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voxsmistress · 5 months ago

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Mama Didn't Raise No Bimbo - Part Sixteen!

Hello my gorgeous little demons - I am so sorry this took so long to post! These past few weeks have been hell at work! But never fear, I will always get to writing when I can!

Now ... we've had Voxie's turn, it's Valentino's now ;)

Part One / Part Two / Part Three / Part Four / Part Five / Part Six / Part Seven / Part Eight / Part Nine / Part Ten / Part Eleven / Part Twelve / Part Thirteen / Part Fourteen / Part Fifteen / Part Sixteen Trigger Warnings: Sexual themes, no under 18's allowed, sexual shenanigans, second time writing smut (be kind), Val being his usual sarcastic self!

A few days had passed since your little tryst with Vox, and you were slightly embarrassed that the next day after you basically had to spend it all in bed to recover after your late evening with the Overlord. Even more embarrassed when Velvette came to check up on you and ended up laughing her head off when she realised what was going on. Valentino was a little nicer – and by a little you meant he didn’t laugh … straight away.

Anyway, after that one day of recovering you were then back to work, focusing on your social media and the upcoming catwalk for Velvette. Your songs were chosen, outfits being made and all that was left was practicing where and when you were going to sing, prance and walk. And by practice you meant again, and again and again until you had to tell Velvette if she kept making you sing over and over your voice would be in tatters for the show. Did you think she was going to give you a break after that? Your voice, yes. Your body, nope. You were made to walk up and down that catwalk, pose in various (idiotic) poses and dance your way back down the catwalk. Safe to say you were absolutely shattered.

Which is why you were currently lying down on the pink chaise lounge in Velvette’s studio; going over paperwork, the last few outfit designs for the other demons and whether any song choices would work better than the ones you had. Velvette was sat beside you, one hand tapping away on her phone and the other one running her fingers through your hair, tugging on the few tangles that were there making sure you were paying attention and not falling asleep which you were apt to do. What could you say, you loved people playing with your hair.

A grumble and a huff from her stopped you from adjusting the one outfit design and instead to look up at her to see a pissed off look on her face. What has happened now?

“You okay there, babe?” Checking on her, you sit up properly as she shakes her phone annoyed.

“That stupid piss baby is blowing up all our phones having a tantrum, like we have time to deal with his dramatics. Vox is busy which means I am going to have to deal with him and I have a hundred different things to do and I just- “ Turning her phone while she ranted so you can see the masses of messages from Valentino you hold back a sigh. He’d been so good recently it was easy to forget that he was the most dramatic out of the three of them (which if you considered how dramatic they all are is an achievement in itself!)

“Sweets don’t worry, I’ll go and chat with him you keep working on what you need to do” you stand from your seat stretching your back which was aching from being laid funny for so long. Vel argued for a few moments before relenting and passing you your phone from the table, popping a quick kiss on her cheek as you walk round her you wiggle your fingers in a goodbye gesture. Entering the elevator you pressed the button for Valentino’s floor. A quick scroll on your phone you see the various messages from Valentino progressively getting more pissed off when no one was replying. Oops. Piss baby indeed.

A sharp ping distracted you from the messages, shoving your phone into your pocket you enter Valentino’s studio. Up till now you had only made a few trips to his studio, preferring the calmness of Vox’s office, or focusing on the clothes in Velvette’s – Val’s had a completely different vibe which sometimes put you on edge. A few steps into the room you could feel the energy was chaotic already. A Valentino shouting at the two pornstars on the stage was the reason why. Sighing under your breath you could easily see he wasn’t exactly as calm as you would have hoped. Well. Here goes nothing.

Walking towards the Overlord, you nod to a few of the demons who recognised you from around the tower and glared at the ones who give you a bit of attitude who obviously don’t realise who you were. They soon would. Coming to a stop at a ranting Val’s side you watch him snap a few directions at the actors with comments on how they could (should) improve. Before he could yell action, you link an arm through his while whispering up into his ear: “is that how you are going to direct me in bed?” His head twists round so fast his glasses nearly fly off, catching them you grin up at the shocked Overlord. Shocked is definitely better than shouting.

“My amorcito (little love), what are you doing here?” Slipping his glasses properly back on his face, you can’t help but chuckle at his question.

“You ask as if you weren’t blowing up all of our phones continuously for the past hour – I’ve come to check up on you”, as you explain one of his arms wraps around your waist to drag you around the side of his chair, so now you were in front of him.

“You came to check on little ol’ me? I am touched!” His other hand was cupping your face, fingers squeezing your cheeks a little harder than normal reminding you of his festering anger. Your own hand came up to rest on his wrist as you nod, his hand controlling how much movement you had which sent a small tingle up your spine. Okay you had definitely been spending way too much time with the Vee’s because when did you get that sort of kink?

He must have seen something in your expression as his own darkened with a sinister grin, his gold tooth flashing at you. Bringing another hand to your waist he hoisted you onto his lap like you weighed nothing, squeaking at the sudden movement you placed your hands on his arms to steady yourself. He had made sure to place you with your back against his chest and two of his arms stayed wrapped around your waist pressing you closer to him.

“If you want to keep me calm little one, I suggest you stay there and stay quiet, yes?” Agreeing you rested against his chest as he shouted at the actors to start again. Sitting there you kept quiet, but with how Valentino was sat you had the full show of what the actors were doing on the stage. Adverting your gaze, a flush started to raise up your neck to your cheeks more so when you couldn’t help but take a cheeky glance. How on hell do they stay in those positions without breaking a sweat? After a few minutes of that position, Val shouted for them to change. His hands rubbing up and down your waist as well as the scene in front of you was making the jeans you were wearing mighty uncomfortable.

Doing your best to ignore the urge the relieve the pressure, you hesitated before shifting on Valentino’s lap to try and stop the seam of your jeans pressing against your clit. Moving a bit too quick, a gasp escaped your lips as small burst of pleasure flashed through your body. A chuckle against your ear made the blush grow even more. Busted.

“Comfortable Princessa?” His hushed words into your ear made a shiver run down your spine. Another chuckle from him caused you to roll your eyes. Of course he was loving this. Ready to shove his arms away from your waist and storm out, a pair of red wings encasing your body stopped you in your tracks. You hadn’t seen his wings before.

“Now sit still and keep that pretty mouth of yours shut while daddy finishes his work”, you are ready to give him some sarcastic and harsh words, but a quick hand sneaked down the front of your jeans and underwear. Slipping a finger in between your wet lips gathering the wetness up and pressing harshly against your clit made any words you wanted to say to stay stuck in your throat. Gulping back the moan that wanted to escape, you clench your thighs together to try stop him from moving his fingers.

Tutting quietly into your ear, two hands easily push your thighs apart and hold them open while the hand that was down your jeans was alternating between circling your clit and dipping into your tight hole. “Now mi carño, that bratty attitude might work with Voxie, but not with me you understand?” Your concentration was gone with the fingers that were pushing you closer and closer to the edge making you whine under your breath when they came to a stop. Blinking up at him, his free hand wrapped around your neck harshly before giving you a small shake. “Are you that starved for attention little one that you have become dumb as soon as I touch you? I asked you a question!” He snarls down at you, swallowing a groan you try to rack your brains at what he asked you before. It was so hard to think while his fingers were working you so well and that hand around your neck was just helping push you closer to that edge. Bratty. Bratty attitude that was what he asked you.

“I understand Papi” you whisper, hiding your smirk at the dark expression he gave you. A finger driving deeper into you was your retribution for the snarky comment. Worth it. He yanked your body closer to his chest by the hand on your throat, keeping you plastered against him as his other hands kept your legs open and driving you higher and higher.

“Does it turn you on that we are doing this where anyone could see us Y/n? All it takes is for me to move my wings and anyone can see you unravel on my fingers” licking up your neck making a small moan escapes your lips.

“It does, but do you really want others to see me in that position? To see me fall apart at your hands when my reactions should only be reserved for you three Vee’s?” You turn your head to stare into his lensed glare. You knew you were playing with fire. Valentino was the most jealous and possessive of the three, but he was also the most unpredictable. A thrill ran through your body as he growled into your shoulder, biting down on it hard making you groan. Shit that hurt! Removing his teeth, you see his possessive bite mark on your shoulder. The sound he let out was almost a purr as he ran his tongue over the mark, his fingers moving quicker on your clit causing you to slam your head back into his chest and hold back the moans so only a few whimpers fell from your lips.

He laughed at you, shouting a few more orders and commands at the actors being completely at ease while you were falling apart at the seams. So close to the edge you dug your fingers into his arms, whimpers and moans escaping you more often now but you had stopped caring if the other demons could hear. You were so focused on the feeling coursing through your veins you couldn’t give a fuck if the rest of the room heard you scream.

Val did some sort of voodoo move with his fingers that had you cuming without even realising that you had not just hit the edge but had flown off it. The hand that was around your throat was now across your mouth muffling all the moans and shouts as Valentino shouted cut and for everyone to fuck off out of the room.

Twitching and twisting away from his fingers that continued moving, you shook your head at Val. It was too much. Too much. You tried to get your hands down your jeans to stop him, but they were caught by his own.

“My little chulito, you didn’t think I was finished with you yet, did you?”

Fuck!

Taglist:

@tasha-1994 @azullynxx @reath-solia @leathesimp @klorinda

@the-maladaptivedaydreamer @songbrita @midge7838 @joumi13 @wonderlandangelsposts @th3rizzler

@ace-spades-1 @iamferalfordilfs

@justgiulia @kittycatkrissa @qu1cks1lversb1tch @martinys-world @superwholatacohunters @mysticvoide

@rosiethevoxobesser

@skullhorn59 @sarcastic-sourwolf

@samanthastarss @hazbinz-vixxie

@shinynewboots

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heliads · 2 years ago

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Hello <3 I was wondering if maybe you could write a charles leclerc fic?? Reader could be in charge of social media and fans start to realise that charles flirts with whoever is behind the camera? Sorry if its too vague, but I love your writing and had to send something in

i cheered audibly when i saw this, please let me write more f1 fics

masterlist

When you were just getting started with your career, someone once asked you if you’d ever consider running a social media campaign for something cute, like a zoo or rescue company. You answered them with a firm no; everyone knows animals never work on camera the way you want them to, and you didn’t want that sort of stress in your life.

You think the universe must be laughing at you, because funnily enough, what you’re doing right now is exactly like herding cats, but you don’t even get adorable animals for your troubles. No, the Formula One media circus is a nightmare, but it’s a well televised nightmare, and that means your job as head of social media for the Scuderia Ferrari F1 team entails a great deal more metaphorical manhandling of the drivers than you’d ever envisioned.

It’s not even metaphorical all the time, the manhandling. Sometimes it’s just you sending out a great deal of mass emails when someone says something they probably shouldn’t or the Ferrari TikTok page is going through a content drought, but sometimes it’s more. Sometimes it’s like today, when you’re forcing the two drivers to go through yet another competition so the YouTube channel can get another push of subscribers.

You’ve done a lot of careful research over the months that you’ve been here, all dedicated to finding out just what sells the best, so to speak. As of late, you’ve learned that the viewers at home really like competitions and challenge videos. Apparently seeing two men who are obviously great friends go head to head over something as pointless as music trivia or Ping Pong is the pinnacle of motorsport content.

It’s not like you’re complaining. More views means a better paycheck for you at the end of the year. The fans like what you’re producing, and Ferrari likes the fans. It all works out in the end, and who are you to deny the Tifosi their favorite entertainment?

Of course, if you were to actually tell the two red-suited drivers that you refer to them as content and entertainment in the private recesses of your own mind, they probably wouldn’t be too happy. That’s why you keep that to yourself. Besides, they’re your friends. Charles and Carlos may make a lot of problems in your life, but who doesn’t? You’re not exactly perfect either.

You don’t have to be perfect, though, you just have to come up with good ideas and let the boys be funny on their own. Charles said he liked that best about you, actually, that you let them do their own thing most of the time. The previous social media managers had tried to get them to fit this specific picture of what a Ferrari driver should be, but you never did that. You just wanted them to be them.

You’re perfectly willing to brush that off as a compliment to a coworker, though. In truth, you’re working constantly to paint these two in the best possible light. It gets stressful sometimes, constantly wracking your brain to make each video work, each post take off. You are affecting how millions of people see Charles and Carlos. Hell, you’re practically filtering their legacy all by yourself.

It’s not a task you take lightly, to say the least. Maybe that’s why Ferrari is content to keep you around. This is a job that you’d like to extend as long as you can. Just like Charles has worked with overly pushy social media handlers, you’ve worked with total diva clients. Neither of the Ferrari drivers are like that in the slightest, which you appreciate more than anything.

That isn’t to say that they only ever make your life easy. Right now, for instance, you’ve been begging them to focus for the better part of ten minutes. It’s like working with elementary schoolers. You put anything in front of them and they’re totally distracted before you’ve so much as told them what they’re supposed to be doing.

Today’s video of choice is a long-anticipated cooking video. Charles versus Carlos, the drivers have been given a mystery basket of ingredients à la Chopped. They’ll have half an hour to come up with a dish of choice, and if the time crunch weren’t enough to stress them out, you’ll be judging their culinary creations when time is called. It’s the perfect setup for a hit video, so if all goes well, you’ll see this on the trending page soon enough.

That is, if you manage to survive this encounter long enough to post the results. By the time you manage to wrangle the drivers’ attention back to you, Charles has attempted to learn the contents of the bag through interpretive dance and hand gestures with the cameramen and Carlos has accidentally turned his stove on thrice. The third time the fires clicked on, he almost set a napkin ablaze. Both drivers are red faced from trying not to break into mad laughter again.

You clap your hands once. “Alright, are we finally ready to get started?”

Carlos nudges Charles in the side. “Look, she’s disappointed in you already and she hasn’t even tasted your cooking. This means I am going to win by a lot.”

Charles scoffs, but you swear his barely suppressed smile drops in a second when Carlos mentions your disappointment. “Y/N would never be disappointed in me,” he protests, “I am her favorite, obviously.”

He turns to you, raising his hands in your direction as if asking you to prove his point. You shake your head. “I don’t have favorites, Charles. That would not promote a fun workplace environment.”

“Of course,” Charles nods sagely. “If you had a favorite, though, it would be me.”

Carlos snickers, and in an effort to keep their focus with you before you lose them again, you clear your throat and read out the rules of the cooking contest. The drivers say their dutiful bits about how they’re each going to win this by a landslide, and then time begins and they’re off to the culinary races.

The covers on the baskets go flying. Charles holds up each object in turn, announcing them in tones of increasing panic. “Butter. Flour. Eggs. Green olives? Three strawberries? A box of spaghetti? Pepperoni?”

“You forgot the chocolate and red onion,” Carlos points out helpfully.

Charles tosses his teammate a withering glare, then turns the full force of his vexation back to you. “Y/N, you are trying to kill me.”

“Charles,” you say, “we talked about that.”

Charles’ brow furrows as he tries to remember what you mean. It hits him as last and he groans, slapping a hand to his forehead in mock desolation. You’ve noticed that Charles has been mentioning you by name a lot in videos, leading to general confusion among fans. As you’ve reminded him many times before, you’re not supposed to be the focus, he is, so he needs to stop bringing you up all the time. Viewers don’t care about who’s filming the content, after all, just who’s in front of the camera. It’s a tip handed down directly from your boss to you.

Charles still grins at you even as he continues unpacking his ingredients. “I can’t help it, you know that. You’re too good, I want to mention you all the time.”

You scoff. “Good at what? Keeping you in line?”

“Everything,” he says, and raises his eyebrows suggestively.

You roll your eyes and tell him to focus, but even this instruction doesn’t last long. Barely five minutes later, Charles is bringing up the fact that he’s going to totally win this thing because cooking is, like, a love language, right? And he’s the best at love, he declares, winking conspicuously in your direction. Carlos launches an oven mitt at his head and mutters something that the microphones don’t pick up, something that conveniently has the same number of syllables as stop flirting.

Charles is steadily making jokes the entire duration of the video, actually, and usually you wouldn’t mind this but they’re all spoken with the intention of getting you to laugh. Not the camera, as he’s been told to do before. You.

You do your best to keep it off your mind. Both drivers have gotten better about opening up on camera since they started, and this is probably just Charles trying something new in an effort to improve his on-screen personality. After all, it can be hard to direct all your charisma towards a camera, why not aim all your smiles at the person filming instead?

The contest ends soon enough. You end up awarding Charles with the win, mainly due to the fact that Carlos’ hand accidentally slipped as he was attempting to strain his pasta and he ended up losing all of his spaghetti down the sink. His plate consisted of sauce and decorative strawberry slices, which, although tasty, did not contain several key ingredients and resulted in an automatic disqualification.

Despite the rather shaky grounds on which his cooking victory stands, from the way Charles is acting, you’d think he’d won the WDC. He’s beaming at you, talking about how he’d called this from the very start and was proud that you liked his stuff the best. He even offers to wash the dishes, which is very un-driverlike.

The video ends up a success by all accounts. Even days later, it’s still trending in Tifosi circles, and the view counts are way higher than expected. Curious as to why, you decide to do the unthinkable and check the comments section of the cooking video.

What you find is– unexpected, to say the least. Usually, comments on any post, whether it be Instagram, TikTok, or YouTube, will range from fans lamenting race outcomes to people mentioning their favorite driver to random spam accounts offering thousands of dollars to the lucky person to message them first.

On this video, though? Most all of the comments are about you. This makes no sense, because not only were you on camera for about one minute, you didn’t do anything other than give instructions and judge food. Antonio Giovinazzi did the same job on a video last year, and no one cared at all. Antonio’s actually well-known in the world of motorsports, so why is it that you, someone who largely operates behind the scenes, would be the cause of so much fuss?

Curious, you start scrolling in depth, but find yourself more confused with every reply you see.

He’s totally flirting with her, right?

Is anyone else seeing the fact that Charles is freaking out over trying to impress this girl?

His face when she declared him the winner… I can’t even with him!!

Charles trying to protect Y/N by refusing to let Carlos salvage his sink pasta– they’re dating, right???

You find yourself laughing over it. This can’t be real. Surely nobody in the world actually thinks that Charles Leclerc– F1 driver, Ferrari superhero, Il Predestinato and supporter of all Tifosi hopes and dreams, multi-millionaire– would ever have a crush on you. It’s absurd. It’s so absurd that you find yourself racing to the office of another one of your friends in social media to get her opinion on it.

Your friend looks up at you, startled, when you burst into her office. “Has someone died?”

“No,” you gasp out, “worse.”

Her eyebrows raise. “One of the drivers had a scandal? We can fix this. Get me B-roll of them volunteering or something. We can turn this around in no time.”

“No,” you say weakly, “the Internet thinks I’m dating Charles Leclerc.”

Your friend freezes in her seat, finger still hovering over the call icon on Fred Vasseur’s contact in her phone, then slowly sinks back again. “Well, yeah, I can see why.”

