doing, bringing her up like that.”

You shrugged, unfazed, as if his anger meant nothing to you. “It was just a question.”

“Bullshit.” His voice cracked. “You—you went there on purpose. You knew it would mess with me, and you did it anyway.”

Another sip. Another smile. You didn’t even blink as you watched him unrave. “Isn’t that what you do? Get inside people’s heads? Push their buttons until they break?” You leaned against the window, eyes gleaming with delight as you spoke. “I thought you’d appreciate the effort.”

Jeonghan let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “This was different. You crossed a line.”

You tilted your head, the smile widening. “Oh? And what line is that, Jeonghan? The one where you keep your emotions locked up and pretend they don’t exist? Or the one where you think you’re untouchable?”

He stared at you, his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. There was a heaviness in the atmosphere between you two, viscous with stress—anger, yes, but something else too. Something he didn’t want to admit was there. His eyes flicked to your lips for a split second, before he forced himself to look away.

“You don’t get it,” he muttered, his voice quieter now. “That wasn’t just about the game.”

You raised an eyebrow, sipping your drink again, taking your time. “No, Jeonghan. I get it more than you think.”

His frustration spiked, fingers twitching at his sides as he fought to keep his voice steady. “What is this? Huh?” He took a step closer, his body tense, looming over you. “What do you want from me?”

You didn’t back down, didn’t flinch. If anything, you seemed to enjoy the way he was coming undone in front of you. “Nothing,” you said, your voice soft. “That’s the problem, isn’t it? You want to matter, you want me to care, but you don’t. You’re just… there.”

His jaw clenched, eyes narrowing as the words hit him like a punch to the gut. “You’re full of shit.”

“Maybe,” you said with a light chuckle, finishing your drink and placing the empty glass on the table beside you. “But you’re here, Jeonghan. Following me, like some lost puppy, hoping for… what? Closure? An apology?”

He opened his mouth to speak, but you cut him off, stepping closer, your voice dropping to a whisper. “You wanted to get inside my head, Jeonghan. But look at you. You’re the one who’s a mess. You’re the one who’s crumbling.”

You could see it in his eyes—the conflict, the way he was battling with himself. The fury, the frustration, the desperation. And underneath all of that? The craving. The way his gaze flickered to your lips again, the way his breathing hitched every time you moved just a little closer.

But you stayed cold, unfeeling, watching him with that same smirk on your face, enjoying every second of his discomfort.

“Go on,” you whispered. “Tell me how much you hate me. How much I’ve fucked with your head. Tell me I’m the problem.”

Jeonghan's lips parted, but no words came out. He was shaking with rage, with something else, his hands twitching as if he wanted to grab you, shake you, do something. But he didn’t.

Because he couldn’t.

Because you had won. Again.

But through it all, there was one that kept circling back to the same question:

Who the hell are you?

“I don’t even know you,” he spat, his voice cracking. “I don’t know who you are, where you came from, or why the fuck you’re doing this to me.”

You raised an eyebrow, that infuriating smirk still playing on your lips. “Don’t you, though?” Your voice was calm, icy, as if his unraveling in front of you was nothing more than a spectacle for your amusement.

“No.” He shook his head, stepping closer, his face inches from yours now. “I don’t. You—” His words stumbled, caught in the whirlwind of emotions he couldn’t make sense of. “You show up out of nowhere, tear me apart in front of everyone, and then act like I’m supposed to—” His voice wavered, almost pleading. “I don’t even know your fucking name.”

You chuckled, a low sound that made him shiver. “That’s the thing with you, Jeonghan. You don’t know anyone, really. Not unless it benefits you. You see people as pawns, tools to get what you want. All these years, you’ve played your little game, always one step ahead of everyone else. But you never bothered to look around, did you? Never noticed the people who were watching you.”

His brows furrowed, confusion flickering in his eyes. “What the hell are you talking about?”

You leaned in just enough that your breath brushed his skin. “I was always there, Jeonghan. Watching. Learning. I’ve seen you win, lose, fake that stupid smile when things don’t go your way.” Your eyes darkened, voice dropping as your lips curled into a mocking smile. “But you? You never noticed me. Not once.”

Jeonghan’s breath hitched as your words sank in. His mind raced, trying to piece together fragments of memories, moments, faces in the background. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t place you. “You’re lying,” he said, his voice shaking, though he wasn’t even sure who he was trying to convince anymore.

“I’m not.” Your voice was cold, cutting through his defenses with ease. “You were too wrapped up in your own world to notice anyone who didn’t directly serve you. That’s your problem, Jeonghan. You think the world revolves around you, and anyone outside your little bubble? They don’t exist. You never cared to look at anyone unless they were a threat to you. Unless they had something you wanted.”

His jaw clenched, anger flashing in his eyes. “You don’t know a damn thing about me.”

“I know enough.” You stepped closer, your bodies barely an inch apart now. He could feel the heat radiating off you, the way your words slipped under his skin, pulling at every insecurity he had buried deep. “I know how you ignored the signs when your ex was using you. How you let her walk all over you because you were too blind to see her for what she really was. I know how you couldn’t keep your emotions in check tonight, how I got into your head so easily because you’re weak.”

Jeonghan’s breath came out in shallow bursts, his chest heaving with each one. He was crumbling, and he knew it. But he couldn’t stop himself from spiraling, not with the way you were tearing him apart piece by piece. “Shut up,” he whispered, voice barely audible—as if he was afraid of how much truth was in your words.

You didn’t stop. You pressed on, your voice softer now, but no less cutting. “That’s why you don’t remember me. Because I didn’t matter to you. Because I wasn’t something you could use.”

Jeonghan's gaze flickered to your lips, the pressure between you two thickening with every word that passed. He wanted to hate you. He wanted to scream at you, push you away, do anything to get you out of his head. But he couldn’t. Instead, he found himself leaning in closer, drawn to the coldness in your eyes, the way you seemed to see right through him.

“And now?” he muttered, his voice hoarse, almost a growl. “What do you want now?”

You tilted your head, a wicked gleam in your eyes as you smiled, your voice dripping with condescension. “I already got what I wanted.” You reached up, your fingers ghosting along the side of his face, barely touching him, yet it sent a shock through his entire body. “You. Like this. Completely wrecked. Fucked, because of me.”

His breath hitched, and before he could think, his hands shot up to grip your waist, pulling you flush against him. It was a desperate, reckless move, one born out of frustration, anger, and something else he didn’t want to name. But you didn’t flinch. You didn’t pull away.

Instead, you smirked up at him, your eyes glinting with something dark, and whispered, “You’re so predictable.”

“Shut up,” Jeonghan hissed again, but this time, his voice was strained, thick with something deeper than just anger. His fingers tightened around your waist, holding you in place as if he was afraid you’d slip away if he let go. He hated how much power you had over him, how every word out of your mouth only made him want you more.

You raised an eyebrow, that same infuriating smile still plastered on your face. “Make me.”

That was all it took for him to snap.

And then, he kissed you like he was trying to take back control, like he needed to prove something—to himself, to you, to anyone watching. But deep down, he knew it was a losing battle. Because you weren’t kissing him back with desperation. No, you kissed him like you had already won and this was just another part of the game.

His hands roamed your body, fingers digging into your skin as if he needed to ground himself, to feel something real in this moment. But even as he kissed you, even as he lost himself in the heat of the moment, that nagging thought stayed at the back of his mind.

You were still in control.

And that thought only made him kiss you harder, more fiercely, like he could erase it if he just tried harder.

“You’ll never figure me out,” you murmured against his lips, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “And that’s why you’ll always lose.”

He hated you. He wanted you. And he couldn’t tell which feeling was stronger.

His hand tightened in your hair, fingers tangling in the strands as he yanked your head back hard. The hurried pull sent a harsh jolt of pain through your scalp, but instead of a wince, what came out of your mouth was a quiet, throaty laugh. “You—such a bitch,” he growled, but you could see the flicker of disbelief in his eyes, watching you—fucking laughing at the pain.

The corner of your mouth curled up, lips parted as you let out a quiet moan. “You think that hurts?” you taunted, maybe challenging. “Do it harder.”

Jeonghan’s grip tightened, a growl thundering from his chest as he yanked even harder, and this time your head jerked back, the pain shooting through you in a way that only made you smile wider. The way he watched you, eyes wide, mouth salivating, had you lit up inside.

His lips crashed down on yours again, rough and biting, teeth dragging across your bottom lip as if trying to draw blood. You hissed into his mouth, but he didn’t let up, kissing you harder.

But this wasn’t just some kiss. It was a battle, and he was losing.

Your hands gripped the back of his neck, nails digging in as you pulled him closer, deepening the kiss, swallowing the moan that escaped his throat. When he bit down hard on your lip, you cursed at him.

“Fucking do it right,” you spat between heavy breaths. “Or don’t do it at all.”

Jeonghan’s eyes dimmed, his jaw clenching as he pushed you back against the nearest surface—a column that was inside the room. His free hand sliding down to your thigh, roughly pulling it up to hook around his waist. “You think you can just order me around, huh?” By his tone… Yes, you think.

You smirked, breathless but still in control. “I know I can.”

He didn’t waste any more words. His lips moved to your neck, biting down hard enough to leave a mark, and you hissed, arching against him. His hand slid down between your legs, fingers brushing against the edge of your panties before yanking them aside, not giving a single fuck about being gentle.

“Is this what you wanted?” he growled, his lips brushing against your ear as his fingers slid over your wetness, the folds doing a warm caress on his fingers, teasing you just enough to make your breath hitch. “Tell me.”

You didn’t answer him, but your body betrayed you, hips pushing toward his hand, craving more. He noticed, of course, because he always did. But this time, he wasn’t the one in control, and he knew it.

“Say it,” he demanded, his voice rough, almost strained as his fingers barely grazed over you, enough to drive you insane but not enough to satisfy.

You let out a breathless laugh, your eyes meeting his, still cold but twinkling with fun. “I want you to shut the fuck up and make yourself useful.”

That did it. Jeonghan dropped to his knees, yanking your dress up as he settled between your legs, not wasting any time. His fingers dug into your thighs, spreading them as his mouth hovered just above your heat. His breath ghosted over your skin, and you could feel the tension in him, feel how much he wanted this, but you weren’t about to give him the satisfaction of asking.

He pressed a hard, open-mouthed kiss just above your clit, his teeth grazing your skin before he moved lower, his tongue flicking out just enough to make you gasp. “Still want me to shut up?” he murmured against you, his voice full of smug.

But before you could answer, his mouth was on you, and any retort you had died in your throat. His tongue was merciless, moving over you making your legs tremble. You bit down hard on your lip, trying to suppress the sounds threatening to escape, but it was impossible. A low moan tore from your lips as his mouth worked you over, his tongue circling your clit before sucking it into his mouth with just the right amount of force.

Your hand instinctively shot to his hair, gripping it tight as you tried to control your trembling legs. But he wasn’t slowing down. His tongue moved faster, harder, sending wave after wave of pleasure through you until your whole body was quivering.

He bit down, just enough to make you hiss, your nails digging into his scalp as you cursed him under your breath. “Fuck—” you gasped, body arching toward him. “Don’t stop.”

Jeonghan didn’t need to be told twice. His hands gripped your thighs harder, holding you in place as his tongue moved faster. Every flick, every swirl was straightforward, designed to make you lose the command. And you were, piece by piece. The cold, detached front you’d kept up was slipping, crumbling under the warmth of his mouth, the way he devoured you like it was the only thing that mattered.

You could feel it, the edge approaching fast, and you let out a low moan, your hips moving against his face as you chased it. “Fucking hell, Jeonghan—” you gasped, your voice leaving like a whisper as the orgasm hit you hard. Your body tensed, legs trembling as the orgasm ripped through you, leaving you breathless, your mind blank except for the overstimulating sensation of his mouth still on you.

He didn’t stop, didn’t let up until your body finally relaxed against him, spent and slaked. Only then did he pull back, his lips swollen and slippery with your arousal, his eyes meeting yours with triumph

You looked down at him, chest still heaving, but your smirk was back in full force. “You slacked at the table tonight, Jeonghan.” The words rolled off your tongue with conscious slowness, each one cutting him just a little deeper. “But down there… between my legs? You were such a good boy.”

He froze, still so close to your cunt. You could feel and see his breath hitch at your words, his whole body tensing, and that only made your smirk grow wider. As you lower down, you let your fingers lazily trail down his chest, feeling the way his muscles twitched under your touch.

“You know,” you continued, voice leaking with mock sweetness, “maybe if you put as much effort into the game as you do into this,” your hand moved lower, brushing over the waistband of his pants, “you wouldn’t have lost everything tonight.”

His face faltered for a split second, the confidence in his eyes flickering as he processed your words. You could see his jaw clench, his pride taking the hit. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” You chuckled softly, your hand slipping further down, squeezing the bulge in his pants, feeling the tension there. “Look at you,” you whispered, “so obedient when it counts. Such a good boy.”

His lips parted, his breath coming out in shallow bursts, but he still didn’t say anything.

“Tell me,” you continued, eyes glinting as you applied a little more pressure, “was it worth it? Throwing away your pride at the table just so you could be on your knees for me?”

He swallowed hard, his hands twitching at his sides like he didn’t know whether to grab you or push you away. His ego was bruised—no, shattered—and here you were, rubbing salt into the wound, reminding him exactly how far he’d fallen.

Your hand tightens around Jeonghan's neck, your fingers pressing into the soft skin as he chokes, his breath cutting short. The sound that escapes him is desperate, needy, a cough that barely finds its way through the pressure you've applied. His body tenses, his muscles straining.

"Get up," you command.

He stumbles, one hand on the floor, the other grasping for something to steady himself as he rises to his feet, eyes lost, clouded over in a haze of confusion and submission that he’s trying so hard to fight.

Your grip on his throat loosens just enough for him to take in a sharp breath, but you don’t give him much relief. Instead, your fingers trail from his neck to his chin, tipping his face up so his eyes meet yours. His lips part instinctively, searching for air, but you take that as an invitation, sliding two fingers past them, pushing into his mouth without warning.

His eyes widen in shock, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, his lips wrap around your fingers, mouth warm and wet as he takes them in, his breath coming in short, shaky bursts through his nose.

"Suck," you command, voice sharp, leaving no room for hesitation.

He complies, but it's tentative, unsure, his tongue brushing over your fingers but lacking the enthusiasm you expect. You press your fingers deeper, feeling the resistance in his throat as he gags, eyes watering slightly.

“Do it right,” you growl, eyes narrowing as you press harder into his mouth, your fingers curling against his tongue. "Suck them right."

This time, he obeys. His lips tighten around your fingers, and his head bobs forward slowly, drawing you deeper into his mouth as he begins to suck properly. His cheeks hollow out as his tongue swirls around your fingers, slick and wet, saliva coating your skin as he works. His eyes, though filled with defiance, are beginning to show something more desperate, more submissive.

Your smirk widens as you watch him, completely captivated by the sight of him on the edge of breaking. You can feel the heat building inside you, the wetness pooling between your legs as you watch him, his mouth obediently working over your fingers, his body betraying the fight he's trying to put up.

"Good boy," you praise as you feel him sucking harder, as if the praise makes him crave more.

With your other hand, you move to his belt, your fingers working swiftly to unbuckle it, the metal clinking as you pull it loose. His body stiffens, but he doesn’t stop sucking, not even when you move to his zipper, yanking it down in one quick, sharp movement. The fabric of his jeans parts, revealing the hard line of his cock straining against the black briefs beneath.

You press your wet fingers deeper into his mouth, pushing them to the back of his throat as you slip your other hand inside his jeans, gripping the base of his cock. The contrast of sensations makes him jolt—your fingers choking him, while the other hand wraps around him, stroking slowly.

He gags around your fingers, eyes wide as he looks up at you, and for a moment, you think he might pull away. But then he doesn’t. Instead, he adjusts, his throat contracting as he fights to keep sucking, his lips tight around your fingers as you press them deeper.

"That's it," you purr, your voice low and sultry, watching him struggle to keep up, to please you. "Take it all."

Your hand moves in rhythm with his sucking, your fingers wrapped around his cock, stroking him slowly, teasingly. He lets out a muffled moan, the sound vibrating around your fingers as his hips jerk forward slightly, desperate for more, but you keep the pace slow, torturous.

He’s trying so hard to hold onto his pride, to resist fully submitting, but you can feel the cracks widening, see the way his body reacts, how his mouth moves more eagerly over your fingers now, desperate to please. His cock twitches in your hand, and you can feel the tension building in him, the way he’s teetering on the edge of giving in completely.

You pull your fingers from his mouth with a wet pop, strings of saliva still connecting them as you smirk down at him. His lips part as he gasps for breath, his chest heaving. You use your now-wet fingers to stroke his cock, the slickness making each movement smoother, more intense.

"Look at you," you tease as you watch his hips buck into your hand, his body betraying him completely. "So fucking desperate."

Jeonghan’s eyes flutter shut for a moment, his breath coming in short, shallow bursts as he struggles to hold on, but you don’t stop. Your hand moves faster, stroking him with purpose now, your wet fingers sliding over his length.

“Open your eyes,” you command sharply, your grip tightening around him. “Look at me.”

He obeys, his eyes snapping open, wide and desperate, his lips parted as soft gasps and whimpers escape him.

