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#which is gonna be grueling but I’m up for it!
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ok wait i need to hear more of your thoughts on peeta owning a bakery....
This is one of those rare times where I’m pretty sure this anon isn’t someone I know personally bc I’ve subjected anyone who will listen to my rant about the Peeta Bakery Headcanon. Anyway, you’re gonna regret asking this anon bc there are fucking Layers here.
I know this is probably a controversial take based on the number of fics where I’ve seen it, but I simply do not think that Peeta would open a commercial bakery after Mockingjay!! Like on a metatextual level, I don’t think it really fits with the point of the ending of the series. It actually sort of fascinates me that it’s just such a common headcanon because the ending of Mockingjay is exceedingly vague. I think that vagueness invites us, as readers, to imagine a better world post-revolution. A world where Katniss would feel confident that her children would be safe from injustice, where she’d feel confident that her children would never know want the way she did as a child. A just world. A kinder world. Can a capitalist society ever be just? Is a capitalist society where a disabled teenager has no other means to subsist himself (or feels like there’s no other way he can be a contributing member of his community) really the post-revolution world we dream of? Is that really the best we can imagine?
(This got so insanely long I’m adding a read more lmao)
I get that showing a better world is not always the point of post-mockingjay headcanons/fics. Like there are plenty of really great post-mockingjay fics I’ve seen where, yeah, part of the fic is that society like ISN’T all that different or all that much better. I’ve seen that really well done! Hell, I’ve written them myself! It’s easy to imagine how a lot of aspects of society would not get an overhaul, a lot of the same structural inequalities would continue to exist. One headcanon that really stuck with me (I can’t remember which fic it was from) was that Peeta sells basically mail order baked goods to people on the Capitol, sending them iced cakes and pastries by train, because there are still people who were “fans” of theirs during the Games. And idk this doesn’t actually have much to do with my point lol but I liked it because it’s kind of fucked up and like! Yeah! It makes sense! If he needed money that would be a good way to make it! War often makes people rich, often for horrible reasons, and often it’s people who already have capital in the first place.
Anyway, more about the hypothetical bakery because alright. I bring up the fact that “yeah society not being all that different post-revolution and still being an unjust capitalist hellscape” could be a reason why Peeta re-opens a bakery because that’s actually never the types of fics where I see the bakery headcanon. Fics where Peeta opens a bakery are usually trying to make the exact opposite point. Like. Things are getting better, now he can open a bakery! Look at how much better the world is now, plus he’s got a bakery! Peeta is healing, that’s why he can open a bakery now! And I am so, so sorry to inform everyone who’s never had the grave misfortune of owning a family business, but there is truly nothing further from the truth lmao. Like just putting aside the immense amount of emotional baggage that Peeta has about his family, running a small business is an insane amount of work in any context and being a baker especially is physically grueling and involves early hours (and long hours) that aren’t really the best fit with the multiple ways that Peeta is disabled now. (I could go into this more because I have a lot of thoughts. But I will spare you.). I also think it’s seen throughout the books that Peeta is someone who needs time to pursue creative outlets to process his feelings and someone who values leisure and values quality time with his loved ones. And having grown up in his family’s bakery, I think he’d understand the reality that running a bakery wouldn’t leave much space of those pursuits and wouldn’t leave much space for him to have the things that keep him healthy and stable. I think he’d know that the way he is now— after two Games and the war and unspeakable torture at the hands of a dictator—isn’t compatible with the lifestyle necessary for running a commercial bakery.
And tbh with that in mind, I don’t think he’d push himself to re-open a business (one that would be a constant reminder of his dead family and his complicated relationships with them that got no closure) that would require him to sacrifice his physical and emotional well-being. Like I think he might look into the possibility, I think he might even start trying to open a bakery out of a sense of obligation/duty, maybe harboring some idea that this is who he was supposed to be, who he would've been without the Games, or that it’s this last piece of his family that can live on, or that it’s this last connection to his family so he can’t let it die too. But ultimately, I think any attempt to open a bakery wouldn’t get very far. Maybe he'd start wading into the logistical nightmare that is small business ownership and realize it's not for him (because it's probably also true that as much as him and his brothers were involved in the business, there's almost certainly parts they weren't involved with and didn't see, i.e., filing taxes). Or maybe looking into opening a bakery— how triggering it is, the stress of it— causes a downward spiral. Maybe he hates how much he's worrying everyone by unraveling. Maybe having a breakdown from the stress of just trying to open a bakery makes him realize, yeah, maybe in another life he would have ran his family’s bakery but the way he is now just doesn’t work with running a bakery, not without great sacrifices he's not willing to make. I just can’t see a bakery coming to fruition.
I know a lot of fics include Peeta deciding to reopen a bakery as a big step in his healing or include him rebuilding a bakery as part of his healing process but honestly, I think the opposite would be more true: I think Peeta either trying/failing to open a bakery or ultimately deciding not to open a bakery would be hugely healing for him. I think it would be a huge part of him accepting the way he is now as a person, his new limitations but also his strengths. I think it would be a huge part of him accepting the way his life his now and accepting that he likes his life the way it is, that he’s satisfied with his life without needing to own a bakery. I think it would be an important part of him coming to terms with the loss of his family. I think he knows he can never have things back as they were and I don’t think he would try to recreate them, especially because his family’s legacy isn’t a business. I think he’s emotionally intelligent enough and self reflective enough to realize that what mattered to him about the bakery— taking care of others by feeding them, being integrated into his community and being actively involved in it, brightening people’s days with delightful things whether that’s beautiful cakes or hearty food or delicious treats— and the things he learned from his family through the bakery, are things that he can carry on in other meaningful ways.
(Do you regret sending this ask yet, anon? Because if not, you will soon. I’m not done yet. There’s more.)
I wasn’t really sure where to put this next part in what is rapidly becoming an essay because it sort of combines the points about like “what do we imagine a post-mockingjay society to look like” with the practical difficulties of starting this bakery but here’s another thing: do people really think that the Mellarks owned the land the bakery was on?? Like, sure, the merchants are the petit bourgeois of Twelve but I still don’t imagine they really own anything. In a society where houses are assigned to people upon marriage, where property ownership and capital are so closely interconnected with citizenship (as shown by the Plinths who, by having immense capital, are able to leave their District and become citizens of the Capitol) do people really think the Mellarks would be allowed to own the land their bakery is on?? I always imagined it sort of like a tenant farming situation: the Capitol gives them the raw materials for the bakery and in return the bakery give them some absurdly high portion of their profits, or the Capitol sells them a year’s supply of raw materials at a premium on credit and at the end of the year the Mellarks have to use the money they made with those materials to pay it back, except it’s never enough to turn a profit so they always have to buy next year’s materials on credit and the cycle continues.
We (understandably) get a really skewed view of the merchant class through Katniss’s perspective so I can see why people come to the conclusion that his family owned the property and, as the last surviving member, he would’ve inherited it. I’ve seen the inheritance thing in fics a lot or a hand wavey “well Twelve was decimated to no one owns anything anymore so it can be his” or even like an almost sort of reparations type situation where he’s entitled to the land as a surviving refugee of Twelve. But I don’t know. I guess I don’t think it fits with everything else we know about Panem that the Mellarks would’ve owned that land and I think the question of whether the government would’ve let him take ownership of the land post-revolution brings up a lot of issues about the structure of society post-Mockingjay that I find more interesting to explore in other ways, especially when, from an emotional perspective, 1) I find the idea of Peeta not opening a bakery more compelling and 2) I don’t think it really fits his character arc by the end of Mockingjay to reopen a bakery, as I went on about at length above lol.
On the flip side: literally who cares!! Do whatever you want!! Headcanon whatever you want!! I get why people go for the bakery!! It’s fun, it’s wholesome, it’s a built in bakery AU that isn’t even an AU. It doesn’t matter if it’s practical or realistic!! It doesn’t need to be practical or realistic!! It’s fanfic of a dystopian YA series!! My unfortunate affliction is that I grew up in a family that owned a restaurant and that I have multiple degrees in the social sciences so I can’t see the bakery without being like “What about the overheard? What about the start up costs? Who’s spending long nights balancing the books? Is Peeta covering shifts when an employee calls in sick? Is Peeta the sole person working there until the bakery is open long enough (often a year or more) to start turning a profit? How does that sleep schedule work with his nightmares? How does that work with Katniss’s nightmares? What happens when he has an episode and suddenly needs to take the day off before he has any employees? Does the bakery just remain closed for the day? Can the profit margins withstand regular unexpected closures? Can the supplies withstand regular unexpected closures?” And if the answer is “Elliott none of those things matter he’s not doing the bakery because he needs the money but because he wants to”, then my question is why does he want to? Does he not get the same sort of satisfaction out of feeding his loved ones? Doesn’t Peeta seem like someone who would rather give away baked goods than sell them?? Doesn’t Peeta seem like someone who would prefer to make cakes for people’s special occasions upon and then when they insist on paying him for it, he only lets them “pay for the ingredients” which actually cost significantly more than he says they did??
So yeah my point is that it’s a matter of personal taste! It doesn’t fit the way I see the series but that doesn’t mean it’s like wrong, I’m not an authority on Peeta lmao.
It’s also a matter of personal taste in the sense that I find the themes that most resonate with me at the end of Mockingjay (and the end of Peeta’s arc specifically) more interesting to explore in other ways. Grief, living with loss, relearning yourself, finding hope, figuring out your place in a dramatically different world when you don’t even know who you are anymore, healing, building a new life after such complete and total destruction of your old life— those are all things I find compelling about the end of Mockingjay but for me the bakery isn’t the most compelling way to explore them.
Not to say I find the concept of the bakery totally uninteresting. I have this fic about Johanna that I’ll probably never finish where the point sort of is that, yeah, her life really isn’t all that much better after the war. It’s been years at this point and she’s still miserable and she doesn’t know how to be a person but by the end she’s trying to figure it out. And towards the end, Peeta tells her that he’s spent years sort of passively, half-heartedly trying to figure out how to inherit the land his family’s bakery was on, only to find out it was never theirs in the first place. They’d been renting it the whole time and he’d never even known as a kid. So he sort of passively, half-heartedly went on another wild goose chase to find the owner and now, finally, after years of writing to various government agencies and being sent in circles and things being barely functional, he’s managed to track down the owner. Now it’s owned by the daughter of the man who owned it when he was a kid because the original owner (who was likely up to some sketchy war crime shit) died during the war and she inherited it (the irony…). He got in contact with her and asked how much it would take for her to sell it and she told him she’s not interested in selling but in light of the situation, in light of the fact that he’d have to build a new building in order to operate a bakery, that she’d cut him a deal— she’d only require 50% of the bakery’s profits as rent instead of the 80% his family used to pay. And of course Johanna is outraged, that’s not right, the owner shouldn’t be allowed to do that, they should do something about it, they should fight back. And Peeta is like. Not interested. He was actually sort of relieved that opening wasn’t very feasible. Getting the answer was a lightbulb moment where he saw that over the years of trying to look into this, he’s built a life that he likes— one where he’s stable, where his loved ones are stable, where he’s cared for and can care for others— and he doesn’t really want to change it drastically by opening a bakery anyway. He just needed an answer, one way or another, before he could get some closure and move on. (And the point of the conversation is Johanna is having her own lightbulb moment that it’s okay to move on, it’s okay to change, it’s not a betrayal of the people and things she’s lost but that’s not my point here!!).
But anyway. That’s obviously not about running the bakery— it’s about the choice to not run one.
Anyway!! Anyway… are you satisfied anon? Is this what you wanted?
Lastly, here is my most important qualm with the bakery headcanon: must Peeta be gainfully employed? Is it not enough for him to be Katniss’s boytoy? Can’t he just paint and garden and bake and hang out with his girlfriend all day? Is that really too much to ask?
#peeta mellark#thg#the hunger games#the hunger games meta#anyway wow this got so long and I literally read it through one (1) time so uhhh sorry if this makes no sense!!#as I was doing my one read through and realized that one of my other thoughts on this is that yeah I can much more easily see the#headcanon that peeta like sells baked goods (probably at cost with no profit) out of his kitchen because that’s much more flexible#and I think that would work a lot better with what like I guess I’d call his psychiatric disability post mockingjay#and how he’d certainly want to take care of Katniss too#like that sort of flexibility makes a lot more sense for him and it’s like. if he doesn’t bake for a few days or however long then it’s fin#it’s not a formal brick and mortar business#it’s just something he’s doing because it’s a way to be involved with people and a way to do something he’s passionate about#without there being waste and while covering some of the costs#and he doesn’t have to like keep books or do payroll or any of the things I can’t see him being very passionate about#as far as like bakery management goes Lmao he can just bake!!#but then I started getting into this whole thing about how that quote-unquote ‘running a business’ like that (informally from your house)#is actually a really common practice for people living in poverty so probably something that Katniss and peeta would’ve been familiar wirh#anyway and then this whole rant about how the emphasis on the brick and mortar bakery often goes hand in hand with#this widespread fandom thing of having a fundamental misunderstanding of how rural poverty works and what it looks like#but then I was too deep into it and said you know what? never mind! and deleted it lmao
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mooishbeam · 8 months
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『♡』 Losing Game
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♡ featuring: ajax x f!reader
♡ summary: simmering feelings boil over as you're confronted by the man you hate the most; tartaglia, your boss. wc: 3.1k+
♡ cw/tw: afab, degradation, humiliation, creampie, squirting, light choking, sadism, throat-fucking, cum play, fingering, overstimulation, brat taming, mind break, pet names (doll, baby)
notes: hiii, the positive response from the last one motivated me to get this done just in time for Fontaine. kinda long this time so sorry abt that. ajax my beloved <3 art by sonomi_rap5 on twitter comments and reblogs are appreciated!
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Working for the fatui wasn’t easy in the slightest, especially when you aren’t on harbinger status. You were sent on long, grueling tasks only to be met with loose interpretations of gratitude and sometimes silence from the higher-ups, in which most wouldn’t even glance in your direction. Pleasant beginnings became a sour afterthought, and your perception of the fatui changed drastically. Your grievances, however, weren’t helped by your quick-witted snappy attitude and competitiveness; Presumably why you ended up under the division of Tartaglia. You assumed a binding contract from the capricious redhead wouldn’t mean much, but that was quickly proven false.  
You'd rather climb every mountain in Snezhnaya than spend a minute talking to that airhead. He was instructed to keep a watchful eye on you during missions despite the competence you demonstrated. It was insulting. Anything he did you could do better. It’d been proven multiple times from the petty challenges you created. How much water you could drink, how long you can stay up. You won every time. How could you not hate him? His feigned ignorance and careless flirtations were enough to drive you mad. “Please, call me Ajax” he’d say, winking. The simpering smile he gave you after every comeback shot daggers in your pride. What made you particularly furious was the incessant drum of your heart whenever he was near you. The warm autumn morning that was his hair. The cool still waves his eyes sent to your core. You couldn’t fall for him, or else he’d have one up on you. You had to be stronger than that. You quelled your stress in a tattered journal gifted years ago. 
“Hey, comrade!” His bubbly tone makes knots in your stomach, and you choose to stay silent. You’re hoping this mission will go without a hitch, as long as he doesn’t get in your way. Ajax lets out a teasing whistle. 
“Yeesh, tough crowd.” As you’re collecting the items needed for the deal, he rocks back and forth on his heels directly in front of you, absent-mindedly watching. 
You whip your head to face him, “You can’t see I’m doing something right now?” 
“Oh, I see what you’re doing. But this isn’t entertaining.” 
“Unlike you, your majesty, I have no choice but to be perfect. I apologize if that’s not exciting enough for you.” You retort with sarcastic curtsy.  
“Haha! You’re always a pleasure to be around, (Y/N). My faithful, kind-hearted companion.” he said with a taunting wink. You're beyond flustered, haphazardly stuffing the remains in your bag and lugging it over your shoulder. 
“Let's go.” You say lazily. He follows closely, arms crossed behind his head. “Calling me like a dog, how romantic.” 
“If you don’t want to be called like a dog stop acting like one.” 
“You could at least give me a treat if I'm gonna be your dog.” He looks at you, making his best impression of puppy-eyes. You bite back a few choice words, and glare at him instead. He isn’t fazed by this and flashes a beguiling smile that makes your ears warm. Glancing at the weight you’re shouldering, he comments, “You sure you don’t need any help with that?” 
“No. The last person I need help from is you.” 
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You and Ajax regroup in an alleyway deep in Fontaine’s bustling city. You are assigned to retrieve a rare gem for one of Pantalone’s elaborate schemes, and you quickly prepare yourself for this interaction. Ajax studies you, leaning against one of the walls. 
“Can’t you be a little nicer to your superior? If it wasn’t for me, you’d be in a lot of trouble half the time. You’re welcome.” You scoff. “I don’t know why you’re here in the first place, I have no problem doing this on my own.” 
“I’m sure. Don’t mind me, Ms. Independent.” A sly smirk crawled up his face. “Fucking asshole” you mumble under your breath. “I didn’t catch that. Can you repeat it?” 
“I said you’re a fucking asshole.” After a few moments of silence, Ajax grips his chest in feigned agony. “Ouch. I’m gutted!” 
Just as you're about to leave, he snatches your wrist, now only mere inches away from your face. His hand gently brushes away the strays of hair on your forehead. “There you go, doll. Gotta be perfect for your debut.” A whirlwind of emotions strangles your ability to think clearly, you pull your wrist away and start speed walking, attempting to gather yourself before you get to the jewelry store. 
You enter the empty store and are immediately confronted by the jeweler. 
“Good afternoon, ma’am. Do you have an appointment?” You proclaim your business and appointment under a fake identity, posturing yourself as wealthy. “May I see identification please.” Of course, you say. As you’re looking through your purse you notice something: there’s no identification here. Surely you weren’t that negligent over something so simple. You rummaged through the other compartments, trying to stay calm in front of an increasingly concerned jeweler. But it’s not there. How is this possible. Your nerves are heightened and the anxiety of failing the mission starts to creep in. “I made an appointment with Lottie; she’ll be able to provide reference. I believe I left my passport at home.” The jeweler seems slightly disappointed. “Unfortunately, ma’am, I am not allowed to present any gems without identification.” Your heart beats faster. “Well, sir, I’m very busy and I’m afraid this is my only chance to close on this item. You wouldn’t want to push away a well-paying customer.” 