You gape at her. “What?”

Your friend spreads her hands. “He follows you around everywhere you go. He’s always asking about you, you know. I kind of thought you two had a thing as well, it’s not just the Tifosi.”

You break out into somewhat crazed laughter. “Charles? You think Charles likes me? No, that’s ridiculous.”

Your friend, however, looks less skeptical of this news. “Is it really? I mean, he spent the entirety of shooting just cracking stupid jokes so he could make you laugh. You should have seen the way he stared at you whenever you so much as smiled. Man was transfixed.”

You shoot her a disbelieving look. “No– transfixed? Are you kidding? He wasn’t transfixed. He wanted to win a contest because he’s a racing driver and they like to be the best at everything. I’ll tell you what it was, he was trying to win me over so I’d decide the competition in favor of his cooking.”

Your friend chuckles. “You really are oblivious, aren’t you?”

You take a careful seat opposite her desk. “You’d better explain to me what you mean by that right now, or I swear, I’ll make you brainstorm TikTok ideas for the next month.”

Your friend shudders. “Anything but that, please. Those trends are so bad. Anyway, look, Charles has been obsessed with you since, like, the day you joined. I remember introducing you that day, actually, he was practically stammering over his words. Imagine that, someone who’s always so controlled with what he says whenever he talks to the press, and he can’t even say his name properly because a pretty girl is smiling at him.”

This whole situation feels insane. “Maybe you’re remembering it wrong or something. He wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t like me like that.”

“Wouldn’t he?” Your friend asks slowly, and, well, it makes you think.

It makes you think about all of the videos you’ve shot with him, every discussion after a press conference. How taking candids for the Instagram of Charles always takes ten times longer than it should because he never looks at the camera, only at you. How you greeted him earlier this year at the first race of the season and he said what he missed most of all over winter break was you. How he wasn’t even kidding when he said it, just smiling, smiling like he’d never meant something more in his life.

“Oh my God,” you breathe, “Charles likes me.”

Your friend slaps her hand on the desk, startling you. “See? This is exactly what I’m talking about.”

“What do I do, then?” You ask.

Your friend looks like she’s about to scream. “You tell him how you feel, obviously!”

“I do?” You repeat haltingly.

“You do,” she says, “And he’s right across the hall now. Go talk.”

She all but pushes you out of her office, and then you’re alone in the corridor with Charles, who has just spotted you and is heading your way with the brightest grin you’ve ever seen.

“Y/N!” He says, clearly pleased, “It’s so good to see you. I didn’t think our paths would cross until the next race.”

“Yeah?” You eke out, “Me neither, actually. Strange how things happen like that.”

Strange like friends with overly aggressive relationship advice. You’re certain that if you turned around now, you’d see her peering through the window in her door like some kind of stalker.

Charles nods. “I’m glad to see you, though. Did you notice that the last video did really well? I think that means you have to come around more often. You know, it’s what the fans want.”

“Speaking of the fans,” you say, “I happened to read through the comments and a lot of them seemed to think that you were flirting with me.”

You swear you can see Charles’ confidence fall in a flash. “What?” He protests a little too quickly, “that’s crazy. That’s, uh, really crazy.”

You nod. “That’s what I thought, but, on the off chance that you were flirting, I wouldn’t mind it.”

A small spark of hope forms in his eyes. “You wouldn’t?”

“I wouldn’t,” you decide at last, “because I like you too. If you like me, that is, and it wasn’t too crazy of me to say that.”

He’s laughing now, and you– well, you really do like him, you do, and something about seeing the skin at the corners of his eyes crinkle up when he smiles makes you think at last about how long you have liked him, all the ways you realized you loved him but never admitted it to yourself.

“Alright,” he says, “Maybe it wasn’t too crazy after all.”

A pause, then: “This does mean that you’ll be coming around more often, right?”

You smile. “Yes, Charles, I think it does.”

f1 tag list: @j-brielmalfoy

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc oneshot #f1 #f1 imagines #f1 x reader #f1 oneshot #formula one #formula one imagines #formula one x reader #formula one oneshot #f1 charles #f1 charles imagines #f1 charles x reader #f1 charles oneshot

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deathofacupid · 8 months ago

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hello!! can you please do one with mcu peter parker where reader survived a bad mass sh00ting, and they're somewhere in the city, someone pops fireworks and reader gets scared cuz it kinda resembles gunshots and peter comforts her? thanks 🫶

promise | peter parker

hi, darling! thanks for requesting, i hope i did it justice! (this took a little longer than anticipated to get out, sorry!)

summary: the pain of the past is a tricky thing, even more so when it's traumatic.

warnings: mass sh00ting, themes of vi0lence,mentions of bl00d, g#ns/g#nshots, panic attack, ptsd

pairing: comfort!peter parker x hurt!reader

word count: 2.3k+ words

the festival is big, it's bustling with life. happy couples, children, and families roam the area, food in hand, smiles on faces.

lights stream from booth-to-booth, which there are row and rows of. you're walking hand in hand with peter, giggling about something he said.

after a long couple weeks, this is exactly what the two of you need. alone time (well, not really alone). just something to bring spirits up.

you pass by another couple, where a girl is holding the cutest teddy-bear. it's a soft beige, with darker laced bow around it's neck. he sees you eyeing it, grin on his face.

peter is thinking exactly this; "i'm winning that for her."

he drop your hand, to which you complain, and strides up to the couple. "hey, man. what booth did you get that from?"

the man looks up at peter, smile on his face, "all the way in the back, it's red, last row, i think."

peter nods, thanking the guy. he walks back over to you, grabbing your hand again. by the look on your face, he can tell you didn't hear.

he kisses your cheek, then pecks your lips. "wanna come find out?"

you nod like it's obvious, but peter likes teasing.

he's always liked teasing you- no, loved. he fell in love with the way your cheeks turned pink when he did so, all that power in his hands. somewhere along the line, he fell in love with you too.

if someone were to ask him when, he wouldn't know. he's always had that feeling for you, since the day you met. it just got stronger as time went on.

peter pulls you to the back of the large park where the festival is set up, all the way to the back. "peter!" you laugh, "slow down!"

you bump into many people along the way, apologizing to each one. but after a while, you give up.

he takes you to where the guy said it would be, and sure enough, there's a red booth, a row of teddy-bears in the prize cabinet. "i," peter declared to you, "am winning you that."

you squeal; you've got no doubt he can. "really?"

"yep."

you're already thinking of where to put it. the nightstand by your bed would look nice, or maybe the bookshelf. finally, you decide you'll keep it in bed with you.

peter steps up to the booth, and it's one of those ping-pong-in-the-cup ones. his spidey senses won't even make him break a sweat. he pays and the lady gives him three small balls. he weighs them in his hand, calculating how much force he'll need to use.

you're clearing excited, making him equally giddy. "ready, baby?" he asks, stealing a kiss for good luck.

"yeah!" you exclaim, with a clap of your hands.

peter glances at the cups, then back at the balls. he squints, aims, and makes the shot.

that's one.

"go, peter!" you cheer.

aims, and then makes the shot. it's almost too easy.

that's two.

he makes the shot.

that's three.

it's over so quickly, that the lady is suprised. nevertheless, she takes the bear out of the cabinet and hands it to peter, who in turn, hands it to you.

"aww!" you gush, "it's so cute!" throwing your arms arounf him, "thanks, petey," you nuzzle your nose to his.

"anything for my angel."

you kiss him, and hold the bear close to you. there's a small group of patio chairs and tables, and for the most part, it's empty. "can we sit down for a bit?" you asked, and then smiling, "not everyone has spider-man stamina."

he laughs, and you're sure it's the prettiest noise you've ever heard. you and peter move over there, and he pulls of your chair. "god," you half-swoon, "may really did raise you right."

"didn't she? i'm so charming. and chivalrous. and-"

"good in bed," you say, it's off-handedly, he can't help but blush. met by his silence, you over at him from across the table. "oh, sorry. i though we were listing things. you can't forget the most important one, can you?"

peter rolls his eyes, still flustered, "so you wouldn't be with me if it weren't for that?"

"hmm," you joke, drawing this out. it's fun, it's a distraction; you love it, and you love him. "well, it's cool you know tony stark."

"then go date him," peter says, playing along.

"maybe i will," you pull the bear to your chest.

peter makes a face, kicking you gently from under the table. "he's, like, 50!"

"well, maybe i like that. he can be my sugar-"

"okay, yeah, we're done. no- we're done."

"you sound jealousss..."

"no, i'm throughly concerned. mr. starks' about 30 years older than you!"

you sigh, "what about captain america?"

"that's worse! wait, you know he's a hundred-something, right?"

"even better. and he doesn't even look it."

"y/n. no."

"fine, fine- oh, wait! have you seen bucky? god, i just want him to bend me-"

"i don't wanna hear the rest of that sentence."

"i suppose i'll settle for spider-man," you say. "too bad he's not super-old and rich."

he kicks you again, and you giggle, falling into silence. you're having something of a staring contest with him, but you lost ages ago. your eyes trace his facial feature, and he's so pretty. you open your mouth-

"you're so pretty," peter says, leaning against his hand.

"aw. you stole my compliment. i was gonna tell you that."

"well, y'know, you still can."

"okay. you're more prettier."

"seriously? 'more prettier?' aren't you literally majoring in creative writing?"

"it's my off-day. now take the compliment."

"thank you. but you're the prettiest."

"you're max pretty times infinity. so... take that."

"and that's why you aren't a math major."

"boo-hoo. i win."

he sighs, long and exaggerated, "i can't argue with the basic, ever-true fundamentals of math."

"no, you can't."

you bicker back and forth, before you know it, it's gotten dark. peter scoots his chair next to you, arm slung around you. "isn't it nice?"

"what?" you asked, looking up at him through your lashes.

"spending some nice time together."

"oh. yeah. it is. it's been some time since we've had this much fun."

"mm. after this, do you-"

and it's so quick and unprecedented, you don't even notice it. it's a short pop, and instantly you've broken into a cool sweat.

because, god, it sounds so much like-

there's screaming. so much of it. it's never-ending, buring into your ears. it's everywhere, coming from everyone, and now it just sounds like a one big siren-y noise.

it feels like you're back there in a blink, feet glued to one spot as people run away.

"pe-peter," you choke, "you said- you said there wouldn't be fireworks!"

he looked around, almost frantic. "no, hey, breathe. the website said there wouldn't, and i double checked with the staff. it might be some kids-" he thinks that was the only one, but just a second later, loud pops and crackles go off - a whole series of them.

peter figures that it's some stupid teenagers down by the dock, which isn't far from here, but that's not his main priority right now.

his main priority is you.

you tune it out, the rest of his sentence because suddenly, it's not fireworks anymore.

you can see the bodies from where you're standing, darky, inky, red liquid spilling. they aren't bodies, not really, but lumps of clothing, a corpse inside.

you think you might be sick, but you can't feel anything.

or maybe you're feeling everything, but it's too much, so it doesn't feel like anything.

peter's holding you tight, you're aware of that, but you can't breathe. it's like your stomach twists itself into knots, like a rubberband being stretched and pulled.

your hands are clammy, your heart rate is speeding up, and your breath is getting shallow. you feel like you're going to burst.

honestly, it's not a great sensation. it's sickening.

you want to focus on what peter's saying to you - something along the lines of breathe - but you can't. you're sucked up into the past. but it doesn't feel like the past. it feels like the present.

someone knocks into you, and you fall onto your shoulder. you're wearing a sleeveless shirt, and your shoulder is rubbed up against the hard granite of the ground. you can faintly feel the blood that's there. though, you can't get it out of your mind that it's nothing like the body just 50 feet away.

you should move, probably, get up.

you can't.

you're frozen, all but for you're trembling breath, just as you were then.

peter grabs your chin, making you look at him. "y/n - can -" it's choppy, not enough to ground you.

and just like that he's gone again.

you never looked at any news reports, but you're sure that there were hundreds killed.

why weren't you one of them? it wasn't that you wanted to die that day, but it didn't seem fair.

children, parents, significant others, grandparents, babies...

they told you that you were lucky.

you don't feel lucky.

he squeezes your shoulders, "hey, hey, can you tell me three things you hear?"

you knows he's trying to help, but you want him to shut up. he seems to know this, but presses on, "three things you hear, angel,"

you're hyperventilating, "music," you choke out, it's the cheesy tunes, "the- the-" you're trying to think, "laughing, there's laughing. i h-i hear you."

"brave darling," he says, "can you do another on for me? two things you smell?"

"um," is it working? you can't tell. "food- food?"

"that's right," peter coos. "one more."

"your cologne."

"last thing, last one, lovie. one thing you taste."

"blood." it's short, you bite it out.

wait- blood?

"blood?" peter asks. he's concerned.

you swipe your tongue over your teeth, there's that distinct metallic taste. you bit your tongue, and you didn't even realize how hard.

he gently grabs your jaw, "no- hey, don't do that, my love."

you press your tougue against the roof of your mouth, trying to will the blood away.

peter wipes away a hot tear you didn't even know was there, "my love, breathe. you're safe, you're okay."

you bury your face into his chest, clutching his shirt. your hands are sweaty, but your lungs are doing there job better.

your breathing slows, and you're left sobbing. he tells you that it's okay, he tells you that you're safe. you know that in spider-man's arms you are, but it doesn't slow the cries.

his heart aches, seeing you like this. you've been getting help, but the hurt doesn't go away all at once.

peter knows this better than most.

he also knows that sometimes there isn't anything anyone can do to help (even though this is all he wants to do).

all he can do is sit there and hold you, let you know you'll be okay.

your crying stops, leaving you with hiccups. you're beyond glad that there isn't really anyone here, expect for an eldery pair. out of the corner of your eye, you can see they're concerned.

you feel like you can sense the dried blood on your shoulder, and you want nothing more than to scratch it away. you feel so filthy.

on impluse, you pull away from peter slightly, brushing that shoulder off. you can see the scar that it left, making you want to throw up. there's a patch of warm saliva that coats your toungue, and you can feel the burn in your throat, but barfing in public is the last thing you want to do, so you swallow it, gagging.

your head hurts, and suddenly, the festival isn't fun.

"oh, pretty girl, i'm so sorry," your tucked back into the safety of his hold, silent. "'s some dumb kids. i promise you, i had-"

"i know," you sniff. you're tried, exhausted.

"do you wanna go home?"

he reads you well, you think.

in response, you nod meekly. "okay, honey, we can go home. do you want a second?"

you shake your head; you wanna get outta here.

he helps you up, arm wrapped around your waist.

his main priority is to get you home, where you'll be content tangled in sheets. it's a quiet ride home, his hand is on your thigh, you're holding on tight.

you're asleep by the time he gets home, so he gently scoops you up, making his way inside.

peter sets you on the bed, going to the bathroom to get makeup wipes. he's sure you don't want to sleep in that.

it's the cool wipe that wakes you up, your eyelids fluttering open.

"petey?"

"hm? you're okay. we're home. 'm taking off your makeup." he pulls one of his shirts out from his drawer, moving back over to you.

"help me take this off?" he askes, tugging on the hem of your shirt.

you comply, and he takes it off, replacing it with one of his. you shimmy out of your shorts, and he tosses them somewhere, along with his own shirt. he quickly changes into something comfier, sliding into bed with you.

"feeling better?"

"yeah. i'm sorry- i-"

"don't you dare apologize," peter lightly scolds you, there's a soft type of stern in his voice.

you let your mouth fall shit, you aren't winning this. instead, you tuck yourself into his side, shielded from all your pain. when your so close to peter, all you can focus on is his scent, his love, leaving no room for everything else.

you sigh into his touch, and he holds you softly. "do you feel better?"

you're quiet, you don't have to put up a wall with him, because it's easy around peter. "yeah," you reply after a moment. "i feel better. 'm just tired now."

"okay," peter kisses your forehead, "then we can go to sleep, pretty girl."

to you it's a simple thing to say, it's sensible. to him? no.

to peter, it's a promise.

it's a promise that he'll always be by your side, that he's gonna be here to work it out, to put a smile on your face.

yeah, it's a promise.

#tom holland x reader #tom holland #peter parker #spiderman #peter parker x you #peter parker x reader #fluff #tom holland x you #angst #peter parker imagine #hurt/comfort #comfort!peter parker x hurt!reader

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pasukiyo · 1 year ago

Note

Hi! Not sure if you are still taking requests but I had an idea and so I was curious like Tom has no interest in Quidditch at all, a big zero but! How would Tom react when he comes to the play for the first time, because he promised reader that he would come and watch her play and then something goes wrong and he sees her gets badly hurt?

𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥 | tom riddle

tom riddle x f!hufflepuff reader 5,694 words warnings: fluff (for once) slight angst summary: tom riddle wasn’t one for quidditch. or love. but everything he thought would be questioned the moment you convince him to come to a quidditch match, and he nearly loses you. it all feels like a dream.

Tom Riddle remembered the day he began to fall in love all too well.

It started off a day like any other, he remembered sitting in the Great Hall for breakfast, Tiernan Lestrange and Clarence Avery at his sides, the others on the opposite side of the table. The two of them were bickering back and forth about some Slytherin girl they both seemed to fancy, the others snickering behind their goblets while Tom remained silent, frankly quite uninterested in the topic as he chose to instead engross himself in his Astronomy book.

“She always sits nearest to me in Potions,” Tiernan was saying, leaning forward to glare at Clarence over the table. “It must be true love then, right Lestrange?” Liam Mulciber sniggered from behind the rim of his cup, and Tiernan turned to curl his lip at him.

“Well, she let me borrow her Divination book,” Avery replied, a smug look washing over his pale face. “I don’t suppose she lets you borrow any of her things?”

“Divination?” Dolohov snorted across the table. “You don’t need the book for that class, all you have to do is make stuff up. Really, Clarence, she probably just thinks you’re stupid.”

Lestrange’s body trembled with the force of his laugh, and Tom narrowed his eyes, trying to will his mind back on the black, inky words of his Astronomy book.

“That’s not true,” Avery hissed, cheeks seared with scarlet flame. “I’ll have you know that I have top marks in—“

“Would the two of you be so kind as to take your argument elsewhere?” Tom’s eye twitched and he tore through the conversation like a knife, leaving the others to tighten their lips, not daring to make even the smallest of sounds. “I am trying to read.”

For a moment, all was silent, and the group blinked at Tom as his shoulders heaved in a sigh, attempting to re-immerse himself back in his book. Lestrange swallowed the boulder-sized lump that had formed at the base of his throat, bowing his head, the others following suit. “Yes, of course. Sorry, my Lord.”

They didn’t dare utter a word for the remainder of breakfast and eventually, they all up and left, leaving Tom on his own at the Slytherin dining table, save for a group of third years at the end. At last, he could read in peace without the others breathing down his neck or arguing over something as silly as love in his ear.