"Good boy," you murmur again, watching the way his cock twitches in response, how his breath catches in his throat. "Now, don’t stop until I tell you to."

Your hand moves faster, the slickness making each stroke more torturous. He lets out a broken moan, his hips jerking forward into your hand as his body trembles with the effort to hold back.

"You’re gonna finish when I say," you whisper, your lips brushing against his ear as your hand moves faster, your grip tightening. “Not a second before.”

Jeonghan’s breath is ragged, his body shaking with the effort to obey.

Your grip on his cock tightens as you pull him closer, dragging him by his phallus, his body stumbling into yours with a strangled moan. His head falls onto your shoulder, his breath hot and ragged against your neck as his hand shoots out to grab your arm, desperate to steady himself—like you’re about to knock him out.

You guide him toward the bed. “Can’t even walk straight Jeonghan?”

He lets out a weak sound, something between a moan and a groan, as you push him onto the mattress, his back hitting the sheets. His eyes are glazed over, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his cock standing stiff and red, twitching. You smirk as you climb onto the bed, straddling him, your knees pressing into the mattress on either side of his hips.

You hover over him for a moment, savoring the sight of him laid out beneath you, completely at your mercy. His hands twitch as if he wants to touch you, but you pin them down with your knees, shaking your head with a wicked grin.

“Don’t even think about it,” you say. “You don’t get to touch until I say so.”

Jeonghan lets out a soft whimper, his lips parted as he struggles to control himself, his body aching for more.

You reach down, grabbing the hem of his shirt and pulling it up, just enough to expose his chest. His skin is flushed, his nipples hard, and you let out a low chuckle as you pinch one between your fingers. He jerks beneath you, a strangled moan escaping his lips as his back arches slightly off the bed.

“Sensitive here too, hm?” you tease, giving his nipple another sharp pinch. His hips buck up into you, desperate for friction, but you press him back down with a firm hand on his chest, keeping him in place.

His breath is coming in short, shallow bursts, his cock twitching against your thigh as you tease him, dragging the moment out, savoring every second of his desperation.

Finally, you lift your hips, positioning yourself over him. You guide his cock to your entrance, lowering yourself just enough for his tip to slip inside, the stretch slow and torturous. He gasps, his hips jerking up instinctively, but you slam them back down with a firm grip on his waist.

“Don’t. Move,” you command, your voice sharp.

He bites his lip, his head falling back onto the pillow, chest heaving as you sink down onto him, inch by agonizing inch. The way he fills you completely, the feeling of him trembling beneath you as you take him in, slowly, savoring every second.

You stop halfway, smirking as you grind your hips in slow circles, teasing him with the promise of more. His eyes snap open, his lips parting in a desperate gasp as he looks up at you, pleading.

“Please,” he groans. “Please, I can’t… I need it.”

You chuckle softly, your fingers trailing down his chest, pinching his nipples again just to watch him squirm. Without warning, you slam down the rest of the way, taking him fully inside you. His mouth falls open in a silent scream, his body jerking beneath you as the pleasure hits him all at once. You bite your lip, your own breath catching as the sensation washes over you, the fullness, the stretch, the way his cock throbs inside you.

You start moving, riding him hard and fast, your hips slamming down onto his with every thrust, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. His hands shoot up to your hips, but you slap them away, pinning them above his head as you fuck him, using him for your own pleasure.

“You feel that?” you hiss, your lips brushing against his ear. “That’s what it feels like to be used.”

Jeonghan can only moan in response. You lean back, riding him harder, faster, your hands gripping his wrists, grinding down on him with every thrust, feeling the tension building inside both of you.

“Fuck,” he groans, his head tossing back, his eyes squeezing shut as he bites down on his lip, trying desperately to hold on. But you know he’s close. You can feel it.

Jeonghan’s breath hitches, his eyes fluttering open for a moment, wide and desperate, before they squeeze shut again, his body trembling violently beneath you.

You lean down, your lips brushing against his ear as you whisper, “Cum for me.”

And with that, he breaks. His body tenses, his back arching off the bed as he lets out a strangled moan, his cock twitching violently inside you as he comes, the pleasure hitting him like a freight train. You ride him through it, grinding down on him as you chase your own release.

You lean forward, your body pressing down as your clit grinds against his pelvis. Jeonghan's cock is still deep inside you, and you can feel every inch of him twitching, overstimulated and helpless beneath you. His eyes roll back, lips parted in a messy gasp, his hair splayed out on the mattress like a fallen angel. The way his face twists, dumb with pleasure, is almost enough to push you over the edge by itself. His eyebrows furrow in a compound of pain and ecstasy, and the moans slipping from his throat—whiny, breathless, and downright filthy—send a rush of heat pooling in your belly.

You can feel it building, that pressure inside you, tighter and tighter with every grind of your hips. You’re losing control too, your moans spilling out, desperate and raw, betraying the power you’ve held this whole time. It doesn’t even sound like you’re the one in control anymore. You’re chasing that release, grinding harder, faster, your slickness making it a mess between your legs, each movement slippery, loud. The wet sounds of your bodies sliding together are filthy, and the sensation of the mess you’ve made splashing against your thighs only adds to the intensity building inside you.

Jeonghan’s eyes flutter open just as you're on the edge. He looks up at you, pupils blown wide, as though he's watching a divine vision unfold in front of him. The sight of his ruined expression—those parted lips, the way his chest heaves as he tries to catch his breath—sends you crashing over the edge.

You let out a broken moan, hips jerking forward as the orgasm tears through you. Your body trembles, thighs clenching around him as you ride out every pulse of pleasure, the mess between your legs gushing onto him, soaking his skin, your breath coming in desperate gasps. You grind down on him one last time, milking every second of it as you feel his cock twitching inside you, overstimulated beyond belief.

“Fuck…” Jeonghan whimpers, his voice raw as his body jerks beneath you, unable to handle any more. His belly caves in, the muscles trembling under your relentless pressure.

After what feels like forever, you slowly lift yourself off him, his cock slipping out with a wet sound, leaving him twitching and trembling. His body is sprawled out on the bed, his chest heaving, hair stuck to his forehead, completely undone. You stand up, your legs weak but steady enough as you smooth down your dress, the fabric hugging your curves again as if nothing happened. You fix your hair, eyes never leaving his limp, exhausted form.

Jeonghan’s gaze follows you, his breath shallow, and his face still slack from the overwhelming high. His eyes are half-lidded, but there’s a glimmer of curiosity, or maybe disbelief, flickering behind them.

"Has anyone ever dominated you like that before?" you ask casually, as if this is a normal conversation after completely ruining him.

He shakes his head, still too breathless to form words. No.

You smirk, tilting your head as you adjust the straps of your dress. “Thought so.”

You step closer to him, leaning down just enough so he can see the wicked gleam in your eyes. “Next time, maybe try not to let your guard down so easily. You’re a mess, Jeonghan.”

He blinks up at you, lips parted, still trying to process everything that just happened. You give him one last amused glance, standing tall and smoothing your dress again before turning on your heel.

“Enjoy the rest of your night,” you say with a mocking sweetness, smirking as you walk toward the door. Just before leaving, you look over your shoulder, adding, "I’ll be at the party if you ever want to lose again.”

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beezhives · 4 months ago

Text

"I need chocolate."

"yeah, good afternoon to you too, Dynamight," are the groggily mumbled words the pro hero receives from you on the other side of your door.

grumbling, strong arms folding over his chest impatiently, Bakugou Katsuki huffs out a greeting more normal that your brain can register, followed by, "I need chocolate."

sometimes, being the neighbor of a pro hero has its perks. late nights locked out of your own apartment, help fixing random appliances, and (in the case of Great Explosion Murder God: Dynamight) unsolicited cooking tips when you just happen to let slip what you're making for dinner that night.

other times, like right now, you're awoken to harsh knocking on your front door at three-something in the afternoon when you just wanted to sleep. all because the damn man wanted... chocolate?

"what the fuck are you staring for? d'ya have chocolate or not, dumbass?"

opening your door fully, a silent invitation for the pro hero to walk in, you pad back through your dark apartment towards your kitchen. "it's too early for this confusion, man..."

Bakugou did not understand what was so confusing about chocolate but he stepped into your apartment anyways, shutting the door behind him and flicking on the light. having an apartment with the same layout as his helped sometimes.

"none of that white or dark chocolate bullshit," he called through the apartment, leaning back against the door. "plain fuckin' chocolate's what I need!"

after rifling through your pantry for a few minutes, setting aside a variety of chocolate bullshit for yourself to eat later, you returned with a small bowl of baking chocolate for the brooding blond in your entryway.

"what has you needing chocolate so urgently?" you ask, handing the bowl over to the man who grumbles while inspecting the selection.

"making shit for Sparky's thing later," he replies, huffing a small breath of satisfaction through his nose. the chocolate you found would work for him.

"cool." leaning around him, you open your front door and motion the pro hero out of your apartment. "next time you need baking chocolate, go to konbini down the street instead of waking me up, yeah?"

Bakugou rolls his eyes, scoffing, as he exits your apartment. he's holding the bowl against his chest like he would a child, hands already warming the chocolate so it can melt sooner.

"yeah but this shit's free," is his reply, offering you a shit-eating grin before turning around and making his way back to his own apartment.

it's then, in the light of the hallway outside your apartment, that you realize there's something green and orange – icing, you assume – smeared on his clothes. you can't help but roll your eyes, both at his comment and the colourful stains, while you close your door.

later, much much later, there is a singular knock on your door. expecting the odd trick-or-treater, maybe a teen or college student who was making a last ditch effort through your complex, you make your way to the door with your bowl of treats to hand out.

what you were not expecting was to see a treat left on your welcome mat. black container with a webbing design on it. your name was scribbled onto a post-it place on top.

inside the container sat a set of perfectly rounded chocolate cake eyeballs, clearly fake and clearly made with care. each one appeared to be made with skilled hands.

and, upon trying them, you could've sworn that they tasted of your own baking chocolate.

♡ late Halloween post. oops. any likes or shares would be appreciated. thank you for reading, see you later. ☁︎

#bnha #mha #bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki x you #katsuki bakugou #katsuki bakugou x reader #mha x reader #beez ;; blurbs #character;; bakugou katsuki

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girlrotterr · 4 months ago

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୨୧⠀⠀˙⠀leave without a trace⠀｡ ⠀꒱

artist!ellie x fashion designer!reader Summary: You attend an art exhibition where you unexpectedly lock eyes with your ex-girlfriend, Ellie Williams, whom you haven't seen in years. a/n: omg?! not me becoming consistent?! heavily inspired by "no one noticed" by the marias!!

The gallery is a cathedral of silence, punctuated only by the soft clicking of heels against the polished hardwood floor and the low murmur of voices echoing from every corner. The walls are a crisp, sterile white, meant to let the art breathe. But tonight, they seem oppressive, closing in on you as the weight of old memories seep through the cracks of time. You’re standing in the midst of it all, surrounded by strangers who admire Ellie’s work like they’re deciphering some abstract language.

But to you, it’s not abstract. It’s painfully familiar.

Your eyes drift over the crowd, catching fragments of conversation—chatter about technique, boldness, meaning—but they wash over you like background noise. Your mind is elsewhere, pinned in the past.

College felt like a lifetime ago.

It was chaotic, with you balancing late nights in the sewing lab, surrounded by mannequins and fabric swatches, while Ellie lived in the art studio, her hands constantly covered in charcoal, paint, or ink. There had been nights when you’d find her sprawled on the floor, sketching out her wildest ideas with frenzied energy, and you’d sit beside her, watching her create worlds you could only dream of.

Back then, you both were consumed by your passions and each other. She’d stay up late to help you finish a garment, sewing alongside you even though she hated it, just so she could be near. And you? You’d sit in on her critiques, quietly fuming when anyone dared to criticize her work, even though she could take it, even though she loved the fight. The memory of her smirk when she’d dismantle an argument from one of her professors—god, it still lingers.

But the fire that had burned so bright between you had also scorched everything in its path.

You remember the late-night arguments, when both of you were too stubborn to apologize, too young to realize that passion wasn’t enough to hold everything together. The breakup wasn’t dramatic—no shouting, no tears. Just a slow unraveling, a quiet drifting apart until one day, it was done. She moved on. You moved on. Or at least, that’s what you told yourself.

The years that followed had been a blur of fashion internships and city lights. You threw yourself into your work, traveling between studios, pouring every ounce of yourself into fabric, stitching your broken pieces into new designs. You hadn’t heard from her since. Not directly, anyway. You’d seen her name float around in the art world, her work gaining traction, and each time, you’d feel a pang of something you couldn’t quite name. Pride? Regret? A mixture of both.

And now, here you are, in her world once again.

Your gaze is drawn to the painting in front of you—a massive, turbulent landscape of violent brushstrokes and bold colors. The reds are fierce, like anger seething just beneath the surface, and the blues are deep, almost suffocating. It’s raw. Emotional. It feels like her. It feels like you. The two of you, tangled in something you couldn’t quite control. You step closer, your breath catching in your throat as you notice the delicate lines etched into the paint—small, subtle marks hidden beneath the chaos. You know those marks. She used to make them with the tip of her palette knife, carving out tiny details that most people wouldn’t notice unless they really looked.

You’re staring so intently at the painting that you almost miss the moment she walks into view.

Ellie.

The air shifts the second she enters your line of sight, like the whole room inhales in unison. Your heart stumbles over itself, beating out of rhythm, as if trying to catch up with the sudden rush of emotions flooding through you. You haven’t seen her in years, but it’s as though no time has passed at all.

She’s changed, but not in ways that feel unfamiliar. Her hair is still short, though it’s more trimed now, less uneven than you remember. She’s wearing that same damn brown jacket, the one she always wore like a second skin, only now it’s more worn, the creases deeper, the edges frayed. Her sleeves are rolled up to her elbows, revealing the tattoo that winds around her forearm— you remember tracing with your fingers in quiet moments. There’s a confidence to her now, a steadiness that wasn’t there before, like she’s found some kind of peace, even if it’s only partial.

But then there’s her eyes. Still that piercing green, sharp enough to cut through glass, or in this case, through the crowd. You watch as she shifts her weight, one foot tapping lightly on the floor, her posture betraying a flicker of unease as she nods absentmindedly to whoever she’s speaking to. Her hands are deep in her pockets, her thumb worrying the edge of the denim, a sign that she’s restless. She used to do that when she didn’t want to be somewhere—when she was lost in thought, in another world entirely.

You know her. You know her so well that it aches.

And then, as if drawn by some invisible string, her gaze lifts, scans the room, and lands on you.

It’s electric. The second your eyes meet, it’s like the ground shifts beneath you. Time folds in on itself, collapsing the years between you into this one fragile moment. You can see the shock in her expression, the way her brows twitch upward, just barely, before her features settle into something more controlled. But there’s no hiding the way her shoulders stiffen, or the slight parting of her lips like she’s forgotten how to breathe for just a second.

You’re both standing still, two statues carved in the midst of a gallery filled with movement, but you may as well be the only people in the room. Her green eyes are locked on yours, and for a moment, you swear you see a flicker of something there—something that mirrors the knot of emotions tightening in your chest.

Recognition. Pain. Something unfinished.

You can feel your pulse in your throat, in your wrists, in the way your fingers tremble as you drop your gaze for just a second. When you look back up, she’s still watching you, her expression unreadable, a mask of calm that you know too well. But underneath it—god, you know there’s so much more. Years of silence. Years of things unsaid.

She doesn't move. And neither do you.

You both just... stand there, holding onto the fragile tension between you like a thread waiting to snap. The air is heavy with what could be—what might’ve been—what still lingers between you like smoke from a fire that never quite burned out.

It’s your sophomore year, late spring. You remember because the air had that soft, electric warmth that made everything feel alive. You were both sitting on the edge of the campus fountain, surrounded by the sound of splashing water, the soft hum of people passing by, and the occasional flutter of birds overhead. Your fashion projects had been spread out between you—loose sketches and fabric samples fluttering in the light breeze—while Ellie’s hands were smeared with charcoal from a half-finished drawing she couldn’t quite get right.

“I don’t get how you do this,” she had muttered, frowning at one of your illustrations. She held it up to the light, squinting as if that would make the delicate lines make more sense. You had laughed, the sound coming out lighter than you’d intended, mostly because of how seriously she was studying your work. Like it was a puzzle she had to solve.

“It’s just fabric,” you’d teased, leaning closer to her to catch a glimpse of her concentrated expression. “You make art out of nothing but feelings—this should be easy for you.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t hide the smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Art out of feelings, huh? That’s one way to put it.”

You watched her for a second longer, your gaze tracing the familiar curve of her jawline, the sharpness of her cheekbones, the way her hair stuck up no matter how much she tried to tame it. There was a smudge of charcoal on her nose that she hadn’t noticed yet. You found yourself leaning in, almost without thinking, using your thumb to wipe it away. The moment your skin touched hers, her body went still—like you’d pressed pause on her every movement.

Her green eyes flicked to yours, and for the first time since you’d met, there was a shift. Something unspoken passed between you, heavy and undeniable, hanging in the air between your breaths. You were close—closer than you usually were. And you could feel the heat radiating off her skin, mixing with the spring warmth, making the space around you feel almost too small.

Ellie cleared her throat, her gaze dropping to your hand still lingering on her face. “You, uh… you didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to.”