“I have no choice in the matter. If you have no proof of identification, I must ask you to leave.” Should I take it by force? You thought, thinking about the next possible option. As you’re about to handle the rest physically, the door swings open. Ajax comes up to you, placing his arm around your waist.  
“My love, were you able to get the gem we were discussing?” You’re annoyed, but you improvise and look at him as if he’s the love of your life. “Not yet, dear.” Suddenly, he places a plush kiss on your lips. You’re stunned and speechless, filled with anger and wanting. 
The jeweler interjects. “And are you the husband? Would you happen to have any identification.” 
“Yes, sir.” Ajax pulls out a passport and fake birth certificate unbeknownst to you and begins to close the deal. The rest of the meeting you sit speechless. 
“Thank you for your patronage.” are the last words you hear as you leave the store, Ajax guiding you with his hand. You’re silent the whole way back to your room. 
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You turn your bag upside down and begin looking for the mismatched documents. All while Ajax stares at you expectingly. You ignore his presence.  
“So... how about a ‘you’re welcome?’” 
“For what.” 
He lets out a mocking laugh. “For what? I don’t know, maybe saving your ass back there? You froze, and you were unprepared, Ms. Independent.”  
“I wouldn’t have forgotten it if it wasn’t for the obnoxious bullshit you did this morning.” 
“That’s dishonest, I wasn’t even talking!” he pretends to be hurt. “Admit that you need me.” 
“Fuck off.” 
“No.” His light-hearted inflection vexes you and makes it hard for you to focus as you read through the mountains of pages in your folder. 
While your head is down, Ajax comes across the tattered notebook just peeking out from under the bed. Storing the months—no years—of feelings you had regarding the fatui. Regarding him. Some time passes and you finally raise your head, met with the horrifying reveal of him skimming through the journal, mischief coating the deep void in his eyes. You spring up and reach for the book but he’s faster, grabbing your arms and pinning them above your head. 
“This is really good stuff... really good.” You shout profanities over and over, anything to get his attention away from the book. But he continues to read as if you’re not there. When he’s done reading, he lets you go, and you instantly try to swing at him. Before you can land a hit, he grabs you by the throat and stares into your soul, almost as if he’s trying to swallow your being. 
“You’ve been acting like a little fucking brat all over a crush? Not very big girl of you.” 
“I know you think you’re beyond charming, but I promise you don’t have that effect on me.” 
“Really? Let’s play a game then.” He knew you’d accept just to beat him at anything. 
“If you don’t cum by the end of this journal, I’ll apologize for everything. I’ll do whatever you want. But if I win-” he steps closer to you, “You have to do everything I say.” 
You almost burst out laughing. Such an easy challenge, how hard could it be? 
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You're panting, trying your hardest to focus on the words that seemed to melt off the page. Your back lays comfortably against his chest, with his legs keeping yours spread. 
“Next page, baby.” 
“Don’t call me that.” Your words are lenient and breathy. Your underwear is still on, but Ajax’s fingers are covered in your slick, playing with the erect nub just enough to make you fuzzy. “You look like you’re tapping out.” 
“This? This is nothing” You respond meekly, continuing the reading.  
“I can’t help but have fe-elings for himph.”  
“There’s some nice things about me in here, why aren’t you always like this?” He says, circling and dipping into your gushy folds, smearing the glossy mess all over your vulva. You try so hard to read the letters, squirming from his touch. The sensation pulsing from your clit to your brain made you incoherent; the more you move, the more he moves. The contents of the journal are humiliating, detailing your romantic and sexual attraction towards Ajax, and your attempts to stifle these feelings. He was getting a kick out of seeing your flustered face stammer over his appearance. He plays with the precum glazing his fingers, widening them to watch the trail it left. Only two more pages left. 
“I-I-” You couldn’t get through the first sentence on the last page. Your thighs are trembling, and your pussy began to twitch. “Uh, s-shit. Ajax, wai-.” He trails his fingers over your clit spelling his name, then pushes two inside, fighting back an amused grin. “You’re almost done” Teasing in your ear. You bite back the moans threatening to escape; at the very least you couldn’t give him that satisfaction. He watches you fall apart, shaking more aggressively before your body gives in and you cum on his fingers.  
“Uh oh, that’s unfortunate.” You try your best to catch your breath, but he rides out your orgasm, making you subconsciously grind yourself into his palm. Then you’re struck with the reality of losing. He licks his fingers clean, eyes rolling back from the taste. “So fucking good, does being a bitch make you taste better?” You were too embarrassed from the loss to retort. “You won.” 
“I did.” He lifts you off the bed and onto the floor, your legs still recovering. He hikes your shirt up, trailing kisses up your stomach until he gets to your nipples. He flicks and sucks one while kneading the other one, occasionally biting the slightly bruising flesh. “Not gonna moan for me, huh baby?” 
“Not in the slightest.” You rasped. He smiles and blows cool air on your tits, sending a rippling feeling down your back. “That’s okay, you’ll give in.” 
Ajax unbuttons his pants, and they drop in front of you. Unsheathing his thick throbbing length, drooling with desire. His balls are full and heavy, and as you look up at him his eyes are clouded with lust. The pretty freckles that dotted his arms and chest are much more visible now, and so are his battle scars. He breathed in deep, "take care of this for me, yeah?” You wanted to say no and say fuck this; but there was another side that wanted him desperately, that needed this.  
You force your jaw open to accommodate his size and push yourself halfway on his girth, feeling his cockhead hit the back of your throat. Once you feel like you got it in, you slobber all over his cock, dampening his balls and begin to bob your head. You stroke with one hand and massage his sack with the other, leading to a breathy whimper from him. “Ah fuck, feels good. Suck it slow, slut.” You begin to move faster while cupping his balls, obscene noises leaving your sopping mouth. You have tears running down your sweating face trying to keep up with the vigorous movement of your tongue. You feel him throb a few times, his moans and grunting getting progressively louder.  
“Need more” is all he says, putting one of his legs on the bed and grabbing both sides of your head. Before you can register what’s happening. Ajax pushes your head onto his cock until your nose reaches his pubes. He lets out a breathy sigh and starts throat fucking you with an animalistic grip. The gagging and spit noises echo off the walls, along with his continuous whimpering. You wanted to hate him, but your blood was buzzing, and your panties were drenched. “Shut up and take it” followed by broken fuck’s and yes’s. He threw his head back, hair slicked and torso gleaming with sweat, “look at me.” You reluctantly look up, addicted to his passionate expression. “I want you looking at me when I cum.” You grip his thighs, and he twitches a few times before spurting white, thick cum down your throat. He pulls out slightly to drag his semen over your lips and then taps it on your face, holding you in place.  
“What are you doing? Clean me up.” he husked. You clean him up without complaint and lick your lips, forced to maintain eye contact with him the entire way.  
In one swoop, Ajax picks you up and throws you on the bed, eager to get your underwear off. “You proved your point, stop being an ass" you slurred out. The room was intoxicating, all you could smell and feel was him. He takes your panties off, spreading your pussy to watch the slippery puddle dribble down your thighs. He shoves your panties in your mouth, “Fucking liar, I know you like it. Can’t taste how wet you are?” He aligns himself with your aching hole, keeping your arch steady with you bent over. Shoving his cock in, moaning from the feeling of your body perfectly molding for him. Ajax starts moving at a rapid pace quickly, his big slender hands tightly gripping your ass. The sound of wet sticky skin slapping together and the squelching from your core made you shudder. It was all too much; you have been teetering on an orgasm since you went down on him, and the way his balls thump your clit make you quiver.  
“Whiny brat. Just needed to be fucked good to shut up, yeah?” he groaned through his words. Tears were coming down your eyes now, you can’t tell if he’s edging you by accident or on purpose. But right now, you’d do anything. He turns your head to face him, gazing at your tear-stricken face. “Aww, you cryin’ for me?” He stops to kiss and lick your tears, delighted by your tenderness. Taking the panties out your mouth, he brings your body flush with his and continues to pump inside with you looking at him.  
“So sweet all of a sudden, where’d that attitude go?” The morals you had for moaning went missing and mewls and soft whimpers began to leave you. “Let it out, baby.” You’re suddenly babbling please’s begging for him to let you have it. “Pathetic, can’t even get off on your own. You need me that bad?” You nod repeatedly, dangerously close to your release. He had a dark look in his eyes and a sinful smirk. “Yeah? Okay, you’ve been so good.” He reaches down and starts to rub your clit ceaselessly, kissing your cheek. Your whimpers become loud shaky moans and he finally lets you have it, shockwaves going through your body as you’re dissolved into pleasure. You pulsate through the explosion, jello-brain and boneless as your cum leaks down his thighs. Just as he pulls out and flips you over. You’re dizzy and drunk off him, legs shaking indefinitely from the intensity. Then he puts it back in. “You can take one more, yeah baby?” Your overstimulated and violent shaking wasn’t enough for him to stop. He wanted you ruined. He keeps going, grabbing your face to kiss you deeply, tongues intertwining with each other. He feeds you deep strokes, tip prodding your spot every time and watching as your tits bounce. You throw your head back, eyes rolling to the back of your skull. You have no thoughts, only his name rings in your head. You can feel the coil inside you winding up, pleasure beyond the searing pain of your swollen pussy. He looks down at you and smiles.  
“Look at me." You can’t hear anything at this point, not even the sound of your own voice. So, it’s a pleasant surprise when your voice carries his name, “Ajax, Ajax”, chanting as if he’s your god. “Fuck. Gonna cum. Let it out. baby” he says grinning. You’re clamping him so tight and throbbing until you ultimately shatter with him, releasing a stream of squirt onto him and the sheets. He bucks into you, letting out thick spurts, panting heavily as he watches you in disarray. You instinctively hold on to his arms, trembling uncontrollably as you try to search for breath and ride it out. You’re completely hysterical and sobbing from the emotion it ripped into you. You were in shambles and Ajax couldn’t help but smile out of happiness for what he caused. “I’m so sorry.” you say repeatedly, eyes shut and lined with tears. He got closer to wrap you in his arms, and you cling to him for stability. “It’s okay, I’m here for you.” 
You didn’t want to talk about it when you woke up. You were hoping he’d be gone, and therefore wouldn’t have to deal with the humiliation. But there he was, watching you sleep just as the sun rose. His ginger hair danced with golden flecks of light, and he looked at you like you were the only person on Teyvat. 
“Creep.” 
  “Good morning to you too, baby~.” 
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katebishopsbow · 5 months
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SWEET LIKE HONEY • OSCAR PIASTRI
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pairing: oscar piastri x reader (18+)
summary: oscar was feeling ill from a nasty cold, but you couldn't resist kissing him. not wanting to get you sick as well, you both agreed on one kiss only, that's it. so why couldn't you two seem to stop?
tags: sexual content (minors dni), sub!oscar, kissing, grinding, reader being a tease
word count: 1.2k
(image is not mine)
─────── ・ 。゚☆: *.☽ .* :☆゚. ───────
The sleepless nights full of overtime team meetings, hectic schedules that never seemed to stop, and grueling training sessions that drained every last bit of his energy finally had Oscar succumbing to exhaustion. Which is why the Australian driver was currently spending his rare day off in bed with “Killing Eve” playing in the background, suffering from a rather nasty cold.
It’s times like these that made him wish he had cherished those days when he was in good health – when his throat didn’t hurt every time he swallowed and his nose wasn’t running like the damned Niagara Falls. And it’s times like these that made him especially grateful for having you by his side, taking care of him and providing him with all the affection he needed for a speedy recovery.
“You feeling any better, Osc?” you asked when you walked into his room with a cup of hot honey water –  a cold remedy your mother had always made for you growing up. Your boyfriend’s tired eyes lifted to meet yours, and his rosy cheeks and pouty lips looked so adorable that all you wanted to do was wrap your arms around him and suffocate him with kisses.
He nodded before sitting up slightly to take the cup from your hands, taking a few careful sips of the comfortingly sweet drink. “Thank you, baby,” he whispered appreciatively with a weak smile, leaning into the warmth of your palms when you reached your hands to caress his cheeks. 
Perhaps it wasn’t the most appropriate time to be having thoughts like this, but when you watched your boyfriend’s tongue delicately sweep across his lips to lick off the honey from the drink, it felt like your mind had gone completely blank. So you did the most obvious thing and leaned forward to give him a kiss – just a quick one – but your boyfriend’s eyes snapped open as he hurriedly pulled away. 
“What are you doing? You’re gonna get sick like this…” he said to you worriedly, not wanting to give whatever illness he had to you. He had already felt terrible enough as it was, the last thing he needed was to see you getting sick because of him. “I’m strong enough, I think I can handle a few kisses. Besides, how can I resist when your lips taste like honey?” you shrugged with a light chuckle as you tried reaching for another kiss, but Oscar turned his head at the last second so that your lips landed on his cheeks instead, earning a playful protest from you.
While he wanted more than anything to give you all the kisses you craved, to have your lips on him as you kissed all his pain away, the thought of making you sick just didn't seem worth it. “I don’t want to see you getting ill because of me, babe,” he tried to reason with you, endearingly tilting your chin up with his fingertips so that you were looking at him. That was a mistake, because gazing into his eyes – those eyes you could spend hours getting lost in – only seemed to make the urge to kiss him stronger.
“Just one kiss, Oscar, pleaseeeee,” you whined at your boyfriend, pouting in feigned sadness while you snuggled up to him and nuzzled into his neck, breathing in the familiar scent that was Oscar Piastri. There was no way Oscar could have said no to you – not when you had looked so beautiful in his embrace. “Just one,” he muttered quietly, and that was all the permission you needed to lean forward and place a soft, lingering kiss on his lips.
Oscar leaned into the kiss eagerly, realizing just how much he had missed this as his hands wandered over your sides. He had every intention to pull away before things could get overboard, trying so hard to remember his promise of “just one kiss”. But when you got up to straddle his lap, your fingers threading around his hair and tugging it with just enough force to cause tingles of satisfying pain on his scalp – all sense of self-restraint he possessed went straight out the window, and all he wanted was to surrender himself to you.
His hands glided down your waist with a sense of urgency as he pulled you in closer, opening his mouth willingly to welcome the intrusion of your tongue. The kiss was fervent, filled with entwined breaths and desperate touches – a stark contrast to the one you had shared moments ago. As you pulled away momentarily to mouth along his neck, claiming him as yours with each delicate swipe of your tongue, Oscar couldn’t resist grinding his hips against you as he called out your name in a breathy whine.
“What’s got you so worked up, baby?” you couldn’t help but tease the boy’s growing desperation, and for a quick second you almost felt like you were being too mean – until you heard the needy moan that escaped from between his lips, “Baby, please… ” His pleas sounded like music to your ears, and you took a moment to take in the sight of him squirming and moaning before you – so pliable, so precious, so good for you.
Smirking at what he had said to you, you began shifting your hips in slow, unhurried circles over his growing hardness below as you whispered teasingly in his ears, “I thought you said one kiss only?” Oscar grumbled upon hearing your condescending words, “You’re such a tease. Please, I want more…” 
“Yeah? You want more, baby?” you asked him, hot breath fanning against his spit-slickened lips. “Please… I need you,” he managed to choke out, letting out another obscene moan when you nibbled on the sensitive spot below his earlobe. He wanted more of you, needed more of you – your heated kisses, your scorching touch, and your intoxicating presence that fuelled an insatiable hunger within him. 
And all of a sudden you were gone, climbing off of him like you weren’t just grinding yourself against him seconds ago. “Wh – what? What’re you doing?” he questioned dumbfoundedly, staring at you with his mouth agape in complete confusion. “What do you mean? You said one kiss only, didn’t you?” you answered matter-of-factly with the most sincere, angelic smile you could manage, and Oscar genuinely thought that he was going to die of frustration as he stared disbelievingly at you.
Running a finger along his chin, you traced intricate patterns on his pale skin before telling him, “Drink the honey water, get recovered, and I promise you I’ll give you all the kisses you want… and maybe even something more.” You passed the cup to him, planted a chaste kiss on his forehead, and left the room after shooting him a suggestive wink.
Oscar took a gulp from the cup, cringing at the uncomfortable tightness in his pants you left him with as he let out an exasperated sigh. You were definitely going to be the death of him.
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artbean · 6 months
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Corroded Coffin is back with their sophomore album, Memento Mori Motel.
With even more groundbreaking songs than the last album, those four boys from Hawkins Indiana have transformed into men with a message and a cohesive vision—keeping fans of rock and metal mesmerized by their musical innovation that defies genre entirely. (@eddiemonth day 8: rockstar)
The opening track, Jack Of All, plays like an instant classic. The riffs are crisp and clear as they poke fun at both their newfound fame and rural roots. I’m climbing up the walls / You just don’t have the balls / I’m never gonna fall / ‘cause I’m the Jack of All. The second song, If I Object (Objectify), is all noise, with hardly even a second to breathe before the wailing cries at the end. The words if I object melt into the word objectify, closing out the song in a soaring scream.
Hit The Nail Out Of The Park is a thoughtful examination of American boyhood, without shying away from how ugly growing up can be. The tempo may be slower but the track has a grit to it that can’t be ignored. Six Feet Under continues to wow audiences as the lead single, comparing the slow death of a relationship to being buried alive. Daisies sprout overhead / In the thick of goodbye / Now it’s just me in a flowerbed / Eternally wondering why.
In the second half of the album, Necrotizing Facist Idol isn’t afraid to punch up with hard hits or make a political statement. The message is pretty clear in the chorus: He’s eaten away at too much of our lives / He’s going to pay for his sins when he dies / No time to wait / Let’s amputate / The necrotizing fascist idol. 24hr lobotomy is more of an internal struggle of self destructive tendencies, and the desire to numb any feeling at all—and ultimately crashing down to earth when the vices wear off.