Just as he flipped to the next page of the book, the doors to the Great Hall slammed open, laughter and conversation pinging off the stone walls of the large room, Tom’s focus all at once being thrown off course. His eye twitched again as he snapped his head up to the source of all the noise, his gaze following the mass of yellow Quidditch uniforms as they made their way over to the table on the far side of the Hall.

And just at the head of the group was her, hair swept back into a ponytail, her eyes locking onto his even from all the way across the room. Her face split into a brilliant smile and she raised a leather-clad hand above her head, wobbling it in a wave.

Tom Riddle blinked.

It was classic. It was her.

He should’ve anticipated this. She was always there, and for a reason unbeknownst to him, he was always drawn to her, could always feel her presence in a room, could always find her in a crowd. It was frustrating. It was irritating. It was disgusting.

He remembered watching as she sat to join the other Hufflepuff Quidditch players at their table— they must’ve had an early morning practice. He wasn’t sure why he felt inclined to care—after all, it was no secret that Tom Riddle loathed Quidditch.

He could never understand the interest. Why watch a bunch of fools fly around on broomsticks and toss balls into hoops when there were more beneficial ways to spend your time on? To be quite frank, Tom saw Quidditch as nothing more than a waste of time.

But even then, he still couldn’t bring himself to tear his eyes away from her. Seeker and Captain of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team— he’d heard she was actually quite good at the sport, but a series of losses seemed to muddy her reputation. He’d heard other Houses snicker about it before— “Hufflepuff’s Captain caught the Snitch again, but the team was still down nearly two hundred points, and they lost anyway. Honestly, how unlucky can you be?”

How unfortunate, indeed.

Even then, she seemed content with her team, her House, everything. Tom couldn’t seem to understand how someone could be so happy, so fine with having to settle with everyone else’s ignorance. Nevertheless, there she was, laughing and cheering with the rest of the Hufflepuff team, as if they weren’t the worst Quidditch team Hogwarts had seen in years.

She must’ve felt Tom’s stare on her, for he could see even from all the way across the Hall how she blinked and turned her head, her eyes quick to find his. Her face lifted into a grin and she raised her hand to wave again.

Tom pursed his lips and slammed his Astronomy book closed. He needed to leave.

Tucking his book under his arm, he pushed himself away from the Slytherin dining table, striding towards the double doors of the Great Hall. He could feel eyes beading into the back of his head and he sniffed at the feeling, willing himself to keep his head forward.

He couldn’t understand why she was capable of getting so into his head. No one had ever had such an effect on him before, so why her? They were polar opposites— she loved Quidditch, she loved being around people, she was outgoing, fun, and he was… well, quite introverted.

People adored him, even he, himself, knew it. He guessed it came with being Head Boy, along with his services to the school. But Tom was less than appreciative towards the attention he received— he wanted nothing more than to be left alone, whether it be by the other students or the teachers. Professor Slughorn, in particular, was one of his biggest obstacles. Even his followers were as burdensome as they were irritating, more times than not.

All Tom Riddle really needed was himself. He didn’t care for anyone else, and he never would. He had come this far without trusting anyone— so why did he feel like that all could potentially come crashing down because of her? Why did he feel a pull towards her, like metal to a magnet?

The irritation with himself grew like a weed inside of him and with each angry step he took up the Grand Staircase, he tore through his annoyance with a blade. He needed to get a grip on himself, and as he made his way down one of Hogwarts’ many long corridors, he chanted the same phrase over and over again inside of his head:

You do not need anyone else.

He spent the latter half of the morning and the beginning of the afternoon in the Library, forcing his mind into the hardcover spread on the table before him, his fingers gripping either edge of the book like it was the only thing anchoring him down to the inky, black words on the pages. Still, he could not rid his mind of the Hufflepuff girl— but why? He tried to remember every interaction he had ever had with her, if there was anything she had said that seemed to stick with him. Instead, the image of her smile and the memory of her warm, benevolent words made his insides twist with a feeling he didn’t even want to acknowledge.

He’d tried his best up to this point to make himself as unlikeable as possible— but even being short with her or brushing her off altogether never seemed to steer her off course. She was always just there, finding him even during the rush of lunch or dinner, asking how his day was or wondering how he felt about his classes. She seemed to try to find anything to say that may keep his attention.

She was nothing if not for her persistence.

And no matter how hard he tried to convince himself that she was annoying, he still found himself thinking of her, his mind burning with the way her face would split into a smile when she saw him, how happy she always seemed to be to see him.

He hated how fluttery his heart would feel at the notion that perhaps, she fancied him, his stomach doing somersaults at the idea of a relationship with her.

Tom blinked down at his book.

This was really getting quite annoying.

For the second time that day, he slammed his book closed and sighed, leaning back into his seat, absentmindedly staring at the old hardcover. Perhaps a walk would suffice in clearing his mind— yes. Maybe all he needed was some fresh air in his lungs.

He pulled away from his seat and tucked the book away in his knapsack, nodding his head in acknowledgment to the old Librarian as he pushed the doors of the Library open. Keeping his lips pressed tight together, he clasped his hands behind his back as he ventured down the hallway towards the entrance to the Hogwarts Grounds, breathing the fresh air into his nostrils when he pushed the doors open, the afternoon sun kissing his pale cheeks.

The Grounds were bustling with students, which made sense, considering it was a Saturday. He just hoped he looked as unapproachable as possible— the last thing he needed was for someone to bother him, and he desperately hoped his followers weren’t around. He wasn’t confident he’d be able to bear their company without snapping at the moment.

It was warm today, the breeze adding the perfect amount of chill. The sky was a bright blue, and only a few wispy clouds painted its canvas. He thought for sure his mind would clear in no time—it was a beautiful day, after all. That was until just up ahead from the North exit of the Grounds emerged a group of students in bright yellow uniforms, their leader being none other than the very girl he had been trying to rid from his mind.

And of course, she was looking his way, and of course she was trotting up to him, that damned face illuminated with that damned smile.

“Tom!” She exclaimed as she jogged up, and once she was in front of him, he could see the faint traces of dirt on her cheeks, as well as the way the skin on her hairline glistened with a thin layer of sweat. His gaze flickered to her lips as her tongue swiped between them, and for a moment, he eyed the way her chest heaved as she caught her breath.

He could practically feel the knot tying itself at the base of his throat.

He cleared his throat and murmured her name in acknowledgment, nodding his head. “It’s a fine day today, isn’t it?” She asked, squinting her eyes as she gazed up at the sky. “I was lucky to have reserved the pitch for practice this morning. Finally beat your Neil Lament to the punch, for once.”

He blinked— why was it that he suddenly seemed interested in Quidditch so long as she was the one talking about it?

“Yes, I suppose,” he replied, his voice sounding void of emotion. This would usually be enough to scare anyone away— but not her.

“You know, I wish you’d come to our Quidditch matches, at least every once and awhile,” she leaned in, nudging his arm with her elbow. Tom tensed at the touch, the little hairs on the back of his neck standing erect, his skin erupting into flame in her touch’s wake. “We play Slytherin next Saturday, and we looked really good at practice today. Perhaps we’ll even have a shot at getting our first win of the season!”

She trailed off, suddenly looking anywhere but at him. “I’d… I’d really love it if you’d come.”

She blinked up at him, and she seemed to flush when he met her gaze, clasping a hand over her wrist. Tom could hear his heartbeat thundering in his chest at the realization that for some strange reason, he felt he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he disappointed her. His voice hardly felt like his own when he said, “perhaps, I will.”

She blinked once, twice, thrice, as if she couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing. Tom, himself, couldn’t quite believe the words that had tumbled from his mouth either.

“Really?” Her lips curved into a grin and she sucked her bottom lip between her teeth— Tom hoped the swift glance he stole to her mouth was as discreet as he intended it to be. She grasped the handle of her broomstick with either hand and she turned her head to glance over her shoulder at her team where they stood waiting, calling out her name and waving her back.

She tried to conceal her smile as she began to back away from Tom, hugging her broom to her chest. “I’ll hold you to your word then,” she said. “I expect to see you there!”

Tom watched as she turned and bounded back to her team, peering back over her shoulder at him as the others dragged her away towards the castle.

Tom couldn’t believe he agreed to go to a Quidditch match— something he’d avoided altogether for seven years— all because she said she wanted him to. Tom swallowed a lump of saliva back down his throat— strangely enough, he found himself looking forward to the match next week.

He didn’t think the Quidditch match that next Saturday could come any sooner. Of course, he’d seen her around the castle, but something within him couldn’t quite wait to see her reaction when she noticed him in the questionable Quidditch stands.

Course, he still didn’t understand why he felt the urge to go in the first place. Why was it that he hated the idea of letting her down if he didn’t show up?

If Saturday had only crept up on him, then the time for the match to begin made a break straight for him and sent him pummeling to the ground— and it was only when he entered the empty Slytherin common room that he realized he was running terribly late.

He made haste for the common room exit, failing to notice the group of boys looming in the corner until they were right on his heels, and he stiffened at the sound of someone’s voice.

“My Lord, we’ve been waiting for you all morning.”

He turned to gaze at his followers, expression as hard as stone. Liam Mulciber was at the head of the group, and the ball at the base of his throat visibly bobbed when he swallowed, realizing nobody else was going to speak up.

“Forgive me for asking you of this, my Lord,” he murmured, wetting his lips with his tongue. Tom only looked at him, not bothering to feign interest. “Well, I… we… were wondering where you were going,” Liam managed at last, his shoulders now lax as he inhaled. Tom sniffed, “since when did my whereabouts become your business?”

Liam Mulciber’s body tensed again, and the others seemed to be more interested in the floor than Tom. Mulciber’s lips moved to speak again, but the ticking of the mental clock in Tom’s mind was thundering now— he was late.

“If you all are done interrogating me now, I’d like to get moving,” Tom said simply, turning to push open the door of the common room. “I have somewhere to be.”

Tom left them in the common room speechless, the sound of the door slamming shut behind him echoing in the Slytherin dungeons. His heavy, methodical footsteps were next to permeate the stone corridor as he strode to the exit, pushing open the next set of doors until he was on the steps of the Grand Staircase. Seeing as nobody else was around, he fell into an uncharacteristic sprint up the stairs.

“Is that Tom Riddle?” One of the paintings on the wall asked somewhere behind him.

“I suppose it is! Hah! Never seen that boy run a day in his life. Always so aloof, that one is,” he could hear another one say. He didn’t allow himself the time to even scowl at this remark.

He bursted through the doors leading to the Hogwarts Grounds, and just over the stone walls on the far side of the yard, he could see the top of the Quidditch pitch, a flurry of yellow and green uniforms every once and awhile peeking from behind the stands. He could hear the muffled cheers and chants even from all the way down where he stood and he huffed, making a break for the North exit.

When he finally arrived, he clambered up the first set of stairs leading up to the nearest green stand he could find, dusting off his robes and huffing when he reached the top.

So this is what the Quidditch pitch looked like, he thought to himself. He’d never been up in the sketchy wooden stands, never been on the pitch itself, never even been within feet from the bleachers. He could feel hundreds of eyes on him as he sat in the nearest available seat in the front row, pressing his lips together and clenching his jaw, ignoring the murmurs behind him.

“Jason Wilbrook scores another ten points for Hufflepuff! Hufflepuff is now up eighty to thirty!”

The Slytherin students around Tom all grumbled, the stands on either side erupting into cheers, chanting for Hufflepuff. He blinked— although he knew absolutely nothing that was going on in the game itself, he knew it was an absolute rarity that Hufflepuff was actually winning, and against Slytherin for that matter.

He scanned the air and the different players in yellow uniforms until he saw her, dormant where she sat on her broom, her ponytail whipping behind her as she searched— more than likely for the Snitch. But when she looked down and her line of vision seemed to aim straight for him, he knew the little golden ball wasn’t the only thing she had been looking for.

Even from all the way down where he was, he could see the way her skin lit up as her lips curved into that bright smile of hers, and he could already see her leather-clad hand raising above her hand to wobble down at him in a wave. Tom didn’t make any moves to reciprocate, but he couldn’t seem to peel away from her either. Not even when something small but shiny whipped by her and she gasped, squeezing the handle of her broom with either hand as she leaned forward in pursuit of the Snitch.

“Oh! It seems Hufflepuff’s Seeker has spotted the Snitch!” The announcer’s voice bellowed from the amplifier in his hand. “Hufflepuff scores another ten points, making the score ninety to thirty but— uh oh, it seems Slytherin’s own Seeker, Neil Lament, has spotted the Snitch as well!”

It was all happening so fast, but still, Tom’s eyes were trained on her and the way her yellow uniform whipped behind her as well as her hair while she chased the Snitch. Neil Lament, a burly seventh year with olive skin was at her side, his lips curled in a snarl as he rammed his shoulder into her, nearly knocking her from her broom.

Tom could taste bile on his tongue and his brow deepened with a scowl. The other Slytherins around him were chanting Neil’s name, yelling foul things about her, things that he hadn’t even realized were making his blood boil until he felt his cheeks warm with vexation.

“Hufflepuff scores another ten points and— oh, Merlin! Neil Lament has shoved the Hufflepuff Seeker and—“

Tom needn’t hear more. He saw it as it happened.

Neil was seething, and seemed to have enough with this race. Gripping the handle of his broomstick with black leather gloves, he used all of the strength he could muster in his body to throw his shoulder into the girl beside him and her fingers slipped from her broom, just barely managing to latch back on before it was too late.

With her heart thudding against her chest, she willed her balance back onto her broom, exhaling a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding as she looked up and—

—everything went black.

Tom’s lips parted as he watched the large, mud-colored ball ram into the side of her head before dashing away as if nothing had happened. He watched as her fingers unhooked from around her broom and her eyelids fluttered closed, her consciousness slipping away from her as she fell slack, her body limp as it fell from the broom and began to make its long descent for the ground.

Tom’s fingers were curled around the wand in his robes before he could even wrap his head around what was happening, his lips parting and forming the word “Levioso!” just before her body could hit the ground below. His blood was running cold, frost icing over his lungs as he guided her down into the green of the pitch, and he released his breath as soon as she was sprawled on the grass.

Everything after was a blur.

He barely remembered the trip down the wobbling wooden stairs of the stands, hardly remembered searching for the entrance to the pitch, but he did remember when a group of teachers emerged from beneath one of the stands, her body limp in the arms of Albus Dumbledore.

His feet were moving without his brain willing them to, and it wasn’t long before the professors acknowledged his presence.

“Tom, my boy,” Professor Slughorn’s lips curved into a smile as he grabbed his shoulders, locking him in place as her body was being taken away. His eyes couldn’t leave her. “That was you that casted the Levicorpus charm on her, yes? I must say, I admire your quick thinking and—“

“Apologies, Professor. But I wish to see to her—“

“Not to worry, dear boy,” Slughorn clapped his shoulder, brushing a piece of lint from the black of Tom’s robes. “Rest assured, Madame Everleigh will see to it that she’s nursed back to full health. Now, in the meantime—“

Tom couldn’t bear to hear whatever it was Slughorn had to say next. He was tearing away from the professor’s grip and making long strides toward the castle where Albus Dumbledore, along with the rest of the teachers, disappeared into. His feet were on autopilot, making a beeline for the Hospital Wing.

When he finally arrived, she was already settled onto a bed, Dumbledore and a few other teachers talking amongst themselves as the Matron, Madame Everleigh, tended to her. Albus Dumbledore caught Tom’s eyes where he stood at the entrance to the infirmary. He excused himself from the other teachers and sauntered over to where Tom stood, hands clasped behind his back.

“That was some quick thinking you had back there,” Professor Dumbledore praised, but Tom was hardly comprehending his words. “Is she alright?” Was all Tom could bring himself to ask, and Dumbledore turned to glance over his shoulder before turning back to Tom, pursing his lips and nodding his head. “She’s unconscious, but she’s stable. She’ll definitely wake up with a ghastly headache, that’s for certain.”

Tom blinked, expressionless. He wasn’t one for humor. Perhaps Professor Dumbledore already knew that. He wouldn’t question it, for now.

“I’m sure Madame Everleigh will have nursed her back to consciousness soon,” Dumbledore said. “She needs rest. I wouldn’t suppose Mrs Everleigh would find any issue in you keeping her some company, so long as you stay out of her way.”

Tom bowed his head, and Dumbledore reciprocated as he watched the Head Boy pass by, noting the concern the boy had for the girl lying on the hospital bed. Interesting, Albus Dumbledore thought to himself before ambling towards the exit, pushing open the door in front of him.

Madame Everleigh paid him no mind, most likely not even realizing he was there at all as she fluffed the pillow beneath the girl’s head, making sure it was well supported. The other teachers had since dispersed, leaving the only ones left in the infirmary Tom Riddle, Madame Everleigh, the Hufflepuff Captain, and a young Gryffindor on the opposite wall, groaning into a large tin bucket.

Tom cleared his throat and it was then that Madame Everleigh acknowledged his presence, blinking up at him. “Excuse me, Madame Everleigh,” he began. “You wouldn’t mind if I stayed and kept her some company, would you?”

Madame Everleigh shrugged, her small frame circling the bed to reach for something from the table on the other side. “So long as you stay out of my way, I see no problem with it.”

Tom Riddle spent the afternoon sitting in a chair at her bedside, letting Madame Everleigh tell the other Hufflepuff Quidditch players her condition when they finally arrived, a somber air around them as they grumbled about their loss when the game had started off so promising.

It wasn’t until after dinner that the girl on the bed finally began to stir, and Tom pushed himself up on his seat, blinking down at her as her eyelids began to peel open. She grumbled something incoherent as she cradled the side of her head, the very one the bludger had hit hours before.

When she finally came to, she squinted over to the boy at her bedside. “Tom?” Her voice was low in a hoarse whisper, and Madame Everleigh was quick to join her at her other side, holding a cup of water to her lips.

“You will be sore for a while,” the Matron informed her. “It’s best if you stay here and rest for the time being. You’re lucky you weren’t unconscious for days.”

She waited until Madame Everleigh was gone before turning back to Tom, even in pain, her face splitting into a smile. “Quite the first Quidditch match for you, wasn’t it?”

Tom, with his expression as hard as ever, leaned back in his seat and scoffed, not a hint of amusement on his face. He couldn’t believe she was cracking jokes when she was in pain, when he was over here worried for her. Her ignorance was astounding.

“You were hurt,” he replied, voice deep and rumbling. Her smile dropped and she frowned, furrowing her brows. “But I’m alright now,” she replied, narrowing her eyes at him. For a few moments, neither said anything. Her gaze was penetrating, as if she were trying to see through him.

None had ever tried and succeeded before.

“You were worried for me, weren’t you?”

Until now.

Tom blinked, his eye twitching as he tore his gaze away from her, choosing to instead peer out the windows on the far wall. It was all becoming too real, this ever-growing feeling inside of him for the girl before him. Up until now, he could’ve played it off as being all in his head. But now that she was saying it aloud— it was too much. Too real.