The words came out before you could stop them. And then the silence stretched out, pulling taut as the world around you blurred and fell away. The distant laughter of students, the splashing water of the fountain—it all melted into the background until the only thing you could focus on was the way Ellie was looking at you.

It wasn’t a stare. It was deeper. Like she was seeing you for the first time, really seeing you.

You didn’t move. Neither of you did. Time slowed, and in that moment, every boundary you’d carefully drawn between friendship and something more started to dissolve. You could hear your heart beating in your ears, your chest tight with anticipation, with something you hadn’t let yourself name before now.

Ellie’s breath hitched, so soft you barely noticed. “You shouldn’t say stuff like that,” she murmured, her voice lower than usual.

“Why not?” Your voice trembled, betraying you.

Her eyes flicked back up to meet yours, and there it was—the thing you’d both been avoiding for months. The truth that had been simmering beneath every shared glance, every brush of hands, every late-night conversation when the rest of the world was asleep and it was just you and her, tangled up in each other’s lives without even realizing how deep it went.

“Because…” she hesitated, biting her lip as if searching for the right words. Her gaze softened, like she was caught in a struggle between fear and wanting. “Because I wouldn’t know how to stop.”

The air left your lungs in a rush, and before you could second-guess yourself, before the doubts and the what-ifs could pull you back, you leaned in.

The kiss was soft, tentative at first. Her lips brushed against yours, the faintest touch, as if she wasn’t sure you were real. But then—god—then she kissed you harder, her hand cupping the back of your neck, pulling you in as though you were the answer to every question she hadn’t known how to ask. Her mouth tasted like spearmint gum and the faintest hint of cigarettes, warm and familiar. You melted into her, your hands gripping the edge of the fountain to keep yourself steady as everything around you spun.

In that kiss, there was no hesitation, no distance. Just the two of you, colliding in a moment that felt like it had been building for a lifetime. Her hands slid up your back, anchoring you to her, and you could feel the slight tremble in her fingers. But it didn’t matter. None of it mattered. Because you were kissing Ellie, and the rest of the world could’ve disappeared, and you wouldn’t have cared.

When you finally pulled back, gasping for air, you kept your forehead pressed against hers. The world had snapped back into focus around you—the chatter of campus life, the rustle of the wind in the trees—but it felt distant, muted, like it wasn’t quite real. Not compared to this.

Ellie’s eyes fluttered open, and she looked at you like you were the only thing she could see. Her breath was still shaky, her lips swollen and flushed. She swallowed, hard, and whispered, “I… I didn’t mean to… I didn’t…”

But you silenced her with a gentle smile, brushing a thumb across her cheek.

“You don’t have to explain.”

Because you both knew what it meant. You both knew that nothing would be the same after this, and you were okay with it. Maybe you were scared. Maybe she was too. But in that moment, wrapped up in the heat of the afternoon sun and the lingering taste of her on your lips, none of that mattered.

All that mattered was her.

The sound of your name pulls you back to the present. It’s bright and full of life, cutting through the thick haze of tension like a ray of sunlight. You turn just in time to see Dina pushing her way through the crowd, a grin spreading across her face as she practically bounces in your direction.

She’s the same as ever—sharp, effortlessly cool, with a wild energy that always made you feel like you were part of something big just by being near her. Her dark hair, tied up in a messy bun, hasn’t changed a bit, though there’s a new edge to her style—bold patterns clashing in a way only she could pull off.

Before you can even get a word out, she’s enveloping you in a tight hug, squeezing you so hard that you let out a laugh, the tension in your chest easing a little. She smells like lavender and cedarwood, familiar and grounding, and for a brief moment, the knot of emotions tangled in your stomach loosens.

“Oh my god, it’s been forever!” Dina practically yells, pulling back just enough to look at you, her eyes sparkling with genuine excitement. “I didn’t even know you were coming tonight! How the hell are you? You look amazing!”

You’re caught off guard by her energy, her enthusiasm wrapping around you like a warm blanket. You smile, shaking your head as you try to gather your thoughts. “I—yeah, it’s been a while, hasn’t it? I wasn’t sure I’d even make it, but, you know”

Dina snorts, rolling her eyes playfully. “Yeah, tell me about it. But seriously, I’m so glad you’re here! You—” she gestures at you with both hands, eyes wide as if she’s sizing you up, “—still killing it with the whole fashion thing, right? I saw your last collection! so damn chic! The textures, the layering—ugh, I wanted to steal every piece.”

You laugh, feeling a flush of pride at her words. “Thanks, Dina. I’m still trying to figure out what’s next, but I’m glad you liked it.”

“Liked it? Girl, I loved it.” Dina leans in closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “I mean, between you and Ellie, the two of you were always the most talented people on campus. It’s wild seeing both of you making it big.”

The mention of Ellie’s name sends a ripple of tension down your spine, and suddenly, the room feels a little too warm again. You glance over Dina’s shoulder, and sure enough, Ellie is still standing there, watching the two of you.

Dina follows your gaze, and when she spots Ellie, her face lights up even more. “Oh, shit, you haven��t seen her yet, have you?” Dina’s voice drops to a mischievous whisper, her grin widening. “This is gonna be good.”

Before you can protest, before you can even think of what to say or how to brace yourself, Dina’s already calling out, “Ellie! Hey! Get over here!”

Your heart skips a beat, your pulse quickening as Ellie’s eyes flicker to Dina. For a second, she looks like she might hesitate, like the distance between the two of you is a bridge she’s not sure she wants to cross. But then, with a slow exhale, she starts moving, weaving through the crowd with that effortless stride of hers—confident, but never cocky.

And just like that, she’s standing in front of you.

Up close, the years between you seem even sharper. You can see the slight changes in her face— the way her lips quirk at one corner like she’s fighting a smile but doesn’t want to give in. Her green eyes, though, are as piercing as ever, and when they lock onto yours, you feel that same jolt of electricity you did back in college, the same spark that never really went out.

For a moment, no one says anything. The air is silent with unspoken words, with the history that hangs between you like a thread waiting to snap.

Ellie’s lips part, and she starts with something simple. “Hey.”

Dina, completely oblivious to the tension, claps her hands together with a grin. “Okay, this is weird for me. Two of my favorite people, standing here after all these years—this is like, full circle, right?”

You manage a small smile, though your throat feels tight. “Yeah. Full circle.”

Ellie shifts her weight, glancing at Dina with a wry smile before her gaze slides back to you. “Didn’t expect to see you here,” she says, her voice soft, like she’s trying to keep things light.

You shrug, trying to play it off. “Didn’t expect to be here either.”

But the words feel thin, hollow. Because standing this close to her, with the buzz of the gallery around you and the memories swirling like ghosts in the air, it’s impossible to ignore the truth.

This isn’t just a chance encounter. This is something you’ve both been avoiding for too long.

Dina shifts her weight, a perceptive glint in her eye as she surveys the two of you, the tension thick enough to slice through. She opens her mouth as if to say something—maybe to break the silence, to diffuse the moment—but then she pauses, that playful grin still dancing on her lips.

“Okay, you know what?” she says, clapping her hands together once more. “I just remembered I promised Jesse I’d check on him. He’s probably stuck at the snack table, drowning in mini quiches. So, I’ll be right back!”

Before you can even respond, she’s off, weaving through the crowd with that effortless grace of hers, leaving you and Ellie standing there, caught in a moment that feels suspended in time. The sounds of the gallery fade into the background—the murmur of conversations, the soft clinking of glasses—until it’s just the two of you.

The silence stretches.

Ellie shifts her weight again, her fingers fidgeting at her sides. You can see the thoughts racing behind her eyes, a whirlwind of emotions waiting to be unleashed, but the words seem to stick in her throat.

“So, how’s the show been for you?” you finally ask, trying to fill the space, to ease the tightness that’s creeping in. Your voice sounds a bit steadier than you feel.

Ellie’s gaze softens, and for a moment, the corners of her mouth twitch up into a small, genuine smile. “It’s… good. Better than I expected, honestly.” She glances around, taking in the vibrant colors of her artwork, the way the lights catch the brushstrokes, illuminating the stories behind each piece. “It’s kind of surreal to see it all up here.”

You nod, watching her as she talks. There’s a light in her eyes that flickers with passion.

“Your work is incredible, Ellie.”

She meets your gaze again, and there’s a flicker of something deeper in her expression—gratitude with a hint of vulnerability.

“Thanks,” she says, her voice quieter now, almost contemplative. “I’ve been trying to push myself more lately.”

Your heart swells with her words, and the warmth of the moment wraps around you like a comforting embrace. But then, as if sensing the shift in the air, the gallery begins to swell with new energy. The crowd thickens, laughter and chatter rising, and the once-intimate space starts to feel almost claustrophobic.

Ellie’s expression changes slightly, a flicker of uncertainty crossing her features. “I should probably go check in with some of the other guests,” she says, glancing over her shoulder. “Make sure everything’s okay.”

“Yeah, of course,” you reply, though a part of you aches at the thought of her leaving, of this moment slipping through your fingers like grains of sand.

But before you can say anything else, she steps back, creating a small distance between you. “It was really good to see you,” she says, the words almost swallowed by the hum of the gallery.

You nod, swallowing hard against the lump in your throat. “You too, Ellie..”

It was winter. Cold, biting, the kind of chill that seeped into your bones no matter how many layers you wore. You and Ellie were huddled in her tiny apartment just off campus, the one she’d insisted had “charm” but was really just a glorified box with bad heating. The windows fogged with condensation, and outside, snowflakes drifted lazily down onto the already blanketed streets. Inside, the space was warm and dim, lit by a single lamp in the corner and the flickering glow of a candle Ellie had lit for atmosphere.

But there was no warmth between you that night.

Ellie was pacing. Back and forth, back and forth, her hands running through her hair, tugging at it the way she always did when she was frustrated, on the verge of losing control. Her movements were restless, sharp, filled with an energy that seemed like it would combust if she didn’t do something, say something. She wasn’t looking at you—she hadn’t been able to for the past hour. And you, sitting on the edge of her bed, your hands clasped tightly in your lap, could feel the distance between you growing with every step she took.

“I just… I don’t know how to do this anymore,” she muttered, almost to herself, her voice strained, barely holding together. She stopped pacing for a second, pressing her palms to her forehead, her elbows resting on the back of a chair. “I feel like I’m drowning. Every day, it’s like… like I’m waiting for something to go wrong, and I don’t even know what it is, but I can’t breathe.”

Her words hit you like cold water, but you didn’t move. You couldn’t. You’d been feeling it too, the unraveling, the way everything between you had started to fray at the edges. It wasn’t sudden. It had been slow, creeping in like a shadow you couldn’t outrun. Long nights turned into silent mornings. Conversations that used to be easy, light, now felt like stepping through a minefield. Every fight, every misunderstanding, left scars you hadn’t been able to heal.

But hearing her say it out loud… that made it real.

“Ellie…” Your voice was soft, almost a whisper, like you were afraid of shattering the fragile air between you. “We can fix this. We just need to talk. We always work through things, right?”

She shook her head, her back still turned to you. You could see her shoulders rise and fall as she took a deep breath, as if she was trying to hold it all together. When she finally spoke, her voice was lower, more broken. “Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe we’ve been working through things too much, you know? Like, we keep trying to fix it, but it’s not working.”

You felt your chest tighten, your pulse quickening. The coldness of the room started to creep in, the warmth from the candle and the blankets no longer enough to fight it off. You stood up slowly, your legs shaky, and took a tentative step toward her. “Ellie, please—”

She spun around, and the look in her eyes stopped you in your tracks. They were red, bloodshot, like she hadn’t slept in days. And there was something else there—something raw, something you hadn’t seen before. Desperation, maybe. Or fear.

“I don’t want to keep hurting you,” she said, her voice breaking on the last word. “But that’s all I’ve been doing, isn’t it? Every time we fight, every time I say the wrong thing or don’t say enough… it’s like I’m breaking you apart, piece by piece, and I can’t stand it. I can’t stand being the one who keeps doing this to you.”

Your throat tightened, your eyes stinging with the threat of tears. “You’re not—” you started, but she cut you off, shaking her head again.

“Yes, I am!” Her voice cracked, and suddenly, she wasn’t pacing anymore. She was standing still, facing you, her fists clenched at her sides like she was trying to hold herself together through sheer force of will. “You deserve better than this. Better than… than me.”

The words hung in the air between you, heavy and final. For a moment, the only sound was the soft hiss of the candle flickering in the corner, the distant rumble of a car passing by outside. You could feel the weight of what she was saying sinking into your skin, settling deep in your bones. She was pulling away, tearing out a piece of herself, a piece of you, and you didn’t know how to stop it.

“Don’t do this,” you whispered, stepping closer, your voice trembling. You reached for her hand, desperate to hold onto something, anything, but she flinched, stepping back just out of reach. “Please, Ellie. We can fix this. We can figure it out, we always do.”

But she was already shaking her head again, her eyes glistening with tears she refused to let fall. “No. I can’t… I can’t keep dragging you down with me. You deserve to be happy, and I don’t think I can give that to you anymore.”

Your heart broke then. It shattered, piece by piece, with every word she spoke. You wanted to scream, to tell her she was wrong, that you could make it work, that love was enough. But deep down, you knew. You’d both been unraveling for months, slipping through each other’s fingers like sand. And no matter how tightly you tried to hold on, it wasn’t enough.

Ellie took a shaky breath, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. When she spoke again, her voice was quiet, barely audible. “I love you, but I don’t think I’m good for you anymore. And I can’t… I can’t keep pretending like I am.”

You stood there, frozen, as the words echoed in the small space between you. There was nothing left to say. Nothing that could change what was already happening. So, instead, you just nodded, your throat too tight to speak, your heart too heavy to protest.

She watched you for a moment longer, her eyes softening, filled with something that looked like regret, maybe even guilt. Then, without another word, she turned and walked toward the door, leaving you standing there, the candle flickering weakly in the corner.

The sound of the door closing behind her felt like the final nail in the coffin. The room was suddenly too quiet, too cold, too empty.

And you were alone.

The night air cools your skin, but the warmth of the gallery lingers, wrapping around you like a heavy cloak. You take a few steps down the street, trying to steady your breath, trying to shake off the flood of emotions Ellie’s presence stirred up. But as you reach the edge of the block, something pulls you back—an invisible tether, tightening around your heart. You stop, glancing back toward the gallery, the soft glow of the lights spilling out onto the sidewalk, the hum of conversations still echoing in the air.

You’re not ready to leave. Not yet.

With a deep breath, you turn and step back inside, the warmth of the space enveloping you once more. The crowd has shifted, people moving around the artwork like currents in a river, but you’re not drawn to any of them. Instead, you find yourself wandering, letting your feet carry you through the gallery without any clear direction.

The pieces on the walls are beautiful—Ellie’s unmistakable style shines through in every brushstroke, every burst of color. But there’s something else here, something you can’t quite put your finger on. You continue walking, the noise around you dulling to a low murmur as you lose yourself in the art.

And then, you see it.

Tucked away in a corner of the gallery, slightly off the main flow of the exhibition, is a painting that stops you in your tracks. Your breath catches in your throat, and for a moment, everything else falls away—the crowd, the noise, even the memory of Ellie standing just a few feet from you moments ago.

The painting is large, dominating the wall with its raw, unfiltered intimacy. The colors are rich, deep tones of reds and golds and shadows that dance across the canvas like firelight. And in the center, almost hidden in the interplay of light and dark, are two figures—tangled together, their bodies intertwined in a way that leaves no room for doubt. The lines are soft, delicate, but there’s a fierceness to the way the brushstrokes capture the curve of a back, the arch of a neck, the way two sets of hands grip each other as if holding on for dear life.

It’s you and Ellie.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you take a step closer, your pulse quickening with every detail that comes into focus. The figures are not exact replicas, not perfect portraits, but there’s no mistaking it—the shape of your body, the curve of Ellie’s form. The familiarity in the way your hands touch, the way your legs are tangled together, skin on skin, lost in the moment of sex.

Your fingers twitch at your sides, a rush of heat flooding your cheeks as the memories flood back. The night in question comes rushing to the surface—one of those endless nights in college, when the world outside had ceased to matter, and all that existed was the space between you and Ellie. The way her breath had felt against your skin, the soft murmur of her voice in your ear, the way she looked at you like you were the only thing that made sense in a world of chaos.

It’s all there, captured in the brushstrokes. The vulnerability, the connection, the way you’d both been completely unguarded with each other in a way that had felt terrifying and exhilarating all at once. The memory is so visceral, it’s like being pulled back in time, your body remembering the touch of her hands, the feel of her lips against yours.

You stand there, rooted to the spot, your eyes tracing every detail of the painting. It’s beautiful, in a way that makes your chest ache, but it’s also unmistakably private. This moment was yours—yours and Ellie’s—and seeing it laid bare here, for everyone to see, feels almost too intimate, like a secret exposed.

Your breath hitches as your mind races. Did Ellie mean for this to be here? Was it a message? Or just a piece of her past she needed to exorcise, to let out into the world in the only way she knew how?

You take another step closer, your eyes fixated on the way the light plays off the figures—your figure—highlighting the delicate curve of your waist, the way Ellie’s arm wraps around you, pulling you closer. It’s so raw, so unapologetic, and the emotions it stirs up are almost too much to bear.