Postcard From Hell is a lighthearted, tongue-in-cheek vision of life after death, musing on the afterlife being not unlike a long, grueling vacation. The album ends on a tender yet bittersweet note, with the mysteriously titled Microscopic Fibers (Dying Star). The harmonizing guitars at the end is a standout moment as the song goes out with a bang, which turns into the whisper of the final notes. I can see your fire from light years through time / Like a star that died before it ever graced my eyes / Oh, slipping through my fingers (fingers, fingers) / Oh, how your presence lingers (lingers, lingers).
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Your Casanova
Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader
Word Count: ~800
Warnings: fluff
Summary: You're the team's jet pilot who always looks forward to spending time with Spencer Reid. His love for you is unconditional.
Square Filled: jet pilot (2021) for @cmbingo
Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3
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You’re in the middle of doing your checklist when Spencer walks onto the jet. He looks to the cockpit and sees you there doing your thing. A bright smile etches on his face, and he steps aside to let his coworkers past him so he can talk to you.
“Hey, Y/N.”
“Spencer!” you grin and look at him. “I’m glad you’re here. How has your week been?”
“I finished ten more books. I would have finished more, but I was a bit busy playing chess at the park with the other kids. I also went to the local library and participated in the local science fair. The kids had good ideas but I helped them hone their craft.”
“Sounds like you had it good.”
“It would have been better with you by my side.”
That makes your cheeks heat to which your copilot smirks. You nudge her leg to get her to shut up. She knows of the little crush you have on Spencer ever since meeting him a few years ago. Hearing about his week makes your day tenfold. You’re the main pilot for the BAU for both A and B Teams. A Team is by far your favorite team because it’s the team Spencer’s on.
While you have to focus on flying, there are times when you can take a small break and let your copilot take the reigns. You and Spencer always have something to talk about no matter the subject because as much as it makes your day to hear about his, it makes his day to hear about yours.
However, it’s not always sunshine and rainbows as Penelope likes to put it. Spencer will be one way when you pick him up at the airport but be another way when you get to take him home. The stress of the case will weigh heavily on his shoulders, so you like to do the little things to help him feel better even if you don’t think they’ll help.
Spencer walks onto the plane after the grueling case you took him to, and you notice how his shoulders sag a bit.
“You got this, right?”
“Yeah, I’ll finish the checklist.”
You leave the cockpit and join Spencer’s side in the small kitchen where he’s making himself some coffee.
“Hey, sunshine,” you say to him.
“Hey,” he says and gives you a half-smile.
“I’m not gonna pretend to know what you’re going through, but I think under the circumstances, you’re doing a good job. You’re the strongest person I know.”
Derek smirks when he hears you subtly flirt with him, which Spencer doesn’t pick up on.
“Thanks,” Spencer smiles.
You get back to the cockpit to get ready for take-off. This flight isn’t as long as some of the others so sPencer decides to spend it taking a nap. When the plane lands, you allow the agents to get off first before you and your copilot do. Spencer and Derek are quietly arguing about something as you pass by them, and then you feel someone crash into your back.
“I am so sorry,” Spencer chuckles nervously.
“That’s okay. Did you need something?”
Spencer looks back at Derek who gives him an encouraging nod.
“Would you like to go out with me on Friday? I know a great Indian place.”
“I love Indian food,” you grin.
“So, is that a yes?”
“Yes.”
“Great. Um, here is my number.”
He fumbles with his FBI card that has his personal number on there.
“Great. I’ll call you,” you grin and walk off.
As they say, the rest is history. You and Spencer have been in a loving and stable relationship for a year now, and you fall in love with him every single day. You’re piloting for B Team this week, so Spencer planned something special for you when you return. You told him the date and time at which you would be touching down, and he told you he’d been waiting for you at the pickup area.
When you land, you rush to get your things so you can see Spencer sooner. You step into the pickup area and frown when you don’t see your tall boyfriend. Maybe he’s stuck in traffic or trying to find parking. You wait five minutes and grow concerned. He’s never late.
The irrational part of your brain thinks he’s cheating or that he doesn’t love you anymore even though you absolutely know he’d never hurt you like that. You look at the time when you hear two security guards laughing to your right. They’re looking at someone lying on the bench next to them, and when you walk closer, you see it’s Spencer. He’s so tired that he fell asleep waiting for you on the bench with flowers in his hands.
“Man, I bet he’s whipped,” one of them chuckles as they walk past him.
You walk over to him with a smile on your face and put a hand on his cheek gently.
“Spencer, baby?”
He jumps awake at your touch and looks up at you apologetically.
“Sorry, I fell asleep.”
He hands you the flowers that are slightly squished from his body.
“They’re beautiful,” you chuckle and lean down to kiss him. “Come on, Casanova. Let’s go home and fall asleep to Disney movies.”
“Sounds like a plan,” he grins.
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Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)
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selfishdoll · 6 months
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NOW PLAYING…. SUPERMASSIVE BLACK HOLE
You're the queen of the superficial, And how long before you tell the truth?
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sum: being a physical therapist assistant wasn’t easy work at all, and it didn’t help that one of your patients was beginning to plague your thoughts, in more ways than one.
PURE COINCIDENCE . camboy & martial artist! kashimo hajime x physical therapist assistant! reader
cw: strangers to lovers (lowkey), kashimo & reader are 19-21, kashimo is ooc of course, modern au (no cursed techniques but he’s still strong asf), sex work, pet names, teasing, degradation & praise, shy!reader, curvy reader, kashimo is an ass man, lowkey corruption kink, slightly public sex, kashimo is reckless & dumb, dumbification, manhandling, rough sex, multiple orgasms, orgasm denial, choking, cervix fucking, unprotected sex, etc.
i spent so much time on this & was winging it fr so it didn’t come out how i liked 😭😭. & it got much longer then i wanted it to be. also please excuse any typos or errors, it’s late 🙏🏾
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You always thought boxing, wrestling, and martial arts were such violent sports. You didn’t see the appeal of beating someone black and blue— or forcing them into submission. You weren’t a pacifist by any means but fighting was just something you didn’t get it. Especially, when it came to making money off it.
Truthfully, however— you didn’t need to see the point. Your only concern was massaging your patients and assuring they didn’t overextend themselves.
Which happened often.
Today would be a good day for you, a starting point actually. After two years of grueling work, several months of training, and being placed in a hospital you hated; you were finally sought out by a private practice— a gym for martial artists. From what you’ve heard they were good; winning tournaments back to back and putting on quite a show for the audience.
A name that frequently showed up was Kashimo Hajime, the proclaimed God of Lightning. A title earned given how fast he was, no one able to keep up with the amount of punches that he landed on his opponent. You were sure that was impressive in its own right, but you simply couldn’t get past the name.
It made you giggle each time you heard it.
Your eyes trailed away from the building infront of you and over to your phone hooked up to the stand in your car. You pressed your lips together, “Looks like I’m here..” You mumbled to yourself, feeling anxiety gather at the pit of your stomach. A new job always did that to you, imagining just about everything going wrong. From possibly falling or messing up a chart.
First day jitters always killed your motivation.
But, you took a small breath; eyes closed briefly as you sinked into your seat for a moment. It would be fine, this would be fine. You’re gonna do great. Such affirmations swarmed in your mind, pushing you away from delving down a deep hole of anxiety and insecurity. Once you felt your heart relax just a bit you grabbed your phone and tote bag, turning the car off and soon exiting it. Shutting the door behind you, you assured the doors were locked before approaching the large metal doors of the building. Pulling them open, your eyes scanned the large area. It looked like a relatively regular gym; punching bags hanging from the ceiling in a few places, weights, and treadmills. The most interesting thing was the boxing ring in the middle of the room.
“Hello, miss? Can I help you?” You jumped a little as the voice interrupted your train of thought, turning to face a woman who was seated behind the front desk. You flashed a false confident smile, approaching her while shifting through your bag. “H—hi, I’m [Full Name]. I’m here to start as a PTA.” Your hand finally clasped around what you needed, lifting a packet of papers from the confinements of your bag and passing them over to her awaiting hand.
Her eyes scanned the pages rather quickly, “Oh, you’ll be working with Ms. Makoto.” She mused, flashing you a small smile as she passed the papers back. “She always comes late, so for now; I’d suggest walking around to get a feel for your surroundings. Maybe even talk to your future patients.” She shrugged to which you nodded, a small thank you, escaping you.
You wish she hadn’t suggested the thing at all, given how nerve-racking it felt to you. However, you now felt obligated to do it, especially with the way she was smiling at you so sweetly. Damn her.
Situating the strap of your bag onto your shoulder correctly, you headed over towards the actual gym area; eyes on the swivel to assure you didn’t end up in anyone’s way. Like you hoped, however, the martial artists were far too focused on their training, paying you no mind as their fists slammed against some punch bag or they pumped their legs on the treadmill.
The atmosphere itself was nice, really. You didn’t mind it, maybe you would get used to it.
Once you were finished walking around the people lifting weights, your eyes traveled over to the boxing ring in the middle, noticing two forms entering it and several people surrounding it. Interest quickly invaded your mind, moving towards the crowd to get a better look. You luckily found your way to the front, staring up at the two men that were currently stretching.
One was unimpressionable; hair shaved short with tanned skin. He was shirtless showcasing his simple build. He wasn’t small but wasn’t big either, sculpted but not bulky? It was clear he wasn’t a seasoned fighter. But, as your eyes turned over to his opponent; the difference was all too clear.
Standing at an impressive six feet, cloaked in a tight black shirt and baggy white pants, bandages wrapped around his forearms. You watched as he cupped his hands together behind his back, stretching his arms and fuck, were they big. Or rather the man was big in general, enough so you pitied his opponent.
You watched as he rose his arms above his head this time, eyes zoning in on the way his shirt followed— revealing his toned stomach and the pretty blue trail that traveled down. Oh, how you wanted to see where it lead to.
“[Name]?”
“Huh!?” You gasped out of your daze, head snapping over to a woman that stood beside you. She had short black hair that illuminated her pale features perfectly, sharp dark eyes already staring at you. Her gloss stained lips curled once she had your attention, “I’m Makoto. I’m sorry for being late.”
You gave a nervous smile, “I—I don’t mind. I was just uh.. getting to know my surroundings.” The physical therapist nodded at you with a smile, eyes turning over to the ring as a small sigh escaped her.
“I’ve told Kashimo to stop entertaining these rookies.”
“Entertaining?”
Makoto nodded with a soft hum, crossing her arms over her chest. “They always want to fight him for some reason, riling him up until he finally agrees to a spar. It’s ridiculous,” She mused, tapping a finger against her skin. “It’s clear whose going to win.”
You pressed your lips together, eyes turning back to the ring. To your surprise, Kashimo was standing upright while his opponent was in a fighting stance. Cocky.. Was what ran through your mind, eyes darting between the two men.
The man with a shaved head blew air from his mouth, springing towards Kashimo in a single step. Your eyes widened as you watched the cyan-haired man step out of the other’s way, bawling his fists. The sound of skin to skin contact was the only thing you could register, astonished by the pure speed of his fists, opponent trapped under the flurry of his hits. Makoto was right, he didn’t stand a chance; falling to the ring the moment the god of lightning was finished with him. The match couldn’t have been longer than five seconds.
“Kashimo, It was only supposed to be a spar— not a knockout!” Makoto called, softly complaining about unnecessary concussions. You watched as Kashimo’s bored expression fixed onto the physical therapist, a small snarl on his face. Makoto hissed at this, fussing at him not to glare at her.
He didn’t entertain her yelling long, eyes traveling away from her and fixing onto you. You didn’t hold his gaze long, or rather— you couldn’t, given its intensity. You simply turned to face Makoto waiting for her to get over her yelling so you could get started.
. . .
A few hours of work passed, the only major concern being Kashimo’s opponent and assuring he had no fractures or concussions from the match. Much to Makoto’s relief, he didn’t. Other than that you were observing and looking over charts, noticing the inconsistencies in Kashimo’s. Makoto then explained to you the man ignored injuries and she quite literally has to corner him to get him into her office. The mental image made you laugh softly.
Soon enough your shift was over, being informed you did well and to come at the same time tomorrow. It delighted you to hear such a thing. Exiting the building, you approached your car while searching for your keys in your bag, humming softly to yourself. Finally finding them, you pull them out; attention however, shifting over to the gym doors when they opened.
To your surprise Kashimo stepped out, holding a large duffel bag in his left hand while his right? Reached for the end of his shirt, lifting it up and using it to wipe his face. All under your gaze.
You felt ashamed staring at him in such a way, especially since he was technically your patient.
“You need somethin’, Miss [Name]?” His voice was muffled against the damp fabric, pulling his shirt down to reveal his sharp eyes starting at you. You jumped in surprise, nearly dropping your keys. “Oh, oh, no! No..” You breathed out, shakily pressing the button on them to unlock your car. To your horror the man gave you a small smirk;
“Safe travels then.”
“Mhm! You too!” The words escaped you meekly and far louder then you wished. Snatching the driver’s side door open, you entered the vehicle, barely even slamming the door closed before you turned the engine over. You quickly pulled out of that parking lot, attempting to forget the scene that just happened.
. . .
A soft sigh escaped you as you sat on your bed, leaning back to lay down, arms laying across your stomach. The sky was painted black, stars twinkling overhead with the moon rested aimlessly. It was getting late and you needed to get some sleep for tomorrow. You weren’t sure how work would be but you wanted to mentally prepare for the worst. However, you just.. didn’t want to sleep yet?
It was weird, really. You didn’t feel tired despite how nervous you were today. You almost felt proud of yourself.
“Still need to get some sleep though..” You mumbled to yourself, rolling over to your stomach. Pressing your face into your plush blankets for a moment, you mulled over how to force yourself to sleep. Milk, melatonin maybe? You don’t know if you had either. You spared two more minutes of thought before an idea entered your mind.
Masturbation. You were a genius.
You reached blindly for your phone while turning onto your back again, scooting up farther onto your bed as you opened the dreaded X app. Ignoring tweets from friends and celebrities you went straight to the search bar typing in something random. You just needed to get off once, it normally worked for you.
Using one hand to scroll, the other went down to your lower half, happy you previously discarded your pants as your fingers brushed across your thinly covered pussy. Warming yourself up, your fingers pressed against your covered clit, slowly rubbing it; feeling the gentle pleasure travel up your spine.
Fifteen minutes passed of this and your agitated scrolling, frustration building as nothing in particular caught your eye. Each video was either too short or too boring for something to use, or even some too much. This wasn’t supposed to be difficult anyhow. Just a quick session and then sleep. Yet, here you were; boredly scrolling.
You nearly settled for your imagination rather then a video until something caught your eye. Your thumb hovered over the video, eyes zoning in on it. It was simple, a male by himself, showcasing his lower half but nothing else. You saw the imprint of his dick through his sweats, strong hand gliding across it; teasing himself.
Pursing your lips, you clicked on the video, getting into a comfortable position. You watched as he delicately pulled the strings on his pants, watching the band loosen. His hips rose, hooking a thumb under the waistband to slowly tug down— not far, but far enough his length slowly came into view; popping out when his sweats rested on his thighs.
You sucked in a breath, watching his veined hand clasp around his pretty cock. He was pale, tip a soft red with precum spilling from the slit. He was also.. well, big; lengthy and thick— particularly around the base. You attempted to imagine it inside you, pussy pulsing at the thought of it splitting you open.
His thumb rolled on the crown of his length, collecting some precum before smoothing it down his shaft. To your surprise you heard a soft groan, feeling your stomach tighten from the sound. Most men on this annoying app were quiet in their videos, something you couldn’t stand. And while he wasn’t loud, it was loud enough your hand went straight under your panties, beginning to roll tight circles on your clit.
You moved in sync to how he fisted himself, his soft sighs and grunts escaping your phone’s speaker; envious you couldn’t hear such things right into your ear. You bit your lip as your legs shook, two fingers traveling down your slick slit to plunge inside you. Your hips rose, grinding your clit into your palm as your eyes focused on the man. You gasped out, watching as his pace quickened, hips rising to meet the thrusts of his hands.
His voice became ragged, pants desperate as he chased his release. And you, your own. You were so close, watching this stranger fuck himself. A pretty sight you couldn’t look away from.
“Oh, fuck..” Was what he hissed, nearly making your eyes roll back. You were there, right there, so close, until— you noticed something. Your eyes had unfortunately wandered from his cock to his stomach peeking out under his shirt, spotting something.
A soft tuft of cyan colored hair.
Your eyes widened for a moment, feeling your pleasure come crashing down as flashes of Kashimo in the ring and outside the building entered your mound. The way it lined below his navel so perfectly, it was all too familiar. “There’s no way..” You thought to yourself, attempting to rationalize it in your head. Kashimo Hajime, martial artist known as the god of lightning just didn’t seem like the type to do such a thing.
But then again, you knew nothing about him, so who were you to declare it wasn’t like him?
Such thoughts killed your lust filled high, pulling your hand out of your panties and quickly clicking out of the app. You turned on your side, phone rested face down on your blankets. Your eyes pinched close, attempting to calm your racing thoughts and think of solutions to this.
It was all pure coincidence. Nothing more, nothing less. Maybe dying happy trails that particular color was some trend you didn’t hear about?
You seriously hoped it was.
. . .
Despite your many thoughts last night, you fell asleep shortly after that event. Though you did wake up and feel miserable, just imagining how nervous you’ll be facing Kashimo.
It’s probably not him.. right? You continued to try and convince yourself, closing your car door shut and beginning your trek over to the gym. Opening the doors and entering, you gave a brief smile to the receptionist that greeted you and made a beeline to Makoto’s office, reaching for the door.
Only for it to open, right in your face.
“[Name]! I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were there!” The physical therapist hissed softly, watching as you soothed the pain on your forehead. You only gave a small smile, shaking your head. “It’s okay. I wasn’t paying attention anyway.” The brief pain knocked Kashimo right from your thoughts, something you deeply appreciated and nearly thanked the reckless older woman for.