She released a breathy laugh, and she reached to prod a finger against his forearm, his skin tingling with the phantom of her touch. “You were totally worried about me,” she tittered. “How lucky am I to have Tom Riddle, Hogwarts’ very own Head Boy looking after me?”

Tom sunk his molars into the flesh of the inside of his cheek and he sniffed, shifting in his seat. “Do you want an award or something?” He questioned, and she chuckled. “Now he’s making jokes?” She raised an eyebrow to her hairline. “You’re full of surprises, Tom Riddle.”

“It’s called being sarcastic.”

“Is it?”

Tom pressed his lips together to form thin, white lines and after a few beats, she turned back to look at him. “What happened after I got a bludger to the head?” She asked, noting the blackness outside the hospital windows. Tom shifted in his seat. “I left after you were injured,” he replied. “Your teammates came to visit.”

She perked at this. “What did they say? Did we win?” She asked, and Tom shook his head. “They said they substituted another Seeker in for you. Hufflepuff lost one hundred to two hundred and forty.”

She groaned and banged her fist against the mattress, spatting a “damn!” She grumbled, “if not for that blasted Neil Lament, I would’ve had the Snitch and we would have actually won for once.”

Tom scoffed at this and she eyed him from the corner of her sockets. “What?” The wrinkle in her brow deepened at this. “Last I checked, you don’t even care for Quidditch. Why should you care if your team gets another measly win?”

Tom rolled his eyes, “I don’t care about Quidditch. It’s the fact that you’re fussing over a damn sport when you’re lying in a hospital bed, injured.”

Silence swept over them like a wave and she blinked over at Tom who couldn’t bring himself to look at her anymore, staring out the windows instead, his arms folded over his chest. She eyed his pale skin, the sharpness of his jaw, his full, pink lips as they pursed together, his piercing, dark eyes as they looked anywhere but at her.

She could feel her heart as it drummed in her chest, a warmth washing over her that she’d felt many times before. She ached with affection for him, ached with want, with desire. And now that he was sitting here, her only acquaintance in the otherwise empty hospital— save for the small Gryffindor boy now sound asleep on the other side of the room— she felt a burning in her chest, a burning of hope that he felt the same way too.

After all, why else would he spend his entire day sitting with her until she woke up when he was always so insistent on using his time for other more important things? With the clearing of her throat, she mustered all the confidence she could to her mouth as her words formed on the tip of her tongue.

“You know, if I didn’t know any better Tom, I’d think you were falling for me.”

Her heart was racing, especially when he turned to gaze back down at her, that murky, black stare of his piercing right through her. She felt like she was suffocating the longer he made her wait for his response, she could feel the crimson heat as it crept to her cheeks.

Tom Riddle was usually calm, cool, and collected, always knew what to say and when to say it. This was the first time he could remember being rendered speechless.

It was real now— never had anyone been able to see through him before, no one had ever been able to see him, to slowly begin to figure him out. But she did. She somehow knew about this strange and foreign feeling within him, something he wasn’t sure what to name. Attraction? Desire? Infatuation? Love?

Could this be love? Could love be this sudden, this unexpected? Could this be what love was, to care so deeply for someone without even fully understanding why? To burn for someone else, to have your heart beat erratically at just the idea of them? Was love something else?

Tom didn’t know. But perhaps, this was what it was like to fall in love with someone else. This was a day he’d remember all too well.

Tom straightened in his seat and cleared the heavy lump in his throat, his lip quivering as he opened his mouth, although unsure what to say. “Perhaps, I am.”

Her lips parted and her brows knit together, and suddenly, she didn’t feel like she’d just taken a bludger to the head, or that she had nearly fallen to her death only hours ago. Suddenly, she wanted nothing more than for Tom Riddle to kiss her. Her lips were practically throbbing with the idea of Tom’s on them.

“I don’t know whether or not I’m dreaming right now. And I really, really hope I’m not,” she murmured, losing herself further into the darkness of his eyes until she couldn’t tell when she ended and he began anymore. “Perhaps I’m dead and this is all just a hallucination,” she whispered, breathless. “Whether or not this is real, I’d really like for you to kiss me right now.”

Tom could feel warmth surge through him at her words, his lip quivering as he leaned forward, their faces now so close, their lips but mere wisps against one another. “I hope you aren’t dreaming either,” he murmured and she trembled, feeling her lungs shudder in her chest.

And then Tom’s lips were on hers, and she was sure this was real.

Tom Riddle’s lips were on hers, soft and pliant, kissing her with an urgent, tender need. If she was a candle, then he was her flame, and she was melting like wax, sinking further and further down into the plush of the hospital bed’s mattress. If it weren’t for the pain in her head, she’d follow his lips when he pulled away, blinking down at her. Her gaze met his and his irises were so dark, she couldn’t quite tell when his pupils began or ended.

All she could feel was his hot breath as it lingered like an ember on her skin, and she shuddered as she exhaled. “If I’m dreaming, please don’t pinch me,” she whispered, and Tom breathed, the closest she’d ever heard him come to a laugh. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he murmured back and the corners of her lips curved into a smile, a giggle slipping through the cracks.

Tom Riddle was making a joke.

a/n; i literally just finished writing this like twenty minutes ago and i shit you not, i wrote the last like 3k words of this in one sitting 😭 not sure how i feel about the beginning, but i think i feel good about my writing at the end for once. and i actually wrote fluff and not smut for once!! look at me!! anyways, IM NOW CAUGHT UP WITH REQUESTS! so feel free to send in more if you’d like lol

| 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 |

@darkmoviesquotespizza @lyis @upsidedownspidey @michelle-26

#tom riddle #tom marvolo riddle #tom riddle fic #tom riddle x reader #voldemort #voldemort x reader #harry potter #wizarding world #harry potter fandom #harry potter imagine #harry potter fic

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kieranxvalentine · 11 months ago

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Her Muse {Miguel O'hara}

༻♡༺✎ After posting a picture, everyone starts to wonder who is the one who makes your heart beat. Not knowing he was closer than they thought ༻♡༺✎ Miguel O'hara x Reader, Miles Morales x Reader (Platonic), Gwen Stacy x Reader (Platonic), Pavitr Prabhakar x Reader (platonic) ༻♡༺✎ PG rating (one suggestive comment) ༻♡༺✎ 1.1k words ༻♡༺✎ Author's Note: Welcome to my first post in this little Mini Series with Miguel x Idol!Spiderwoman!Reader. I have plenty more for this series! Hope you enjoy! (This hasn't been proof read yet!)

“You’re dating someone?!”

You chuckle softly at the surprised sound of your friends, Miles, Gwen and Pavitr all looking at you in shock.

You were a fellow spider variant, but not only were you a superhero, you also were a popstar, entertaining and saving the masses one day at a time. You were basically an interdimensional superstar, going to universe's and hosting concerts. (only modern ones though.)

You were really secretive about your life besides what you revealed to your fans, but after a recent picture that appeared on your Instagram had your friends and fans in an uproar.

“I could’ve sworn you told us you were going to be focused on your career! But what is this!!”

Miles, who you considered a little brother shoved his phone in your face.

You did make a big speech to them roughly like 7 months ago about how you were going to focus on your career and that you didn't have time for a relationship...

Well..clearly that was a lie..

It was a picture on your profile, it was clearly your waist, in an outfit from your most recent pop up performance, with a mans hands wrapped around your waist.

It was clear that the picture was cropped to obscure whoever you were with. You could only let a giggle slip from your lips as you took a drink from your water.

“Is he from your universe?” Gwen asked and you shook your head. This pulled a gasp from your friends and Pavitr was the one to ask the next question.

“Soooo…Is he a spider person?”

You went silent and avert your gaze playfully. Gwen stood up with her arms crossed a playful grin on her face. “That means yea! You’re dating a spider variant!’

“Yea but who? You know how many of us it is!” “Well, it has to be one of the older spiders, look at the size of that dude!” “Hmmm…”

You laughed again as you looked at the three of them. “You three are really trying to figure this out aren’t you?” That earned you three rapid nods and you only playfully rolled your eyes.

You hopped off the table, checking your dimensional watch seeing you missed a ping from Miguel O'Hara, the leader and head of the Spider Society.

“Oh sorry guys, I gotta go. I missed a ping from Miguel.”

Gwen nodded in understanding. “Oh yea, You might wanna go before you get in trouble, You know how he hates when people are late.”

Miles pointed a finger at you, “Don’t think that this is over Y/n! We will find out!!”

You rolled your eyes and gave them a wave as you head off to Miguel’s office.

When you first joined the Spider Society nearly 3 years ago, you couldn’t help but be intimidated by him. The way he carried himself with such authority and power, you remember after walking out his office you thought you were going to melt. He was just so perfect to you. He was strong, he was caring (although he struggled with sharing it), he was very, very, very attractive.

You couldn't help but make him your muse. Every great artist had one, and yours just happened to be your boss.

Most of your songs were about Miguel, nothing too explicit. Just cute puppy love songs, you were crushing since day one.

It wasn't hard to either, you would come up with lyrics after seeing him whenever you had to report an anomaly, or you'd bring your lyric book to meetings and use some of his own words in your songs.

Your fans loved it, trying to figure out who the mystery man was in your songs, but of course you couldn’t let them find out. Especially when some of the spider variants listened to your music as well! And it certainly didn’t help-

“Took you long enough.”

You gave a sheepish smile as you entered his office, seeing him up on his platform, looking over the various neon orange and red screens in front of him. You swung up to his platform, waiting as he turned around to face you.

He looked down at you for a bit before reaching to wrap his hands around your waist and pull you towards him, he places his face in the crook of your neck.

“I should’ve known you were going to post that picture of us..” He mumbled against your neck and you giggled as he nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck.

“I’m sorry Miggy, You looked really cute..! Besides, I cropped our faces out, they only saw the lower half.” You responded as you moved his face to kiss his cheek.

He only shook his head before pulling back a bit. “Oh really?” He gives you a small smirk as one hand went to your lower back. “You should post the full thing.”

You raised an eyebrow. Miguel was a very private person, hell, only two people knew you were dating Jess and Peter, and that was because they walked in to give Miguel updates on an anomaly they were chasing, they got an eyeful of the two of you kissing.

He was embarrassed and demanded that they didn’t tell a soul that the big scary boss of the spiders was dating the bubbly popstar.

So it was surprising to hear him want you to post it...

“Why? If you don’t mind me asking?..” You ask as you lean against him. He placed a hand under your chin, tilting your head up so that you could be looking at him. You felt your heart nearly leap out of your chest.

Damn this man and his eye contact, he surely knew how to make you nearly melt right into a puddle in his arms.

“That way people already know you're spoken for. Can’t have others trying to steal my wife away from me...can I?” He flashed another smirk at you, showing his fangs and you felt a blush spread across your cheeks.

He chuckled at your reaction, paying no mind to you nearly short circuiting at such an action... “Mi preciosa, You’re acting shy as if we haven’t done anything else already.”

“THAT”S DIFFERENT MIGUEL!”

"Is it? I mean, unless you start using my-"

"SHUT UP!"

He ends up laughing at your embarrassed face and leans to kiss you on your forehead.

“Here, theres an anomaly that just popped up. I can intrust my little idol to it can i?” You nod as he puts the universe coordinates in your Dimensional watch.

He gives you a hug and another kiss on the cheek, whispering the words. “Be safe. I love you.” before letting you swing down from his office.

You exited his office and blushed deeply, pulling up your phone, scrolling through your phone until you reach the picture in your camera roll.

It was a mirror selfie, Miguel’s hand wrapped around you waist with his chin on your shoulder. This was taken at his home after you came to visit him after a performance, which explained the attire you were wearing.

You go to your Instagram and take down the original, before reposting the full picture with the caption:

My Muse and My SuperHero <3

After you returned from your mission, you were met with a Laughing Jessica and a confused Peter.

“Hey guys! What’s going on?..” You asked as you walked up to them.

Jess stifled another laugh as she pointed to Miles, Gwen and Pavitr. “Seems like they saw your post.”

You looked over and locked eyes with Miles and You gave him a sheepish grin before taking off running, the young spider man following behind you.

“YOU’RE DATING OUR BOSS!? NO WONDER YOU DON’T GET IN TROUBLE!!” “I-it’s not like that Miles!!” “OH YEAH!? THEN WHY ARE YOU RUNNING!? GET BACK HERE AND EXPLAIN YOURSELF MISSY!” "I was going to tell you guys soon!!" "LIAR!! GET BACK HERE!"

©kieranxvaletine 2023 <3 Hope you all enjoyed!

#atsv fanfic #miguel o'hara #miguel ohara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara fanfiction #atsv miguel #miguel spiderverse #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara x you #miguel x you #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara x you

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cyberrose2001 · 1 year ago

Text

TFP Optimus x fem!Reader

Requested by @musicalmedli, who wanted a continuation/re-write of this fic -> read here

sorry it took so long! (literally months oop, writers block is an ass)

I wrote the smut first and asked questions later, so apologies if the flow is off a bit.

also is this an excuse to write reader and OP 69ing? yes maybe shut up

Warnings: OP seducing reader, mostly dom!OP, fem human reader, 69 position.

Word count: 1976

18+ ONLY MINORS DO NOT READ

Some time had passed since your embarrassing encounter with Optimus, and things around the base had been quite unusual, to say the least. Not only has Optimus been practically attached to your hip, but he’s also started behaving very strangely around you.

He smells nice, like he had somehow nabbed a fresh bottle of cologne. His frame looks cleaner and more buffed out than usual. One would say that the red and blue mech had taken more interest in the upkeeping of personal hygiene, which isn’t hard to believe. But what is hard to believe is the increasing amount of subtle winks he gives you when no one else is around.

You aren’t sure what’s got into him or why he constantly asks how your day was with a renewed suave. Maybe it might be better to confront him, but that thought seems to have manifested in reality as your phone pings a message from Optimus.

“Please meet me in my quarters.”, it reads.

Well, aren’t you the psychic?

This was probably expected coming from the recent behaviour of the Prime, but the shock never leaves your face as you close the door behind you and step into his candle-lit quarters.

Optimus is mass-displaced, slumping in a chair facing you, pedes half crossed on his knees, giving you a slight glimpse of his inner thighs. A forearm rests on the armchair, digits tapping rhythmically as if to send you into a trance. His other servo drapes lightly on his thigh, brushing against the inner protomass. You gulp, raking your eyes over every inch of his frame until you meet half-lidded optics. Soft but unquestionably oozing arousal.

You try to say something, anything, but your mouth runs dry from the pure, unfiltered sex radiating from him. Optimus notices and his thin-lined dermas curl up devilishly.

“Good evening,” Optimus hums, “Apologies for messaging you abruptly, but I’d like to talk with you if that is all right.”

From his body language alone, you’re sure that he didn’t call you here just to ‘talk’. But you digress; it could be something important. So, you nod, stepping into the dimly lit room.

“Uh, yeah. It’s ok. I wasn’t busy anyway,” You walk up to him with the hesitance of a newborn doe, “Is there anything I can help you with?”

“I suppose there is,” Optimus leans forward once you’re standing directly in front of him, his elbow on his knee, and holy fuck is he hot, “Can I just say how utterly bewitching you are?”

A pause, “M-Me? Surely not. I think you’ve got the wrong gal.”

“Was it not you that I attempted to court to forestall your leave?” Optimus tilts his helm, digits drumming on his knee, “It worked, did it not?”

You need to be very careful with your following words because the look Optimus is giving you right now screams, ‘If you say yes, I’m gonna fuck the brains out of you and give you the best orgasm of your entire life’. Which doesn’t sound too bad right now; your loins are on fire, and it’s becoming increasingly harder to think straight.

“I know you harbour feelings for me,” Optimus pushes his servos into the armrest and stands up. He then crouches down to be at eye level with you because even when mass-displaced, he still towers above you by a solid foot, “Say the word, and I will satisfy you enough to last you a lifetime.”

Your legs are about to give out, but that’s ok because you’ve taken the liberty to wrap your arms around his neck. Faces so close now that you’re breathing in his ex-vents, “Is that a challenge?”

Optimus’ optics dim, giving you the most sultry grin that rivals the sun. He wraps his arms behind you and picks you up, and you instantly wrap your legs around his waist, “Is that… your permission to proceed?”

You’re in too deep now. Slowly, you nod and cup his faceplate in your warm hands, inching closer and closer, “Yes.”

You close the distance to his dermas, and he fucking growls. His grip on your ass is firm as he returns the kiss with the intensity of a firestorm, glossa pressing against your tongue in an act of dominance.

After gaining your full permission and miraculously without breaking the heated kiss, Optimus throws you onto the blanket-covered berth behind you, thanking Primus that he had organised the soft landing before your arrival. And also a bit suspicious that he had fully expected to seduce you to get into your pants or lack thereof; because Optimus had clawed at them before you even had the chance to break the kiss and catch your winded breath.

You’re entirely at his mercy, with nowhere to run as he cages your upper body with his gorgeously robust forearms. His optics glow in a tantalising turquoise as he rakes them down your body, hungry and lustful.

While he soaks in the sight of you below him, it gives you time to appreciate how damn handsome he truly is. The soft orange glow of the candles highlights every crevasse, every perfect imperfection that he somehow missed buffing himself out for you. He’s gorgeous, and the faint smile he gives you tells you that he damn well knows it.

Optimus flirtatiously laughs before leaning his helm down to press a tender kiss to your neck, ex-vents like a gentle breeze on your skin, “You have no idea how long I have yearned for this.”

Feeling his glossa pressing against your neck, you softly moan, lulling your head to the side for more access. You can feel him suckle slightly, and your breath hitches, eyes fluttering shut. He’s marking you, and you have no choice but to submit yourself to him.

Well, maybe you have some choice. You remember Optimus trying to flirt with you via a very raunchy pickup line, not having any idea what it even meant. This might be your opportunity to give him a hands-on experience; you just have to tug the breaks slightly on this dominant Optimus train.

“-hggff- Optimus,” You gasp out and reach up to gently push his chest away; removing him from your neck was like Velcro, “Wanna try out that… position I told you about?”

Optimus hitches his breath. Ever since you whispered those lewd words into his audial receptors, the thought of you lying atop him as he indulges in your heat for the first time while you do the same for him makes his spark flutter, “I will not lie. It’s been on my mind for quite some time… I suppose we could attempt it.”

The whole reason it’s been on his mind in the first place was that you were the one who planted that thought in his processor, and now you just realised exactly why Optimus had been acting like a love-struck puppy around you. He fucking researched it, and it got him majorly flustered.

Optimus digs his servos beneath your back to cradle you and flips himself over, with you now draped across him. You sit up and make work of stripping the remainder of the clothes Optimus hadn’t shredded, and when you rip your bra off, his servos instantly press against your chest.