You stand there, your heart hammering in your chest, you hear the soft creak of footsteps behind you. You know, without turning around, who it is. Ellie’s presence fills the space before she even speaks, the air between you charged with an intensity that has been building all night.

For a long moment, neither of you says anything. You can feel her eyes on the painting, then on you, her silence heavy with meaning. She’s watching your reaction, waiting—maybe even bracing—for what you’ll say, for how you’ll respond. You want to say something, anything, but the words seem lodged in your throat.

Finally, Ellie breaks the silence. Her voice is soft, almost hesitant, but there’s a vulnerability to it that makes your chest tighten. “It’s… from a long time ago,” she says, the words almost a whisper. “I didn’t think anyone would see it and know..”

You swallow hard, still unable to tear your eyes away from the painting. “It’s us,” you say, the words barely audible, but Ellie hears them. You can feel her nod behind you, even though she doesn’t say anything.

Another beat of silence stretches between you, the weight of the past pressing down on you both. And then Ellie speaks again, her voice lower now, more grounded. “I didn’t know how else to… capture it. It was the only way I could make sense of everything.”

You finally turn to look at her, and the sight of her standing there, just inches away, sends a fresh wave of emotions crashing over you. Her face is softer now, the hard edges you saw earlier had smoothed away. Just her, standing there, vulnerable and exposed in a way that mirrors the painting on the wall.

For the first time all night, the space between you feels real. Heavy with everything that’s gone unsaid for years.

You open your mouth to speak, but the words are still out of reach. Instead, all you can do is look at her, your chest tight with the weight of everything this painting has stirred up. There’s a part of you that wants to step closer, to reach out and touch her like you used to, to see if the connection that once burned so brightly between you still lingers in the spaces where your skin meets hers.

But for now, all you can do is stand there, your heart pounding in your chest, the memory of that night—of her —playing over and over in your mind like a song you thought you’d forgotten.

Somehow, you ended up here—Ellie’s apartment. You’re not sure how it happened. Maybe it was the tension in the gallery, the weight of the memories between you, or maybe it was Ellie’s quiet, almost tentative offer: “Do you want to come over for a bit?”

Now, the door closes softly behind you, and you find yourself standing in the small entryway of her apartment, the familiar scent of her space—wood, paint, and that faint earthy musk of hers—hitting you all at once. It’s like stepping back into a life you’d long since tried to leave behind, except everything feels slightly off now, like a song that’s being played just a little too slow.

The silence stretches between you, awkward and thick, as Ellie moves past you into the living room. Her apartment is small, but cozy. Messy in the way an artist’s space always is, with scattered paintbrushes, canvases propped up against the walls, and sketchbooks overflowing with half-finished ideas. It’s not much different from the space she had in college, except this time, the mess feels more intentional—like it’s been lived in, not just occupied.

You hover near the door, unsure of where to put your hands, unsure of where to put yourself. The air between you is charged, but not in the electric way it had been back in the gallery.

Ellie clears her throat, scratching the back of her neck as she moves around the space, avoiding your gaze.

“Uh, you can sit if you want,” she says, motioning vaguely toward the worn, comfortable-looking couch that’s pushed against the far wall. “I’ll grab some drinks.”

You nod, grateful for something to do, even if it’s just sitting down. The cushions sag beneath you, and you can’t help but remember the nights you’d spent like this before, curled up together on whatever hand-me-down couch she had at the time, talking for hours, or sometimes not talking at all. Just being.

But this isn’t like before.

Ellie disappears into the kitchen, and you take the opportunity to look around. There’s an easel in the corner with a half-finished painting—a cityscape this time, vibrant with color and movement. The table next to it is cluttered with tubes of paint, brushes, and crumpled pieces of paper with rough sketches. It’s Ellie’s world, laid out in front of you, and yet you feel like a stranger in it now.

The awkwardness creeps up your spine, settling in the pit of your stomach as you wait, the quiet stretching on and on. You can hear Ellie moving in the kitchen—bottles clinking, the soft sound of the fridge opening and closing. It should feel normal, familiar. But it doesn’t.

After what feels like too long, Ellie finally returns, two bottles of beer in hand. She hands you one without a word, her fingers brushing yours briefly in the exchange. The touch is electric, sending a jolt through you, but it’s gone as quickly as it came.

Ellie sits on the opposite end of the couch, as far from you as the small space allows. She takes a swig of her beer, her gaze flicking to the window instead of meeting yours, her posture stiff and uncertain. You take a drink, too, trying to focus on the bitter taste of the beer instead of the way the room feels too small, too quiet.

The silence stretches again, awkward and heavy, like neither of you knows how to bridge the gap. The weight of the past hangs between you—unspoken, but impossible to ignore. You’re both dancing around it, unwilling to dive in, yet neither of you knows how to avoid it.

“How long have you been working on the pieces for the show?” you ask, desperate to fill the silence with something, anything.

Ellie shrugs, taking another sip of her beer. “A while. A couple of years, I guess.”

You nod, not really sure what to say.

You can feel her eyes on you—intense and heavy.

“I don’t think I ever forgot how it felt.” she blurts out, her voice low and husky.

You swallow hard, your pulse quickening as the weight of her words hits you. You know exactly what she means. The memory of her hands on your body, the heat of her breath against your skin—it all comes rushing back, sharper now, more immediate.

Ellie leans back against the couch, her legs spreading just slightly as she sets her beer down on the floor with a soft thunk. She’s still watching you, the unspoken desire hanging thick in the air between you. It’s a look you recognize all too well—a look that used to drive you wild, that used to make you ache for her touch in a way that felt almost unbearable.

And now, sitting here in her apartment, that same ache is starting to stir inside you again.

“I know it’s been a long time,” she murmurs, her voice soft, “But I’ve been thinking about you. About us. ”

Her words send a shiver down your spine, and you feel your body reacting, your skin prickling with heat as the space between you seems to shrink. You can see the way her chest rises and falls with each slow breath, the tension in her body barely restrained. It’s like she’s holding herself back—just barely—but there’s no mistaking the hunger in her eyes, the way her gaze keeps flicking to your lips, your body, like she’s already imagining what it would feel like to close the distance.

You know you should say something, should acknowledge the fire that’s rapidly spreading between you, but you can’t find the words. All you can do is watch as Ellie shifts closer, her movements slow, her eyes never leaving yours.

“I’m not gonna pretend like I don’t want you,” she says, her voice dropping even lower, almost a growl. There’s no hesitation anymore, no awkwardness, just pure, unfiltered desire. “Because I do. I always have.”

The confession hangs in the air, bold and dangerous, and it takes everything in you not to close the gap between you and her right then and there. Your body is already reacting, your pulse racing, your breath coming faster as the tension between you reaches a fever pitch.

Ellie leans in slightly, her face inches from yours, her lips so close you can feel the heat of her breath against your skin. Her hand moves to your thigh, the touch light but deliberate, her fingers pressing against you in a way that sends a jolt of heat straight through your core. It’s a touch that’s both familiar and new, reigniting the fire that had once burned so brightly between you.

“You remember how good it was, don’t you?” she whispers, her lips brushing against your ear, her voice sending shivers down your spine. “I can see it in your eyes.”

Your breath hitches, and you feel your body responding, your skin buzzing with the memory of her touch, the way she used to know exactly how to drive you wild. The pull between you is too strong now, the desire too overwhelming to ignore. You want her—desperately—and you can see the same hunger reflected in her eyes, the way her hand tightens slightly on your thigh, her grip firm.

“Ellie…” you breathe, your voice a whisper, but she hears it. She always hears you.

She moves even closer, her lips brushing against your neck now, the warmth of her breath sending a rush of heat through your body. “Tell me you want this,” she murmurs, her voice rough with desire. “Tell me you want me.”

Your mind is spinning, your heart racing as you feel the full weight of her body leaning into you, her hand sliding further up your thigh, her touch firm. You can barely think straight, the heat between you unbearable now, every nerve in your body on fire as she presses her lips against your neck, soft but insistent.

“I want you..” you whisper, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. And as soon as they leave your lips, Ellie’s restraint shatters.

In an instant, her lips are on yours, the kiss rough and desperate, all the tension and desire that’s been building between you exploding in a surge of heat. Her hands are everywhere—gripping your hips, sliding up your sides, pulling you closer as if she can’t get enough of you. The kiss is hungry, wild, like she’s been starving for you for years, and now that she has you again, she’s not going to let go.

Your body reacts instinctively, your hands tangling in her hair, pulling her closer as you lose yourself. It’s overwhelming, intoxicating, the intensity of her touch, the way she knows exactly how to make you melt beneath her.

Ellie pulls you onto her lap, her hands gripping your hips, and you can feel the hardness of her body beneath you, the strength in her arms as she holds you close, her lips never leaving yours. It’s rough, raw, and so intensely familiar, like falling back into a rhythm you hadn’t realized you’d been missing.

Ellie pulls back just enough to catch her breath, her forehead resting against yours, her breathing ragged, her eyes dark and wild with need. “I need you,” she whimpers.

In a rush, your hands find the hem of ellie’s shirt, pulling it up and over her head. You toss it aside without a second thought, your eyes immediately drawn to her bare torso—her tattoo twisting along her arm, her skin flushed with heat. For a moment, you pause, breathless, as you take her in. She’s gorgeous. Strong and lean, every muscle under her skin defined, her freckles scattered across her chest like stars in the night.

Ellie’s breathing is ragged, her chest rising and falling heavily as she watches you, her lips slightly parted, her eyes burning with want. But she doesn’t say a word. Instead, her hands move to your shirt, tugging it up in one swift motion. You lift your arms, letting her pull it over your head before it, too, is discarded in the growing pile of clothes on the floor.

Her gaze drops immediately, her eyes sweeping over your body.

There’s something in the way she looks at you—something intense,that makes your skin burn under her. Ellie’s hands rest on your bare waist now, her fingers brushing over your skin as she takes you in.

“Ellie…” you breathe, the sound a mixture of a plea and a gasp, urging her to continue.

“Fuck…” she mutters, almost to herself as she leans back slightly to get a better view. Her hands slide up your sides, fingers trailing over the curve of your breasts, the sensation sending a shiver through your entire body. She looks at you like you’re something to be worshipped, her eyes dark with want, her touch slow, as if she’s savoring every second, every inch of you.

“God, you’re beautiful,” Ellie whispers, she’s taking her time now, her hands exploring every inch of your skin, her fingers brushing over your collarbone, tracing the line of your ribs, before they move back up, cupping your breasts with a gentleness that contrasts the raw hunger in her eyes.

You reach for her, your hands roaming over her body, feeling the strength of her shoulders, the hard lines of muscle beneath her skin. Your hands move lower, exploring the soft dip of her waist, the way her body feels beneath your touch—strong, every muscle tensing under your fingers as you stroke her skin. You let your fingers trace the outline of her abs, feeling the way her body responds to your touch, the way her breath hitches every time your hands move lower.

Ellie's hands grip your hips with an sudden urgency, your slick catches against her cunt, the soft, wet friction sending pulses along your clit. You feel her body respond—every muscle tightening, every breath hitching in anticipation.

Ellie's hands grip your hips with an urgency, your slick catches against her cunt, the soft, wet friction making you pulsate. You can feel her body respond—every muscle tightening, every breath hitching in anticipation.

“n-need to feel you,” she gasps, her voice wavering on the edge of breaking, raw and desperate. The intensity in her eyes makes your heart race, an unquenchable thirst that mirrors your own.

You begin to grind against her, your slick meeting her puffy clit, the sensation making you gasp as the friction builds.

“Oh god, please..” you whimper, a moan escaping your lips.

It’s intoxicating, the way your bodies move together, the way every roll of your hips sends ripples of pleasure through both your pussies.

“Fuck,” ellie breathes, her voice low and filled with a mix of need and awe, her eyes locked onto yours as you move together, a slow, delicious rhythm that feels like it’s been waiting for this moment for years.

“Come here,” she begs, pulling you closer, her grip tightening as you continue to grind against her. The slick sound echos in the air, mingling with the soft moans that slip from your lips. Each sound you makes pulls ellie deeper, melody that makes her crave more.

Ellie shifts beneath you, her body arching in a way that allows you to scissor closer. You can see the way her chest rises and falls, each breath heavy. Your eyes flutter shut for a moment, lost in the sensations, and ellie takes the opportunity to lean down, her lips brushing against your ear as she whispers, “You feel so fucking good, baby.”

The sound of her voice makes your pussy pulsate, your eyes snapping open as they lock onto hers. “d-don’t stop,” you breathe, your voice trembling with urgency. “I need m-more.”

“God, you’re s-so fucking good,” she whispers, her voice thick with desire, her gaze locked on yours, as if she’s trying to memorize every detail of this moment.

Ellie’s hands slide down your body, exploring every curve, every contour as she pulls you closer, her fingers digging into your skin, leaving marks that will linger long after this night.

“Ellie...” you breathe, the name falling from your mouth like a prayer. “Please, I need to feel you closer,” you whisper, voice all shaky.

Ellie gives in to the rhythm, moving faster, harder, each thrust sending shudders of pleasure racing through both of you. Your moans come out loud and whiny, mingling with Ellie’s desperate gasps.

“Fuck, yes!” You breathe, your body arching into hers, your hands gripping her arms as she pulls you closer. You can feel the tension building between you, the way your body responds together, every roll of your hips bringing you both closer to cumming.

“Don’t stop!” Ellie lets out a soft cry, her body tensing beneath you as the pleasure washes over her. You feel the way her body responds to yours, and it sends you tumbling over the edge, your own pleasure crashing down, pulling you both into ecstasy.

You collapse against her, breathless and trembling, the world around you fading away as you savor the warmth of her body against yours, the softness of her skin, and the way your bodies still pulse.

You turn your head slightly, your eyes catching a glimpse of the half-finished paintings scattered around her apartment, the abstract strokes, the splashes of color that seem almost chaotic, like her thoughts spilled out onto the canvas. You can’t help but wonder if you’ll be another one of those unfinished things—something she can’t quite complete, something left unresolved, a work in progress that she never intended to finish.

There’s a lump forming in your throat, but you push it down.

You won’t wake up to her. Not tomorrow, not ever. Ellie will go back to her life, and you’ll go back to yours, and this night will fade into the past, becoming another memory, another fragment of what you once had together.

With a quiet sigh, you press a gentle kiss to her shoulder.

#ellie williams #ellie x fem reader #ellie x reader #ellie fanfic #ellie tlou #ellie x y/n #ellie smut #ellie williams smut #ellie angst #ellie the last of us #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams fanfic #ellie williams au #ellie williams tlou #ellie x you #ellie williams fanfiction #ellie williams x f!reader #ellie williams headcanons #ellie willams x reader

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chososdiscordkitten · 11 months ago

Text

I'm Stuck!

artist: yunonoai on twt

Synopsis: Gojo buys new washing machines nd chooses a shitty placement for em ⸜( ´ ꒳ ` )⸝

Pairing: Gojo x Fem!Reader Content: smut, implied reader is thicker than a snicker, established relationship, teasing, r gets stuck between a wall nd said machines, dirty talk, multiple orgasms (f), a sprinkle of manhandling, he refuses to admit he's wrong, cream pie

(a.n) if u wanna see what I picture- look at this

MDNI

When you first moved in with Gojo, you became all too aware of the fact that he was very particular about his design choices. Almost all your suggestions were vetoed the minute you would offer them.

And when the cheap washing machines that came with his apartment broke; You saw this as an opportunity to control at least one room in the now-shared apartment.

You stood beside Satoru in the laundry room- eyeing the small space and telling him, “If you put them here,” referencing the back wall of the rectangle room, “-it’ll feel more open.” you pointed at the wall. Looking at his pensive expression.

Gojo was just petty enough to ignore your suggestion. Holding a measuring tape and looking at the 28-inch mark. “The website says they’re this big-” looking up at you as he measured.

Even if you were kinda right- Satoru wanted to put the washer and dryer pair on the opposite side. Leaving only the entrance of the small room- and a small gap between the wall and the massive machines.

You parted your lips- about to speak. Remembering the photo Satoru had shown you of the machines- far better and more modern than the old ones that opened at the top.

These new ones had doors that opened outwards- and as you looked at the gap between where the machines would go, and where the wall was. You were sure they wouldn’t be able to open fully.

But you held your tongue- knowing Satoru would mull it over for a few days before telling you that you were right.

The space was small- sure. But you were sure it was enough space to fit through, and besides, how long would Satoru let those machines sit in the wrong place before calling someone to help switch their placement.

On the day of delivery, Satoru looked at the machines as though they were his pride and joy, like he was the one who did all the washing in the house.

The way the handymen looked at your idiot boyfriend was laugh-worthy. “They’ll go against that wall”, he instructed.

You were sure the men struggled more in placing them where Satoru instructed than if they just flipped them and pushed them to the back wall.

Satoru generously tipped them for their efforts, and once they left, you stood at the small doorway. Looking at the washing machines placed against the wall as though it were a laundromat.

“I hate saying it-” he clicked his tongue, leaning against the machine and looking at you smugly. “But I told you so~”

You grinned- amused at how right he thought he was. You winced, “Do me a favor real quick-” fighting off the laugh about to rumble from your chest. “Open one of the doors.”

Satoru furrowed his eyebrows at your request, dragging a hand down to the circular door. Smugly popping it open, only to hear it ding against the wall. You puffed a small laugh from your nose at how his face fell.