Makoto looked you over for a moment before sighing softly, nodding. “Alright, well. Set your things down. It’s not a lot to do today, but that could change.”
You gave a brief smile and nodded, entering her office. It was simple, resembling a hospital room with shelves lining the walls and a long black bed off against the wall. You placed your bag beside her own, turning around to spot Makoto at the door, talking to someone.
Moving closer you quickly realized it was Kashimo. His expression just like yesterday, bored with a snarl pointed towards the older woman— who was currently nagging, just like yesterday. You swallowed a breath, flashes of the previous night entering your mind, far too quick and vivid to ignore. It didn’t help that in the midst of her words his eyes traveled to you, causing you to still; wishing to fall through the floor right then and there.
The corner of his mouth twitched, “Don’t you have someone to mentor instead of wasting your time, naggin’?” Hajime questioned, finally releasing you from his gaze to stare back at Makoto. The physical therapist’s voice rose in pitch, Hajime turning on his heel and walking off much to her annoyance..
And your relief. You hoped he was too busy training to acknowledge you today.
Two hours passed with you following Makoto around, writing down a few notes on people’s charts and even tapping some people. They were nice and encouraged you even when your hands shook a little or you stumbled over your words. You really did like this job so far.
It was the afternoon now, Makoto letting you go on a thirty minute break. You entered the lounge room of the gym, hand clasped around the black container of food you had grabbed from your bag. Approaching the microwave, you opened it open and slid the container inside— shutting the door and pressing a random time. You leaned against the counter, scrolling through your phone for a moment before an idea creeped into your mind.
Assuring no one else was in the room, you clicked onto the app you used last night, going to your previous search and beginning to scroll. It took about five minutes before you finally reached where you wanted; the video you watched last night. Taking your food from the microwave, you clicked onto the account of the video, waltzing over to a chair and sitting down.
You attempted to rationalize looking at porn — or rather a porn account at work. It’s not like you were actively watching the videos, or touching yourself; you were simply searching for something, anything that signified this wasn’t Kashimo’s account.
But, you weren’t given much. Firstly, the account’s icon and header was blank while the bio was empty too. Despite this, it had quite a few tweets and followers, highlighting this account was quite popular. You bit the inside of your cheek once again, looking around you for a moment before clicking on the media section of the page. You scrolled, leaning your cheek into your palm. Most of it was solo stuff, showcasing his lower half and never his face. Your heart thumped however; when you noticed the spiky, cyan colored hair that rested behind him in a certain video. You bit the inside of your cheek, jumping when the lounge room door opened.
To your horror, Kashimo entered— giving you a brief glance before walking over to the fridge in the room. His hand reached for something, snatching it from the fridge and rising to shut the door, moving over to the microwave. While opening the door and placing his food inside, you watched his other hand fish his phone from his sweats.
And that’s when a idea popped into your head. A very, very stupid one. Your face turned back to your phone screen, biting your lip. You were still trying to convince yourself this wasn’t him, this was just some random man you’ve never met before.
And so, if you were to like a tweet of his where— your name was completely visible, you were sure he wouldn’t react at all. Your plan seemed solid, ignoring the nagging feeling in the back of your mind.
Taking a shaky breath, your thumb pressed against the hollow heart of a random tweet, slowly placing your phone back onto the table. Maybe.. maybe you were imagining it but, you could have sworn you heard the soft buzz of a phone.
One that wasn’t yours.
Fear shot up your spine, head moving slowly to the side, eyes traveling to the only other person in the room.
Who was already staring at you, cradling his black cased phone.
Your eyes locked, watching as a grin pulled his features. It was him, oh it was definitely him. Your eyes widened as the realization set in, quickly turning forward to snatch your phone and food from the table, getting up on shaky legs and heading towards the door.
“Not hungry, [Name]?” His tone was mocking, far too teasing for you to ignore. You didn’t even spare him a glance as you quickly shook your head, snatching the door open and exiting the lounge.
The realization of the situation finally dawned on you as you sped over to Makoto’s office, nearly crushing your container of food in your hand.
You had found Kashimo Hajime’s twitter, his.. special twitter. And he knew, you knew it was him.
. . .
About three weeks had passed since that fateful day. You were, surprisingly— okay. The day after it happened Kashimo seemed normal, not ignoring you but focused on his training. You remained on edge for the rest of the week expecting something. Maybe a big blow out or a private conversation, but you got neither.
And if you weren’t sure if you were happy, or upset by that. Either way, three weeks went by with radio silence and you growing accustomed to your job.
It was about forty minutes until you would clock out, seated at Makoto’s desk and flipping through papers. Your eyes scanned the page, assuring each chart was up to date and nothing was out of order. Luckily no one has gotten injured majorly these last few weeks, but the necessary procedures had to be done.
You heard movement beside you, eyes drifting away from the stack for a moment to spot your boss grabbing her things and placing them into her bag. Noticing your stare, she turned with an apologetic smile— “Sorry, [Name]! My daughter needs to get picked up. I’ll see you tomorrow?”
You nodded at her with a smile, glancing at the clock. You would have been nervous to be left alone, but it was only thirty minutes. And once you clocked out anyone that stayed back for training were on their own.
The door closed behind Makoto as she exited the office, your head turning to focus back on the papers. You hummed softly to yourself, pressing your cheek into your palm as you scribbled something on a page, flipping to the next.
Several minutes passed with this continuous routine, eyes finally shifting away from the work over to your phone. Five minutes until your shift was over. With that, you stood, collecting the papers into a neat stack before placing it back into its manila folder; placing that into your tote bag. You glanced around the area, assuring you weren’t leaving anything behind before grabbing your bag, pulling it onto your shoulder. Turning on your heel, you approached the door and opened it; letting out a soft startled noise.
“Oh, I was expecting Makoto..” Kashimo spoke, leaning against the doorframe. He was dressed in his usual attire; a black tight shirt with white sweatpants. His dark eyes traced over your form, tilting his head at you. You attempted to ignore the way his lips twitched a bit, as if holding something back.
You quickly cleared your throat, “Did you.. uh— need her for something? She left early is all.”
Kashimo hummed softly, “No..I think you’ll do.”
“What?”
“Think you could get the kink out my arm? I must have.. punched the bag wrong.” Kashimo claimed, smiling down at you. You withtook a breath, clenching the strap of your bag tightly. He was lying, and he knew he was lying too. Kashimo Hajime, punching the bag wrong? You could almost laugh at the thought.
And that smile? Oh— it was far from genuine, far from pure. Every alarm in your head rung, warning you to refuse and leave. Yet, you didn’t listen to a single one. Your body instead turned, waltzing over to the desk and setting your things down. “You can sit on the bed. I’ll take a look at your arm.”
The words barely escaped you before the deafening sound of the door closed behind him, a soft thanks, escaping him as he sat down. You felt his eyes on your every move, watching as you approached the sink and began to wash your hands— shakily, you might add. You spent extra time there, afraid to face the man.
Soon enough, however, you grabbed a paper towel from beside you; drying your hands and turning the faucet off. Tossing the soiled towel in the trash, you turned and walked over to him. “Wh—which arm?” You questioned softly, watching as he lifted his right one. You nibbled on your cheek, gently grabbing his bicep, thumbs pressing against the muscle carefully.
“If it starts to hurt, tell me..” You murmured softly, room back to being silent. This was stupid really; you making such a show of things. You knew he wasn’t hurt, shown in the way he reacted little with each squeeze you gave him; even pressing harder to see if he would react.
Like you suspected, Kashimo didn’t react at all.
“I wonder..” You blinked as his words interrupted your jumbled thoughts, blinking over to him. He was already staring at you, a small smirk pulling his lips. One that caused your stomach to drop. One that he wore in the lounge room that day. “—when you connected the dots, when you found out it was me.. did still watch me?”
You breathed softly, releasing his arm. “I’m… I’m sorry, I’m not sure what you mean.” You played at acting dumb, a useless facade he didn’t fall for at all. Instead, Kashimo chuckled softly, turning to glance away from you.
“Oh, don’t play dumb sweetheart. You know I’m asking if you fucked yourself to my videos.” His tone was harsh, eyes turning back to you; gaze intense. You swallowed heavily, watching him slowly lift himself off the bed. You stepped back, murmuring as he met your step, backing you against the cabinets. “Bet you wished it was my cock instead of your fingers; splitting you open, fucking you until your nothing but a crying mess.”
“Kashimo..” You spoke softly, rising your hands and placing them at his waist. You needed space, air— you felt like you would suffocate with his large form covering; with his smell swarming your senses. You gasped softly as his lips moved to your ear, cool breath tickling your skin. “Please..”
“Haven’t even touched you and you’re already beggin’ for me.” His words were mocking, a breathy chuckle escaping him shortly after. “Go on.. tell me what you want, [Name].”
You could nearly moan at the way your name fell from his lips, eyes pinched closed as your hands crumbled his shirt in a tight grip. You struggled for a moment to form words, eyes pinned to the floor to avoid his gaze. Unfortunately for you, this was one of the few times Kashimo was ever patient; hands seated perfectly on the porcelain cabinets, refusing to touch you until you answer his question.
Finally, after what seemed like moments you glanced up at him, rising to lock your lips with his own. You, please. Was what you whimpered into his mouth, feeling him react immediately. A hand rose to wrap around your neck, the other coming to the underside of your thigh. Kashimo’s clenched around your throat a little, driving his tongue into your mouth and marking it as his own. You whined softly at this, gripping his shirt so much the fear of ripping it entered your mind briefly. The heavy makeout continued only his hand dropped from your neck, grasping your either thigh and lifting you. Your legs wrapped around his waist, feeling him walk backwards until he sat on the bed.
Your pussy rested just above his crotch, feeling his hardening length through the fabric of your stockings and his sweats. Your arms wrapped around his neck, murmuring against his lips as you slowly ground against him. To your dismay; the man rose his hand, slamming his palm against your ass— the sting causing you to jump, pulling back as a whine escaped your throat. “Kashimo—!” You hissed softly, glaring at the man who grinned back at you.
His fingers soothed the path, rubbing slowly circles into your covered skin, gripping every once in a while. “I suggest you fix your face or you won’t be coming at all tonight.” Kashimo breathed, slapping the same cheek once again. You lurched forward, gripping him so harshly as a soft cry escaped you. “Gonna take my time with you.. explore every inch of you under these clothes,” He hummed softly, hand reaching under your black dress, running his fingers across your thinly covered ass.
“— and i’m not gonna rush just cause your slutty pussy is desperate for my attention.”
“Kashimo…” You whined softly, pleading with your eyes. The man only smiled at you, a sinister smile; highlighting how much he enjoyed toying with you.
“It’s Hajime, princess.” The martial artist corrected, leaning to place wet kisses against your cheeks and neck. You moaned softly, feeling his fingers curl under your dress, slowly pulling it up your body. You moved uncomfortably as the cool air hit your bare skin, feeling him reach behind you; fiddling with your bra for a moment. Once he had unclipped the undergarment he tossed it aside with your dress, pulling back to glance at your exposed chest. You grew nervous under his gaze, having half a mind to cover yourself. Only, he didn’t give you enough time to do so before his large hands grabbed the soft mounds, leaning down to suck a kiss on your collarbone.
His thumbs pressed against your slowly hardening nipple, nicking your skin with his canines. You breathed softly at this, hands rising to curl your fingers into his hair, gasping as you felt his kisses lower; soft lips grazing your areola before he opened his mouth— wrapping his lips around your nipple. The unfamiliar feeling caused you to gasp, eyes pinched closed as you felt him began to suck; gently grazing his teeth across your heated skin while his tongue slid across your pretty bud. Hajime’s other hand was busy playing with your unattended breast, groping and rolling your nipple between his fingers.
Your moans grew, rising your chest into his face more; chasing after the pleasure he was giving, searching for more. All he was doing was sucking your breasts and yet, your pussy was clenching around nothing— feeling as if you were an inch away from release. You gasped out as he gently clamped down on your nipple, rolling the tender bud to hear you squeal. The ministrations continued as a hand traveled down your body, tracing the stretch marks that lined your skin— rubbing across your rolls before his fingers collected your stockings; pulling them down your body with such force they began to rip.
“Ha—hajime, they’re ripping.” You whimpered softly, words ignored as he snatched the rest of the ruined fabric from your body, tossing it to the forming pile. Your breath hitched as his hand traveled between your legs, two fingers gliding across your covered slit, feeling the wet spot forming on your panties. A soft swear escaped you as he pushed down, pressing against your clit, slowing rolling circles against it.
The added pleasure caused you to lean your head back, eyes pinched close as the feeling consumed your body. This was wrong, more than wrong actually. He was a patient and this was your boss’s office, the bed used by several others when being checked on. Yet here the two of you were, dirtying it with your own selfish desires. You should be embarrassed, maybe even ashamed.
Maybe you would feel so after he was done with you.
A soft pop escaped him as he rose away from your chest, the pretty mounds now tainted with his saliva. His eyes carried down your form, enjoying the sight; your hips moving at an attempt to find more friction in his hand, biting your bottom lip to cover the soft, pretty breaths threatening to escape your throat. Hajime hated himself for waiting to touch you like this.. to make you his. His eyelids lowered as he leaned close, pressing hot kisses against your skin again. “Using my hand to get off, huh? How pathetic..”
In any other situation you would have been offended by his choice of words, but now? It only caused you to moan softly, hips moving fast against his hand— feeling Hajime’s lips move over to your throat. You gripped him as you felt yourself grow more and more aroused, a band forming that was ready to break. Your moans grew louder as you got closer, digging your fingers into his shoulders before your eyes widened; feeling him move his hand away from between your legs.
The band slowly faded, high slipping through your fingers. You nearly sobbed— his name exiting you in a soft whine as the man did nothing but grin down at you. Hajime’s hands traveled up your form, soon tenderly wrapping his fingers around your neck, leaning close.
“Quit whinin’..” He cooed, stamping a kiss against your skin. You gasped as you felt his hood tighten a bit, hand drifting right back between your legs, breaching your panties. Without much warning he curled two fingers inside you, feeling your wet walls clench his thick digits. You swore softly, feeling his fingers reach much deeper then your own could; stretching you out and working you open.
Your pussy began to squelch with each thrust of the digits inside you, thumb rising to push against your engorged clit; hand continuing to hold you steady by the throat. Hajime enjoyed the way your pretty broken moans escaped your throat, voice vibrating against his palm. He curled his fingers once more, watching the way you jumped, tears threatening to spill from your eyes. “Can’t believe I’m fucking you dumb just from my fingers..” The words came out in an astonished coo, cock twitching under the confinements of his sweats and pants. Oh he couldn’t wait.. wait to see the way you fell apart as he split you open with his length.
But he needed to be patient. Needed to warm you up properly before completely ruining you.
So the pace of his fingers quickened, sounds of your messy pussy surrounding the room; acting as background noise for the high-pitched moans that escaped you. Your hips met each thrust, gripping his wrist to ground yourself. Your thighs squeezed his forearm, head knocking back as you came all over his hand. The man’s fingers soon slowed to a complete stop, withdrawing them from your wetness.
You barely registered him sticking his fingers into his mouth, sucking your mess off them. Once they were clean he leaned forward, kissing you softly— allowing you to taste yourself. So dirty..
Your lips moved slow, his thumb tracing your throat as a soft praise pushed from his lips. Soon enough you felt his hips rise, pressing his clothed cock against your wetness, grinding slowly. Even if you were still sensitive from just a few moments ago, you wanted, no, needed him desperately. So much so it nearly physically hurt.
Hajime rose, switching your positions to slowly lay you out on the bed, pushing you up higher. You whined as he body left you for a second, the sound quickly dying down when you noticed him unclothing. First was his shirt, revealing his sculpted torso and that damned happy trail. The man smirked at you as he tossed his shirt to the side, reaching for his bottoms next. Pushing them down, you watched as his length was revealed. To have it right infront of you rather then on a screen, well.. your phone didn’t do him justice at all.
“‘S not gonna fit.” You mused softly, eyes snapping back to his face, nervous. Hajime almost felt prideful from your words if it wasn’t for your tone of voice. He leaned close, pressing a kiss to your chin. “I’ll make it fit.” He mumbled, pushing close against you, grabbing his cock with one hand while the other grasped your thigh. Rubbing the tip across your slit, he smoothed your juices down his shaft, biting the inside of his cheek. Slowly, he pushed inside you, watching the way your eyebrows twitched, how your legs began to close.
A pained sigh escaped you, Hajime smoothing his hand up and down your heated skin. “Taking me so well, baby.. Just relax.” He spoke softly, hissing when he felt your walls clench from the praise. Soon enough his hips stilled the moment he pushed all the way inside, grasping the underside of your thighs— eyes closed. It took everything not to fuck you into the bed right then and there, feeling the way you carefully moved to adjust yourself; but each clench caused his resolve to wither away more and more.
Moments passed before Hajime opened his eyes, glancing down at you and searching for any sign of pain. When he realized there was none, he experimentally pulled his hips back so only his tip was inside, pushing back in— watching in delight at the way your mouth fell open in a ring O.
Nothing else held the martial artist, soft ruts quickly changing into slams. His cock bullied it’s way inside you, filling you completely. Your legs shook in his hold, gripping the fabric underneath you as broken moans escaped you. Hajime was knocking the wind out of you; pushing your legs up higher so that your knees were touching your chest. The stretch was uncomfortable for a moment, something you would surely feel in the morning— but you didn’t care. The pleasure this man was giving you overshadowed it all.
Your walls clenched him with each drag of his hips, his dark eyes captivated by the way you hugged him so tightly. “Wanted me so fucking bad, didn’t you, princess?“ Hajime hissed, grinning as he watched your eyes attempt to focus on him. The man chuckled softly to himself, leaning over you, trapping you under his body. “Oh, you don’t have to answer sweetheart— I already know the truth.”
The man was drilling into you at this point, tip kissing your g-spot as shameless cries escaped you. Tears treaded down your warm cheeks, grasping his arms for stability. Your breaths were hurried, stomach clenching as you felt yourself get closer and closer. “H—haji.. Fuck, I’m so close!”