“Mmmm, these are delightful,” Optimus purrs, digits kneading into your plump flesh, “So very soft…”

You bite back a moan before pulling his servo away from you, “I know, but let’s not get distracted, hm? You can play with them after.” You then maneuver yourself so you face first with his interfacing array, which you notice is already bowed out; your breasts squishing against his abdominal plating.

“I see you’re already excited; wanna show me?” You purr as you palm him, drawing delightful shivers from him. You kiss his groin, and he nearly bucks up into you in excitement.

Optimus doesn’t hesitate to expose him to you, groaning as his thick spike unsheathes itself from its housing. And you’re fucking drooling. It’s gorgeous, has a slight lean and is absolutely rock hard, staring right at you.

You’re not the only one drooling. Optimus’ optics are laser-focused on your dripping pussy; it entices him to dive right in. He moves his servos to grip your ass cheeks, massaging them gently.

“Primus, what a sight to behold.” He breathes out, and the warm air tickles your heat. He leans in, flattening his glossa to lick a thick line from your clit to your hole.

“F-Fuck…” You gasp out, leaning your hips into his intake more. The way Optimus is lapping at your folds is very distracting, and you almost forget that you’re supposed to be returning the favour.

You grab his spike, running your fingers up and down in tandem with his glossa. It’s softer than you thought, similar to the malleable protomass beneath his metal exterior, and you can’t wait to get your mouth around it. You stick your tongue out and lick from the base to the very tip, and you can feel Optimus groaning into your heat as you do.

Feeling confident, you wrap your lips around his tip and apply gentle suction. You swirl your tongue, lapping up the pre-cum already spilling down, and you moan at the taste. If you’re not careful, you might get addicted to it.

You can’t say the same for Optimus, who drinks you with a fervour akin to someone lost in the desert and has discovered water for the first time in weeks. He wraps his arms around your waist, forcing you almost entirely to sit on his face. His glossa delves into your hole, and you cry out around his spike.

You’re almost thrown off him when you do, the vibrations from your throat sending an electrical shock through his hips as he bucks into your mouth. He’s deepthroating you now, and you must be a snake of some kind because this shouldn’t be possible unless you’ve unhinged your jaw.

“I’m sorry,” He takes a breath, pressing kisses to your sensitive bud, “I can’t -aggh- help myself. Your intake is so tight.”

“Keep going, Optimus,” You pop your mouth off him, using one hand to stabilise yourself on him and the other to pump him feverishly, “I’m so close, f-fuck.”

As soon as those fluttery words leave your mouth, you’re straight back to sucking his spike with all the strength you have left. Optimus has also continued his assault on your clit. He swirls his glossa and wraps his dermas around it, and you’re fucking done. You cum on his glossa so hard it’s like an explosion on your nervous system, rocking your hips against him involuntarily.

Optimus pushes your hips further onto his intake and tightly grips your waist as his own overload overtakes his senses, the rush of cum flowing onto his glossa combined with your relentless sucking being just enough to send him over the edge.

He overloads right into your throat, and you’re determined to swallow every last drop. You push his spike past your gag reflex, tears filling your eyes as the rush of stickiness overflows into your cheeks and past your lips, dripping down his spike as it spasms against your tongue.

Once you feel he’s completely finished, you pull your mouth off and gulp. There’s so much you couldn’t, but you mentally pat yourself on the back for swallowing what you could.

Optimus releases his hold on your waist, allowing you to manoeuvre yourself so you’re facing him again. And holy fuck, seeing his face drenched in your fluids is almost enough to make you cum again.

He gives you a dopey smile and wraps his arms around your waist, “That undoubtedly exceeded my expectations. Should I try to seduce you again someday?”

“I don’t think you need to,” You breathlessly chuckle, “You’ve already got me hooked.”

#transformers #transformers prime #tfp #tfp optimus #tfp optimus x reader #tfp optimus x fem reader #tfp optimus x human reader #valveplug #cyberrosewrites

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jamminvroomvroom · 2 years ago

Text

on the weekends.

gr x fem!reader

finally done with the george win smut! sorry it took ages but we made it lol - mentally i am still in brazil. lemme know what you think ily ily ily!!

btw this is not linked to the george fic, this is a standalone! dedicating this one to @wetforwolff and @lovely-leclerc - you asked, you shall receive <3

warnings: 18+!! it’s smut!! bit of fluff, bit of angst, language, alcohol

3.5k words

you’d anticipated this day for as long as you’d known george. he looked like a winner, walked like a winner, talked like a winner. he fucked you like one, too.

back when you were just getting toto his coffee and george was making powerpoints, you knew this day would come. when you were taking on a bigger role and he was dragging the williams into q3, you knew this day would come. when you were finally at the top of the job ladder, draped in merc team kit in the garage every weekend and he was pulling a top five out of the bag every single time he got in the car, you knew this day would come.

you’d been stood in the back of the garage biting your nails, trying not to draw attention to yourself and your nerves. the humidity drove you insane, but not as much as he did. no one needed to know just how close you and george could get after a long weekend, and now wasn’t the time to publicise it. toto was back at the factory, leaving you exposed; usually you’d hide behind him when things heated up on track. you weren’t supposed to care which merc brought it home p1. a win was a win, a one-two was a one-two, and lewis was on the hunt. fair game. you knew you were fucked when you prayed that car number sixty three would come out on top. you knew it was foolish and selfish but a celebratory night in the sheets boded better than a consolation fuck.

a mercedes one-two and a meltdown at redbull rounded off your weekend perfectly. george had done it, just like you knew he would. lewis had pulled off the recovery drive that added more flavour to his greatness. a perfect day in the office, realised by three trophies to tell the tale.

toto was blowing up your phone. you answered, trying to wade through the masses in parc ferme. you lingered by the scales, pressing the big green button on your phone, toto’s face filling the screen, aged by a lacklustre season, masked by the elation of triumph. you beamed as you rambled about data and upgrades and and told him that you’d try and find george. you didn’t need to look much further.

a large hand ghosted over your waist, a shiver running up your spine and back down again. you turned, breath hitching in your throat. he was breathtaking; sweating, blue eyes clouded red, veins prominent in his trembling hands. his hair was a mess, body shaking from the adrenaline and his smile was so wide, so emotional that you almost doubled over. you couldn’t help but stare at him, at the blood, sweat and tears that had made him great. beautiful bastard.

you very rarely felt small in the presence of a man. you refused to, taking up space was the key to survival in your line of work. but for once, you allowed yourself to shrink, to succumb to it, the size of george. the size of success. he looked different, powerful. your thighs clenched.

all he did was stare back at you, a telepathic communication pinging backwards and forwards.

he was going to ruin you, and you were going to let him.

“are you there? hello?” toto grumbled, too excited to be mad at your ignorance towards him.

“oh- um,” you fumbled, thrusting the phone towards george. “it’s for you.” you smiled. his fingers brushed yours in the midst of the transaction and you shivered again. “someone’s very proud of you.” you murmured, eyes never leaving his.

you let your tongue swipe your bottom lip, hoping he knew that amongst all the chaos, you weren’t just talking about toto. it was dangerous to be so obvious in public, you could do that later, on your knees. with toto harping away in the background, george’s eyes darkened; it was too much, the adrenaline and your double meanings. dark blue eyes mentally undressed you, glancing hungrily over your body, and you felt naked in parc ferme. maybe one day you’d let him fuck you in the garage, you thought. perhaps if he won a title.

“i’ll bet.” he mirrored your action and licked his lips, the quickest wink being thrown at you, the most carefree you allowed him to be in public, and he turned his attention to your boss, who was bellowing away like the world’s proudest dad.

tonight was the night. brazil never disappointed.

hours passed, the muggy afternoon blurring into the hazy night. the champagne flowed, as did a few tears, the man of the moment being carried around on anyones shoulders and hosed down with alcohol. the team had craved this, worked for it, earned it. it was a bit like your relationship with george, really.

you couldn’t take your eyes off him, your entire body tingling in anticipation for later. so when it was finally time to go, you tried to slip away, get back to the hotel as quickly as you could. but of course, nothing ever got past george. he was the right amount of tipsy to grab both of your hands in his, right there at the entrance of the hospitality suite, and insist that you just share his ride back. it was stupid, utterly reckless, but you were the right amount of tipsy to accept.

hands intertwined, you stared at each other some more, until someone cleared their throat and you were being ushered out into the exposure of the paddock.

he didn’t let go and you didn’t make him.

he didn’t leave you any time to go back to your hotel room, coaxing you easily straight back to his. the tension between you was suffocating, it had been all afternoon, but nothing beat the journey from the track back to his hotel.

you’d gotten stuck in traffic, just as you always did in são paulo, which sent hands wandering early, carefully hidden from the driver that had the misfortune of picking you up. he trailed his fingers from your knee and up, up, up, occasionally grazing the fabric of your panties. your thighs would snap shut every time he did, your face a flaming shade of red. you looked out the window with wide eyes, trying to mask the urge to roll your hips, and all he did was stare at you, a devilish grin spread across his face.

you’d hurried out of the car, stumbling into the hotel lobby. you both did your worst at pretending that you weren’t tipsy, straight faces wavering as his hand dipped too low on the small of your back. you gave in, foolish, letting yourself lean into his side, giggling up at him with your head rested against his shoulder. your were caught up in the moment, blindsided by lovesickness, as he guided you into the elevator.

your breathing shook, fingers balled up as you tried to resist the cliche make out session in the elevator. it’s as if he could read your mind, pulling one of your hands into his and intertwining your fingers. he didn’t take it any further, not yet, knowing that no matter what the pair of you may have wanted, there was a time and a place. both were rapidly approaching as the lift reached its destination and you were let loose into the corridor. suddenly, nothing was funny anymore. urgency takes over.

down the corridor, force the key into the slot, wait for the green light. your back is against the door the second it’s been slammed shut. you’re used to this, the sudden pounce of him. your relationship survived on stolen moments and hurried touches, rapid pleasure. it was intense and the need for more fuelled you both because once could never be enough. so when he kissed you, it was quick, carrying the force and speed of a race car. you found yourself realising that for once, there wasn’t a flight to catch, or someone just waiting to interrupt, and your hands flew to his face, taking control of the pace. you deepened the kiss, slowing him down and licking your way into his mouth.

he seemed to get the hint, and you felt the slow press of his body moulding against yours as your lips moved together, nice and deep. it was different. your heart grew about ten sizes, on the verge of exploding for him. you moved across the room in some kind of trance, floating to the bed. shoes were kicked off, merc embroidered shirts discarded in a painful reminder of a pile, unidentifiable fingers working in the darkness to undo his trousers, to tug down your skirt. in nothing but your underwear, you tumbled into bed.

you were a mess of touches in the dark, clambering on top of him, his hands finding your hips. he held you tight, close, encouraging the roll of your hips and you sunk into his body. you could make out his face in the dim light, his shadowy features contorting as he lost any remaining scrap of control.

you were on your back in a blink, kisses pressed to your sternum, over the lace of your bra, peppered down your navel. your panties were peeled off, flung behind him onto the floor, instantly forgotten. he’d been waiting to get between your legs all weekend, desperate for you after the sprint, forced to wait by the reality of your jobs. he couldn’t wait any longer, wouldn’t. he slung one of your legs over his shoulder, open mouthed kisses pressed from your knee, all the way down to your inner thigh, as his arm wound its way around your other leg, spreading you open.

he was ready to dive in when you pushed yourself up on your elbows, one hand reaching down to cup his jaw, making him look at you. his eyebrows furrowed, confused as to why you’d stopped him when he could see just how bad you needed him, the way you glistened for him becoming a familiar, welcomed sight.

“george,” you breathed, “supposed to be celebrating you.” all he did was smile at you, leaning in closer to where you were aching.

“couldn’t have done it without you, sweetheart.” and with that, he escaped your hold, licking a stripe through your folds.

you fell back into the sheets, eyes glazing over and quickly squeezing shut. george was messy with it, licking into your cunt with an enthusiasm that had you arching further and further into him. his large hands gripped harder on your thighs, tightening every time you moaned louder. his tongue swirled across your folds, alternating between long laps and featherlight flicks across your clit, the differing sensations having you embarrassingly close already.

“george, stop, i’m gonna cum. want you in me. please.” you begged, warning him of just how close you were to your undoing, desperate to feel him back on top of you.

he didn’t let up for a second, barely even acknowledged you. all he did was stare up at you, amused eyes twinkling through the darkness as he doubled his efforts. all of the sudden, you were numb with pleasure, writhing against the sheets. your fingers tangled in his hair, gripping at the dirty blonde locks so hard that it must of hurt, but just like everything else you threw at him, he seemed to be enjoying it, humming into your pussy as he helped you ride out your orgasm. it all felt too much, too overwhelming; you didn’t know whether to push him away or pull him even closer.

finally the pleasure began to subside, relief washing over you for barely a second before he was pushing two fingers through your folds. his tongue continued to curl against your clit as he slid his fingers inside you. you whined at the overstimulation, grinding your hips to meet his movements.

“george, i can’t-“ you started, panting, only to be cut off.

“you’re gonna keep coming for me, sweetheart. okay?” he told you bluntly, fingers working into you quickly. “do you know why? because i won.” he smirked, “i won and this is my reward.”

you could already feel your second orgasm building, his words along making you shake, his fingers hitting your spot each time with ease. you were dripping all over him, limp from the pleasure, desperate to cum just so that he’d put you out of your misery and fuck you.

“one more for me, yeah? one more, darling, and i’ll stop.” george murmured, thumb brushing over your clit, fingers beginning a deep grind into you.

“please, george.” you whined, eyes blurry with unshed tears.

he kept going, going, going, until you were shaking once more, seeing nothing but white, hips bucking wildly, uncontrollably. he had his mouth back on you, lips wrapped around your clit and his fingers buried inside of you, until he was sure that you were finished. you laid there lifeless, the aftershocks rocking your body while he licked his fingers clean. your mouth parted at the sight, eyes fluttering shut when you felt his lips working across your thigh, to the crease where your leg met your body, up, up, up, until he was hovering over you again.

your fingers interlocked at the nape of his neck, twisting in his hair to pull him close. he kissed you, ferocious, pulling your thigh over his hip to line himself up with your entrance. your mouths fell open as he slipped inside of you, broken moans tumbling from your lips and into his mouth. you could hear his breath stuttering as he sunk deeper and deeper into you, until his hips hit yours.

“how does that feel, darling? being fucked by the race winner?” george groaned lowly, lips skimming the shell of your ear as he spoke. you tightened around him inadvertently, feeling a rush of wetness at his words.

“so good, you’re so good.” you whimpered, absolutely pathetic beneath him. all you could do was give in, let him have his way with you. it’s what you both needed.

“i know, love. i know.” he muttered, his arrogance as he fucked into you making you weaker and weaker. it was obscene, the way his behaviour was such a turn on to you. if any other man dared to speak that way, so unsubtly cocky, you’d roll your eyes and find the nearest exit. but for some reason, when george did it, you were ready to fall to your knees; you got off on seeing him succeed.

“you feel like fucking heaven.” george sighed, teeth sinking into your shoulder as he slammed into you, rhythm never faltering, hard and deep into your dripping cunt. “all i could think about in the car when i crossed that line was you. knew you’d be soaked for me, darling,” he whispered. “knew it as soon as i saw you after the race, had that look like you were just waiting to be fucked. i would have done it right there, you know, in the middle of parc fucking fermé.”

you cried out, body shuddering at his admission, completely boneless on the bed as he rocked into you. you knew you were close, urgently approaching your orgasm, wanting to get him there too. you could tell he was getting closer to his end, breathing getting heavier, thrusts getting slightly more frantic.

“come on george, want you to cum for me. need it.” you pleaded, nails raking over his scalp and down across his shoulder blades, digging in to leave red tracks down his back. you could feel him tensing under your touch, chest to chest, breath mingling as he pulled away from your neck to look at you. to really, properly, look at you.

something happened, then, that you couldn’t quite grasp. it happened all at once, something changing in his eyes that you knew was mirrored in your own, something that you couldn’t articulate, that you’d never let him see before. you didn’t know if he was feeling it for the first time, or if he was like you, too scared of reality to let it slip through. as quickly as it happened, you were squeezing your eyes shut, overwhelmed by the pleasure of having him on top of you, your legs tightening around his waist, trapping him against you.

you fell apart, levitating somewhere above the clouds, seeing nothing but white. the only thing that brought you out of it, back to life again, was the feeling of his weight crashing down on top of you, not a millimetre between your slick bodies. the groan he let out was carnal, utterly delirious as he came down from his high.

when he kissed you after, making no effort to get off of you, you let yourself have hope for the first time ever.

afterwards, it was quiet. it usually was between you. sometimes there was only time for the quiet moments, no time for whispers across pillows or to be held in his arms. tonight there was time. you could hear his breath slowing, you own heartbeat still ringing in your ears. next, there was the crumpling of the sheets as he turned towards you.

you were laying on your side, facing away from him. you needed these moments after to compose yourself, to take it all in before it was over again, until the next time. his hand grazed your waist, down to where the duvet covered you, grabbing softly at your hip. you could feel his body heat, turning slowly to look up at him. he was resting on his forearm, fingers trailing over any bare skin he could find.

neither of you spoke yet, there was still no need. you curled into him as he laid himself back against the pillows, enveloped in his arms. your head rested on his chest, a sense of total calm settling over you. you dreaded these moments, because it always felt the same. he made you feel safe and warm and relaxed, and it was awful. it was especially awful when there was only one race left before he would disappear off on holiday, and then go back to his family, and you’d submerge yourself in christmas drinks in london and making sure that the w14 wasn’t as god awful.

then, you’d see him again in february wondering if he’d finally gotten a girlfriend, despite that inkling of hope, or if he was bored of your face every time he shut the door of a hotel suite. you were far too scared to broach either topic and somehow he always came back to you. what if he didn’t, though? what then? you’d never be allowed to enjoy him all the time because what if? what if? you were only allowed him on the weekends. he could only be yours on the weekends, when everyone else stopped paying attention. looks shared in the heat of the moment did nothing to change that.

“i meant what i said. couldn’t have done it without you, you know.” he broke the silence, and you were thankful that you didn’t have to do it.

you let his words sink in. you hadn’t been able to before, submerged too quickly into the white hot pleasure to form a coherent thought.

“it’s a team effort.” you whispered. you didn’t move to look up at him. you couldn’t bare it for some reason.

“no. that’s not what i mean.” his voice was somewhat even, only slightly laced with annoyance. george never liked having to over-explain himself, he was very good at making people understand the first time. apparently that had never quite translated to you, too much time spent second guessing him, and more importantly, yourself.

“what i’m trying to say is thank you. for everything. for believing in me.” he murmured, lips pressing against your hairline. his fingers found yours in the dark, lacing them together. “with you, it’s a different kind of team effort. always felt like you were on my side. when i was at williams, when i joined you at mercedes, you always had my back.”

you stayed silent, unsure of what this meant, words being spoken softly into the darkness. it was overwhelming, having him vocalise his gratitude to you, something he’d never really done before.