“And..” you started, walking towards him and fwipping your hand up and down- guiding him to move.

Stepping into the small gap between the machine and the wall with the door open, and letting a small giggle leave your lips as your thick thighs pressed against the metal.

Satoru looked down at your hips that were flush against the machine- he measured how much space the machines took up. But Gojo didn’t account for the space you would need to do laundry properly.

You turned your head, looking at him over your shoulder. Watching him pull his lips to the side, thinking up some snide remark about how he was still right.

Even a week after having those machines in the most inconvenient place- Satoru refused to admit he was wrong. He refused to call the handymen back and have them move the machines where you told him to.

You were more affected by his mistake than he was. Bothersome little doors that had hit you more times than you could count when they would bounce off the wall.

And all the times you would feel your hips brush against the open machines- you would furrow your eyebrows. Recalling how petty he could be.

Truth being- Satoru hadn’t called the handymen to fix the minor problem because when you first stepped into the small space of the laundry room- Seeing your thighs press against the machine made him hope you would get stuck one day.

As though he had manifested it- the day came.

You were doing laundry per usual- struggling with the stupid doors and growing more and more irritated by the second.

And when you thought you were finally finished- slamming the dryers door shut and hearing it whirr.

You turned around to see a discarded sock on the ground, thinking nothing of it and stepping back into the small space- hips pressed against the slightly protruding door of the dryer. Picking up the sock with a small huff.

Straightening back up and aiming to take a step back. Only to feel resistance from the wall- you tried shifting with even more strength. Only for the wall and machine to refuse to let you go.

You looked to the machine- recalling all the times this very same scenario had happened. Wondering what went wrong this time. And seeing the clear plastic bubble-like door trap your hips. Add that with the bending- causing your hips to widen in the slightest.

You sighed- frustrated that you had actually managed to get stuck in the small space. You tried a few more steps- a small wiggle, a aimed step back- nothing worked.

And wearing mini shorts- practically underwear that left your plush thighs exposed against the wall and the plastic door. Knowing it would only hurt if you pushed yourself out.

You held the stupid black sock in your hand as you contemplated calling out to the idiot that waited for you in the living room.

You shouted his name once- waiting a few seconds to see if he would come running to see what was wrong.

Only Satoru was sat with a handful of unfolded socks in his lap, watching the show you normally watched together- so focused on the scene playing out before him.

You closed your eyes- cringing at the cliche you were in. Calling his name once more- with more urgency and a gruff to it. That’s what pulled Satoru from his focus on the tv show.

His hand reached for the remote and pressed pause- trying to determine if he was just imagining things or if you actually called out to him.

And when you called out to him a third time, Satoru tossed the socks from his lap and ran to the laundry room. All the urgency in the world.

Worried you had seen a bug, or a home invasion- or every single dangerous thing he could picture happening. Running into the room asking you what was wro-

His lips parted in amazement once he saw your bottom trapped between the machine’s door and the wall. Staring at your exposed thighs and the crease of your ass.

“Don’t just stand there- go get some baby oil or something to get me ou-” Satoru reached a hand out to your bottom, causing you to silence your directions. His cheeks flushed and eyes glimmering full of the possibilities.

Satoru sighed and smiled, looking up to the ceiling with closed eyes to thank the deity that had granted him his wish.

Looking back down to your ass- slightly bent and you trying to reach a hand back to push him off, all but telling him again to go get something to help you out.

But knowing your boyfriend and his peculiar tastes- this was brewing in his mind from the minute he saw your hips against the small space.

“I prayed for this.” he whispered, earning a small ‘what?’ to leave your lips.

Satoru placed both of his hands on your bottom, his long fingers sliding beneath the light fabric of your shorts. Softly groping at the skin and peaked his eyebrows. You only clenched your jaw and closed your eyes.

Hearing the ramblings of the man behind you. “You should’ve just listened to me.” you scoffed, planting your hands on the wall in front of you as though Gojo was doing a body search, trailing his fingers down your clothed core.

His eyes dimmed- watching the light goosebumps form on your skin, lightly pressing his fingers against the little mound beneath your shorts. Earning a small exhale laced with a whimper to leave your lips. His other hand groped firmly at your ass, enjoying the view below him.

“No. I know now I was right not to listen to you.” Satoru grinned menacingly, watching your hips try to shift against the whirring machine next to you.

The tips of his fingers against your clothed core making you let out a shivering huff. “You still want me to help you out?~” Gojo asked- too smug to be considered as a genuine offer.

Satoru made light circles on the little mound at the top of your cunt- shivers running down your thighs as you tried to muster the words.

“You must’ve planned this-” he scoffed, trailing his fingers to the side of your shorts. A small damp spot formed on them, telling Gojo all he needed to know. “Prancing around all day wearing this-”

You parted your mouth- feeling the cool air hit your dampening cunt that pulsed with every accusation he spouted at you.

Satoru sucked his teeth- placing the tips of his fingers on your clit, causing a small gasp to fall from your throat. You let out a ragged breath, his fingers starting small circles against you.

Trying to keep your legs from buckling at the slow pace Satoru held. A small ‘tsk’ left his lips, full of feigned disappointment. “Tryna tempt me allll day.” The smile evident in his tone.

You only breathed a small whimper at his words- knowing it wasn’t true, but what state were you in to deny it?

“M’pretty sure I saw your pretty pussy a handful of times~” he purred- fastening his pace in the slightest.

Your breathing took up in pace- trying not to let out the small moans Satoru was pulling from you with every small circle he made against you.

The bulge in Gojo’s bottoms grew with every little whimper you let out- his hard cock twitching beneath the fabric as soft moans left your lips, landing in his ears as harmonies.

“If you wanted me to fuck you that badly-” he hummed, quickening his fingers and hearing the low squelches coming from your cunt. Knees threatening to buckle as Satoru trailed the hand on your ass up your slightly arched back, pushing up the hem of your t-shirt.

“All you had to do was ask, baby.” he cooed, watching your hands on the wall start to slip as your moans became louder, feeling Gojo’s hard bulge pressing against your ass. Desperate to get some kind of friction, whereas you- were desperate to finish.

An orgasm so close it had one of your eyes shut and the other threatening to follow its movements- “You didn’t have to scheme up ways for me to fuck you.” he teased, trying to dig your fingers into the wall as Satoru watched you come undone, cunt clenching around nothing.

Feeling your core pulse onto his fingertips, small shivering sighs leave your lungs as he works you down an orgasm. You steady your breathing- becoming more aware of Gojo’s bulge pressing onto your plump bottom.

You clenched your teeth- Satoru’s fingers trailing from your clit down to the source of the slick that coated his digits. The other resting on your side to stabilize you. Wouldn’t want you to come unstuck too soon now.

You were glad you were faced away from him- your vision bordering on going double and the heat rising to your cheeks just thinking about the cliche you were in. Thinking of how easily accessible you were to him at that moment.

You started feeling his fingers dip into your entrance- too slow and far too eager to prep you. “Just-” you huffed, feeling his hand halt its movements.

“Just. Fuck me.”

Quiet- but clear enough for Satoru to hear you.

Huffed and urged as you said it- it made Satoru realize you were unwilling to go through his teasing prep- and in no possession of the patience needed for it.

Gojo bit his lip slightly, being able to see the tenseness in your shoulders- it wasn’t about him having a good time anymore. No, your tone made it sound like he was depriving you of something.

Satoru wasted no more than a second in tucking the hem of his shirt between his pearly teeth- a smile on the corners of his lips as he watched you writhe. All but telling him to hurry with the puffs of frustration leaving your lips.

Though his mouth was busy trying to hold his shirt up- his messied hand pulled from your cunt and landed on the band of his shorts, you could hear the muffled giggles of amusement leaving Gojo’s lips as he slapped the tip of his cock onto your ass.

Leaky as he was, Gojo still wanted to hear the words from your lips. “Tellme-m’right” he spoke with clenched teeth- muffled and barely legible and in a smug tone.

You scoffed- biting your lip and peaking up your eyebrows. Knowing Satoru is just petty enough to pull away from you and jack off till he spurt his mess onto your ass. “You were right.” you mumbled, earning Satoru to release the shirt from his teeth with a smile.

“What was that?” lightly tapping your entrance with his tip as your hands pressed onto the wall again- planted to stay upright.

You sighed. “You were right, ‘toru-” you spoke clearly, earning an appeased hum from Satoru.

Taking his hand from his base- quickly taking off his t-shirt and lining himself up with your cunt. The only thought in his mind was praising himself for what a good idea the machine’s placement was.

The second he slowly pressed his tip past your entrance- both you and Gojo could feel the difference between when you would be prepped compared to now.

Soft ringing in your ears as you let out a soft moan, a light sting pulsing in your cunt as he eased himself into you.

And Gojo- he swore he could cum right then and there had it been up to him. His eyes threatened to fall back into a soft roll as a groan tried leaving his throat. Falling from his lips with the sound of a whimper laced in it.

Even if Satoru had slid inside of you countless times- it always made his go vision blurry. Never getting used to how warm and welcoming your cunt always felt against his cock.

Satoru spouted a curse- mixed with a whimper as he held onto your ass, bracing himself as he felt your cunt suck him in.

With clenched teeth- “S-so fuckin’ tight-” he gruffed- making sure to give you enough time to get used to the light sting before he pulled his cock from you. Hands gripping too harshly on the malleable skin of your ass.

His cock felt a light breeze hit the skin lathered with your essence, wasting little time before thrusting back into you- setting a slow but deep pace.

Shutting your eyes tight as Satoru’s thrusts caused your hips to move against the harsh plastic and the wall.

A few more rolls of his hips were all you had to spare- “Satoru I’m gonna fall-” you huffed, feeling his hands grope at your ass firmly- some attempts to assure you that you wouldn’t.

A light sheen of sweat formed on your thigh, causing you to actually start slipping with every little thrust Satoru rolled against you.

Though he was whining behind you, he could feel your hips start to give against the machine’s door.

Gojo mustered all the strength he could, dragging his cock from you. Allowing his leaking tip to kiss your entrance ever so slightly as he gave a hard yank against your hips.

Hearing a low grunt of relief as you felt yourself come loose-only for Satoru’s hands to move you to the free edge of the machine quickly, aligning himself up with your entrance again.

Pressing his heaving chest against your back- bending you over as his head rested the crook of your neck. Clenching his teeth with a low whimper- your hands planted against the whirring machine- bracing for him to bottom out.

Only Satoru planted a hand atop yours- grasping it lightly as he slid himself in slowly.

A sharp exhale took the form of a whimper as it left Gojo’s lips, invading your ear as you raised yourself onto your tiptoes. Giving his cock a new angle, his flushed tip nudging your sweet spot.

A choked moan left your lips, the hand on your ass rising to your neck. Pulling you back to his chest and forcing your back into a harsher arch.

Satoru sped up his pace- barely pulling out and prodding the spongy gspot his cock curved into. Barely pulling his hips from your ass with frustrated whimpers leaving his lips.

His hand mindlessly rising to the side of your face- your parted lips huffing out small whimpers welcoming his fingers. Hooking the digits that brought you to your first orgasm, onto the side of your mouth as he tried to keep a steady pace.

You could feel he was still holding back- unknowing why he insisted on keeping a medium pace with his thrusts. You clenched your walls around him in the slightest- “F-faster ‘toru,” you huffed, slightly muffled from his fingers in your mouth- earning for his hips to halt and his hands to raise.

Satoru gulped- his cheeks flushed and ears hot as his hands hooked onto the ditches of your elbows. Pulling your arms back in tandem with dragging his cock out.

Gojo knew that whenever you bark an order, you were giving him permission to do what every part of his brain was yelling at him to do.

And as he felt the very tip of his cock reach the taut circle of your entrance- he clenched his teeth, inhaling before pushing himself in.

His thrusts were rough- too deep as your shoulder blades pressed against each other- clearer moans falling from your lips. Satoru’s forearms pulling you back with every harsh thrust- unpatterned and sloppy as he whined into your ear.

Your calves started tingling from being raised on the tips of your toes. And almost as though Satoru heard you- he released one of your arms and reached down to your thigh.

A smile took shape in a huff- “Up we go~” he grinned with a breathless tinge.

Assisting you in resting it on the top of the machine, now easily at level with his rough hips. The foot on the ground barely touched the tile- half of your body on top of the machine as Satoru grabbed a handful of ass. Biting his lip as he looked down to your cunt linked with him.

With every tenacious thrust Satoru rolled against you- he watched your ass bounce.

And as though it was instinct, Gojo pulled his gripping hand from your ass and gave you a firm spank.

You whimpered in response- shutting your eyes and muttering a strained, “Fffuck!” his hand soothing the warmth rising onto your bottom- clenching his teeth with muffled groans leaving his pursed lips.

Your hands pressing onto the top of the machine as some sort of attempt to brace for Satoru’s quick drilling hips. Keeping yourself up on your forearms as his hand gripped the malleable skin of your ass. Groaning harsher and harsher as he felt his orgasm build in his tummy.

Satoru knew you were close too- the moans you spewed were now shorter and more breathy. Your cunt twitching around him every other thrust-

“Say m’right.” clenched teeth and a low tone as his thrusts became even more sloppy- bordering on raising himself from the ground from how harshly he was pushing you onto the machine.

Gojo stopped his thrusts- nuzzling himself inside of you entirely. And staying still- knocking the air from your lungs with a gasp- “Say.” pulling his cock , “I’m.” a firm thrust, “Right.” urging you to with every deep thrust.

You whimpered, knowing he was barely bumping his tip against your gspot on purpose.

“You’re r-ri-” he continued his fast pace again- the words trying to make their way out of your lips.

Satoru grunted with an amused smile- “I’m-” he sighed, “I’m what?” out of breath and edging himself.

You bit your lip, the knot in your stomach slowly slipping with every little thrust.

Feeling his unforgiving hips nudge you closer and closer against the wall. Your jaw went slack-jawed as he refused to give you a second to answer.

All it took was another firm spank to push you over an orgasm- cunt spasming around him as he grunted. Sudden tightness sucking him in with every pull he did.

“You’re righ- fuck-” you moaned, “You’reright-” babbling as Satoru let out a breathy giggle. More than pleased with your mindless prattling.

As Gojo succumbed to his own orgasm- you groaned lightly, feeling his seed coat your walls. Warmth filling your cunt as your eyes fluttered closed.

Satoru rode himself down with slower thrusts, still reaching as deep as he could- but slowing them.

Wincing softly as his tip got a shock of overstimulation, heavily breathing as he eased his hands from you.

Leaning over your ass and placing his forehead onto the center of your shoulder blades.

“Call the delivery men,” you breathed- sighing softly as Satoru rested himself atop you. “And tell them to move them.” you demanded- knowing that if they stayed the way they were now- more little instances like these would keep happening.

Satoru huffed against your clothed spine. “You just said,” taking a breath and feeling his heart pound in his chest. “-that I was right?” keeping a teasing tone as you tried easing off the machine.

Wondering how on earth Gojo managed to shift you from the floor to the top of the washer.

I luv him sm <3

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insomniumstella · 1 year ago

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baby, she's all yours

bucky x fem!reader

warnings: free use (consent to be "used" anytime & anywhere), explicit language, fingering, oral (m! and f! receiving), a sprinkle of degradation, a sprinkle of breeding kink, dom!bucky, public sex, light spanking, daddy kink (i should be stopped). this one is bad, so it goes without saying, but MDI

word count: 1,240

author's note: this is a lil' story in celebration of kinktober, which time won't permit me to participate in, but my thoughts always wanted to. ➼ sharp, but oh so gentle

James was hesitant to explore the concept you described as free use at first, and maybe a fraction scared. The two of you had been dating for close to three years, and though things were great, the idea of you introducing free use into the bedroom days after knife play troubled him. His heart has always been heavy with the notion of being too difficult to love and too bothersome to deal with, but you made him feel enough; more than. Special in public when you would proudly hold his hand, and special in the comfort of plush sheets when you would let him cherish you — use and mould you into a drooling mess, obeying every demand. Was proposing a fresh kink a silent plead to advise him you have gotten bored?

As it turned out, it was. Kind of. The itch beneath your skin urging you to explore foreign waters wasn’t boredom but rather lust. Fiery hot and addicting type of lust that ignited every nerve ending in your body around him. Still does. Introducing Bucky to free use was the best—and the most deliciously infuriating—thing to soothe your constant yearning for his touch.

It caught you off guard, the first time he complied with the request. Steve had recently purchased an apartment in Brooklyn and organised a small housewarming celebration. You slipped out of the living room and into the kitchen once your glass turned empty, oblivious to the very needy pair of eyes studying you. The music muffled your soft moans then, as James fingered you against the blonde’s new refrigerator, suffocating the whines his thick fingers caused with passionate kisses.