He relished under the nickname, slamming you into the bed as he planted hot kisses against your skin. “Go on, then. Make a mess on my cock, sweet girl.” With his permission you came, gushing around him; arousal dripping down his length to the floor. You trembled from the feeling, gasping once you realized he hadn’t stopped moving. So sensitive you were, crying out to him as you reached to grip his arm.
“I—I cant, Haji—!”
“You can..“ The man corrected, angling his hips to push deeper inside you. “Waited so long to fuck you like this, to watch you go dumb on my cock— ‘M not stopping until I repay you for those three weeks.”
And he wasn’t lying either. It was almost felt like hours passed with him putting you into different positions, driving you deeper and deeper into the bed to the point it began to creak. By now you could barely speak, could barely form a sound other then a jumbled babble of his name and a soft gasp.
In the midst of it all you were suddenly pushed against the wall, thighs wrapped around his form as he shoved himself into you; a spark of pain washing over you each time he brushed your cervix— pain that melted away rather quickly.
From the way his hips stuttered you knew he was close, his face pushed into your neck as he gripped your skin harshly. Skin on skin contact filled the room, desperate sounds of pleasure following until Hajime swore; spilling into you. The warmth alone pushed you over the edge, cumming for the upteenth time that night— walls milking his cock.
The man’s hips finally came to a halt, breathing heavily as he simply held you there up against the wall. After a few moments he walked backwards, sitting on the bed; the two of you groaning in sensitivity. He pulled your hot body against his own, cradling your lower back with his fingers tracing the dimples there.
The room was silent as the two of you caught your breath, simply enjoying holding the other.
Soon enough the man pulled back, continuing to smooth his hands across your skin. “You’ll probably have to call in sick tomorrow.” Hajime murmured, grinning at the soft chuckle that escaped you.
“Yeah.. you’re probably right.”
409 notes · View notes
ssivinee · 3 months
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✧Magnetic✧
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Bada Lee x F Reader: You, the popular and cheerful cheer team captain, and Bada, the blunt and somewhat rebellious dance team captain, never crossed paths, but she may have had a crush on you. But someone was standing in Bada's way.
Word Count: 4.1 k
Note: Sorry for being gone for a while guys, finals were hitting hard AND THEN I got sick😭. BUT IM BACK AGAIN, AND THANK YOU GUYS SO MUCH FOR 700 FOLLOWERS🥹.
Character Vision Board
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College life was the epitome of deteriorating mental health, but for some people, it was somewhat enjoyable. It was the years of exploring early adulthood, something that helped people look forward to the long years.
You were one of them.
You stood there with your friends at the side of the hallway, pretty in your cheer uniform with the school colors. Your long dark hair was tied up into a high ponytail, revealing your beauty to the student body. The way you stood there, hand on the curve of your hip, your stance looked powerful and cute at the same time as a laugh escaped your lush lips.
“Bada, you need to stop staring at the girl. You’re gonna burn holes into her,” Tatter tells the older girl, and Bada rolls her eyes. “I can’t help it, she’s just so-“ Bada couldn’t even let out a sentence as her eyes drifted back onto you, letting out a groan. “-so beautiful.”
“Literally, just go talk to her,” Lusher suggests, and Bada scoffs. “I can’t be so random. We live in two different worlds.”
Which was true. You were the captain of your school's cheer team, had good grades, and a well-known sweetheart. Bada, on the other hand, was captain of the dance team, had mediocre grades at best, and seemed to have a slight attitude problem with strangers.
Yet here she was, head over heels for you, only gazing from afar. She didn’t understand what it was about you, though. There was no interaction. The two of you were polar opposites. So what truly was it?
It all started in her first year when Bada was in Biology class, grueling over the topics on the first day. You walked in late, sporting a tight-cropped hoodie and some sweatpants. You spoke to the professor in private, trying to give a proper explanation for your tardiness.
Meanwhile, in Bada’s eyes, you looked adorable with your messy bun and glasses. A picture she couldn’t get out of her head for years. Then she saw you in your uniform for the first time after two weeks. If only you saw how Bada almost kneeled for you in front of her friends. No decorum to be found in sight.
She would’ve gone up to you… only if she didn’t see a man’s arm wrapped around your waist.
Unfortunately, you were dating Choi Hanseoul, the school's most popular jock. You guys were the embodiment of a power couple. Your boyfriend was the captain of the football team, rich, and his face made everyone fall for him. Not Bada, though.
She never knew what you saw in the boy. Feeling as if a hefty amount of fog clouded his true self. It had girls in a trance that Bada couldn’t understand.
She would have cared less, but he has you.
Hanseoul was the biggest obstacle in Bada’s way. It made seeing him an all-out war in her mind. Every. Single. Time. 
All she wanted to do was punch the dude hard and run off with you. But she knew how much you cared for him. It was evident in your eyes, and every time Bada saw it, she felt as if she had been stabbed multiple times.
Why couldn’t you just be hers?
That’s been her dilemma for the past three years, and now you two are seniors, yet she still did nothing about her feelings. It was just that difficult for her.
“Is there a game later today?” Minah asks, a bit confused at your choice of attire. “Yeah, later today at six,” Lusher says, checking her phone to make sure she’s correct. “Are we going to that?” 
“Of course, we are since Bada unnie is quite literally in love with the girl that cheers for our school,” Tatter responds, cutting off Kyma as she teases the older girl. “Oh please, I’m sure you wanna see Audrey as well,” Tatter shrugs at Bada’s comment, “at least I admit that.”
“Oh, whatever.”
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Bada usually didn't care much for the games; her focus was solely on you. When halftime rolled around and the cheer squad made their way to the field, Bada's attention intensified. You stood at the center of the group, ready to perform. As the music started, you danced, pom poms in hand, your face beaming joyfully. These moments were always different for Bada, who usually paid little attention to the sports events. She couldn't help but be captivated by how you moved, your energy infectious, and your happiness evident.
With each jump, twirl, and wave of your pom poms, Bada drew herself further into your presence, making her feel warm inside. The cheers from the crowd faded into the background, and it was as if there were only you and the music, creating a vigorous atmosphere. Even though the routine seemed straightforward, you managed to pack it with a surprising amount of emotion. Your genuine smile never wavered, and it seemed to Bada as if you were dancing for the crowd and the sheer love of the moment.
As the choreography reached its peak, the applause from the audience echoed around the stadium as everyone stood up, guaranteeing the success of the halftime show. Bada, however, remained in her seat, still caught in a trance. The world outside the bleachers ceased to exist for her, leaving only the lingering echoes of the dance and the desire to understand the joy that seemed to feel at that moment.
Bada kept her eyes on you while your attention faded from the crowd as you ran up to Hanseoul. He lifted you by your hips, twirly you around in his arms, and Bada heard the squeals of joy from your lips. You giggled at the warm feeling of Hanseoul’s face on your stomach, balancing yourself by placing your hands on his shoulders.
Every other student ‘awed’ when seeing the two of you…
and Bada just wanted to puke. 
Why did it feel like the world wanted her to suffer?  
Yet she wasn’t aware of what was happening behind closed doors.
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“Are you fucking serious right now?” Hanseoul asks you, arms resting on his knees, anger seething face. “I can’t help it when people talk to me, Hanseoul. Besides, it was for our damn History project,” you explain with frustration, gripping your hair. You were annoyed, constantly having to explain yourself. 
“Seungjae shouldn’t be talking to you, period, Y/n. He could just text you,” Hanseoul says, poking at your chest lightly several times. 
This was how it always was. The constant arguing and the absurd amount of jealousy were unbearable. It was like being locked in a cage, an animal wanting to taste the sensation of freedom. 
Almost every night, you cried and hated yourself for it. 
You put up this everlasting strong front to be “miss perfect” because it was all you knew. It was exhausting, needing to hide the fact that you were only human like everyone else. So why were you staying with Hanseoul?
Well, you did love him at the start. He was a sweetheart, someone who was willing to put you before themselves. Then, something shifted in the air when you both hit your third year of university. The two of you got busier, becoming vice-captains of your team, having multiple advanced placement classes, and being in different friend groups, which caused a stir within the relationship. 
You were noticeably blossoming into even more of a woman, triggering something in Hanseoul’s mind. The man suddenly became possessive, which you thought was cute at first… until it wasn’t. He inserted himself in areas of your life that were supposed to be for your enjoyment only, seemingly becoming rather obsessed with you.
The reason for staying with Hanseoul was to stay afloat within the school. The thought of being a nobody terrifies you, not because of the popularity, but because of being alone. Hanseoul at least kept a certain comfort around, even if it was suffocating.
“I’m tired of talking about this, Han. I need to head to class,” You tell him, picking up your bag as you leave the private study room, clearly over the entire argument. You freshen up in the bathroom, fixing your disheveled hair and reapplying the pink gloss that faded from all the words being yelled at in the past hour. As you stared at yourself in the mirror, you smiled, trying to find something to grasp onto. You didn’t care if it was hope, happiness, or even the thought of your exhausting assignments. You just wanted your mind off of him.
But you fail, the smile fading quickly as a heavy sigh leaves your freshly glossed lips. A wet feeling muddled your eyes as you hung your head low, leaning on the bathroom sink. Seeing the droplets of tears coming down, you take a deep breath and wipe them away. “You’re better than this Y/n. No one can tell you otherwise,” you give yourself a pep talk, dabbing your face with the use of your sleeve, sniffling every bit of sadness that escaped.
You walked out of the bathroom, looking like your usual happy self, as people greeted you warmly. Rushing your pace, you enter the lecture hall to find the room filled, a single empty spot next to an individual with a black hoodie covering their head.
“Miss Kim, you’re late,” your professor states, making eye contact with you. You were about to say a random excuse, but your professor had a glimpse of your slightly red eyes. “You may go take your seat, and you didn’t miss much.”
You bow with a tight-lipped smile and make your way over to the only open seat. As you settle down and pull out your laptop to begin typing away, Bada raises her head from all the shuffling. The tall dancer was about to tell you to shut up so she could nap but froze when she saw you.
Feeling the piercing gaze on you, you turned to your right to see Bada’s pretty face, eyes wide, and mouth slacked open. “I’m sorry. Was I too loud?” Bada could only shake her head, not trusting any sound that could possibly come out of her mouth right now. 
You look at the blackboard, then look back at her, “I can take the notes and give them to you after class. If you’d like, at least?” Bada then shyly nods her head as you smile.
You paid attention as usual, and Bada thought she couldn’t do her usual ‘admire from afar,’ afraid of being caught. Yet you were so focused on the notes that you didn’t even seem to notice the slight peaks Bada would take.
She looked at your lips, the ones she wanted to kiss so much. Your nose, the cute shape of it, makes her heart swell. Then, your eyes, the feature that she loved about you dearly. 
But she pauses. Your eyes looked agitated, an ounce of redness prevalent. They weren’t the sparkling ones she adored. You were crying.
It had Bada’s heartbreaking in pieces, and she knew it would be weird to ask, but she couldn’t help it. “You okay?” You stiffened at Bada’s mumbling tone, not expecting the sudden question. “Yeah? Why wouldn’t I be?” 
“You’re eyes… they’re red.” You pause, not knowing how to respond. “Um, I’m okay. Thanks for worrying, Bada.” The tall girl smiles at your words as you give her your famous smile. Then Bada was hit with a realization…
You knew her name.
Bada keeps her head down as her face heats up. Of course, you knew her name. You somehow knew everyone on this campus, so it shouldn’t be so shocking. But it was to Bada, the same girl who believed she shouldn’t have even existed in the same stratosphere as you.
After classes, Bada had left the room and found you leaning against the wall, phone in hand. When you meet each other’s gaze, you pull up an empty contact profile, “Let’s switch numbers so I can send the notes?” “Oh, um, yeah, sure.”
You give her your phone, and she types away. You were almost starstruck for the quick glimpse at the tall dancer. For the first time in your life, you were close to the famous woman on the campus. 
You knew your height difference, but her practically towering over you, even from a foot away, had your heart racing. Her eyes were sleek as she focused on the screen, her pink bottom lip being bit due to concentration. She is gorgeous, you thought, as your heart fluttered for the first time in a year. 
You freeze at the feeling, not knowing how to react, as Bada returns the phone. “I’ll send them to you later.” The tall girl just nods.
For the next two weeks, you and Bada messaged back and forth. It was mainly for your notes with pretty handwriting, but there were little conversations here and there.
Every time you send your notes, you leave little messages. 
‘Hey Bada! These are the notes from today. Hopefully you have a good night😊.’
‘I heard you had a dance competition today and won first place! Congrats on the win, captain!!! Here are the notes from today's lesson. Have a good night!’
‘BADAAAA! I saw the video of ur performance! YOUR SO COOL! There aren't many notes today, but I’ve been watching the video on repeat… i just wanted to let yk, good night!’ 
Bada found them endearing, and she felt like you were trying to become her friend, so why not reciprocate the energy? The next day, Bada decided to come up to you while you sat down with Hanseoul in the cafeteria. His arm was placed around your shoulders, and you looked uncomfortable, trying to hide the fact.
“Y/n?” You look up and see Bada’s cold gaze contradicting with a small smile. Seeing the woman made you feel more relaxed in your current position. You weren’t extremely close with each other within the two weeks, but both of you gave each other the calming feeling you needed. 
“Oh, Bada, what’s up?” 
“I was hoping you could help me with the assignment Mr. Kwon gave us on Monday?” The tall dancer asked with a glimmer of hope but noticed the cold stare Hanseoul was giving you, which you clearly chose to ignore. “Oh, of course. Text me when your classes are over?” “Yeah, I can do that.”
You smile and notice the glares on your right, and you internally scoff, “Bada, Hanseoul, and I still have class, but I’ll see you later, okay?” Bada nodded and watched the two of you walk off, not before Hanseoul looked back over his shoulder with a glare.
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“Gosh, I’m sorry I took so long, Bada. Were you waiting for a while?” You asked, panting as you rushed to the cafe where Bada sat, notes and laptop out on the table. “No, no, I wasn’t. I only got here about five minutes ago. I mean, are you okay though?” Bada notices your red face, and one could assume it is because you rushed to get here, but Bada knows that no matter how tired you are, you still look pristine.  
You and Hanseoul were arguing AGAIN. This time, it is about you hanging out with Bada. This time, you walked out, not even saying a peep about the situation. You believed Bada was harmless, and I mean, how bad could she be when all she wanted was help on an assignment?
“I’m fine, just a little rushed because of the wind.”
“Let’s get this started then?” You ask, and she nods excitedly, her eyes puppy-like as she looks at you. You giggle as you take out your belongings on the table. 
As you began to teach the assignment, Bada's eyes remained fixed on you. She watched your every movement, hanging on to your words with an eagerness that wasn't lost on you. It was a side of Bada you hadn't seen before – a softness and admiration that contrasted with her usual bold demeanor.
After a while, you couldn't help but notice Bada stealing glances at you, her cheeks tinted with a subtle blush. It made you feel a warmth inside, a pleasant surprise to witness this more vulnerable side of her. You continued explaining the assignment, but a small smile played on your lips as you couldn't ignore the adorable sight of Bada trying to conceal her admiration.
As the tutoring session progressed, Bada became more at ease with the assignment and in your presence. Her initial shyness seemed to dissipate, replaced by a newfound comfort. It was as if a bridge had been built between you two, connecting your worlds in a way that transcended the academic subject.
Feeling the positive energy, you suggested, "You're catching on quickly. How bout we take a break and grab something to eat? There's this new tteok shop nearby."
Bada's eyes lit up, and she nodded eagerly, her usual confidence returning as she agreed to the break. As you both stepped out of the cafe and into the crisp air, Bada hesitated momentarily as if contemplating something. Then, with a shy smile, she looked up at you.
"Hey, the dance team’s holding a party for the end of the semester. It's gonna be fun, some drinks and games. Would you, uh, wanna come?" Bada's usual straightforwardness wavered, revealing a side of her that caught you off guard. The contrast from her usual boldness made the invitation even more endearing.
You couldn't help but smile at her, charmed by the unexpected sweetness in her invitation. "Sure, I'd love to go to your party. Just send me the details?"
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“You’re not going to that fucking party, Y/n,” you heard Hanseoul’s voice from the phone as you did your hair. You had already changed into a short pink velvet bodycon dress, and your face had a pretty natural makeup look on.
Hanseoul's eyes widened in disbelief as your words hung heavy in the air. The room felt tense, the weight of the impending decision settling in. Your frustration with the argument about the party had peaked, and your voice's weariness underscored the toll the disagreement had taken on you.
Ignoring the brewing storm of emotions, you continued to adjust your hair, focusing solely on your reflection. The gravity of your words seemed to take a moment to register with Hanseoul, who, up until then, had been more concerned about controlling the situation.
"Is that how it's gonna be?" he finally responded, the question tinged with a mix of surprise and frustration.
You took a deep breath, meeting his gaze through your phone's screen. "Hanseoul... let's break up."
The words hung heavy in the silence that settled over the conversation. Hanseoul's face displayed a mix of shock and disbelief as if he hadn't anticipated the conversation taking such a drastic turn. The realization of the gravity of your decision seemed to dawn on him slowly.
"All because of a damn party?" he retorted, his tone a blend of incredulity and frustration. The question hung in the air, demanding an explanation for what seemed like an abrupt and drastic choice.
You sighed, weariness evident in your eyes. "It's not just about the party, Hanseoul. It's about us, the constant arguments, and not being on the same page. Reevaluate our entire relationship, THEN come back to me when you figure out what's wrong."
The weight of the words loitered, the truth behind them almost finalizing the reality of the situation. Your phone screen displayed Hanseoul's stunned expression, frozen in time as your words sank in. The decision to end a relationship was easy, and in that moment, it felt like a necessary step towards finding the peace and freedom you sought.
As the Uber left you at the entrance of the large Airbnb, the pulsating bass of music echoed through the walls, announcing the lively gathering inside. Stepping through the door, you were immediately immersed in a sea of lively young adults, almost all grinding and throwing it back on each other. Intoxicated laughter and the scent of various drinks filled the air, chaoticness evident with the blink of an eye.