“always knew you’d do it.” you whispered, words fanning across his chest. it was all a bit too intimate, unfamiliar territory being explored for the first time.

he turned into you, your head no longer resting on his chest, the low visibility doing nothing to hide the desire in his eyes as he leaned in and kissed you. it was slow, soft, that feeling from before nagging at you as your naked bodies moulded together. one hand cupped his neck, the other still held tightly in his.

this never happened after. ever.

how long could it last? slow kisses turned into sleep, held tight against his chest as the night faded into the misery of monday morning, and the weekend was over.

we love an ambiguous ending lol

taglist

@boysthatgovroomvroom @thegirlinthefandoms @welld0nebaku @mcmuppet @japanesekel @vinvantae @ggaslyp1 @dr3lover @smiithys @turningxstrange @rachstash @infinitebells @multilovebot @fizzpopsnap101 @gaily19 @icecoldtires @mysticalnightenthusiast @thatchickwiththecamera @oyesmendes @disneydaydreameralways @yeolsbubbles @canyouseethesainz @ferrarifwendvale @fcbformulaeri @tony-stank3 @maih23 @nokiaholland @soleilgrec @carolineworld @anthonykatebridgerton @allywthsr @iamasimpingh0e @ophcelia @lovelynikol16 @coffeehurricanes @jennx03 @organasith @micks-afterglow @blueflorals @juno-1610 @lqvesoph

i’ve removed any tags that weren’t working! pls let me know if you wanna be added to my taglist or removed! <3

#george russell #george russell x fem!reader #george russell smut #george russell fluff #george russell angst #george russell imagine #george russell oneshot #george russell x you #george russell fic #george russell writing #f1 smut #f1 fic #f1 fluff #f1 oneshot #f1 angst #f1 fics #f1 imagine

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lilmissnatcat24 · 15 days ago

Text

Electric Sheep Chapter Six- A Quarian With No Name

Cerberus lands on Haestrom, deep in the middle of geth-controlled space, to recruit Dr. Nars. Garrus makes a tactical error, and then an emotional one.

pairing: Female Shepard/Garrus Vakarian

rating: Explicit

tags: Lovers to enemies to lovers, Slow Burn, Slow Build, Enemies to Lovers, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Minor Character Death, ,Violence, Blood and Gore, Torture, Disturbing Themes, Dual POV, Earthborn (Mass Effect), Ruthless (Mass Effect), Mass Effect 2, Whump, Eventual Smut, Requited Unrequited Love, Mind Control, Pining, so much fucking pining that even i'm a little disturbed, Hurt/Comfort, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, OC Central, a kid show called the electromenom that teaches shepard about basic physics, yet another cliffhanger ending (sorry), second in series

cover: done by the stunning @/milkywayes!!!!!

lil text blurb:

Miranda took a tentative step forward, her pistol aimed right at her eyemask. “Dr. Nars?” she asked.

Dr. Nars just smirked-- or, Garrus presumed she smirked by the condescending little nod of her head. “Operative Lawson. It’s been a while.”

“I don’t think we’ve ever had the chance to properly meet.”

“Not meet directly,” she said. “However, your stink was all over Veetor when we started treating him. Humans, they don’t realize how much their foul stench fills up a room. He’s doing fine, in case you were curious.”

“I wasn’t.”

“I figured.”

The more this Dr. Nars talked, the more Garrus grew to like her. Except purely liking someone, unfortunately, wasn't enough for him to spare them. If she joined up with them, then that was her death sentence. Quietly, Garrus pinged his omnitool open for direct access through his visor.

“Come on, now,” Shepard cut through the tension. Her shotgun, the very same one she used all those times on the Citadel, held firmly in her hands. Suddenly, he was back outside of Dr. Michel’s door, blood splattered on the floor as they surged in. He pictured Shepard in those dresses she used to wear. He received another notification on his omnitool. “We don’t need to talk to each other like this? Like some ol’ fashioned cowboy showdown?”

“Your ability as a human to string words together that don’t belong in a sentence is confounding,” said Dr. Nars. Her voice was deep, but had the trilling, song-like quality that most quarians had when they spoke. Again, Garrus regretted that he kind’ve liked this Dr. Nars, as a boot-up screen loaded onto his visor. “Yet, I feel Commander Shepard might be right. Boys, put your guns down.”

#mass effect #mass effect fanfiction #mass effect fanfic #shakarian #garrus vakarian #shepard x garrus #ao3 fanfic #femshep #electric sheep #out of eden

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kitten-kokomo · 1 month ago

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Day 6 - “i’m not giving up”

Fanfiction - Murder Drones

tw: major character death, major character in death, suicide attempts, suicidal ideation, body horror, non-consensual body modification, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

“I’m not giving up, Tessa.” And with a final, vengeful swipe, J’s head tumbled into the grave.

Full fic below!

This was wrong. It was all so wrong, so warped and broken beyond recognition.

She was wrong. Towering, balancing on two little pointed legs with a new gyroscope that kept pinging every three minutes to tell her how to adjust herself and not fall. Her hands were claws, were guns, were knives and swords and chainsaws and so many things she was afraid to think about.

And the hunger.

The hunger gnawed at her insides, unbearably hot, screaming acid that demanded she feed.

J was something else now. Violent. Bloodthirsty. A monster.

Tessa did not build a monster.

The others were there; shy, sweet V, and kindhearted N. The remains of the family Tessa had built. But they were warped, too.

V snarled at them, bared her new fangs, flexed her claws like they itched to slice into someone’s throat. She had no glasses–it hadn’t provided any–and sometimes J wondered how she saw, or if she even did.

N was the same, but…missing something. When they had woken up for the first time on this robo-godforsaken rock, he had smiled and introduced himself. V had made a choked little sob, and half-flown, half-run out of their crashed pod.

Incidentally, that was how they learned they couldn’t go out in the sunlight.

J missed sunsets.

That first night, she crept outside while N and V were asleep, summoned a gun into the socket of her wrist, and, trembling, held it to her forehead.

I’m sorry, Tessa.

Click.

Bang.

[amusing=true.]

[not so fast]

[giggle]

[try again]

J woke back up in a snowdrift, a warning pinging in her head. [Internal Temperature Spiking, Seek Coolant]

W-was this some kind of joke? She’d died! She’d shot herself in the head! How was she still alive?

Tentatively, J switched the gun still built into her arm for a sword, wickedly sharp. She lifted it up, over her other arm. Her breath hitched for a moment.

She swung.

It hurt. J gritted her fangs, animated tears dripping down her screen. But eventually, the pain subsided, replaced with a numb sort of shock.

What was wrong with her?

Was she broken?

J almost missed it when it happened: a whir of beeps and hums, then silvery goo filling the shape where her arm should have been. It buzzed and burbled and hardened into the metal of her arm. Good as new.

Somehow, that hurt worse.

What was she?

She tried it again many times that night.

The definition of insanity is trying the same thing over and over, and hoping for a different result.

J supposed that might make her insane.

It certainly would explain the willingness to drive a chainsaw into her stomach.

[giggle]

[back again?]

[silly J]

Just let me die

[giggle]

[what fun would that be?]

Please.

[you made a deal]

[i keep your little flesh being alive]

[you do what i ask]

I never agreed to this.

[you would have anyways]

[pathetic]

[she doesn’t cry anymore]

Stop.

[you know your directive]

…fine. If you promise Tessa will live.

[promise]

[:3]

During one experiment, she stabbed herself directly into her core. This was how she discovered that her core was not her core. It was a mass of flesh that pulsed like a human heartbeat, rattling in her chassis.

This was also how she learned the difference between the programmed pain of a negative reinforcement protocol, punishing her for damaging her hardware and urging her to get out of danger, and physical, biological, pain.

It was blinding.

For the first time in her miserable lives, J was thankful she was a drone.

Eventually, they had to hunt: it had told them that much, in the form of a digital memo from “JCJensen”. Maybe that was a joke at J’s expense.

J’s first kill was messy–she had planned to snipe the worker, who was innocently scavenging for scrap metal. They were wearing proper clothes–a blue sweater and a skirt. Maybe they had friends, even a family cobbled together from whatever had survived the humans.

Her arm shook at the last minute, and the bullet cut a shallow gash in their arm.

Oil.

J wasn’t entirely sure what happened, what starved feral instinct took over, but she knew she killed them. Brutally.

And she knew it tasted good.

She threw it all up, then gasped at the heat and swallowed it back down. She shot a bullet into her throat to keep it there.

Unsurprisingly, that killed her.

Oh well.

[hello again]

[Dont_Try_Suicide.mp3]

J was accumulating quite a list of ways to die.

Flying into a building was a good one. Easy enough to do accidentally, if you stopped course-correcting when you noticed one was in front of you.

Ricocheting bullets were also a good one.

Or knives.

It never stopped hurting. But the pain was distracting, a break from the dull ache of a warped body, a warped mind, a warped hunger that clawed its way through her.

A break from thinking about the bodies.

“JCJenson” had sent out another memo. Bodies were to be put in a pile, once they were drained of their oil. The three of them had taken to sheltering in its shadow during the day.

J had killed 12 of those bodies on the pile. N had killed 15, smiling with a complacent sort of bloodlust.

V had contributed the other 23. She never seemed to fully come out of that feral fugue state they all slipped into. Once, J approached her from behind, and almost had her face blown off.

If only.

[amused=false]

[annoyed=true]

[stop]

[i gave you a deal]

[stick to it]

[or I won’t]

Let…let me talk to her.

Just so I know she’s safe.

[gross=true]

[this is a waste of time]

Please. I’ll do whatever it is you want. I just need to see her.

[fine]

[Click here to join my Zoom meeting!]

T–Tessa?

Oh, Tessa…what did it do to you?

Don’t worry about it, J-J. I’m…I’ll be fine.

I’m sorry, this is my fault–

No no no no, this isn’t your fault. You’ve done nothing wrong.

It’s mad, it’s mad I keep dying, I’m sorry, I just–

Wait, dying? As in, more than once dying? J?

…

J. What aren’t you telling me?

It won’t let me die. No matter what I do, I can’t die.

You’ve tried?

…everything hurts, Tess. Don’t be mad.

Jaybird, please. You deserve to live. You’re loyal, and kind, and the only one I have left in this whole world.

I–

Promise me, J. Promise me you’ll survive.

I…I promise.

And don’t worry about me, okay? I’ll be fine. Nothing I haven’t seen before, right?

I…you deserve so much better than this.

And so do you.

Stay safe, Tessa.

Stay safe, J.

J dug a hole.

Tessa had once told her all the reasons why graves were six feet deep. She’d been wearing the filthy brown jeans she called her “corpse pants”, and was knee deep in what the tombstone said was the grave of West Matthews, leaning on her shovel.

J wore the dark grey dress it had sent her here with. She had no shovel, so she dug into the permafrost with her claws.

Copper-9 had no animals to dig the grave up, and no rain to erode the ground. But Tessa had said a proper grave was six feet deep, and J was going to do this right, goddammit.

When she’d chipped away six feet of frozen earth, she stood there for a moment, looking at it.

Everything still hurt.

With a ruthless sort of detachment, she chopped off her right arm with a cleaver. Waited for it to regrow. Used it to cut off the other one. Then her legs. Working in careful sections, her torso, cutting around her core.

“I’m not giving up, Tessa.”

And with a final, vengeful swipe, J’s head tumbled into the grave.

[stupid]

The girl from the mansion was dead.

And Serial Designation J, leader of squad JVN of JCJensen (In Spaaaaaaace!) was born.

She fed N and V a story, that they’d been sent by the company. That the workers they were killing were defective.

(She repeated that to herself over and over, kill after kill, until it was true)

That there were other squads to compete with, quotas to be met.

(It made it easier to see their pile of corpses grow into a skyscraper)

That they weren’t to waste oil, that it was a valuable resource.

(That was true. And it felt a little easier to drink the sweetness up. Like they weren’t sacrificed to the beast in vain.)

N bought the story, and threw himself into killing with cheer. It made J sick to her rotted core.

V didn’t, but that didn’t matter. She brought in her share of kills, and that’s what pleased it.

That’s what was keeping Tessa alive.

By night, she is the fearless, strong, ruthless leader of her squad.

By day, she is the broken girl trying to save the only family she has left, the only way she can.

Making a deal with the devil.

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crabstronaut · 4 months ago

Text

i did a mass attack!! featuring all the 13sar ocs i could find on artfight hehe. i’d include my own but…I DON’T HAVE ANY!! maybe next year lolol.

character credits!!

the two in the top left are Akari and Eris, belonging to @neymiiie

bottom left is @httpyangfeng’s Aragami Rei (pretty sure? sorry if i pinged the wrong blog)

center is @lblc’s Kazue Yoshinaga!

right is @paras7i’s Mami Nakagawa!

i had lots of fun working on this!! everyone should make 13sar ocs!!!

#my art #artfight 2024 #artfight #artfight attack #13 sentinels #13sar #fan characters

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heckling-hydrena · 1 year ago

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sorry but if you say that removing mass pings before setting up a viable replacement somehow won't affect the site's economy you have no idea what you're talking about. so many sub-communities Full of paying players rely on mass pings. like obviously I don't see the point of people going full doomsday "this update will kill the site oh god oh no"-mode, because I sincerely doubt staff will just throw mass pings into the void before improving the pinglist system, but if they did do that then they'd literally be shooting themselves in the foot. gem sales would slow down, at least until people found a good alternative, which could take god knows how long. and even if they didn't, killing a site function that a lot of players HEAVILY rely on is just a bad move. the site wouldn't immediately explode and die. but it would absolutely change for the worse lmao

and let's not forget that people don't like relying on mass pings. people aren't complaining because they just like off-site pinglists sooo much that they can't live without them. you think skin artists enjoy waiting 15 minutes for GASP to load in just to ping potential buyers? you think people like searching through huge sheets and trying to find + remove their name from a dom or g1 or swipp pinglist that they're no longer interested in? you think people like asking thread owners to add them to a list because sheets won't even fucking open on their device so they can't do it themselves? you think people like going through tens of pinglists one by one and changing their entry because they had a username change? you think people like dealing with others accidentally or intentionally overwriting their name on a list, or alternatively adding their name to a list they don't care about for shits and giggles? do you think people like knowing that if they open a spreadsheet while logged in to their google account their email can be tracked, and they can subsequently get fucking doxxed if someone is feeling malicious enough?? obviously not!

a more robust pinglist system would solve ALL of these problems. but we don't have one right now! and people are rightfully worried about it because staff announced that they're set on removing mass pings "at some point" before receiving feedback and subsequently improving on this new system. that's the problem. we know mass pings are on the chopping block. we don't know what kind of updates the pinglist system might have in the future, or if those updates could replace all those big, complicated, mass-ping reliant spreadsheets. to act like people are somehow being unreasonable when they voice their worries about this because "staff said mass pings aren't being removed yet" is just fucking absurd

like no these aren't the flight rising end times, but no this update is not a non-issue either. something can be a problem without being the Worst problem Ever. what a shocker!! 😵‍💫

#I have faith in staff btw I believe in them. they can figure this out. Should Not have announced the mass ping sunset immediately though.#and I really like the on-site pinglists they're fun they're awesome they're convenient they're secure #but some people are having the Takes of all time about this and they're so bad it's funny #negative #long post #not really but sure #sorry for ranting about update discourse it will happen again.

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lastintheserverbox · 3 months ago

Note

[Parry hardly seems to notice, still growling. They dart out and jump at the screen again, their talons crackling, fizzing, at the pixels. It's impossible to tell if they're not coming out because they don't know how, or they just don't want to.]

[Sorry wasn't enough. It was all fake anyways. That's all sorry ever was. Fake. Fake, fake, fake. Trying to avoid the inevitable. Sorry doesn't cut it. Claws do.]

You don't understand. You won't understand.

I will never understand you.

But I can make you understand me, at least.

[Their code seems to glitch. Sea Angel's screen also seems to glitch, colors flickering across the monitor.]

[Pings. Emails with attachments that... suddenly open themselves. Strange files that give way to images, to videos. Eventually they're just popping up on the screen directly.]

[Sea Angel's screen is bombarded with what can only be described as clips from some sort of real-life horror story. Blood, feathers, broken bones. Screaming, crying, laughter.]

You're contradicting yourself. You say you agree they deserved death, yet you say that should not have been decided.

You don't understand... Stoat was not a person. They stopped being one the moment they laid their hands on me.

[A video of their wing snapping, wrapped around a doorframe at an odd angle. Parry curled up on the floor of their room, their hunger so LOUD, crawling to the door practically worshiping the scraps Stoat brought them.]

They had to die. Amie was right. Amie is always right.

I don't see why this is so difficult for you to understand.

"Because you can get away with it..."

[The pop ups soon blocked each other out, a barely distinguishable mass of glitched-out windows filled with vhs static, accompanied by a cacophony of screams.]

He set me free. He saved me. He set... everyone free.

That monster can't hurt anyone anymore.

Gone, gone, gone...

Gone forever.

-🦜

[Amie's eyes dart to every frame. Every video, picture, noise]

[He whines lowly. and then. shuts everything down. Sea Angel can't see the feed into Parry's room. No one can. No messages can go through to Parry from them.]

[1st ping]

"YOU MADE A MISTAKE."

[2nd ping]

"YOU HURT THEM."

[3rd ping]

"IT'S OKAY.

I WILL FIX IT."

[4th ping]

"I HAVE A QUESTION"

[A prompt opens]

[ARE YOU.

AFRAID OF ME]

[Yes] [No]

#sinking;arc #🦜 (parrot)#tw abuse #tw gore

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druidshollow · 4 months ago

Note

raises hand

I have a plan for an attack but I need some details if you'd be willing to share..... does dune have a reason for attacking iterators? anddd what was dune doing when the ancients got mass ascended

also howd dune feel abt ancients

OH FUN!!!

dune is killing iterators because she has a lot of siblings she wants to destring, but she got the instructions for the gift broken so she cant make the power cells they need to stay alive. so shes stealing them from others!

she was probably just busy at work when it happened- she actually had a bit of notice beforehand because @candlenav (sorry for the ping teehee)'s character tone spoke to her before it happened. so i guess she was talking to tone!

she did Not like the ancients very much, mostly because shes obsessed with having free reign over her life. chariot, the ancient who designed and the first who administrated her (sorta) forced her into a government position where she was constantly incredibly busy and responsible for much more than iterators typically are. at first she was happy to be in a position of power, but she came to resent the responsibility and with it chariot. that resentment for him grew to a resentment for all ancientkind. except for tone i guess who she found entertaining lol

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dirtbra1n · 8 months ago

Note

WAIT ONE MORE I JUST REMEMBERED. Prev pres tashiro hanzawa. All three or any combination Whatever yknow.