The second time it happened, it was winter. Powdery layers of snow covered the entirety of New York City, and, as the sun laid to rest for the evening, the streets seemed magical. James and you were rushing to Natasha’s birthday dinner, stopping by Bergdorf Goodman for a last-minute gift. Time around holidays is always strenuous, but the missions almost doubled last year, rustles of a deadly biochemical weapon dampening the joy of Christmas and stealing your attention away from getting Natasha a gift early. Bucky tackled the three bottom floors whilst you handled the other three, scouring the variety of fine jewelry and designer clothing. As fate would have it, a gorgeous sequinned dress piqued your interest, the colour of it overly harsh for the redhead’s complexion but perfectly complimenting to yours. James practically pleaded for you to model it, assuring nobody would notice you being late a minute or two. Desire waltzed in his eyes when you agreed at last, twirling around to present the garment and flaunt how well it flattered your curves. He shoved the two of you into the private dressing room once the sales associate disappeared to bring out a pair of matching heels, closing the curtains and hiking the dress up to your waist. “Be good for me,” he spoke, undoing his zipper and slipping the tip of his cock into your dripping heat, “you wouldn’t want employees to hear us, would you, doll?” You couldn’t think of the gift you ended up buying Natasha, but you can still remember sobbing into Bucky’s hand as his hips feverishly snapped into yours.

Sometimes, that particular memory makes you wonder if introducing James to free use was a mistake — you’d be lying if you said it was because the thrill of being played with at times you least expect is exhilarating. The agreement caused many risky scenarios, though. There was that instance of Bucky between your legs, lapping at your core during a video call with your sister. The wooden desk shielded him from view as he relished you, but the grimaces on your features were a smidge more difficult to camouflage. “You taste incredible, baby,” Bucky mumbled, flesh and metal hands gripping the softness of your exposed thighs, before eagerly licking your clit. “Couldn’t ever get enough of this pussy.” You inadvertently moaned thrice during the call, disguising the sinful sounds by feigning coughs and attributing your strange demeanour to a common cold. “Tell her the truth,” James teased then, slipping a metal digit inside your needy hole, and you sneakily slapped his shoulder. The unsuspecting woman on screen continued to babble about her upcoming visit as you hit the mute button on your computer because the man below you had zero intentions of easing up. “Can feel you squeezin’,” he groaned, slipping a couple more of his metal digits inside. “Please end the call, peach, so I could fuck you atop this desk already.”

There was also the time he got annoyed on a road trip, freeing his cock and guiding your head downward to silence your complaints about his driving on unpaved roads. “Be a good girl and put that mouth to better use,” he grunted as you licked drops of pre-cum off his skin. “Na uh, doll,” with his left arm on the steering wheel, James forced the entirety of his length into your mouth, “we ain’t got time for any foreplay shit right now.”

Furthermore, introducing him to free use is the reason for your current predicament — being bent over the sink at a local bar with Bucky balls deep inside you.

“Takin’ me so well, sweetheart.” James praises, catching your gaze in the grimy mirror before spanking your velvety hips. “My girl’s such a slut for me, letting me play with her in a random pub’s bathroom.” It’s more of an observation than dirty talk, and you bite back a moan, nodding. “Bet you’re always thinking about daddy’s big cock, wishing you could be bursting full of me forever, aren’t you?” A harsh spank lands on your scorching skin when you don’t immediately answer. “I asked you a question, peach.”

“Yes,” you sob, digging your manicured nails into the base of your palm. “Love it—,” another wail slips past your swollen lips, “love it when you use me, daddy.”

The pace of his hips slamming into yours remains brutal as he studies your expression in the mirror. “Look at you,” he clutches your chin, the slight pain of it forcing you to peel your eyes open, “my baby’s so fucked out, she’s having trouble speaking.” The steady pulse of your approaching orgasm heightens as Bucky admires the whimpering mess that is you, leaning lower until the slight stubble on his jaw tickles your ear. “Should I let you finish, or should I leave you all desperate and stuffed full of my cum until happy hour’s over?”

“Please,” you plead, “I’m so close.”

“That’s too—,” James chuckles through a groan as his own orgasm bursts in syrupy waves, “—bad.” The rhythm of his movements falters and then stops, and if tears weren’t streaming down your face already, you would’ve cried at the loss of contact, feeling terribly empty without Bucky to keep you warm. Though you don’t say a word to him, he can sense your frustration, the weight of your emotions lingering in the atmosphere around you. Slithering his metal hands between your legs, he pushes the cum that leaked out back inside you, thrusting a couple times to soothe your disappointment before withdrawing his touch and shoving your discarded panties into the pocket of his jacket. “Don’t let it drip out if you want a reward when we get home.” A lazy grin stretches across his features. “I promise to make it worth your while.”

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader smut #bucky barnes x reader smut #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky x you #bucky imagine #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x you #bucky smut #bucky barnes smut #bucky x female!reader

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strangererotica · 7 months ago

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EXPLICIT CONTENT | MINORS DNI

Dom!Eddie Munson x Reader

Includes: oral & vaginal sex, cum play, spanking, somnophilia, Eddie comes on Reader’s bush, thigh riding, & a bit of degradation

Eddie’s voice is calm, as if pinning you against his lap is an effortless action. For him, it probably is. “You can squirm around all you want,” he murmurs. “I’m not lettin’ go of you anytime soon...”

You believe him. There are few things stronger than Eddie’s grip, except maybe his love for you.

The steady blur of interstate traffic rumbles outside the motel window. Eddie brought you here as a little treat. It’s nothing fancy; nothing ever is with Eddie. He’s a simple man. He knew how much you needed a change of scenery, even if it’s just a few nights staying in a cheap hotel on the other side of the highway. It’s easy to please you, Eddie has learned. The only thing you really want from him, he gives in abundance: his love. Apart from that, everything else is just material, superficial. Not having expensive things like designer clothes and jewelry doesn’t bother you, especially since when you’re with Eddie, you’re usually naked anyway...

He bounces his knee, and you along with it. Eddie won’t let you sit on his cock, not yet…not when you make such pretty sounds on his lap like this, your naked cunt spreading a little damp patch on his thigh. Eddie gives you his cock as a reward; you’ll have to earn it. And the way to earn Eddie’s cock is to show him what a good girl you can be by controlling yourself and not disobeying him by coming on his lap. Tonight, you’re only allowed to come on his cock.

Your eyes shift to Eddie’s erection, where it rests against his other thigh. He’s hard as a rock, leaking precum onto the hair covering his leg, his cock rising now and then as it pulses. You bury your face again in the safe space of Eddie’s neck, your lips parting to taste his skin. His big hand presses against the small of your back, holding you in place as he gently rocks you forward and back on his knee. You coo against his neck, soft little sounds that force Eddie to touch himself. His eyes close in pleasure as he strokes himself, three slow pumps from his base to his tip, but no more than that. Eddie isn’t just edging himself; he’s saving his cum for you.

He tilts his head to yours, nuzzling your cheek. “How bad do you need it?” Eddie asks, his breath soft and warm against your ear. He lets go of his cock and brings his hand to your lips, feeding you the slippery precum collected on his fingertips. You moan around his touch, sucking the pearly liquid off his skin. One finger isn’t enough, Eddie decides. He needs to see your mouth full, just like it is when his cock is buried inside it. Eddie presses a second finger between your lips, and then a third, feeling the pad of your tongue curve as you’re forced to make room for him, the softness of your inner cheeks spread by his fingers.

Being so full of Eddie in this way reminds you of his cock, and you begin to feel your self control faltering. You know you’re not supposed to come yet, and you’re trying hard not to, honestly…But it feels too good on Eddie’s lap, your pussy weeping gently onto his thigh, his fingers pumping shallow thrusts between your lips as you suck them, wishing they were his cock…

You grind down against Eddie’s thigh, scooting back and forth at a deliberate pace. Eddie knows that you’re trying to come, and he won’t stop you, even though it’s ‘against the rules.’ He knows you’re well aware of what awaits your disobedience.

You come on Eddie’s thigh, whimpering and gurgling around his fingers, your body trembling in his arms. He lets you finish, then spanks your ass hard, once. “Did I say you were allowed to come?” Eddie asks, his tone full of authority. Your voice is breathy and strained as you drift down from your climax. “N-no Eddie, I’m sorry-.”

He spanks you again, harder than the first time. You wince, giggling immediately after the sting subsides.

*spank!* You bite your lip, stifling another giggle. “Somethin’ funny?” Eddie growls. “You think making a mess all over my lap is something to laugh about? Answer me-.”

*spank!*

“Mm-no, I d-don’t,” you reply, your brain fuzzy and stupid. “Just feels so good when you hurt me; can’t help but smile about it…”

“Hmm,” Eddie nods. He lifts you off his lap, placing you on the floor between his knees. He pats his thigh, the sound of your wetness audible. “Go on,” Eddie gently commands. “Clean up your mess, and if you do a good job, maybe I’ll let you sit on my cock...”

You release your lip from between your teeth, scooting forward slightly so your head is suspended over Eddie’s thigh. You place your lips to his skin, kissing and sucking at the moisture your orgasm left there. Eddie clutches your hair inside his fist. He presses your face into his leg, smearing your nose and lips with your own cum. “Gotta treat y’like a fuckin’ dog, don’t I honey?” Eddie muses. “Have to rub your face in your mess just to teach you a lesson…”

Eddie guides your head sideways and places your face against the underside of his balls. You continue to lick and suck; Eddie’s cock bobs against your nose and forehead. “Open your mouth wider,” Eddie says, and you oblige. With his hand still bunched in your hair, Eddie eases his balls inside your mouth, as much as you can take, anyway. “Stay still,” he instructs, spitting on his hand and wrapping it around his cock. “Keep my balls warm for me while I stroke it.”

You feel Eddie’s fist moving above you, pumping along his shaft. Drops of precum land on your forehead and in your hair as he fucks himself. You stay on your knees dutifully, holding as much of Eddie’s balls in your mouth as you can fit, while he masturbates above you. After a few minutes, Eddie can tell he’s getting close. His voice is huskier when he speaks, his breath shallow, needy. “You’ve been such a good girl for me,” he praises. “Go ahead and climb back up on my lap, angel.”

You spread your legs around Eddie’s waist, sinking onto his cock. His chest dips in a deep exhale of relief, of gratitude, as your pillowy walls hug his cock in a perfect fit. You hum softly against Eddie’s neck, little tears forming in your eyes because the sensation of him filling you after you already came so hard is overwhelming. You’re sleepy and horny all at once, snuggled in Eddie’s arms, cuddled from the inside out as he bucks you gently on his lap. He holds you tightly, knowing how sleepy and needy you are. “You can relax baby,” Eddie murmurs at your ear. “I’ll do all the work from here on, alright?”

A happy little tear drips down your cheek and lands on Eddie’s shoulder. You nuzzle against his neck, feeling sleepier and sleepier by the second. Eddie humps up into you gently, tenderly, letting you fall asleep in his arms. When he realizes you’ve drifted off, he carefully hoists you up, carrying you to the bed with his cock still nestled inside you.

He lowers you onto the mattress, your body limp and pliant beneath his, a contented smile on your face as you softly dream. Eddie hovers over you, admiring the beautiful angel in his arms, pressing kisses to your cheeks, your neck, your breasts. He strokes your hair, fanned out across the pillow, his cock pulsing deep inside you. Eddie knows he’s going to come any second. He’s afraid he’ll disturb your sleep if he finishes inside you, so very carefully, he pulls out.

Eddie strokes himself over your body, teasing apart your labia with the head of his cock. He spreads your cum up and down his shaft, using it as a lubricant. With the head of his cock aimed between your legs, Eddie ejaculates into your pubic hair, covering the soft tuft in milky white. The image of your hair covered in his cum is unexpectedly beautiful to Eddie. With a delicate touch, he ghosts his fingers over your pubic mound, spreading his cum inside the hair there.

The glossy liquid shimmers in the fading light of evening, a lavender sunset visible through the motel window. Eddie doesn’t know if he’s ever seen anything as beautiful as you wearing his cum this way. He’s finished on your face and your back countless times; but there’s something so intimate and private about seeing this part of you covered in his cum that has left Eddie awestruck.

He lowers his face to plant a tender kiss between your legs, and then another, and another…because now that he’s gotten a taste of your pussy, Eddie can’t stop. His tongue wakes you, a sharp gasp leaving your lips as he catches your clit just right. “Eddie…” you purr, arching your back against the bed. “I fell asleep; I’m sorry.”

He smiles up at you from between your legs, his expression assuring you he’s not upset. “I know, angel,” Eddie replies, his lips wet with you. “It’s okay. I told you, I’ll take care of everything.” He licks a fat swipe up your center, prompting your entire body to seize in a shiver of pleasure. “And now,” Eddie adds. “I’m gonna take care of you…”

He sinks his mouth over your lips, sliding his tongue inside you. Looking between your legs, you can’t be sure where your pussy ends and Eddie’s mouth begins; he’s eating you up like a dessert. His mouth searches your most sacred space, making love to your pussy with every stroke of his tongue. The sheets are balled in one of your fists, while your other hand is in Eddie’s hair, locking him in place between your thighs.

A string of incoherent words leaves your lips as you climax around Eddie’s tongue. You can feel yourself squirting, cum gushing against his mouth and dripping down your ass to the bed. He murmurs praises against your cunt, words neither of you can hear over the sound of your moaning Eddie’s name. He eats you through your orgasm, and the one after, and the one after that, till you’re so sensitive you’re begging him to stop.

By this point, Eddie is hard again. He climbs up between your legs and enters you easily. “Such a greedy little cunt,” he grunts as he sinks inside. Sweat and cum drip off his chin and onto your tits. As he fucks you, Eddie feels his previous ejaculate rub against his belly, now cold and sticky where it’s matted in your pubic hair. When he’s close to coming, he pulls out of you and presses his tip against the coarse hair below your belly. You both watch his ruddy tip empty into your pubic hair, a deep growl leaving Eddie’s lips as he relieves himself onto you.

He uses his finger to scoop some cum from your bush, bringing it to your lips, feeding it to you. “Such a good girl,” Eddie praises. He kisses his way up your body, pausing for a moment at your breasts, tugging your nipple lightly between his lips. You reach for Eddie and he lets you pull him close, resting his head against your breasts, his breath warm on your skin. “Sweet dreams, Eddie,” you whisper, watching his eyes go heavy, stroking back his hair. Eddie falls asleep with his head against your heartbeat, and the taste of your cunt on his lips…

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hyper-pixels · 10 months ago

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How to Grow Up

A guide on how to grow up. It was originally posted by @/friendliness but half the links were broken. So I took what links weren't broken and added other links and more things to know.

This is USA based resources

Personal

Reasons to Stay Alive – A Tumblr post of 116 reasons to stay alive by @/friendliness.

How to Get Better At Asking for Help – Website is Harvard Business Review. The article is “5 Ways to Get Better At Asking for Help” by Wayne Baker.

What to do if you Can’t Afford Therapy – Website is Psych Central and the article is by Steven Rowe.

How to Quit Smoking – “The 22 Best Ways to Quit Smoking” by Debra L. Gordon and David L. Katz M.D. from the Healthy Digest.

How to Legally Change your Name – Website is Forbes.

Wanna Learn Something New? – A Tumblr post made by @/hamletthedane with various new things to try from language learning to ballet.

Free Harvard Courses – Harvard University’s free online courses.

Getting a New Computer? – A quick and dirty comprehensive guide by WIRED on what to look for.

How to Sew – Website is Autodesk Indestructibles. The article is “How to Sew” by Jessyratfink. Having a small sewing kit (that you can pick up from nearly any craft store) is super handy and has saved my life and clothes.

What to Look For in Clothes A YouTube video by Alyssa Beltempo titled “How to Identify High Quality vs. Poor Quality Clothing | Slow Fashion”. Here’s a WikiHow [x] if a YouTube video isn’t your style.

Dealing with Executive Dysfunction – A Tumblr post made by @/compassionatereminders. It's a list to more links on how to deal with executive dysfunction.

Another List Like this One – A Tumblr post made by a now deactivated account. It's a list much like this one.

Home

What’s a mortgage? – Website is realtor.com and the page is called “What is a Mortgage? Home Loan Basics Explained” by Cathie Ericson.

First Apartment Checklist – A checklist PDF. Here’s another link to a Tumblr checklist [x]

What to Ask Landlords Before Renting? – “25 Questions To Ask a Landlord When Renting a Home” by Morgen Henderson.

What’s Renter’s Insurance? – Website is Forbes Advisor. The article is by Jason Metz and titled “How to Get Renters Insurance”.

Plant Care – A master list of how to care for plants made by @/difficults

Job

Time Management – Website is Entrepenuer and has 10 time management tips. One I personally recommend is keeping a physical calendar book on hand. I keep mine in my bag with a designated pen.

Finding the right job – Website is The Muse and it has 13 free career assessment tests.

Make a resume – Website is Resume Now. Many hirers look at your name, the middle of the page (where your experience list is) and skim the rest.

Job Interview Tips – Website is Linkedin. The article is titled “10 Job Interview Tips to Land The Career of Your Dreams” by Caren Merrick.

How to Write a Cover Letter – Website is The Writing Center. University of Winsconsin, Madison. It’s titled “Writing Cover Letters” and I can’t find the author.

Money

Couponing! – Website is Coupon Database :: Southern Savers. It has a list of mobile apps for coupons to places.

Call 211 for Help – the website leads to 211.org. It's anonymous and can help you get connected to food programs, paying bills and things like doctor appointments. Here’s a Tumblr post about it [x] by @/poessionisamyth

Groceries! – This is a Tumblr meme post, but scrolling through tags/reblogs/replies and there’s plenty of good tips. The post is by @/charlotten

What To Do if You Can’t Pay Your Bills – Website is Nolo. The article is “When You Can’t Pay Your Bills: Thiings To Know” that was updated by Amy Loftsgordon.