Your gaze swept through the crowd, ultimately landing at the back of the room where your eyes locked with Bada's. A warm and genuine grin lit up her face as she navigated through the lively crowd to greet you.
"I'm so glad you could make it," Bada exclaimed, enveloping you in a hug that allowed the sweet scent of your perfume to waft into her senses, prompting a contented sigh. "Let's get you a drink?" Her offer was met with your enthusiastic nod, your bright smile reflecting the excitement that animated Bada's expression.
As the night unfolded, you found relief in the company of those around you, downing the five shots as you sought a sense of comfort. Bada remained silent by your side, her attentive presence never leaving in the midst of the lively crowd.
Observing your somewhat jittery demeanor, Bada leaned in, her voice cutting through the loud music. "Hey, wanna get some fresh air?"
Your response was hesitant but agreeable, and you found yourselves venturing to the backyard together. Settling into the outdoor arrangement, the subtle ambiance of the solar lights provided a short break from the energy inside. Bada, with a discreet cough, broke the silence.
"So, what's going on, Y/n?" she inquired, her eyes reflecting genuine concern. "Something's on your mind."
Caught off guard by her perceptiveness, your eyes widened, followed by a heavy sigh. It seemed you weren't as secretive as you thought. "Um, Hanseoul and I—"
"We broke up…"
The words hung in the air, and Bada, despite wanting to be empathetic with you, couldn't help but feel a surge of joy at the news. It wasn't that she took pleasure in your pain, but the idea of being there for you in a time of vulnerability sparked a glimmer of hope in her eyes. As you opened up about the recent breakup, Bada couldn't deny the swirling emotions within her, realizing that this unexpected turn of events might have worked in her favor.
In the hushed serenity of the backyard, Bada's eyes softened as she looked at you. Her gaze showed genuine warmth as she spoke, "I'm sorry to hear that, Y/n. I'm here for you if you ever need someone to talk to or just hang out with."
Your gratitude was evident as you met her eyes, appreciating the sincerity of her offer. But you couldn’t be happier where you were right now. A party, something you haven’t experienced by yourself in years, made you… happy. The past few weeks, Bada proved to be something as relaxing as a home, a source of comfort and understanding as you navigate the rough patches of your now-old relationship.
"I was thinking... Maybe we can go to the amusement park next week? Just the two of us?" The uncharacteristic shyness in her voice only added to the charm of the moment.
Surprised but genuinely touched, you couldn't help but smile. "I'd love that, Bada."
The air was filled with silence, and as your eyes met Bada's, a warmth exuded from the connection between you two. The party continued around you, but everything seemed to fade into the background at that moment.
As the night unfolded and the stars took their place in the sky, Bada hesitated momentarily. The music played softly, creating a backdrop for what felt like a turning point. In a soft voice, almost drowned by the rhythmic beats, Bada confessed, "Y/n, I... I really like you."
The words hung in the air, and the vulnerability in Bada's admission mirrored the uncharted territory you both found yourselves in. The realization that this wasn't just a friendship but something more settled in and your heart echoed the sentiment.
A tender smile played on your lips, and with a sincerity that matched the atmosphere of the evening, you replied, "Bada… I think I like you too." 
Your words left the two of you smiling, and Bada couldn’t bear facing you as she felt her cheeks growing red fast. Your fingers steadily make their way to her hands that lay flat on the bench, and without her noticing, you take her warm hands into yours. The feeling had Bada look up in shock, and you giggle at the reaction. Bada’s flustered state always seemingly amused you. Just never used to the out-of-character responses.
“I can get used to this,” you say, smiling as you stare into the starry skies. “Yeah,” Bada responds, staring at your pretty face, “I definitely can too.”
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Tag list (OPEN): @bada-lee-ily @froufrousnowman @amararosesblog @tikitsune @nimixe @lorenztired @sammybeefangirls @cephox @1luvkarina @pinksults @princhii
372 notes · View notes
imababblekat · 6 months
Text
So Close
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@badlywritten-stuff2 ,"i am a sucker for spiderman reader w the turtles so i was hit w a potentially galaxy brain (and. shippy.) idea; the reader and leo are about to have like, a spiderman-esqe kiss where the reader is hanging upside down on their web with only half their face showing (you know the scene-- that's ROMANCE baby!) maybe it's a little farther down the line, in terms of their relationship and it's crept into less platonic and more 'i like you' vibes but still very much leo doesnt know our beloved spidey's identity. then the boyz show up and they're all like "YALL WAS GONNA KISS??" and leo and spidey are like "NUH UH" or something idk! have fun with it i just got the sillies. thank you! i hope youre doing well!"
◌ S,p = Spider Persona ◌
~xXx~
The air felt chill across green pebbled skin, a light rain cascading down from the sky and creating a beautiful wash of colors of the city scape for Leo to gaze upon. Despite being a stickler for always staying together, especially when in the world above his home, the mutant turtle felt he exceptionally needed this moment of peace. Away from the loud bustle of his brothers, away from the grueling training he’d tunnel vision himself into in moments like these, and away from the heavy expectations of being not only the eldest but the leader put upon him.
With a heavy breath through his nose and eyes shut closed, the terrapin in blue had not noticed the quiet pitter patter of feet behind him.
“Looks like someone finally learned to get out and have some fun for once.”
Leonardo nearly jumped out of his shell, but was quick to recover and turned with a glare that quickly dissipated at realizing who his uninvited guest was.
“(S,p), what are you doing here?”, he questioned, trying his best to stop the small flutter in his chest.
Sitting on the ledge of the door that led to the roof they both now occupied, the eyes of the friendly neighborhood (S,p) motioned in a way of how one would quirk a brow.
“Uhm, fighting crime. What are you doing out here? Thought Raph was the one to go soloing about.”
Leo looked down to the city streets below, his face scrunching up at being reminded of one of his latest stressors.
“Nothing, I. . .I just needed some air.”
(S,p) frowned at this. The hunched form, stiff shoulders, and shadows beneath gorgeous blue eyes were only a few tell tales of what Leo was currently going through.
“Hey. . .”
Leo watched as (S,p) hoped down from their perch, walking only a few steps before sitting down on the edge beside him. A gentle hand had come to rest on Leo’s forearm, and even through the miraculous suit they wore, he could still feel the comforting heat of their touch.
“Remember what we talked about?”, (S,p) questioned, looking up into Leo’s cerulean(?) eyes, that of which shyly wished to look away but held firm.
“You can’t keep things bottled up, Leo. It’ll weigh you down till it suffocates you.”
Swallowing a tightness in his throat, said terrapin could no longer hold his best friends gaze, and instead focused on the smaller hand still rested upon him.
“I know. I’m still just not used to this kind of thing.”, he admitted, a dusting across his chilled cheeks in the New York night.
For a brief moment, he wondered if you were cold as well, and could not help the feeling of concern at you becoming sick for being out in such weather trying to comfort him. Though, he knew any attempt at dissuading you would be futile. The more time you and the four brothers had spent together, the closer you and honorable terrapin had grown, no way was he going to get rid of you that easily. Your gentle caringness you were about to display proving as such.
“That’s okay. That’s why I promised to always be here when you needed and were ready.”, you beamingly reminded, taking your other hand to gently cup Leo’s face and direct his focus back to you.
The flutter felt earlier returned once more to Leonardo’s chest, his wrapped hand reaching up to gently lay over the hand that still caressed his face.
How had he become so lucky to meet someone like you? He knew not of your true identity, but Leo still fully believed he could trust you with his life and vice versa. Maybe it was because you were not so normal yourself, but whatever the case may be, you never treated Leo like a freak. Not only that, but you saw more of him then some cold hardass leader. You saw past the wall he built, the façade he wore as his duty placed upon him at such a young age. It wasn’t that Leo disliked being a leader, but it hadn’t been easy on him and he very much felt alone at times. Yet, when you had stumbled into their lives, it was like a ray of sun came to cast out the rays of his lonely mind. You had always cared for him, and you still continued to do so, as he found himself doing for you as well.
There was no one he felt closer to in his whole life but you.
“So, do you feel up for talking? Or do you just wanna hang for a while?”, you quietly asked, tucking one of Leo’s mask tails aside.
With a warming smile, Leo stood, taking your hand he still held and pulling you up gently as well.
“I think I’d just like to hang, if you’re not too busy kicking bad guy butt.”
You giggled, a melody like sound to Leo’s ears as he watched you walk back to the place you once sat perched upon.
“For you? Never busy! I know this cute little roof top café we can hit up. It’s got a little private area the owner set aside for me to take breaks at. Won’t have to worry at all about any surprises.”
Watching you jump up to the higher roof ledge, Leo thought about your proposition. Sitting in a cozy area with calming night rain in New Yorker city, enjoying a nice warm cup of coffee with the one person who could light up a whole room? What could be better?
“That sounds really nice actually. They have any pastries?”, Leo asked, getting ready to follow you up.
“As a matter of fact, they do! Oooh, their honey rolls are just ab-shit!”
Leonardo's heart spiked as he saw you suddenly slip on the wet surface above, and with quick reflexes he lurched forward, ready to catch you in his arms. Unfortunately, your own reflexes had kicked in just in time for you to web your self to the dryer, bottom portion of the ledge, leaving you effectively upside down. Combining both of your quick movements, neither Leo or you had time to stop the momentum of your faces colliding together. Despite being masked, there was no doubt in either of your minds the connection you each felt upon one another's lips. As quick as it had happened it was just as quickly over; Leo stepped back faster than lightning and his face lighting up as red as his brothers mask. As for you, your whole body felt it’s only electricity, spidey senses going awry from the incident.
“I-I’m so sorry!! I was just trying to catch you and-“
“N-no, I should apologize! I’m the one who slipped!”
The air grew thick with silence, as neither you or Leo looked at the other, hearts still racing and emotions on the high end. You were still buzzing, a new feeling you had never felt before coursing through you. It was your spidey sense, that you knew, but it hadn’t been the same as every other time you’ve experienced it. It was warm, soothing, elating, like taking a nap cozied up in bed with the window open to allow for a nice spring breeze.
Taking a chance, you glanced over at Leo, the later still looking to the ground. Not aware of the eyes upon him, Leo slowly had reached up to touch his own lips, a glimmer in his eyes that had not gone unnoticed by you. The sight sent a flutter of your own though your chest, as you thought back on all the special moments that you both had shared.
Almost similarly to Leo, you had felt alone for so long. A hero with abilities never heard of before and no one to learn from. Navigating a new world and taking on responsibilities and hardships you’d never asked for. When you met the ninja turtles though, and found yourself in an ever growing friendship with Leonardo, you suddenly found yourself almost not ever remembering what loneliness felt like.
“Hey, Leo?”
Said terrapin was quick to look your way, feeling the shyness of your gaze as you called for him.
“Yeah?”
“Do you uhm. . .”
Your voice fell to a mumble, your characteristic bravado suddenly gone. Leo chanced stepping forward, and once sure that you were comfortable with him moving into your space he continued closer.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that.”
Leo felt a new nervousness within him. You both knew it was an accident, but dear god, did you hate him now? Was this going to change things for the worse? The thought of your friendship dwindling caused an ache in Leo’s heart as he worriedly waited for you to repeat yourself. However, the next words you’d speak would be the complete opposite of the turmoil within his mind.
“I-I said. . .do you want to try that again?”
Leo gulped, his eyes behind his blue mask widening.
“What? Kiss?!”
“Yeah.”
“Uhm, but your mask. Are you sure your okay with?”, Leo gestured to his own face, knowing how important your identiy was to you.
You simply nodded, gaze just as soft as the handsome one now mere inches from you.
“You can pull it down part way.”
“Are you sure?”, Leo asked once more, half lidded stare looking into the eyes of your mask, that of which he swore for but a brief second he saw (e,c) orbs.
“Yeah, I trust you.”
That was all that Leonardo needed to hear, his heart now feeling like it would explode just by your simple, but powerful statement. Ever so gently he peeled down your mask, mind a flutter at finally seeing some hint of your true self. This whole action and moment had been elating for you as well, a thrill in your heart at feeling the brush of Leo's hands across your bare skin.
With the ambiance of falling rain, glowing lights of ranging hues, and the warmth of the others breath, the kiss Leo was about to share with you, would be a cherished memory for a life time and more.
“Hey, guy’s! I found him!”
Never had you pulled your mask up so quickly, and never had Leonardo let out such a roaring groan. Foot falls came to a halt as Raphael, Donatello, and Michelangelo hopped onto the roof top you both occupied.
“What the hell, man?! We’ve been tryin’ to reach you all night!”, Raph glowered throwing his hands up as his brother in blue sent him the sharpest of glares.
“There’s been a Foot Clan robbery, and NYPD needs back up.”, Donnie hurriedly spoke, too focused on one of his gadgets to take notice of the same death glare sent his way.
Ultimately, it was Mikey who had come to read the room, going to give you an excited greeting when he took notice of the bashful look displayed on your mask, Leo’s deep scowl, and the close proximity between you both. The biggest, toothiest of smiles breached the youngest face, but Leo had no time to stop him from speaking out.
“Yooo!! Were you two about to do what I think you were about to do?!”
Raphael and Donnie confusedly looked to Mikey, Leo furiously making motions to get Mikey to shut up.
“What are you talking about, Mikey?”, Raph spat, not in the mood for his antics.
“Oh you knooow~ Leo and (s,p), sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G!”
Realization smacked both Raph and Donnie in the face at that moment as they quickly looked between you both, each’s expression brimming with surprise.
“Wait, seriously?! Is that why you weren’t answering your phone?!, Donnie gawked while adjusting his glasses.
“So, like. . .with mask or no mask?”, Raph questioned with a shit eating grin.
Another heavy groan reverberated from Leonardo as his brother huddled together to begin their collective teasing. How was he going to survive this? Cheeks hot with embarrassment as his brother laughed and continued to banter from a distance, Leo turned to apologize to you, only to find you suddenly absent. Leo felt a sudden sadness at your disappearance, but a ping to his phone caught his attention. A text notification, above the many missed calls from his siblings, caught his eyes.
“Meet you dorks at the robbery! Coffee after? Or will you be too busy dying from your brothers torment? ; )”
Leo let out a breathy chuckle, and with a warm grin and even warmer heart, sent a message in return.
“For you? Never busy!”
~xXx~
333 notes · View notes
goofyahhcats · 7 months
Note
errmmm could you do some headcanons for wesker with a really shy s/o? like, blushing a lot when talking to him and stuff.... and getting so nervous around him from the smallest things like his voice and his height... :3 hes so fine.. what the scallop....
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HELLO A BELOVED ANON HERE TO DELIVER MY FIRST REQUEST AAAAH
And YES, god, he's so fine. Like that would literally be me if I saw him.
Giving you a fluff section and a smut section, can't get enough of this mf
Wesker with a shy s/o
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Rating: E
word count: 1.2k
Warnings: Afab! Gn! reader, fluff and smut
Re5 Wesker takes it in stride. He chides you for it each time. Flipping between calling you, “Pathetic. All embarrassed and blushing, just for me?” and “Aren’t you adorable? The red suits your face, my dear”
Basically the mf is a wombo combo of praise and degradation
S.T.A.R.S. Era Wesker sees this all the time. 
I mean, he struts his shit through the RPD every day, he’s gonna catch a few eyes. 
He would probably appear unbothered about it on the outside. But internally he's puffing his chest out, smirking, doing a little chuckle, the works.
The closer you get to him, the less he tries to hide his stupid little remarks.
He only voices his praise when you deserve it, staying in the same lane as re5 does.
You take slow steps towards the STARS Office. As a receptionist, filing papers was one of your many grueling jobs. It only became bearable when STARS returned from missions. Mission reports required you to read all of the juicy details as you filled out the necessary paperwork for them.
Normal protocol asked you to simply drop the papers off in the STARS mailbox, right next to the front door of their office. Which you had done dutifully every time. In this particular instance, however, Chief Irons had demanded that you bring the papers directly to the Captain himself. 
“That stoic asshole needs to be more careful!” Irons’ pink face shook, “Does he know how much money he cost me? Of course not! I need him to actually read the mission reports for once!” he slammed his hands down on his desk.
“I’m sorry sir, what can I do to help-?”
“Go! What are you waiting for? Bring it right to his desk! Throw them at him if that's what it takes! Christ!” A large vein popped out of his forehead. You nodded quickly, making your way out of his office as fast as you could
This led you to where you are now. You usually weren’t incredibly shy, but god. Captain Wesker tended to make you go bright red. You could never get a full sentence out without tripping over your words.
You slowly opened the door to the STARS Office. You were met with many friendly faces, many of whom smiled and waved at you. You returned the gestures, glancing to your left at your objective. 
The sign on his door read “CPT A, WESKER”. You swallowed heavily, taking a few steps up towards his door.
Raising your fist, you knocked twice before you heard a low, “Come in,” echo from inside.
You open the door, step in, and shut it behind you. Wesker looked up at you from his desk. His iconic sunglasses were clipped into the front of his shirt. His cold blue eyes scanned your form as you presented yourself.
“Do you need something?” his low voice reached your ears, jolting you out of your daze. You started to shake your head but then remembered why you were there and nodded. You held out the papers in your hand nervously.
“Y-yes sir. I have the mission reports for you… um- Irons’ orders. Sir,” you stammered over your words, cursing yourself internally. 
“Hm. Indeed you do,” Wesker hummed, looking up at you from his chair. He swiveled to the side and rose to his full height, towering over you. He took a few steps forward, reaching his hand out. 
You felt frozen in place, staring up at him. Wesker tilted his head slightly, “Hand me the reports. Or are you going to continue staring at me all day?”
You felt your face heat up. You quickly handed them to him, clumsily brushing your fingers against his as he accepted the papers. You nodded up at him apologetically, cheeks still fire engine red, “Sorry sir, I-”
“No need,” his voice was deep, the slight accent making you melt, “Good work, thank you,” he stated.