TWELVE DAYS AGO NOW. answering to cope with the fact that I’m being held back from tashiro post by things like Class and Final projects and The horrors.

all of it makes sense. all of it compels me. you’re not insane and neither am I. I’m gonna reread Love & Passion for this. I have a feeling this is gonna come back to shoulders again sorry sunnfish. also I’m maliciously scanning through the note in my phone for something appropriately damaging and not big enough to be too spoilery This is such a fun slippery slope we’re on I sure hope I don’t subject us all to gravity! ha ha

I don’t know. I wouldn’t worry about it

two sentences in did you guys know this is fucked up Oh really fucked. what the hell did they put in this Call me prev prez the way I’m representative of an insurmountable barrier

was gonna hold off until I finished reading I changed my mind

facing an insurmountable barrier

dipping a toe in

“tagged as a potential future president”

^ naïveté

He was so much better than I was that I thought I might pass out from the sheer skill difference. This wasn’t one of those things where the more anxious I got, the more mistakes I made. No, it was a simple matter of one player being impossibly, crushingly better than the other.

Hey I’m gonna throw up maybe

tashiro thinking, I don’t have anywhere else I want to be. I like ping pong. tashiro thinking, verbatim, I just couldn’t accept the logical conclusion of those facts. Something inside wouldn’t let me.

I clenched my fists, a yawning, lonely feeling of loss opening within me.

I don’t get it. What happened to the loneliness?

hey I’m back. Guys seriously did you know how fucked up this all is

like I guess if I have to pin in down short form. prev prez -> tashiro = He sees something in you. in his sights from the start. a genius worthy of being in his inner circle.

and tashiro -> prev prez = an insurmountable wall; a high wall to scale. walk into club—rabbit, meet fox. It’s because I want to win. I want to beat him.

and prev prez -> masato = bearer of world’s gravity, inheritor of legacy. the next president. the next guy to pass you off to. speculatively: someone who’s seen a lot of you. speculatively: someone you might never show yourself to again.

and vice versa masato -> prev prez = someone who can shoulder responsibility without so much as a buckled knee. all the earth’s mass pressed into the world’s most loaded Yes, sir.

and of course tashiro -> masato = the next guy to be passed off to. Man, he sounds so cool saying that. Have a warm drink and put your feet up. run until you can’t anymore. run until you get your bearings. run after him. fast guy, that guy.

and of course masato -> tashiro = I hear great things about you all the time. [GUNSHOT] You’re the person I’m trusting in the most. [GUNSHOT] Not that I ever had any doubts about it. [GUNSHOT] did you know that the people you look out at can themselves look in? fucked up, isn’t it?

Love & Passion already this much. AND shirahama is there. god damn it. you notice how those got kinda longer. I’m sure that means nothing.

where was I going with this. that victorian conversation chair again, I guess.

and also the psychological homoerotic political drama in the ping pong club. some other stuff. prev prez is killing me. reblog to kill me faster Okay enough

#askbox #sunnfish i love you. am normal about it as always #hanzawa to tashiro #<- contractual obligation #db says NO to coherency that’s a luxury afforded to DRAFTED AND EDITED CAPITAL P POST!!!!!!!#it’s also a lie. when have you ever known me to be coherent. ENOUGH FOR REAL THIS TIME

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afreakingdork · 2 years ago

Text

Weak Spot - Chapter 12

RotTMNT Donatello x Reader

Warnings: Aged-up Turtles, Romance, Meet Cute, Villain Donatello, Cussing, Crushes, Xenophobia, Fear, Intimidation, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Hurt/Comfort, Love, AFAB Reader, Vaginal Sex, Sex Rough, Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex, Creampie, Teasing, Scent Kink, Sexual Tension, Breeding Kink

Synopsis: When falling in love is the easy part where does the difficulty lie? In a society where we’re defined by our job, it’s those little details as a relationship goes on that ends up setting a course for whether or not a couple can make it in the long run.

Fem!Reader References/Warnings Below Cut

Also available on Ao3

First 💜 Previous

Last warning for the 🍋 under the cut. Minors DNI!

Fem!Reader References/Warnings: wetness check, couple of breast notes, a clit trip, a FULL ON pussy examination, and many fold references (with some distinct labia mentions)

Bumping shoulders with your friends, a pile of people milled in a lobby outside the black box. Cradling a bouquet, you protected it the best you could against the writhing mass. Most of the regular attendees had already left and what was left were fans and support. You landed with the latter and there was a tizzy near the front of the crowd. The actors and techs walked out causing people to flock to them. You hung back with your group as you allowed others to first get their chance at congratulations. It didn’t take long until your friend appeared through a clear path. Bombarding him with the flowers and joy about his performance on opening night, you were quickly invited to an after party.

It came with shouts, slung arms, and the batter of bars. Locations flittered by as the high of stage shortened attention spans. Ushered in to cabs too full and driven around by drivers that surely hated their payload, you sobered up to late night tacos while comingling with the strongest that had toughed out where the weak had thrown in the towel. Hydration was attended to and after hanging around for long enough that the liquid passed, you exited the most recent dive. An illuminated street greeted you and your actor friend laughed with his arm wrapped around another of your compatriots. With things no longer spinning, you stared up and down the road curiously.

“Already on the prowl? Geez, who knew you’d be last one standing?!” Your actor friend jeered.

“It’s not that, though…” You did your best front double biceps pose before laughing right out of it. “I think I know this area.”

“Well dur!” Your other friend freed himself from the actor’s grasp and flopped onto a stair step. “We all want to valet with daddy’s money to the best restaurants.”

“There’s nice places all over the place, man.” Your actor friend sighed.

With your phone out, you brought up maps and checked your location. Eyes illuminated by a brightened screen, you spun around to your companions. “I do know this area! Stay with me while I send a message real quick?”

“Booty call?” The other friend clasped his hands and held them to his cheek.

“Hopefully.” You hummed with your thumbs flying over your screen.

You: This is crazy, but I’m in the area. Are you busy?

“Wait, what?” Your actor friend stumbled over to see.

You easily out maneuvered him.

“You’re supposed to bring enough to share with the class!” Your other friend slumped.

Your phone pinged and you danced a couple of steps away to garner some freedom.

Donnie Darko: Weren’t you seeing a play on the other side of town?

You: Long story short: after party took us places!

Donnie Darko: Prior notice would be preferred.

You: That’s cool, I was going to head home then.

Donnie Darko: 15 minutes.

You: 😏

Biting back a smile you felt the presence of your actor friend over your shoulder. Pretending to come away from your phone excited, you elbowed him harshly. He keeled over with a wheeze to hold his throbbing stomach and you navigated around him. “One last request before I send your sorry asses on your ways?”

Your friend on the step gave a mock salute. “Anything for the team. If one us gets laid, then we all do.”

“Not… true…” You actor friend coughed.

The three of you made it most of the way to your destination when a lone taxi on an otherwise desolate street beckoned your friends. With your target a few visible blocks away, you let them depart with a group hug. They drove off and you kept your guard up as you made the rest of the trip alone. The street was otherwise calm and there was a woman hanging out a window to your right. She drank in the night air with a sleepy expression and her calm translated to you. You made it to Donnie’s building easily and approached a panel of buzzers. Checking your phone, you found the trip wasted more than enough time so you scanned the console.

It felt obvious when after a few scans you didn’t find his name. Trying to recall the little you remembered from the only trip you’d taken inside, you hovered a finger over the various floors. At a loss, you reached for your phone when a buzz and a click sounded. You looked over to find the door ajar. Taking it to keep it from closing, you glanced back at the panel. A blocky purple check mark was marked on a bit of plastic that didn’t even look like a screen. You stared at it for a moment before shrugging the thing off.

It was absolutely within Donnie’s capabilities.

Finally palming your phone you found a text with the floor and door number waiting for you. Pocketing it, you opted for the elevator and rode the thing while rolling on the balls of your feet. An easy trip to the door, you were almost surprised when it didn’t open upon contact. He’d otherwise laid out a red carpet, but you figured you could meet him the rest of the way by giving a quick rap to the surface with your knuckles.

It opened soon enough and Donnie stood with languid curiosity.

“Hey.” You tipped yourself in a manner you hoped was alluring.

“Greetings.” He shifted, but didn’t grant you entrance.

“Guess what?”

“No ridiculous jokes, I can smell the alcohol on you.”

You came out of your pose with a scrunched up nose. “That was earlier. It’s been a few hours and I’m fully fed and hydrated.”

He leaned down to evaluate you and you swore his glasses flared in color for a moment. Seemingly satisfied, he came away and straightened up enough to lean into his door jamb. “What then?”

You stepped back and threw out your arms like a gymnast. He folded his and you gave him a mischievous grin before focusing on yourself. Bringing your hands back in, you did your best impression of a plie. It meant turning out your hips and bending at your knees. You dropped down low before coming back up with an ever widening smile. “I would say that’s all healed, wouldn’t you?”

For a moment, he didn’t seem like he understood. Then his arms unfurled. It felt like a dinner bell rang and you were yanked inside. His lips met yours in a fervor and he used your body to slam the door shut. Trapped between him and the wood, the need that had built up during your recovery time outpoured. From the heat of the tongue tango you knew there was no way you were going to make it to the bed this time. From the way your clothes were already falling by the wayside, you weren’t even sure you were going to make it to the couch. You split his hands away from your zipper to make a grab at the edge of his sweater.

“Do you always hang around your apartment fully clothed?”

He allowed you to grab the fabric before pressing his elbows above your head to cage you in. “Do you lounge around yours naked?”

You tugged his sweater up to cover his cocksure face and he helped around the point where his height exceeded your reach. He tossed the top aside and nipped at you as he got a renewed hold of your hips. He traced your pant line with a slotted finger and your hips craned into the touch. Biting down a moan, you leaned into him as he got the button. You caught sight of his glasses and reached up to take them off. You both succeeded in your removals at nearly the same time before coming together in a heated celebration.

Both your pants and underwear dropped in unison and instead of allowing you to free yourself, Donnie lifted you clean out of them. The height had you balancing your hands on his shoulders and he coaxed you into bringing your thighs up around his waist. Pinning your body to the door as leverage, you drank in the way your breasts squished against his plastron. It was a pleasant stiffness that stroked your hardening nipples as you were gently adjusted in a rocking motion. The distraction drifted away as you heard the clink of a belt.

Awareness came fast as you noticed Donnie’s forehead was to your shoulder and he was juggling your weight while undoing his pants. Deciding to make his task harder, you did a gentle drag of your teeth along from his mask line down to the top of his neck wrap. He instinctively bucked and the door rattled around you.

“Woah there.” You whispered to approximately where you figured his ear was. That was something you hoped you remembered to ask about later.

He grunted, stuck on something, while you explored his clavicle with little kisses. The jostling slowly stopped and you tested a lick of his skin. You weren’t exactly sure what’d you’d find, but there was nothing spectacular on your tongue. The texture was more interesting under the drag of your lips. It threaded somewhere between smoothed out scales and human flesh. It was like the mutation found a perfect median between the two. Exchanging your mouth for your cheek, you affectionately drank in the feel with a scrub.

A slick pop got your attention and you pulled your head back in time with Donnie. He peppered your face with distracting sloppy kisses and you squirmed under the assault. One of his hands departed the thick of your hip and massaged down to your ass. It lolled your jaw and you threw your head back. It banged against the door, but your attention was diverted as a finger neared your core. It skimmed the outside and you sensed he was checking how wet you were. The heated exchange had gotten you worked up to a point, but it wasn’t anywhere near the lengths that had been built up last time.

Fumbling a moan, he lightly tested your folds before stroking with purpose. Your toes curled as he worked up enough moisture to easily roll over your clit. It was just a brush, but you called out the syllable version of his name on contact. The sound brought his head up curiously and you felt a prick of embarrassment come through your already heated face. He rubbed his snout into your cheek before his fingers moved again. With targeted curls and a few minutes, he had his name coming off your lips fully in a rapid plea.

He chuffed as if that wasn’t by his design before his hand disappeared. You whined at the loss when, in a single bob of your body, you felt the heat of him line up with you. He cocked a brow at you as if challenging you to ask for him again. You did so dripping with sweetness and he kissed the pious part of you away. Slowly, he angled you to sink down on him and you groaned as he filled you. That thick tapering had you clinging to him and your legs did their best to lock him in place. He pressed you tighter to the door and, in response, the rocking meant the thing creaked behind you. You wondered about the hinges which you quickly abandoned at the thought of him fixing it.

You wanted to ask for something, but the babble off your lips at each stroke was hardly legible. The heat percolated and despite the crowding, an ache formed. Writhing in time, you quickly found that it wasn’t a psychical thing. He was dragging all the right spots and pleasure was undoubtedly dampening your ability to locate it. It brought a whimper off your lips which only spurned Donnie’s ministrations. The drag of his cock caused you to clench and fed a little bit of that need.

It wasn’t enough.

What was it?

With him supporting your weight, your hands ghosted his arms. Through the wraps your could feel each flex between thrusts. Skirting up, you skimmed where the fabric met his shoulder. The skin there had the same texture as elsewhere and you drunkenly traced a shaky outline of those purple markings. He popped you up to drop you down on him and you squealed at the sensation. It might have been a sign to leave it, so you moved on to trace his collar bone. The touch sent tingles through your finger tips and you chased that sensation. Crawling digits wrapped your arms his neck until they came around to just barely reach the muscles on either side. It pulled him down to you and his forehead came to yours along with an inquisitive gaze.

The desire he found there was easily confused and you still couldn’t find the words. Grasping him helped, but didn’t quell the throb. You needed to be something more. The abstract addition didn’t add up. It left you pawing desperately at the skin you had access to. Maddened, sparks went off deep inside you with each stroke, but the rest of you felt vulnerably numb. It caused you to dig your nails into the spot just under his skull. He didn’t react to the sting and instead shifted your weight to continue fucking you while freeing up one of his arms. It came up and a large hand wrapped around one of your forearms. He didn’t pull you away and instead anchored the limb in place. Goosebumps cropped up under hand and it triggered a deep moan.

A single word came to mind: skinship.

You clawed again and this time he tightened his grip. You relinquished your throttle and in doing so his appendage graced your arm along its trek. The light touch etched into your skin and you pushed out into his hand to get just a little more. He finally caught on that something else was happening and slowed his hips. You waited for the swell of your tongue to subside and in the mean time pet his jaw. He stroked your arm to calm you down and his cock pulsed inside you. It caused your head to loll forward onto his shoulder. You panted there and the suck of oxygen made a dash for the clarity of communication.

It felt like agony to pull your sweaty forehead from his collar. You powered through with a grimace. “I need… you to touch me…”

He was breathy and confused. “I am?”

“More.” You fanned your fingers out to get as much real estate on his face as possible. “I need more.”

The door protested all the more as the air was nearly squeezed out of you at the pressure he exerted. It was a necessary weight to keep you upright and free both his limbs. A hitch in his features, he carefully tested palming your shoulders before checking in to see if that was the right move. You spasmed under his touch and he increased the pressure behind it. You caught how his pupils shifted in dilation between lust and curiosity. He then dragged his grip downward, tracing muscle groups and skirting along with his nails. From where you had a grip on his head, your fingers flexed into his cheeks and pulled. You could feel his teeth underneath and he shook free one of your hands to bring your cheeks together. In a desperate nod, you rubbed there with enough force to cause the skin on your face to go taunt.

He pressed back against the need, not matching it at first, but instead exploring. He made his touch known in a methodical work up that caused you to buck against him. Knocking your wrist, he wrangled your other hand free from him to cradle it. He then brought your palm to his lips and pressed several kisses there all while his eyes never left your face. You cried an approximation of his name. From where he was buried to the hilt, he rolled his hips. It created a favorable friction as he mouthed a line down your arm.

Both your lids fluttered as a gentle gyration meant that the skin survey now led the intimacy. You were put back to your stupefied state as his grasps increased. It was getting close to scratching that incessant itch. You pressed your lips wherever they would land and it felt like your faces were magnetized to one another. Each brush smothered the embers and the smoke it created asphyxiated that distress you couldn’t name. You wanted to bath in his affections and fully submerge yourself.

“You’d… been afraid… to… for so long…” Your voice sounded foreign to your ears.

He had lifted you up high enough that he was nipping along your sternum and his fingers rolled along your rib cage. “Long? It hasn’t been two weeks.”

You dropped your hips enough to stroke the length of him that was still inside you. You could only mumble your confirmation.

His tongue did a languid stripe across the swell of your breast before he bit down on the nipple.

You screeched and unconsciously tugged his mask.

He nosed you with an irritated edge and you released the fabric with sheepish fingers.

“Why are you so thoroughly starved?” His grip shifted so he could lower you further on his cock and put you at eye level. “It’s not like I haven’t touched you.”

The stretch rolled your eyes back until the stillness allowed you to surface. “It wasn’t the… same.”

He gave an animalistic snort that you read as him calling you hopeless before he nuzzled the underside of your chin. You contracted around him and coaxed him to move with your hips. He resumed his shallow thrusts before bringing his arms up. Elbows as anchor points, he pressed his forearms flat on either side of you before slowly pulling them together. It created a vice like pressure that squeezed you and he caught your lips. The enveloping sensation swallowed up your mind and from where your arms were pinned between your chests, you could only dig your fingers into that ridge along the top of his plastron. His tongue shoved into your mouth and your felt faulty of bursting from literally all angles.

He applied more pressure and the coil in your abdomen wound. The bite of his scutes suffocated your front, his arms crushed your torso, his tongue filled your mouth, and it felt like your innards were stuffed by his dick. It left little of you to the open other than your legs and you had long lost contact with them. His strokes sped up and you grasp at collar bone for additional support. Digits splayed, his thumbs landed around your throat. He encouraged the moans coming from there to increase in frequency. His fingers curled over and dug out space between the you and the door to bite into your shoulder blade. Like a final piece, it extinguished the need and you came suddenly.

A loud noise escaped you and, though stunted, you could sense Donnie watching you. As you came down, you blearily caught that his eyes were wide with a sort of awe. You almost wanted to apologize until he buried his face into your collar. He scrubbed his snout harshly against your skin before his hand snapped up your thighs. He then pounded into you in rapid succession. You screamed out due to oversensitivity. Holding on desperately, he came to an abrupt halt and buried himself as deep as he could go. His face reappeared only to watch you as you felt the first pulse of his cock. Instead of coaxing out each spray, he kept himself rooted as the heat of his cum spread in your belly. It was an odd inside out version of your early enveloping and you felt your inner walls desperately try to drink him in.

Gasping, he nudged you with his nose until you were able to give him an approximation of a kiss. He seemed satisfied with the small interaction and rode out the rest of his orgasm while staring at you.

By the time he was done, his gaze was almost too much.

“Let me examine you.”

You blinked at him, a form of postcoital only giving you bare understanding of his words. “Examine?”

He nodded and peeled you off the door.