Are You Paying Too Much for Your Phone Bill? – An article by Beht Beverman titled “How Much is Too Much to Pay for a Cell Phone Bill?”.

54 Ways to Save Money – Website is America Saves.

How to Do Taxes – Website is Wiki-How.

The 70/20/10 Method – Website is Business Insider. The Article is “A Beginners Guide to the 70-20–10 Budgeting Method” by Paul Kim.

Side Hustle Ideas – Website is Forbes. “30 Side Hustle Ideas To Make Extra Money In 2024” by Krista Fabregas.

Emergency

Your Rights When a Cop Pulls you Over – Website is Business Insider. Cops are allowed to lie to you, and they will, so be careful.

Hotline List – The website is DoSomething.org. Depression/Suicide, domestic abuse, child abuse and runaway/homeless/and at-risk youth hotlines.

What to Keep in Your Car – Website is MentalFloss. I live in a snowy area that gets blizzards and bad ice. I keep blankets, water and other aids in my car as well as a knife and road flare. I also own a self jumping car battery and it has saved my ass more than once. Heimlich Maneuver – A one minute video by the Mayo Clinic.

The Heimlich Maneuver on Yourself – A one minute video by The List Show TV.

What to Keep in Your Wallet – Website is PureWow. The article is by Rachel Bowie. Keep your drivers license, medical insurance card, and an emergency contact in your card. If you have a pet home alone make sure that you have a card detailing this. Free printable one here [x]

Traveling

Packing List – Website is Smarter Travel.

Traveling with Little to No Money – Website is Nomadic Matt.

How to Pack a Suitcase – Website is Real Simple. The article is by Thersa O’Rourke.

How to Apply for a Passport – Website is WikkiHow.

Making a Travel Budget – Website is Travel Made Simple. “How to Make a Travel Budget” by Ali Garland

#how to grow up #list #housing #living on your own #insurance #traveling #may update more and refine over time

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shoomlah · 2 years ago

Note

how do you consistently draw the same character without it looking weird or off every different time?? also how do i coordinate faces, i always make the eyes too far apart or too big or too small or make the mouth too close to the nose or chin edge. If you have any advice I'd really appreciate it since it looks like you have your art shit figured out 🙏

Oh man SO so much of it is just practice, and you're not alone! I honestly think everyone struggles with a sort of "generification" of their characters' features the more they draw them, even seasoned professionals. There's a tendency to just sort of average everything out into an unrecognizable mush over time, and it takes a lot of conscious effort to push back against that.

Here are a couple tips and tricks that I've found to be helpful over the years:

Make turnarounds and model sheets. There's a reason animation/game studios do this, and it is because we are all still bad at drawing a consistent face. Despite being gainfully employed. What are we, graphic novelists?? We wish. Anyway it's a great way to familiarize yourself with your character's face from multiple angles, and it gives you a single source of truth to return to anytime you need a refresher:

Gather real-life reference. Anytime I'm designing a character I'm pulling together a ton of reference of actual people who look, to some degree, like the character in my head. It's always a collection of analogues, never just a single person, but it can be a great cheat sheet for understanding how your character might move, emote, etc:

Make a 3D model. I know it seems daunting, but with the advent of programs like Blender and Nomad Sculpt it's becoming remarkably more accessible. Heck, even James Gurney was sculpting maquettes out of clay for Dinotopia back in the day! It doesn't have to be particularly detailed—just a sort of proportionate lump will do—but it's another great way to have dynamic reference that you can rotate and light accordingly:

Practice, practice, practice. Make expression sheets for your character! Either right there on the spot, just start drawin' expressions, or you can slowly collect drawings of your character that you like, as you draw them, and compile them all in one place for your own reference. Need to draw your character's head from a weird angle? Maybe you've already drawn it before and you can copy your own homework! Doesn't count as stealing when the call's coming from inside the house 😎

I'd love to pretend there's a magical point where you can just immediately rotate your character's head in your brain like some sort of photorealistic apple in a twitter meme, but a lot of the time it's reference, hard work, and whole lotta repetition. 😐👍🏼

#ask #noodle-soupz #advice #art advice #tutorial #character design #turnarounds #orthographics

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american-horror-whore · 2 months ago

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money, money, money. — evan peters ᥫ᭡.

paring. sugar daddy boyfriend!evan peters x fem!reader

a/n. slight (obviously legal) age gap, merry late christmas.

warnings. nsfw, smut w/ little-to-no plot, minors not recommended to interact, oral (m!receiving), blowjobs, ball fondling, dom!evan, sub!reader. wc. 1,081

“Oh it’s beautiful,” You murmur softly, a smile evident in your tone as you pulled the Agent Provocateur lingerie set out of the obviously high-quality bag. The set was exactly how you, and Evan, liked it: black, lacy, and skintight.

This was a common occurrence nowadays, receiving gifts from Evan. You were younger, almost controversially, and it seemed like it mattered to everyone except you two. The lace patterns between your fingers created a familiar feeling of arousal. But that was just the start. It only heightened upon hearing Evan’s deep-voiced command.

“I wanna see you in it..Put it on, baby,” He said, a smile in his voice. He ran his hands through his hair with a small sigh, his leg bouncing rapidly in anticipation as he sat on the couch. You almost took pity on him, seeing his cock twitching beneath his jeans. After all, it was..interesting..to look at: A man, older than you, so desperate for you that he couldn’t sit still. how pathetic, you thought.

You giggle faintly, figuring you’d tease him. You shake your hips a little bit, the flow-y material of your short skirt swinging from side to side. Your fingers hook the waistband of your skirt, sliding it smoothly down your legs as you stood in front of him. His eyes sweep continually across the length of your body, taking in everything from the curve of your ass to the perkiness of your tits.

Your fingers slide to your top, dragging it teasingly upward to slowly expose your bra before discarding the shirt as a whole, off to the side, on the floor. You stood before him adorned in only your Victoria’s Secret bra and panties set that he had bought you a few days before Christmas. You had paid him back with sex, like how you normally did.

After a bit of pulling and positioning, you had finally got the lingerie on properly. It took a few tries, but you finally got there. His eyes greedily washed over you, even more so over your lower body. Evan’s favorite part was how the panties of the lingerie were crotchless, meaning it would be easier for him to tease you. How you knew that was because that was the part he was staring at the most. Whether it was the fact that the panties were crotchless, or he just wanted your pussy, you couldn’t tell.

You knew what he wanted. It was your end of the deal. He bought you designer, luxury items you could only dream of before you met him, only expecting one thing in return: pleasure. You knelt down on the wood flooring of your apartment, fingers immediately scrambling for the buttons on his jeans.

“That’s my girl,” Evan chuckles, his large hands on either side of your head.

You let out a breathy, excited laugh, pulling the small zipper down. You dragged his jeans down to his ankles, and next his boxers. The excitement between the both of you during these moments was always evident, especially with you.

You exhale quietly, your fingers wrapping eagerly around his hardened member. You drag your hands gently over his cock, up and down in a gentle wringing motion. To be quite honest, you didn’t know what you were doing. You didn’t know what was too fast, too slow, if you were squeezing too hard or what hurt him, which was the last thing you wanted to do. Evan’s hands pushed your head down gently, being careful to not hurt your neck.

“C’mon…You can do it, be a good girl,” He said in a soft murmur. His large fingers tangled in your hair pressed against your scalp, your head being gently pressed down. You flicked your tongue out, licking a slow, wet stripe from the base of his cock, up to the now excited, reddish-purple tip. Your tongue moved in small circles around the slit, greedily lapping up the steadily flowing pre cum.

You a hear sigh escape from Evan’s lips, which almost immediately turned into a full on moan as your lips selfishly engulf his length, soft gags coming from the back of your throat. ‘In through your nose, out through your mouth’ you repeat to yourself internally. It’s not that you didn’t enjoy it, you truly did, it was just difficult to take with how big he was.

“Yeah, baby..Atta’ girl..” Evan mumbled, almost incoherently as his hands guided the motions of your head. Up, down, up, down, your throat bulging in the slightest with the girth. Your fingers reach for his balls, squeezing gently. That was definitely a new sensation to him, clearly shown by the way his hips jerked, causing him to thrust further into your throat.

“Suck, baby, don’t just sit there,” Evan reminded gently, a small reminder that you weren’t to idle. When you didn’t listen to the first reminder, a gentle tug at your hair was administered to you to pull you back to what you were doing. You let out a soft, wet sound, vulgar as it was, to show you were listening as you got back to your task.

You could always tell when he was about to finish, especially by the way his hips would buck up roughly, causing his tip to hit the back of your throat roughly. You tightened your throat, your eyes shutting firmly. His fingers tightened in your hair, driving your head down firmly at the base of his cock.

“Hngh— Fuck- Oh, b-baby-“ Evan grunts out, ramming his hips up roughly in staggering motions. Your eyes shoot open, feeling a warm, slimy liquid squirt against the back of your throat, sliding down softly. You pull back,

his length taking its time to stickily slide its way from between your lips, strings of his deliverance being the only thing connecting your lips and his cock.

Evan hums softly, his fingers massaging your scalp. He lets out a soft chuckle, his large hands drifting to cup your face. His eyes looked over your face, your half lidded eyes, lips sopping with cum and spit which was dripping down your chin. How pitiful.

“Who’s my good girl?” Evan questioned huskily, pressing a kiss to your forehead. He ran his thumb across your lips, making a half-assed attempt to wipe away the liquids.

“Me,” You whimper, letting out a tearless sob.

“Mm..You did so good for me, baby..” He chuckled, brushing some hair out of your face. “How about we get you cleaned up, huh?”

tags @fear-is-truth @newwavesylviaplath @lacucarachapisser @evansonlylove @dearlizzies @oceanblvd111 @foreverviolets @xrag-dollx @taintandviolent @colinzabelswife @marchsfreakshow @evanpeterspeter @redroses07 @lostreverb @partypoisxn @evanpetersbf @jdnymos @starsturni

#evan peters #Evan Peters #evan peters smut #evan peters x reader #evan peters x you #evan peters x me #evan peters x y/n #evan peters x female reader #evan peters x fem!reader #evan peters loml #evan peters fandom #evan peters is my love #evan thomas peters #x fem reader #evan is my crush #fuck me evan #faye’s fics

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celebtf · 1 month ago

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TOM, THE LOOK-ALIKE AND THE SPIDER-SUIT

Jordan Johnson had built a small but loyal following online. His TikTok account had hundreds of thousands of followers, all captivated by one thing: his uncanny resemblance to Tom Holland.

From lip-syncing iconic Spider-Man lines to recreating Tom’s interviews, Jordan’s content thrived on the illusion. Fans bombarded his comment sections with excitement.

“OMG, you look EXACTLY like him!”

“Are you SURE you’re not his twin?”

“Better than the real thing!”

At first, the attention was exhilarating. Jordan leaned into the role, perfecting Tom’s mannerisms, studying his accent, and even buying clothes that matched Tom’s public appearances.

But as time went on, the praise began to sting.

“You’re just a look-alike,” one comment read. “Cool, but… you’re not him.”

Jordan’s content, once fun, became a bitter reminder of his second-place position in life. People loved him, but only because he reminded them of someone else. He wasn’t Jordan Johnson. He was “Fake Tom.”

The tipping point came when someone stopped him on the street.

“Oh my God, it’s you!” the stranger squealed, pulling out their phone. “I love your Spider-Man movies!”

Jordan opened his mouth to correct them but stopped. What was the point?

The fan took a selfie, thanked him, and walked away without a second glance.

Jordan stood there, seething.

“I’m done being second best,” he muttered under his breath.

That night, staring at the ceiling of his tiny apartment, Jordan came to a decision. He didn’t just want to look like Tom Holland. He wanted to be Tom Holland. And he would do whatever it took to make that happen.

For weeks, Jordan meticulously researched Tom Holland’s life. Social media posts, interviews, paparazzi photos—he gathered every scrap of information he could find. He learned Tom’s routines, his favorite coffee shop, even the layout of his home.

A plumbing issue Tom had mentioned in a recent interview gave Jordan the perfect in. He forged a work order, bought a janitor’s uniform, and prepared a special sedative designed to weaken Tom—just enough to make him vulnerable.

Jordan didn’t just want to meet Tom. He wanted to take everything from him—his fame, his fortune, his

Jordan’s hands trembled as he knocked on the door of Tom’s London home.

The door opened, and there he was. The real Tom Holland.

“Hello? Can I help you?” Tom asked, his voice warm and polite.

Jordan forced a smile. “I’m here to fix the pipes. Routine maintenance.”

Tom hesitated, then nodded. “Alright. Come in.”

Jordan followed him inside, clutching his toolbox tightly. Tom led him to the bathroom, chatting casually about the plumbing issue. Jordan nodded along, barely listening, his focus on the small vial hidden in his toolbox.

After a few minutes of fake tinkering, he made his move.

“Hey, before I go, do you mind if we take a photo? Big fan,” Jordan asked, feigning nervousness.

Tom chuckled. “Sure! Let me grab my phone.”

“No need,” Jordan said, pulling out his own. They posed for the photo, and Jordan snapped it, his smirk barely concealed.

“Thanks, mate,” he said, slipping the sedative into the faucet’s filter. He turned the water on, letting it run clear before leaving the room.

But he didn’t leave the house. Instead, he waited just outside the bathroom door, listening.

It didn’t take long. Jordan heard a sharp gasp, followed by the sound of something heavy hitting the floor. He pushed the door open slightly and peered inside.

Tom was on his knees, clutching the sink, his face pale and drenched in sweat. His veins glowed faintly blue and red, spider-like patterns spreading across his skin.

“What’s… happening?” Tom choked, his voice trembling.

His muscles tensed and convulsed as the transformation took hold. The glow intensified, and the veins began to shift, forming the outlines of a Spider-Man suit. Tom’s skin seemed to liquefy, merging with the red and blue fabric that now covered his body.

Jordan watched, mesmerized, as Tom’s features softened. His face disappeared beneath the mask, his body shrinking slightly, losing its humanity.

Within moments, Tom was gone. Where he had been stood a perfect Spider-Man suit, limp and lifeless on the floor.

Jordan stepped inside, his eyes gleaming with excitement.

“Incredible,” he whispered, crouching beside the suit. He ran his fingers over the fabric, feeling its strange, almost organic texture.

“This is it,” he murmured, standing up and beginning to undress.

Jordan slid one leg into the suit, gasping as a surge of energy shot through him. His muscles tensed, growing stronger and more defined.

He pulled the suit over his thighs and waist, shivering as his body began to change. His stomach hardened into chiseled abs, his chest broadened, and his arms thickened with new strength.

“Unreal,” he whispered, flexing his hands as they grew larger, the veins more prominent.

He zipped up the suit, feeling it mold perfectly to his body. Finally, he pulled the mask over his face.

A warmth spread through him, and he felt his face shift. His cheekbones sharpened, his jawline squared, and his voice deepened into Tom’s unmistakable accent.

Jordan pulled off the mask and stared into the mirror.

“Holy…” He touched his face, his heart racing. The reflection was perfect. He was no longer Jordan Johnson.

He was Tom Holland.

Jordan turned to the empty space on the floor where the suit had been.

“Look at you now,” he sneered. “The great Tom Holland, reduced to nothing but fabric. You’re part of me now.”

He flexed his new muscles, admiring his reflection in the mirror.

“I’ll take your roles, your fans, your fame,” he said, his voice dripping with malice. “I’ll live your life better than you ever could. And no one will ever know.”

He adjusted the mask, slipping it back over his face.

“Thanks for the life, mate,” he said, his tone cruel. “I think I’ll enjoy it.”

With that, he walked out of the bathroom, now the star the world adored, leaving the real Tom behind—trapped forever as the suit Jordan now wore.

#celebrity tf #body swap #celebtf #transformation #gay #male body suit #malebody swap #male shapeshift #body switch #character transformation #tom holland #jordan johnson #spiderman #lookalike #inanimate tf #spider-suit

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mymindisneverhere · 4 months ago

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FAVORS (2)

Part Two

warnings: 18+, MDNI!, sub!Terry, soft dom!black fem OC, explicit language, lots of dialogue, slight smut, slow burn (forgive me if I missed any)

Masterlist

“Fuck.” He grunted through gritted teeth, looking down at her as she went to work on him.

She stuck her tongue out and ran it up the bottom of his shaft moaning from the sweet taste of him, never tearing her gaze from his. She wrapped her red stained lips around the head of his dick slightly sucking, drinking the pre-cum that oozed from it.

“You know how long I’ve been wanting to do this to you?” She spoke softly, kissing down the length of his dick.

He lifted his head to get a better view of her. He struggled a bit, giving that he was flat on his back, limbs stretched and bound to the bed. He bit his bottom lip, trying his hardest not to completely fold under her spell. It was becoming harder and harder by the second as she continued building his anticipation.

She ran her tongue back up to the tip again before taking in every inch of him at once. He could feel her throat become narrow, causing the muscles in his abdomen to tighten. After a few seconds, she raised her head and brought her eyes back to him.

“Since the first day I met you.” She admitted, spitting the saliva that had built from her throat onto the tip of his dick.

“Oh shit.” He watched in awe as she bit her lip, admiring her mess. She was so damn pretty and so damn nasty.