His praise vibrated through your whole body. You felt your stomach twist in pleasure at the ghost of a smile you could see on his lips. You stood there for what felt like a century, rooted to the spot. Wesker gestured at the door, “Go on now,” you nodded, stuttering out a, “Yes sir…” before making a beeline for his office door.
“Next time,” Wesker’s voice stopped you mid-step, “Tell Irons I’ll gladly have you deliver me the reports. I expect you to return tomorrow to deliver the mission debriefings. Personally.”
Your cheeks felt like they had caught on fire, “Y-yes sir,” you squeaked, nodding at him.
“Good,” he returned the nod, “You’re dismissed.”
You scrambled out of his office, bumping into the wall as you made your way into the hallway. You had to pause and take a moment to calm your blazing cheeks outside in the courtyard. Sighing to yourself
Back in his office, Wesker smirked, settling back down into his chair.
“Cute,” he chuckled.
Smut-wise, again, praise and degradation 
Re5 Wesker the type of guy to strip you naked, and just admire you, while watching you squirm and blush
You stood, completely naked in front of Wesker. He sat back, fully clothed, just staring. Your entire body felt like it was on fire. 
“My, you truly are a sight to see,” Wesker continues to stare, taking in every fold of skin, every freckle, and every scar you have to offer him.
Nervous and embarrassed, you attempt to cover yourself, placing an arm here and a hand there, but a “Tsk,” from Wesker, makes you freeze.
“W- Wesker…” you stammer, looking up at him.
“Mmm?” he smirked, the tent in his pants obvious.
“Please, I- I need you,” 
Wesker chuckles, “Oh, how adorable you are. Since you asked so nicely, I can’t help but oblige, can I?” he stands, gently guiding you towards him. You slowly pull down the zipper on his pants, looking up at him with red cheeks. 
You pull his cock out, evidently hard and leaking precum onto your palm. You stroke him once, and he grins, “Pathetic, not even going to ask me for permission? You’ve gotten ahead of yourself, my dear.”
You trip over your words, mumbling a half-apology, pleading with him to let you touch him.
“Wesker, please. I promise I- I won’t do it again, I-” You’re cut off as Wesker shoves his cock in your mouth. You moan around him, licking at the underside as you begin to bob your head.
Wesker lets out a satisfied sigh, “I can’t stay mad at you, dear. Not with this stellar performance,” his hand cards through your hair gently.
Wetness gushes out of you at his comment, and you whimper around him. Taking him deeper until you're at the hilt, throat convulsing around him. Wesker lets out a quiet groan and chuckle, tugging your hair back and off of his cock. A strand of saliva connects you to him. He smirks, taking in the view of your blown-out pupils and blushing face. 
“I guess I’ll have to reward you, hmm? Would you like that?”
“Y-Yes, please,” you whisper, swooning up at him. He chuckles.
“So eager you are. Climb up onto the bed,” he purrs. You do as he says, climbing up and lying as he instructed.
You definitely weren’t going to be getting any sleep that night. Not with him.
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honeyselfships · 4 months
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Hiii! Could you do a Percy Jackson x Reader who both do ballet and they do a little duet together please?
I have never done ballet before so… 😭
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Percy Jackson was the last person you ever expected to do ballet.
The fact that he was good at it too was more shocking. Every time you expressed that surprise, he’d laugh, a small dimple popping out as a result.
“Is it a problem?”
“No,” you’d shake your head, adjusting slightly as the two of you did your usual stretches. “Just… I dunno. You don’t seem the type.”
“S’ that a compliment or an insult?”
“…compliment?”
He’d just laughed, shaking his head at how unsure you’d sounded.
That was then. Now, after a near half year of grueling practice and holding back tears from your aching feet, you and Percy were practically joined at the hip.
Which meant he was a little too well attuned to your emotions. Wouldn’t be a problem if you weren’t actively trying to hide your nervousness.
“You’re biting your nails again,” he informs you casually, making you cringe.
“Am not.”
“Are too.”
Your hand drops to your side as you huff, still pacing the floor.
Percy pauses, watching as you practically go in circles. “We’re gonna do fine,” he tells you, voice softer now.
“I’m not worried about we,” you admit. “I feel like I’m gonna mess everything up.”
He paused for a moment, seemingly studying you.
“You’re one of the hardest working people I know,” Percy admits, coming up slowly to your side, hand on your shoulder. “And besides, you worked your ass off to get here. Cut yourself some slack. Deep breaths.”
You do that. Your heart is still hammering in your chest, palms becoming clammy, but you follow his instructions. Percy takes your hand then, giving a firm squeeze and flashing a smile that makes your heart only beat faster.
“Even if you do mess up, let’s mess up together, alright?”
You can’t help but smile. “Yeah, together.”
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7-wonders · 1 year
Text
Kiss With a Fist
Morpheus/Dream of the Endless x Reader
Summary: Normally, Dream is above mortals and their petty quarrels, but when one decides that he wants to play with fire, Dream is more than prepared to burn him. That is, until you have something to say about it.
Word Count: 4.1k
Notes: I've wanted to write something about you pulling a Hob Gadling and fighting off someone wanting to attack Dream for a while now. Here it is. Basically you're a badass and you fight a drunk guy trying to pick a fight with Dream. Let me know your thoughts!
(Reader is referred to with she/her pronouns)
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We begin…in the Waking World, which is not, in his opinion, an ideal place to be.
Though the Burgess lineage has been snuffed out and Dream of the Endless is far too powerful to ever find himself captured by a mortal again, he still feels a touch of trepidation upon his trips outside of his realm. How could he not, after one such visit went so spectacularly wrong and ended up with him trapped for over a century?
Having reminders of the good of humanity certainly helps ease his apprehension, which is why he typically finds himself with some sort of companion when he leaves the safety of the Dreaming. Most of the time, Matthew is a mere stone’s throw away at all times. If not Matthew, then Dream has increasingly found himself seeking the company of his friend, Hob Gadling.
You’re the most “human” of them all; though both Matthew and Hob were, at one point, completely and utterly mortal, that is no longer the case. You, however, are. He would argue that’s perhaps what makes you so fascinating, but he knows that’s not entirely true. There are a great many things that make you fascinating to him, and your mortality is probably the least of those.
It’s his predilection towards you that has landed him here in the first place, at what you called an “upscale bar” for a friend’s birthday party. To be fair to you, it’s not as if you hadn’t given Dream multiple opportunities to decline your invitation. You even bluntly told him, among other things, that it was almost certain he would not enjoy himself at a mortal event such as this and you were perfectly fine going by yourself.
But no, he had to insist that he would play the role of doting “boyfriend” (which he was, though he preferred terms to describe your relationship that sounded much less juvenile) and accompany you to this celebration. After two grueling hours, he can honestly say that he does not understand why anybody would torture themselves by willingly stepping foot into such an establishment. Between the bone-shaking bass of the music that is unnecessarily loud, the patrons whose wildly inappropriate, alcohol-steeped daydreams stick to Dream like molasses, and the harsh lighting that continues to change depending on the beat of whatever garish song is playing, he’s seen enough to last him five human lifetimes.
He tries to hide his disdain, knowing that you’re enjoying yourself and your night. ‘Tries’ being the key word here: after the fifth person who visibly jumps in fear when they see Dream’s piercing glower, it’s evident that this attempt is not working in the slightest. Whether you’ve finally noticed this or you just decide to take pity on him, he’s not sure.
Regardless, you lean into him and ask, “Are you doing okay?”
“I would like to get some air,” he says, being heard clearly by you despite not having to raise his voice above the music. He’s relieved when you nod; Dream was never a particularly social creature, but that desire for solace increased tenfold after he freed himself from his glass cage.
“We can head out, actually. I’ve socialized long enough.”
Dream could actually cheer at this. Since it would be entirely uncouth of him to do so, he continues to look nonchalant. “Do not feel that you need to end your night early on my account.”
“I’m not! I’m tired and I’d rather go home with you now. I’m gonna close my tab, if you wanna go wait outside for me!”
He very much wants to go wait outside for you, and with one last squeeze of your hand, he separates from you and leaves you to finish paying for your drinks.
There’s something inherently calming to Dream about the evening hours. It may be that the world seems to become more peaceful after the sun sets, or that the majority of dreamers enter his realm at this time. It could even be the fact that this is Mother Night’s domain, complicated as their relationship may be. Whatever the reason, Dream is particularly fond of this time of day, and he enjoys the sudden tranquility after such a hectic environment.
Unfortunately, said tranquility lasts only momentarily before a shadow crosses over towards Dream and he meets the bloodshot eyes of a mortal man. He’s average in every way, from the backwards cap to the scuffed shoes stained with unidentified liquids. A ‘frat boy,’ you would call him. Though the shadows warp behind him as he attempts to scare him off as he did to the others inside the bar, this man remains uncowed by his expression.
“Hey, I saw you earlier at the bar.” Dream scowls, for he did have an encounter with this particular human inside the establishment, and he did not enjoy one second of it. “Yeah, I offered to buy your girl a drink, didn’t I? Then you shoved your way in between us, which was rude. I was just trying to be friendly!”
“Silence, mortal.” He’s had enough of this conversation, if it can even be called that, and glances in the direction of the entrance to see if you’re making your exit. In the process, he sees the man’s expression morph into something ugly, something vengeful. He’s not sure why, considering he has not been insulted; after all, Dream simply called him what he is, which is a mortal. 
“The fuck did you just call me?”
Instead of actually bothering with a response, Dream attempts to move away from the wall in order to find you, having had enough of playing this game. The mortal man’s hand lands on his shoulder and stops him from achieving that goal. Dream simply glances at it, deciding that, actually, it has been a good while since he properly frightened a mortal in any realm.
“Why ya tryin’ to leave? I just wanted to have a friendly chat.” The man’s breath reeks of cheap alcohol, and Dream’s lip curls in disgust.
“No, I think not.”
“Hey!” Both heads snap towards the bar’s entrance, where you’re emerging from the door and marching closer towards them. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
The mortal man smirks, finding amusement in the fact that you’re now involved. “Get outta here, bitch. This doesn’t concern you.”
Dream has half a mind to incite his nightmares on this boor of a man just for the crude insult (how dare he even think to disrespect the future consort of the Dreaming in such a way), but you’re speaking before he can properly make a decision. “Yeah it does. Leave him alone.”
The man smirks and rolls his eyes, turning his attention back to Dream. “What, you need your girlfriend to fight your battles for you?”
“I’m trying to protect you here,” you say with a laugh, knowing that Dream doesn’t need anyone to do anything for him. “Take your hand off of him and go.” 
As you walk past him, you knock your shoulder against the man’s, who goes stumbling back with his arms pinwheeling at his sides as he attempts to keep his balance. Either you’re stronger than you look, or the man is drunker than he lets on; Dream is willing to bet that it’s a combination of both.
“I’m not gonna tell you again, dude.” 
Gently, you grab Dream’s hand and pull him away from the wall. He allows you to do so–though he can deny it all he wants, he certainly doesn’t mind when you fuss over him. Sure enough, he watches as you scan him up and down for any sign of injury, seeming to forget that he cannot exactly be injured by a mere mortal.
“Are you okay?” 
Were they in private, Dream would laugh (he’s found himself doing a lot more of that lately–laughing) and assure you that nothing so paltry as a mortal attempting to provoke him had caused him any harm or upset. As it is, he simply nods, taking your hand in his and kissing the back of it.
Unfortunately, mortal men seem to love violence. This should not be surprising, considering his brother is—was—Destruction, but it’s something that tends to slip his mind due to how little time he actually spends among them. When they are robbed of the opportunity to inflict said violence on their intended target, they become enraged. 
This is no different for this mortal man, whose face turns a surprising shade of red in anger. As Dream turns with you to leave, he allows his natural eyes to appear through the blue ones that he wears when in the Waking. Black pits appear in their place, the stars that are normally there completely snuffed out. Petty, but he cannot resist making the last move.
This works against his favor, however, when the mortal man takes a swing at Dream.
For an immortal, anthropomorphic personification, Dream has not found himself in many fights through his long life. He should rephrase that: he has not found himself in many street fights through his long life. Battles, he’s had his fair share. Glorious battles, either those like the Oldest Game where wit is the weapon or those where he was fighting for a purpose, be it love or honor or his realm. 
But battles are skilled; there’s an art to them, an understanding on each side of the formalities and the pomp and circumstance that goes into it all. Though they may be enemies, the foes carry with them a certain integrity that extends to the conflict. In fact, as far as Dream is aware, mortal military campaigns are fought a lot like this as well. Alleyway brawls most certainly do not carry any of this.
Humanity changed, as humanity is wont to do, in the century plus that Dream found himself a prisoner in an English countryside basement. However, the century of imprisonment had to align with one of the centuries that underwent the most societal change. Though Dream very much enjoys watching as humanity evolves, he enjoys watching it as it happens, not learning about it in retrospect. As a result, he has felt woefully behind when it comes to modern standards; a fact which the few mortals or former mortals he knows love to focus on. Not that he wants to sound every bit as old as he is, but before his imprisonment, ladies most certainly did not fight.
All of this is important knowledge to keep in mind for the coming events.
The man’s hit, meant for Dream, connects against your cheek as a result of you shoving Dream out of the way before he can truly process what’s about to happen. He wants to tell you to stop, wants to blow sand in the face of this man and follow through on his silent threat to give him his worst nightmares, but…something stops him. A not-unpleasant warmth in his stomach that begins to bloom as he watches you ball your hands into fists, obviously preparing to fight back against this man. 
A few bystanders audibly wince when you punch your adversary’s jaw, making his head snap back. Curses fall from his lips as he swings again, but you manage to grab a fistful of his shirt collar when you duck and his fist hits your forehead. This advantage means that this will be the last hit he gets on you. 
With a yank of the fabric, the shirt goes up over his head and serves both to blind him as well as to make it difficult for him to move away from you. He’s more focused on attempting to free himself from your hold than he is hitting you again, and when he finally does regain his sight, he sees your fist hurtling towards his face.
The last punch is a direct hit to the mortal’s nose, blood immediately beginning to drip down his face and onto the ground. Both the pain and the shock of it send him falling backwards onto the ground, where he groans pathetically and clutches at his wounded face. From above, you breathe heavily and shake out your dominant hand, a look of disgust on your face as you stare down at the enemy you’ve taken down with ease.
In all, the actual fight lasts less than half a minute. Dream, however, believes that he shall think of said fight for the rest of his eternal fight.
“Bitch,” the mortal spits out again, the insult the only weapon he has left in his arsenal.
“Don’t forget it, either.” You grab Dream’s hand again, this time pulling him away from the small crowd that’s beginning to form on the sidewalk. “C’mon, we gotta get outta here before someone calls the cops.”
Dream demeans himself and actually runs alongside you, but only until there are no more humans in sight. He pulls you to a stop then, taking his sand out of his coat and tossing a handful in the air. Between one blink and the next, he’s safely inside your Waking apartment with you. Shaking your head a couple of times to clear the double vision in your eyes, you finally look over at him.
“I’m so sorry, I really didn’t think you’d get stuck dealing with some drunk idiot who–oof!” 
Dream cuts off your rambling by shoving you against the wall of your bedroom and proceeding to kiss you as though it’s been years since he last laid his lips against yours. You stiffen under him for a moment before your body goes lax, hands curling around the lapels of his coat as you lean into him and attempt to eliminate any modicum of space between your bodies. It’s only when he can hear you beginning to try and take desperate little pants in an attempt to get air into your lungs that he pulls his lips from you, though this doesn’t last for long.
“Do you have any idea,” he pauses to press another series of heated kisses to you, “what seeing you fight that man did to me?”
“...I’m confused. Are you mad?”
“Mad?” Dream scoffs. “How could I be mad, when you defended my honor in such a way. Me, who could have sent the mortal to the Nightmare Realm with barely a glance. I am more powerful than the gods themselves, yet you fought for me without so much as a second thought. No, I am not mad at you. I find myself rather infatuated with you at this moment, in fact.”
“As if you’re not infatuated with me all the time?” He silences your snark with more kissing, which you gladly accept for another few moments.
“Dream,” you finally mumble against his lips. 
When he doesn’t answer, you try again. 
“Morpheus.”
He still doesn’t answer, nor does he make any movement to let you know he even heard you. Finally, you push at his chest to get his attention. 
“While I’d love to continue doing this, my lip is split and it really hurts to kiss you right now.”
Dream steps away from you sheepishly. It’s not often that his control falters in such a way, and it only ever does so when he’s in your presence.
“I apologize,” he says remorsefully. If there’s one thing that Dream hates, it’s causing pain to those dearest to him, of which you are the most dear.
“You don’t have to apologize for anything, you couldn’t have known it hurts. I should probably clean myself up, though.” He follows you into your bathroom, where you turn on the faucet and grab a clean cloth off of the towel rack.
“Allow me to help you with your wounds?” Dream asks.
Healing others is not one of his many powers, and you know that. Still, he wants to be of assistance, and so you point to the closet in the corner. “There’s a first aid kit on the bottom shelf of the closet, if you wouldn’t mind grabbing that?”
Dream hasn’t the faintest idea what a first aid kit actually is, but since he’s trying to be helpful, he simply goes off in the direction that you pointed him towards. When he comes back with the bright red bag (he knows enough from dreams to know that the white cross on the front means medical aid), you’re dabbing blood off of the back of your hand with a damp cloth.
“I did not realize that your hand was injured, as well,” Dream says.
“What can I say? Fucker had a hard head.”
He frowns. “I really wish that you would not use such crass language. It’s very unbecoming.”
“You love it and you know you do.”
Dream’s hands skim over the different medical supplies, unsure of what will help or hurt, or even what each item’s intended use is. This confusion must be rather obvious, for you simply have him hold the kit open as you grab whatever is needed and set it out on the counter next to you. He watches, silently and with utter fascination, while you grab a small cotton round and dab some sort of antibiotic on it before you begin to carefully apply it to your knuckles.