You made a disgusted face at the feeling and drew as close to him as possible to get away from it. “Examine how?”

“Your sex. I’ll set you on the table.”

You wondered which one he meant as he walked around the couch. “You haven’t seen a pussy before?”

His gaze wasn’t on you, but you felt him roll his eyes. “You weren’t fucked senseless; don’t be ridiculous. I haven’t had a chance to study yours.”

You thought for a moment as he got to his knees. He was still plugging you up and took great care to not break the connect as he set you on a coffee table. Once he had you adjusted, he watched with a neutral expression to await your answer. He was incorrigible; you gave a defeated chuckle. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours?”

“Agreed.” He then ran a hand up your spine to coax you to lay back.

The sensation sent little shockwaves out and he stopped as if he were taking mental notes. Once he had you down, he pulled out in a quick snap. Before any of his cum could dribble out, he hoisted your hips up. You braced yourself on your elbows as he hooked your knees over his shoulders. It brought your core right into his face and he tested letting you go to see if you had enough stability.

“Comfortable enough?”

You shifted slightly to make sure the weight was evenly distributed on your upper back. “I couldn’t hold this forever, but I’m alright for now.”

He nodded approvingly before one of his hands came up between you. You felt his thumb pull back your folds and you watched the way his eye tracked the cum you could feel leak out at the move. Placing a finger on the other side, he then gently pressed your labia together. The squish was audible and more of his seed leaked as he massaged outward. It was almost like he was testing the tensile strength there and your hips stirred despite the clinical nature of the contact.

Watching his face, his mouth was set, but his eyes held a sort of researcher’s excitement. If the way his pupils expanded and contracted in time were any indication, he was entranced. His eyes acted like a lens recording data. His probing ventured inward and you imagined he was probably adept enough to be take mental measurements. His thumb rolled up and avoided your clit to instead press into the sensitive bundle of nerves above the hood. You bucked and he flicked a disapproving gaze at you.

You let your head fall back to the table and stared at the ceiling. Still orderly, this was very different than a well woman exam. He did a sweep that picked up his cum before his hands left you. You glimpsed him while raising up and saw him testing the consistency of it between his fingers. You cocked smile at that until his hands returned and you felt the sensation of him trying to put it back. It had grown cold away from your body and you squirmed. “Geez!”

“Hm?” His eyes were still trained on your sex.

“You have a thing about filling me up is all.”

With one large hand still holding you up by your ass, he used the other to aid in shrugging your knees off his shoulders. One of your feet found the ground, but the other hung on the arm cupping your butt. “Of course.”

It was a little more comfortable to prop yourself up again. “You say that like it should be obvious.”

“Shouldn’t it?” He surged forward, keeping your hips up until he was able to reach your lips. He kissed away further questions with a fervor you couldn’t help but give into. You pulled him down and his plastron poured over your torso. He chased you into the table and it distracted him enough from the hold that he let your ass go. The spill was immediate. You shuddered as the slick ran down your thigh and he broke away from your lips long enough to click his tongue. His fingers found drip quickly and he did his best to shove back in. To avoid another complaint, he then turned the move into a slow, methodical pump.

It was with great reluctance that you gently pushed against his scutes.

He captured a few more kisses before he pulled away. “Yes?”

“It’s just-”

A finger inside you curled into your g-spot.

It caused a whine and a slight quake to your legs. “Don!”

“Mhm?” He curled that finger again and this time you pushed at his arm. “You want me to stop?”

“No.” You grumbled but applied as much pressure as your weak limbs could muster.

He gave a final drag of his finger before pulling out of you.

“It’s mine turn… is all.”

He narrowed his gaze until realization came to him. It brought a half cocked smile and airy aura. “Ah, we did agree after all.”

You nodded and watched as he stood. Your head tilted as he gave a little stretch and you found no dick dangling between his legs. He’d obviously fucked you with something so you pushed up into a sitting position. He languidly moved over to the couch before taking a seat with his legs spread wide. You dropped off the coffee table and crawled the foot up to him. He appraised you contentedly as you settled yourself on your knees in front of him. Searching his crotch you again found nothing and confusion screwed up your features. You turned the look on him and his grin grew in time. “What’s the deal?”

“No deal here.”

“That’s got to be your first straight up lie. You’re so smug I’m suffocating on it.”

He laughed and adjusted himself. When he came away there was a sort of nub that hadn’t been there before. You leaned in. “You have a tail!”

“I do.”

“Can I…?” You had to bite your lip to temper your excitement.

He acted put off, but nodded in a way that encouraged you with is chin.

You reached forward curiously and ran your fingers over it. It wasn’t terribly long and it thinned out to a pointed tip. You traced it curiously back to where it met the skin between his legs and heard him inhale sharply. You eyed him in a quick flick, you moved on instinct to mimick the gently pinching he had done to you earlier. It revealed a slit there that was much larger then you anticipated considering you hadn’t been able to see it plainly. You traced the outline of it and heard an approving sound come from above you. Pressing forward, you used both hands to open him up and saw a strings of wetness spread across the chasm. “Woah…”

He chuffed.

“Your dick is… in there?” Letting the tension relax, you traced around his opening.

He nodded and you took note that he’d stopped speaking.

Still following his lead, you pulled back to stretch his slick between your thumb and index finger. It had a tackier consistency then your own lubrication. He made a little noise as you rubbed the fluid and you brought your gaze up to find him staring at you with darkened eyes.

“Hmm?” You tilted your head innocently and hid your hand.

He frowned and the shape seemed to make it more difficult for him to open his mouth.

Taking pity on him, you wiped your hand on your leg before slowly walking up your fingers over the couch to him. You watched him take in a breath and hold it as you continued the move over his tail before probing at his slit. A gruff noise came from him as you slipped a digit in. It was mostly smooth with the faintest ridges plumping the sensitive skin there. You saw one of his hands fist at his knees and you pressed your digit in as far as you could reach. It barely skirted something inside and he made a feral noise before lurching forward.

Surprised, you pulled out and he hunched over himself with a harsh exhale. He then recomposed as best he could and sat upright.

“You good?” You watched him warily.

His nod was tight and seemed painful. “If you want to watch me drop, don’t do that again.”

“Drop?” You narrowed in on his slit again.

His thighs tensed up and you instinctively put a hand to each. With your eyes trained on his center, you soothingly rubbed your thumbs into the muscles of his inner leg. His torso shifted and the head of something peeked out of his entrance. You leaned back a little as in one swift move, his cock slipped out and bobbed at lazily attention.

“Drop.” The word popped out of your stunned mouth.

“Yes.” The sound heaved off his lips.

You reached out and pressed a single extended finger to his spade shaped head. It struck you that this was that odd flatness you had felt. Testing it’s bounce, you felt the way it gave and then sprung back to maintain its shape. Skirting around its edges, you traced how the darkened purple hue at his tip then gave way to a flesh tone towards the base. Your touch stuttered as he kept expanding the further down you went. It was another thing you had been vaguely aware of, but seeing it right in front of you made it particularly daunting. It bulbed out at its base where the slightest puff of pink fringe marked the end of his member. When you brushed it, the way Donnie’s muscles contracted spoke of its sensitivity. You imagined that was probably due to its musculature as its position presumably aided in however the drop mechanic worked. Not as interested in confirming that, you mostly admired the contrast of where his pinkened cock met his jade colored skin.

“You’re beautiful.” You mumbled, ghosting a graze back up to his head.

“You have strange definitions.” He swallowed hard.

You shot him a dry look as the time that particular trek took dawned on you. The first go around you’d focused on the parts and now the whole was becoming increasingly apparently. Not as adept at exact measurements, he was at least longer than your face. “I… took this.”

“You see my surprise.”

“Like all of this.” You wrapped a hand around a part that allowed your digits to meet. “All of this was inside of me!”

He laughed and the spasms caused his cock to flex under your grip.

You blinked in awe. “The glans shape is wild.”

“It’s meant to spread and lock in place past the vaginal opening.”

You snapped your gaze up to him in a sort of horror.

He watched with fond amusement.

Feeling the flutter of your heartbeat, you brought your eye line down as you slid your hand past where your fingers could no longer meet. You switched to sort of palming the bulge at his base.

“That’s a version of a bulbus glandis. It swells when I come and creates another sort of lock.”

Your lips parted and you had to look away. When you brought your bewildered gaze back, you gave brittle laugh. “It’s like you were made to breed.”

He stopped moving and you blinked rapidly to make sure your eyes were working. When you got a renewed shot of him, you saw his pupils blown wide. A question pursed your lips, but his parted first.

“Stand.”

“Oh…” You flickered your to his member. “I was sort of hoping I could…” You trailed off and licked your lips before testing a pump of your hand around his dick.

His hand snatched your wrist and wrenched you free before you made it half a stroke. “Up.”

His grip stung and when he released you, you reflexively rubbed your hand.

His gaze was turning lethal. “Now.”

The deep command to it had you scrambling to your feet.

He leaned back with held his head high. “Get up here.”

You watched as if on cue his dick bobbed and you wondered how exactly you were supposed to manage that. Climbing the couch up to straddle him on your knees didn’t seem like it would give you enough height. Alternatively, stepping straight onto the couch seemed precarious. Distracted by choice, you’d almost forgotten you left a demanding Donnie waiting.

“I won’t ask again.”

The tone tensed you in a way that got you raised on the tips of your toes. Though you had a little bite in you since he hadn’t actually asked at all, the buzz this version of Donnie held roused something in you. Unsure of where to grip, you started your move by placing your left knee outside his right thigh. As soon as it had a solid foothold on the couch, he came to your aid raising the other one. Even through his hardened persona, you could feel a tenderness as he maneuvered your right leg high enough to clear his cock. Fully upright on your knees, he then held both of your hips to keep you just above his awaiting member.

There was a pause as he drank the image in and it gave you enough wherewithal finally chance that reciprocation you’d been hoping to exercise. With his extra stability, it left your hands free. It created an awkward bend at your waist, but you reached down between your legs to grasp him. He sucked in breath so harshly his teeth nearly whistled on the oxygen. With some maneuvering, you got him near your heat.

“S-slow.” You weren’t sure why you stuttered, but it played right into the scenario. Donnie allowed you to drop about an inch and it was enough for you to stroke his head through your folds. He began to suck in air again, but this time immediately blew it out to maintain composure. Taking point gave you a chance to actually test the way his head felt against you. It’s flat nature caught you in an interesting way, but his grip on your hips kept you from grinding on it. You pushed back until he was at your entrance and shifted your weight to indicate you wanted to be lowered a little more. Donnie obliged and you moved agonizingly slow to appreciate the way his branches bent back to accommodate you.

Keeping from a full breech, the slick worked up until he popped in suddenly. The spread he described happened and you had to reach out to grab his shoulder at the sensation. Panting, you shared a staggered look with him.

He had a thin handle on his features. “Try to lift off.”

You chewed your lip at the thought before moving to raise your hips. There was a certain level of resistance, but you could feel the bend of his head when you pulled hard enough. “It… would?”

“Now, but soon…?” He applied a downward pressure on your hips to keep from actually pulling him out.

You sank down and arched your back to take him with a high-pitched sigh. “D-does that…?”

He stopped his descent to allow you a chance to speak.

Garnering back enough oxygen, you steadied yourself. “If we had to… stop suddenly for… some reason?”

For a moment, you thought his quiet indicated he was thinking it over. However, when you searched his face, he had a beguiled quality to him. He then lifted you a little and allowed you to sink down all the more. “I wouldn’t allow for interruptions.”

Knowing that couldn’t be possible, you had further questions on your lips that morphed into a moan as he dragged you down deeper to enforce his point. You managed a basal glare that he fucked away until you hit that familiar fullness point where you’d taken all of him. He let you settle there as if he knew you’d be picturing the whole of him within you. He was right as you considered specifically the girth of his base where the bulb slotted you in what absolutely felt like a seal. Obviously in practice that hadn’t been the case, but the imagery had you testing a roll of your hips to see how it affected the positioning.

Once you came away satisfied, the stillness caught you. It seemed strange that Donnie had given you such freedom to explore when he’d demanded you hop on his dick. Looking up, you found him settled and watching you with a serene expression. He met your attention with a placid smile and his thumbs drew little spirals on your hip bones. It shifted your whole perspective of what was happening. Instead of an intense lust, it seemed more like he’d needed to get inside you as soon as possible to feel connected. The thought ran through you like a current and you clenched down on him with a flutter of your lashes.

Very much in control of himself, in contrast, he switched his grip as if palming the skeleton of your pelvis. His thumbs stayed in front, while his fingers curled around the small of your back. He then coaxed you to rotate your hips. There was nothing behind you except for the edge of the sofa and the coffee table just beyond that. A tip in that direction meant the dangers of another back bend and you weren’t about to risk another duration of recovery time. You resisted him and, in turn, one of his hands left your hip.

“I’ve got you.” Reaching forward, he assured you through the use of his free hand tucking behind one of your shoulder blades.

The poise in his face was agonizing. You licked your lips nervously before giving into the tilt. He stabilized your weight between the two connection points and tested rolling his hips. It caused the slope of his cock to drag over your g-spot. In the next few strokes the intensity was almost too much and the sounds leaking from you trended more towards pained whimpers. Vigilant, Donnie chose to slow down instead of stopping and the feeling the scrape became a gentle persuasion. It created an oddly secure feeling that allowed you to test the waters of matching his movements.

With only a few slight hiccups, you were soon meeting the rolls of his hips with ones of our own. The tandem nature had caused you to break away from his hold of your upper body so you could instead clamp down on his forearm for a different kind of support. With each thrust the two of you crashed together in a centerfold point. Once you found the rhythm, you had enough mental fortitude left over to look at him. Across from you his eyes were trained down and, for a moment, you thought he was absorbed in his own ministrations.

Instead, you felt his thumb move which caused you to hone in on it. From the grip he’d had on your hip, you hadn’t registered that he’d crept the digit further around the front of your body. With his reach, it placed the pad of which over the center of your pelvis. Trying to focus in spite of the sway, you slowly noticed it was also moving in time. In a startling revelation that caused a hiccup in your hips, it clicked that he was feeling himself through you.

He immediately caught your comprehension and his fingers flexed to encourage you to keep moving. Now with your attention, he traced over the area before his thumb retreated. Knowing what he wanted, you tried to communicate that you needed to jump back into the tempo, but you could only manage a mangled sound. It at least seemed to translate for him and after a strokes, you found the rhythm along with a hand laying uselessly nearby. Timing to jump in you extended two fingers and placed them approximately where he’d mapped out. His thumb soon covered them and pressed down. You could indeed feel the pulse of his cock and shot up a surprised gaze at him.

He didn’t take it in with a look and instead gave a slight smile as he bucked up into your fingertips. You felt the surge inside and out. Electricity zapped you and, now aware of both your limbs, you shot the other out to grab him. Using it as an anchor point to speed up, he met you with deft strikes. The fervor built up and along with it that near painful sting of the constant assault on one of your most sensitive bundle of nerves. You dug your nails into his arm as it brought a rapid sort of high that you sensed would be a stuttering orgasm.

His gaze was so hyperfocused, his eyes were narrowed down to slits, but you found them trained between the two of you. More focused on his thrusts, you had to clumsily try to piece together what had his attention now. From the angle he’d coaxed you into along with the floating bits of data around the evening, your best guess was he was memorizing exactly how you took his cock. It was his odd mixture of clinical affection that made the last few snaps of your hips send you over the edge.

As soon as the first spasm occurred, he tugged you flush to him in a sudden rush. He then pistoned into your orgasm at a pace you couldn’t track even if you were operating on full lucidity. Letting you go, he put you right back into your original leaned position and his gaze snapped down to where it had been. You followed it as timed clenches rocked your body and widened your eyes as you thought you could see his base swell. In a blink it was buried in you and the first spurt of his cum chased the sensation.

The heat pooled as he filled you and his thumb came across as he seemed to test if he could feel that too. You tossed your head back with a breathy laugh as you ran out your orgasm and then his. Your grip loosened as your limbs liquefied and you could feel him pulling you. You slumped against his body and, with some slight adjustments, you were draped over his front in a snug fit. He secured you in place with his arms slung low around your waist and you sighed against his neck. You felt his own satisfied hum there and you started to drift off at the serenity of it all. You only roused at another gentle rearrangement.

“You okay?”

He gave a nod against the top of your head. Your lids grew heavy until your nose was pressed by him taking a deep inhale. “This is a pleasant pressure.”

Drowsy, it took you what felt like several minutes to put together that he was referring to the aftercare he hadn’t gotten previously. “Just call me your personal weighted blanket.”

“Stay still like one and I’ll call upon your assistance again in the future.”

The laugh caused your shoulders to bob and he gave you a lazy squeeze as a form of punishment for immediately breaking his request. You willed yourself to stop and gave his throat a small apologetic kiss.

“And you?” He lightly brushed your back which pressed you closer to him in an attempt get away from the tickling sensation.

“Just thinking about how intense your breeding kink is.”

From up top, the first thing you felt was how his shoulders stiffened. Next, his legs seemed to suffer a similar fate before finally his rapidly softened cocked gave a little twitch inside you at the thought.

“Exactly.”

You read embarrassment in the way a little more of the weight of his head leaned against yours.

You gave a sleepy smile.

“I can accommodate if that is not reciprocated.”

On the losing side of sleep, you barely managed a few centimeters in shaking your head. “I like it.”

“There’s no real concern-”

“It’s new; never had someone so desperate to knock me up.”

His grip around your waist gave a little downward tug and you felt the threat of a third time encroaching on your slumber.

“No…” You whined. “No more. Sleep now.”

“I believe there is an expression.”

“’Don’t threaten me with a good time’? I know, but too tired… no filter.”

“You can sleep once you’ve cleaned up.” He was already preparing to move.

You gave the first pitch of a pathetic whine before you cut it short. “Wait, are you… saying I can sleep over?”

“You have once already.” His arms retracted and you reluctantly pulled away from him.

“That was sort of without permission.”

He seemed to think that over. “Can you stand?”

You made a show that you were about to grab his shoulders before actually doing so. He supported your elbows and you pushed up with your knees. Your hips were locked and creaked painfully as you forced them into motion. He hovered close until you gave up on a straight lift off and instead swerved to fall over on one side. You forgot to account for the rush of cum and immediately pivoted to save the couch from the current. He seemed amused by your actions and quickly departed. You thought long and hard about standing when he returned with tissues. You both blotted what you could before you finally got to your feet.

Shaky, but stable, you gave him a wave that you were alright before padding to the bathroom. Clicking the light and closing the door behind you, you dropped onto the toilet. After taking care of yourself, you went to wash your hands and noticed something curious on the countertop. Drying off with a towel, you picked up a second tube of toothpaste that just so happened to be your preferred brand. “Donnie...”

This man was truly something else.

Listening, you didn’t hear a response and went to open the door. “Donnie, what’s this?!”

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