“If you’re good, I’ll let you feel how wet this pussy is all because of you…”

*BEEP BEEP BEEP*

Terry’s eyes snapped open at the sound of his alarm going off. He rested a heavy hand on top of the loud clock silencing it. Waking up 6:00 sharp every morning on the weekdays was his new norm. He sat up swinging his legs over the side of the bed and made his way to the bathroom in his small apartment.

His morning routine was very simple: shower, wash his face, brush his teeth, oatmeal for breakfast and a protein shake for the road. He dressed in his usual uniform, gray t-shirt and khaki pants, sure that he was in dress code for work.

‘1 Text Message from Summer’

Summer: Goodmorning, have a good day at work. Stop by afterwards, got something for you.

Terry: Goodmorning, be there as soon as I clock out.

With that, he hopped in his truck and headed off to another long eight hour shift on the job.

The break room was filled with all of the morning shift workers waiting around until it was time to punch the clock and get to work. Most of them were preparing their usual morning coffees, others rushing to finish the last of their breakfast.

Terry greeted everyone as he headed over to the television, grabbing the remote to flip through the channels.

“Goodmorning gentlemen.” Khloé greeted the break room full of men, causing everyone to fall silent.

“Morning Ms. MacArthur!” The men greeted back in unison.

Her eyes scanned the room until they landed on him standing in front of the television watching the morning news.

“Mr. Richmond!” She called out.

He turned his head to look in her direction, his body still facing the tv.

“Yes ma’am?”

“If you have a minute, I’d like to speak with you in my office.”

This earned Terry a few looks, some riddled with skepticism others just being plain immature. He placed the remote back into its designated spot and turned to follow behind her.

They made their way down the long hall toward her office. He looked down at her legs, each step directly in front of the other as her heels clicked in a rhythm. The tall heels elongated her smooth legs, free of any marks or blemishes. He was trying his hardest to remain a gentleman but the way her ass moved with each step reminded him that he was still a man at the end of the day.

She opened the door to her office and held out her hand signaling for him to enter. Her back was pressed against the tall door as he stepped into the office looking around the room.

“Have a seat.” Khloé pointed to the large chair.

Terry obliged.

“Mr. Richmond, I’ve learned a lot about you in the last twenty-four hours.” She closed the office door and walked over to the desk, standing directly in front of him. “You’re one hell of a guy.”

Terry sat quietly, unaware of what she was talking about.

“I mean look at you, you scream ‘good guy who takes down bad guys’.”

“I’m not understanding.” Terry stated, looking up at her.

“I’m talking about Shelby Springs-“ She began, pushing herself back onto the desk. Her legs crossed at the ankle, hanging as she looked down at him. “-taking down those cops all by yourself. I’m impressed.”

She went on to tell him what she had gathered from the news article but he couldn’t focus on her words. The way her mouth moved as she spoke, that bright red lipstick she wore brought back memories in an instant. Images begin to flash in his mind as he slowly remembers…

The dream.

The dream he had last night of those same lips wrapped around his dick made him shift in the chair, sitting up straight. He was hoping to hide the excitement he was beginning to feel the longer he stared at her mouth.

He stared for so long they were beginning to move in slow motion. Her teeth were a natural white color, perfectly aligned and her choice of lip stain brought out her deep cupid's bow. The way her lips pursed every time she said “Richmond” was making him harder by the second.

“Mr. Richmond?” She repeated, bringing him back into reality.

“Ma’am?”

“Is there something in my teeth?” She asked, tilting her head.

“No ma’am, I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay, I’m just so used to your gorgeous eyes and that strong eye contact. I thought something may be wrong with my mouth.” She giggled.

‘It’s not around my dick.’

“Forgive me, but I kinda zoned out. Could you repeat that last part?”

“I said you’re a brave man. It takes a lot of courage to do what you did all by yourself.”

Terry looked down at his lap and back up at her. “I had some help but thank you.”

“It must’ve been really hard for you though, with your cousin passing, you being shot and all.”

“It was tough but I’m okay.”

She continued staring at him admiring his humble attitude. He could’ve easily walked around with his chest poked and God-like complex but truly he was just an innocent man. She loved that though, the more innocent he appeared to be, the more damage she could do to him.

“I saw that they took all of your savings from you. Did you ever get it back?” She asked.

“Only enough to post his bail but that’s it.”

“What were you planning to do with the rest?”

“Well I was hoping to head out of town and start fresh.” He responded. “But I’m here. I’m alive and well, so as long as I still have the ability to work, I can build back up to that point eventually.”

“I mean $26,000, that’s a large amount to try and save up at a job like this, no?” Khloé knew what she was doing, trying to sniff out some desperation so she could have the upper hand when she put her offer on the table.

“It is but it’s not impossible.”

‘Determined.’ She thought to herself.

She worried that his “can do” attitude would cause him to turn down her proposal. I mean overall he wasn’t just some broke down victim of racism, he was just a man playing the cards life had dealt him, with no complaints.

“What would you say if I told you I could give you the rest? It was $26,000 right?” She smiled, trying to appear harmless.

Terry stared up at her in confusion. He had just met her only a day ago and now she’s offering him a large amount of money. He knew nothing in life was free and he could smell the proposition from a mile away. However, he was not interested.

“Why would you do that?” He chuckled slightly.

“I want to help you.” She lied. “Some of the men in my family were in the military as well. I couldn’t imagine what life would be like for them if all of their hard work went down the drain at the hands of a couple of racist pigs.”

They sat in silence staring at each other, both parties trying their hardest to read the other. She couldn’t possibly think he was gullible enough to just accept money from a stranger without returning the favor. But he couldn’t be silly enough to turn down an offer like this.

“No thank you Ms. MacArthur.” Terry stood up from the chair preparing to leave the office.

“I’m not done speaking with you Mr. Richmond-“ She spoke, stopping him in his tracks, her soft tone never wavering. “and I don’t take no for an answer.”

Terry let out a deep sigh before turning to face her yet again.

“I’m sure you could use the money right now. A better place to stay, a nicer car, overall financial security. That sounds good doesn’t it?” She was milking it as best she could.

Terry had to admit to himself, all of it sounded great. To go from living comfortably to $0 was a struggle he fought through daily. He could go to his old friend Mr. Liu for money here and there but he wanted to have his own so that he wouldn’t be a constant bother to others.

“What could you possibly want in return?” Terry asked cutting straight to chase.

“You.”

The look on her face letting him know she was dead serious.

“Me?”

“Yes, you.”

Terry frowned in pure confusion, there was no hiding it this time.

“And what do you want me to do?”

‘To fuck me.’

The corner of Khloés lip turned up into a slight smirk before answering.

“My family’s having their annual banquet and every year I get flack for not having a date. I’m the youngest daughter and all of my siblings are either married with children or engaged.” She admitted. “I need a date for the banquet and for other events so I was just wondering if you could be my “boyfriend” until I don’t need you anymore?”

Terry sat silently, replaying what he had just heard in his mind a few times. He was having a hard time believing that this beautiful woman needed to pay a man to be her boyfriend. Men would worship the ground she walked on.

“A woman like you needs to pay a man to be with her?” Terry questioned. “There has to be a catch to all of this.”

“Sadly, it’s my reality.” She admitted. “There is no catch. A very independent and ambitious woman like myself who’s financially well off thanks to her family, has a hard time with men who want to feel needed… and in control.”

“And if I decline?”

“Well I really don’t like being told no, so think long and hard about this.” Khloé said before hopping off of her desk. “You can get back to me on it tomorrow with any boundaries you’d like to set in place and I’ll see if I can accommodate you.”

She smiled at him, unmoved by his obvious discomfort. Terry stared at her for just a few moments before awkwardly turning and exiting the office.

“Have a good day at work!”

“It’s open!” Summer yelled from the kitchen of her tiny home.

Terry entered the home, pulling the screen door and walking into the living room. Summer and Terry had managed to maintain their friendship after all the shit they had been through in Shelby Springs together.

“You got a package today from the city, it’s on the table.”

Terry grabbed the large folder from the table, opening it as he looked over at Summer.

“What you cooking in here?” He asked, leaning against the wooden counter.

“Just some soup, baby has a cold so I’m tryin’ my hardest to nurse her back to health.” Summer responded, stirring the soup slowly. “Seems like the more time she spends at that school the sicker she gets.”

Summer had to enroll her daughter Bailey into the nearest public elementary school. The only problem was their lack of care and consideration for the children’s education and well being. This was the third time Bailey had been sick since the school year began.

She didn’t want to send her to school to avoid the possibility of spreading the cold to other kids. But she also didn’t want Child Protective Services to revoke her full custody of her daughter because she misses so much school.

“I really want her in the private school where my old coworkers' kids go. I just want her to get a good education and not have to be subject to the same conditions I had, you know?” Summer stated, looking over at Terry.

“I understand.”

“But the cost of tuition is just so much, I mean I get that it’s one of the only private schools around here but $10,000 for a 3rd grader is nuts, and that’s if I enroll her for just two years.” She said, shaking her head. “I just need her in a good school, just until I get the green light from CPS that we’re good to pack up and go.”

Terry frowned as he saw the disappointment and sadness in Summers' face. He knew she wanted to be the best mother she could be and to prove not only to herself but to everyone else that she could successfully raise Bailey to be a phenomenal young woman.

“That is a bit expensive but don’t lose hope, you never know what could happen in the future.” He spoke confidently, hoping to ease her worry she had for Bailey’s future but it wasn’t working.

The more Summer spoke about this new school and her needing to pick up an extra job, the more Terry was revisiting Khloés offer in his mind. The thought of him posing as a rich girl's boyfriend for money was insane to him. But the look on Summers face pained him. The offer wasn’t sounding as crazy the more he imagined the peace she’d get knowing Bailey was in a good school.

“What’s in the folder?”

“Just some bullshit about Shelby Springs.” He responded, throwing the papers in the trash.

“Work going okay?”

Terry debated on telling her about his encounter with Khloé but decided against it.

“Same ol same ol.”

“I know it’s not what you were looking forward to doing but at least you got some good benefits. You being an ex-marine really helps in jobs like that.”

“Yeah but I just wish Mike was here with me. I just wish my plan went through the way I wanted it to but-“ He shrugged his shoulders in defeat. “-life is gone do what it wants… just gotta roll with it.”

Summer nodded in agreement.

“Mommy?” Bailey yelled from the back room.

“Sorry, duty calls.” Summer said, running to her daughter's bedroom.

“That’s okay, you take care of her. I’m gonna head out.”

“Thank you for stopping by, I’ll be sure to bring you some lunch sometime this week!” Summer yelled from her daughter's room.

“I’ll be looking forward to it!”

With that, Terry left Summers home and headed to his second sanctuary, the 24 hour gym.

Terry grunted heavily as he lifted the barbell above his chest. He was doing his usual upper body routine. He’d inhale and exhale in the same rhythm as his movements. Inhale, lower, exhale, lift. Making his last set count he trained to failure and then placed the bar back onto its rack.

He sat up on the bench resting in between the next workout, steadying his breathing.

‘You know how long I’ve been wanting to do this to you?’

His head shot up as he looked in the mirror. The voice was so close, he thought someone was standing right next to him. The voice… her voice… it was so soft at the same time bold and insistent.

He shook it off and stood, preparing for a set of bicep curls. He lifted the 30 lb weights in each hand and began counting to himself.

1…

2…

5…

6…

‘Mr. Richmond?’

10…

11…

‘…I’ll let you feel how wet this pussy is…’

“12!” He said in a loud grunt. He slammed the dumbbells down to the ground and placed his hands on his hips. He shook his head as he tried his hardest to shake the sound of her voice. There was no way this woman was having a hold on him and he barely knew her.

It didn’t help that he hadn’t been with a woman in a long time. He had been so focused on getting his personal life on track, it left him no room for dating. Plus the women who were interested in him were so easy and a man like Terry loved a woman who challenged him.

“You done with those?” Another man in the gym asked Terry, bringing him back to reality for a split second.

“Yeah man, go ahead.” He responded.

It had only been a few hours and she was invading his mind. The more he tried focusing on his workout the more he’d hear her voice and see those lips. He knew the only way to get her off his mind was to do something he hadn’t done in a while.

“I gotta have her.” He whispered to himself.

Next work day…

“Ms. MacArthur, there’s an employee in your office. He didn’t say why he needed to speak to you but he didn’t look too happy.” Olivia notified her.

Khloé rolled her eyes, hoping it wasn’t another disgruntled worker complaining about their job. “Thank you Liv.”

She walked to her office and opened the door, noticing the back of his head first. He sat there patiently waiting for her, never turning to acknowledge her presence.

“Mr. Richmond, I’m so happy to see you.” Khloé smiled, placing her purse on the desk.

He eyed her, taking in her entire figure this time. She was truly an attractive woman. Her hair was pressed straight and tucked behind her ears. She wore a black and white two piece skirt set and white stilettos matching the buttons on her top. Her skin was a rich deep caramel tone that always popped when she wore her signature red lip.

Her attire was simple yet still screamed luxury. There wasn’t anything out of place on her, everything went together so perfectly. Which is why Terry was dying to figure out why a woman like her would be offering to pay a man like him to be with her.

“My eyes are up here Mr. Richmond.” She smirked.

He locked his eyes onto hers and remembered why he was there. “I accept.”

Khloés lips spread into a large smile.

“Of course you d-“

“But I have a few conditions.” Terry interrupted. “I only want $10,000 for myself, the rest needs to go to my family.”

“Your family?”

“Yes, they need some assistance and I’d prefer to give the majority of the money to them. It’ll ease their worries and mine.”

Khloés head jerked back in disbelief. Here he was again proving himself to be a humble man. Only wanting less than half of what she was offering for himself and the rest for his family. She almost felt bad for not telling him the whole truth about this “deal”… almost.

“Well if that’s all you wan-“

“Allow me to finish.” Terry cut her off, again.

His strong, authoritative voice made her pussy tingle. She squirmed in her seat and cleared her throat as she returned her attention to him. This was the first time she had actually been turned on by a hint of dominance from the opposite sex. Maybe because it wasn’t being forced. It just came natural to him.

“I would like the check for $16,000 made out to this name and sent to this address.” Terry stated, sliding a small piece of notebook paper across the desk.

‘Summer McBride, 555 Conner St’

Khloé took it and placed it into her purse for safe keep.

“If this is going to put me in jeopardy of losing my job then tell me now because I really don’t like surprises.”

“It won’t, I promise.”

“This needs to stay between us. I can be whoever you need me to be outside of work but when I'm here I'm just an employee, nothing more.” He stated firmly.

They eyed each other for a few moments, almost as if they were in a standoff. Dominant vs Dominant, Alpha vs Alpha. But there could only be one and it was going to be Khloé. She took a deep breath before speaking, choosing her tone and words wisely.

“I’m not sure if you’re aware Mr. Richmond, but I'm the one calling the shots.” She said, leaning onto her desk.

“You asked me for my boundaries and I'm giving them to you. What's the problem?” He asked leaning forward as well, resting his arms on his knees.

She smiled, pausing to take note of this. He wasn’t going to be an easy fix but she enjoyed a “project”. She decided to let him have this round. She would get her turn eventually.

“No problem.” She continued smiling. “Now, my rules. Rule number one, be on time! I prefer to meet at my home a few hours before we head out so that we’re clear on our attire for each event. Rule number two, no ex-girlfriends or situationships. If you have someone, call it off, I-“

“If I had someone, do you think I’d be sitting in your office right now?” He bluntly asked, staring blankly at her.

He was really testing her patience, not on purpose though. However she was still taking note of it all, planning to make great use of it in the future.

“I don’t want any women popping up here or anywhere else asking for or about you. I don’t like for anyone to have one-up on me.” She continued. “Rule number three, speak when spoken to.”

This earned her an unpleasant look from him.

“There will be many people at the banquet, if they don’t ask you anything then you don’t say anything. Rule number four, don’t embarrass me, ever! I don’t do well with humiliation. Lastly, rule number five, you’re mine! Which means you need to carry yourself that way. Be mindful of who you interact with and how, I’m a very observant woman.”

Terry sat unmoved.

“Are we clear?” She asked, raising an eyebrow.

Terry smirked, scoffing at her bossy attitude. He wasn’t truly buying it though, he just thought it was cute.

“Yes ma’am.”

“I love the way you say yes ma’am, make it a habit.”

He clenched his jaw as his dick jumped. The combination of flashbacks from the dream he had of her and the interaction he was having with her in real time was making it harder for him to remain stoic.

“I will pay the $10,000 to you in small amounts at a time.” She started, “As long as you follow my rules, you get the payments on time. The moment you disobey me or go against our agreement, you deal with the consequences.” She was speaking to this grown ass man as if he were a child or her servant, which technically he kind of was.

Terry still sat, this time admiring her bossiness. The way she was throwing out orders, the way she wasn’t beating around the bush or trying to cover up her controlling personality had him feening for her. And those damn lips…

“Mr. Richmond?” She called out, snapping him out of his daze.

“So when’s the banquet?” He asked, trying to hide the fact that he had zoned out once again.

“Next Friday. I’ll send you my address so you can get fitted for your tux. We have a very strict dress code.” Khloé turned to her computer, before looking at him once more. “You’re dismissed.”

Terry's lips spread into a smile as he stood up from the chair and exited the office. This was going to be a tough one but nothing he couldn’t handle… so he thought.

to be continued…

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