He takes this time to actually catalog the injuries you had sustained while fighting for him. In addition to the webbing of surface-level cuts on your knuckles, two wide bruises are already beginning to discolor your skin, one stretching along your cheekbone and the skin below your right eye and the other on your forehead up into your hairline. The ‘split lip’ as you called it, does look rather painful, and he feels bad to have exacerbated that pain. The skin is quite literally split down both your upper and lower lip, dark red blood pooling on the surface. It’s swollen, and another bruise forms on top of the swelling.
Again, Dream feels his heart, which does not work like that of a human’s, clench painfully. You’ve bled to protect him, injured yourself just to keep him safe. He does not know how he could ever repay you for such a kindness, though you’ll assuredly attempt to convince him that you don’t need any sort of repayment.
For Dream, this repayment starts by being the one to take care of you. Now that he’s watched you care for one wound, he can easily mimic your movements as he takes the washcloth you’re running under the tap water and gently presses it to your lip. You wince under his touch, but allow his hand to remain there.
“Where did you learn to fight in such a way?” Dream asks after you’ve nodded that enough time has passed for him to remove the cloth from your mouth.
You shrug. “I was bullied in middle school and it started to get kind of physical–nothing too bad, just mean girls shoving me around or stepping on my heels so that I’d trip and fall.” It sounds far worse than ‘nothing too bad,’ and Dream almost wants to ask you for the names of your childhood tormentors so that he may give them a taste of their own medicine. “Still, my dad wanted to teach me to defend myself, just in case it got any worse.”
“He taught a child to fight?” Dream scoffs in disbelief, one hand gently holding your chin in place while he uses the other to apply the antibiotic to your lips.
“I was twelve, first of all, and it’s not like he was encouraging me to go up to these girls and knock them out. It was a last-resort sort of thing,” you say when he’s finished tending to that cut.
His hand gently skims along the bruise on your cheek, and you can’t stop your reflexes as your hand darts out to grab at his wrist and stop him. He aborts what he was doing, instead grasping your own hand and pulling you to him as he just barely lays his lips on top of the bruise and lets them linger there. He can hear your breath catch in your lungs as he does so, and it makes him smirk just slightly.
When Dream finally pulls away, your body unconsciously tries to follow him as you mourn the loss of his closeness. He asks, “Might I continue to attend to you, my protector? My warrior?”
“Uh, um,” you stutter, trying desperately to remember how to speak. Dream finds it incredibly endearing. “The, uh, I have ice packs in the–in the freezer. For my face? They’re blue, and they should be stacked on top of each other.”
“Go lay down so that you may rest,” he commands. “I shall be back momentarily.”
You describe items well enough that finding whatever it is you request is an easy task, the ice packs being no different. Perhaps Hob Gadling was right to marvel over human inventions at most of the pair’s early meetings. There is something rather fascinating about the resourcefulness of creating something that can be kept cold specifically to help with injuries. 
When Dream returns to you, you’ve done as he asked as are laying against the pillows of your bed to rest. He’s unsure of how you apply said ice packs, and hands them to you instead and watches as you lay one on each bruise. Though you recoil from the cold at first, you soon sigh and relax under it. 
“Will you lay with me?” you ask. 
Dream is not one to turn you down for most things, and he especially will not deny you of this request. He wraps himself around you, black coat billowing out and covering both of you. He knows that it’s only your face that has sustained the brunt of your injuries, but he still tries to be cautious with you just in case.
It’s not exactly resting when you’re on your phone watching the videos that, while they make no sense to Dream, make you laugh, but you’re safe and in his arms, so he won’t say anything to you about the importance of proper rest. Instead, he allows himself to simply think. About you, about him, about this night.
“You need not have come to my defense,” he says suddenly upon remembering what it is he had wanted to say to you earlier, before he was overcome with the need to kiss you. Distantly, he’s reminded of the last time he said such a phrase, and his lips tilt up at the memory.
“Hmm?” You don’t quite know what he means, his statement coming from out of nowhere.
“I was in no danger, yet you so valiantly defended me from the mortal. Why?”
“Because he was going to hurt you.” You say it as if it’s the most obvious conclusion in the world. The sky is blue, water is wet, you fought the man because he was going to hurt Dream.
“He would not have gotten the chance.”
You sigh. “I know that you’re all-powerful and whatnot, but…when you love someone, sometimes that doesn’t matter. Someone was attempting to attack you, and so I decided that I wasn’t going to let them. You’d do the same for me, wouldn’t you?”
“I very much would. However, it’s a little different for me than it is for you.”
“Why? Because I’m a woman?”
He begins to uncharacteristically stammer in an attempt to explain himself. “No, that’s not–I would never–you–”
You cut him off with a laugh before he can make an even bigger fool of himself. “I’m just teasing you.”
“You are cruel to your monarch, my love.”
“Not my monarch, I’m afraid,” you say cheekily, a smile on your face. “Last I checked, I’m not one of your subjects.”
It will never cease to amaze Dream just how at peace he feels when in your presence. On the rare occasion that conversations start out serious, they devolve into something quaint and full of soft touches and teasing jokes at your hands. Even after he sees you into the Dreaming and has returned the now-melting ice packs to your freezer, he feels this way.
Suddenly, he’s struck with the ‘why’ of it all. He feels at home here. No, he feels at home with you. Being with you is like coming home after a long journey and getting to sleep in your bed again for the first time in months. You’re his comfort, his safe place.
Perhaps, in some cases, the Waking World is an ideal place to be.
552 notes · View notes
romanarose · 6 months
Text
If You Wanna Be Wild: Chapter 3
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Co-written with @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction
Javier Peña x Latina!sex worker!informant!Reader/OC x Santiago Garcia
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Summary: Javier goes to see Candy to 'get information', runs into the last person he was expecting.
Content and warnings for whole fic, not chapter by chapter unless something is added: Sex work, drug trade, some drug use/pressured used, sex workers and the mistreatment/stigma surrounding them specifically in the 70’s (my blog is sex worker positive) but ima put potential dub con depending how you look at it as a sex worker who works with dangerous men, some action surrounding reader and the guys and the drug trade, SMUT HEAVY, corruption kink (were corrupting santi here, he’s young, 25), no loss of virginity tho, threesomes, some slight m/m smut but that’s not the focus here, but as you know this blog is an lgbt blog so I’m always open to gay shit. Talk of war and some PTSD but I won't be going a whole lot into it.
Additional warnings: References to BDSM and rough sex thats consensual, but consenual under the blanket of prostitution so much that I think I'll put it as dub con due to lack on comfort and ability to say no. None it is shown but the aftermath is, and Javi provides aftercare although he was not a participant. Smut today! The usual smut warnings I'm not gonna detail everything lol it's nothing crazy like my usual lol, there's lots of oral, piv sex, teasing, begging. B
For the record, this is a fic that takes place in the drug trade and deals with the darker side of humanity, so anything from Narco's and Triple Frontier is liable to be discussed or mentioned here. This is your warning. This is not a dark fic nor is it centered around dark themes like Leather and Lace or Sunshine Starlight Sweetheart Brightside, but they are open to be talked about.
Reader has a nick name: Candy. Not her real name just what she goes by on her profession. Much of the inspo for this and for the title came from the Bruce Springsteen song “Candy’s room” so check it out for the vibes.
Reader speaks Spanish and had hair. I've decided Candy is just latina coded bc she's a sex worker in colombia so this is what I'm doing.
4.3 words, a good chunk of which was written by my beloved Fen. I've been rather burnt out of smut lately, and I wanted this to be good to establish Candy and Javier's connection and chemistry so my dear @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction wrote ALL THE SMUT FOR ME. They write wonderful fanfiction so pleeaasseeee check out their work!!
Support writers! Reblog and comment!
*****************
“And just what do you want to know this time, Peña?” You say, leaned up against the wall under a poster of Farrah Faucet.
Javier stepped up to you, broad frame and tall figure encasing you up against the wall of your apartment. He was anything but intimidating, and he wasn’t trying to be; Javier Peña was a good man, even if he didn’t think he was. You couldn’t help but care for him, blurring the lines of what a hooker and a John’s relationship should be, but you couldn’t help it, and Javi knew. Javi was protective of the women he sleeps with, and you were no exception. In addition to getting you out of legal trouble a few times, he had helped you when you had issues with creepy, dangerous men and had even helped a friend or two. 
He was someone you trusted and someone whose time you looked forward to; someone who made you cum, multiple times and hard. But it was more than that. Javier was gentle with you, fucking you hard but never leaving a mark and if he thought you were tired or in pain from previous activities, he’d allow you to take care of him in other ways, even down to a hand job. He loved connection, but he loved your comfort more.
Once, after a grueling bondage session with impact play from another client, you had been left worn, bruised, and in pain when Javi called you for a late night fuck. Sure. You could squeeze him in although you had been looking forward to giving yourself aftercare since clients didn’t pay for that side of things. 
Javi had come over in his usual charm, making out on the couch and grinding against you as per usual, touching you sensually to warm you up, but when he slid off your skirt and tried to touch you only to find you dry he stopped. “What’s wrong?”
You had tried to insist nothing was wrong, tried to promise it was fine; you had lube for a reason. When he lifted up your skirt and saw the bruises forming on your skin, he went into a rage.
“WHO THE HELL DID THIS?”
Eventually, you are able to calm him down and start to explain the concept of BDSM to him and he tells you that no one should be leaving marks like that. He gestures to the bruises and the welts
“He pays for it and I let him, Javi. You don’t have to be a hero to something I consent to.”
He begins to settle, tracing the bruises that showed despite your tan skin and the dim lighting. Yeah, okay, maybe they were kinda bad. He’d gotten carried away with the belt, but you had said he could use a belt. Technically, you could tell him to stop, or to go less hard… but this world didn’t look kindly on whores who had rules. 
“Where all did he hurt you?” Checking your exposed skin over but not undressing you anymore, Javier’s lips were pursed into a hard line and his eyebrows drawn together in focus. It was mainly just your ass that had taken the beating. Javi carried you to your bed, gently laying you down on your stomach and asked if you had any aloe vera. When you said no, he ran down to the bodega down the street. Javier took care of you that night, providing the after care you hadn’t gotten and held you close the remainder of the time he had asked for. That morning despite not giving sex and thus not expecting payment, you found the money he had promised on your kitchen counter.
“Can’t I just take time out of my day to visit my favorite girl?” He asked, leaning over you with his forearm pressed against the wall above you.
You scoff playfully. “You tell that to all your girls?”
Javi’s lip quirks up, eye squinting in a small smile that crinkled at the corners, showing the early signs of age on his handsome face. Pushing 40 looked nice on him. “I do, but you’re the only one I mean it with.” He solidified his tease with a wink.
“Really?” You raise your own eyebrow in turn. “This has nothing to do with Lorea?” 
At that, Javi pushes himself off the wall with a laugh, a genuine and hearty laugh that you love to see. “You’re a quick one, arentcha, Candy?” He crosses his arms, hip popped and takes in your whole body. He wasn’t just here for information on Lorea, after all. He’s never just here for information.
“Gotta keep an ear to the ground, never know when it’ll come in handy, like-” You gently shove him with one hand. “Getting me that visa.”
His playful manner faded but his face remained soft. “If it were up to me, I would.”
You knew that, of course. There really was no reason for the DEA to give you a vida; you’d been helpful, but nothing groundbreaking and there was no reason to believe your life was at risk so you were stuck. There were some days, however, that you dreamed… dreamed of moving to America… maybe with Javi… but those were just daydreams to get you through.
“I know, baby. Now, enough talking” Javi opened his mouth to protest, but you pressed a finger up against those lips. “We can go over what I know and what I can find out while you give me that after-sex massage.” You hook your finger on his collar and start pulling him towards the bedroom. 
“Oh, I see” He teases before grabbing your wrist, yanking it and twirling you towards him in order to wrap you up in his arms. “You think you’re in charge, all of a sudden?”
You smile sweetly at him, purposefully batting your eyelashes. There’s a familiar edge to his tone that you recognise immediately. One that just activates every bratty bone in your body.
“When am I not in charge, Javi?” You purr. 
He stares at you for a second, his muscles tense as he holds you, that split second of quiet before all hell breaks loose. 
And then he pounces. 
With a snarl his lips meet yours, all tongue and teeth as his right hand snakes up to grab your jaw and tilt your head up to meet him. The pressure is firm, controlling, but careful. Safe. 
He swallows down your chuckle and pushes you back against the wall firmly, moving his left arm to cradle your head from any real force. His facial hair scratches at your skin as he trails sloppy kisses and light bites over your cheek, down to your neck where he’s light enough not to leave a bruise but hard enough to leave you wanting. 
You wrap your arms around his shoulders, tugging at his shirt as he slides his hand to your shorts and pops the top button. 
His fingers are warm against your skin and he wastes little time, barely undoing the zip, before he’s pushing his hand under the waistband. 
Javi groans, the sound low and deep in his chest as he realises you’re not wearing any underwear. He slips his forefinger over your clit, circling it lightly. His mouth hovers near yours, sharing your air, his hot breath against your cheek as he watches your face. 
The second you bite your lip, trying to muffle that first little whine of pleasure, he sinks two fingers into your heat and presses his thumb against your bundle of nerves. 
It’s a little awkward at this angle with the tight denim of your shorts still on your hips. He can’t quite sink as deep as you’d like, as you need. But you know he’s doing this on purpose. Working you up without giving you true relief. Wanting to make you beg. 
You squirm against him, trying to wriggle and get the angle just right.
“What’s wrong, mi amor?” He whispers teasingly. “Something wrong?” 
“Javi…” Your voice comes out in a whine and he chuckles. 
“Can’t the princesa ask for what she wants?” He lightly scraps the edge of his short nail against your clit, dragging downwards before falling back into the previous rubbing rhythm. 
You bite back a moan, screwing up your eyes as he presses lightly at that perfect spot inside before quickly moving his fingers away. “Please.” 
“Please what?” 
You glare at him. 
“Please what?” He strokes against you again and you gasp, your words falling out in a jumble. 
“Please sir.” You spit, shooting him a dark look that you know he’ll love. 
He chuckles, pressing the heavy bulge in his jeans against your thigh. “Oh, someone’s in a bratty mood today, aren’t they?” He kisses your mouth, not giving you a chance to retort back. And nips at your bottom lip as you slide your hands into his hair. 
He circles your clit faster, grinding against your leg as you scrape your nails across his scalp. “Fuck,” he breaks the kiss and presses his forehead against yours. His eyes screw shut as he drags his thick cock against your skin. How the jean’s button hasn’t pinged open from the strain of the size of him, you’ll never know. The burn of the denim against your thigh is oddly pleasant, the shallow thrust of his hips just punctuating the slick glide of his fingers in and out of you. 
The air catches in your throat as you try to hold in your moan and Javi’s eyes snap open. The look he gives you is dark and hungry. 
He tuts. “Oh, no, we can’t have that, can we?” He hooks his left thumb through a belt loop and tugs your shorts down over your ass before letting them drop the rest of the way to the floor. 
Now, without the material’s restriction, he sinks his fingers deeper into you. Curling them perfectly against your walls, your slick coating his skin. Liquid pleasure flows along your nerves and steals your breath. 
You grab hold of Javi’s shoulders, your fingernails digging in as your back arches. “Ah- oh god!”
He shakes his head, a condescending frown on his face. “Shouldn’t take the Lord’s name in vain. I thought you were a good little Catholic?” 
“Javi, please-”
“Not good enough.” He grows in your ear before suddenly pulling his fingers out of you and dropping to his knees. 
You gasp, but don’t have longer than a second to lament the loss before his mouth is on you. He sucks your clit into his mouth, pinching the bud lightly between his teeth as he flicks over it with his tongue. At the same time he grabs a hold of your thighs, spreading you wide and hooking your right leg over his shoulder. 
He groans deeply, savoring your taste as he sinks his fingers back into your aching folds. 
You moan loudly, grabbing onto Javi’s hair for support as he fucks you with his fingers and tongue, pushing up and against you so hard that you have to balance on the tip of your left toes and trust in his strong arms to support you. 
The words that fall from your lips are boarding on incoherent, whimpered out sounds of ‘more’ and ‘please’ that barely sting together. Javi knew your body far too well by now and used every single trick he had in fucking you dumb as quickly as he could. 
You fight your body’s urge to clamp your legs around his face, even though his forearm pressed firmly against your thigh would stop you from getting too far anyway. 
Your orgasm builds dizzyingly fast, just scratching on the edge of your mind. Your hips buck against his mouth wildly, no longer under your own control and instead just following Javi’s tantalizing rhythm. 
“Javi, fuck-” This is what you love about having sex with Javi; it felt normal, it was fun, it was good, and you gt paid for it. Win/win.
He growls low in his throat approvingly as you tug on his hair, trying to warn him of how close you are. He thrusts his fingers deeper, pushes his face against you completely as if he had no need for oxygen as he grinds against you.
Heat sparks up from your core and you come against him with a sharp cry, tears in your eyes from the force of it. The ecstasy overwhelms you, so sharp it is almost painful as he pulls your orgasm out from your soaking folds, demanding your pleasure.
He only moves his mouth away from you and stills his hand when he feels you slump a little against him, your limbs turning boneless. 
You breathe heavily, almost light headed as you come back to yourself. 
When you look down, you see Javi looking up at you with a shit eating grin that makes you want to slap him playfully.
“I think that was the fastest one yet, hermosa?” 
You scowl at him, but can’t keep the smile from your lips. “Maybe.” You say finally. 
Javi chuckles, pressing kisses to your thigh and slowly pulls his fingers out of you with a wet drawn out pop.
“Hmm, look at what a mess you made?” He raises his eyebrow teasingly as he holds up his fingers for you to see. Your creamy slick covers his fingers, catching the light as he moves his hand before he licks them clean. Purposefully making a show of it. 
He waits until you begin to speak before he swipes his tongue through your folds. 
“Javi,” you begin to chastise. 
“Just cleaning up your mess.” He mutters, dipping his tongue back inside. He hums approvingly, dragging his tongue along your slit and swirling around your clit before diving back in. 
“Javi-”
“Didn’t realize how messy you are.” He moans against your core. “Gonna take longer than I thought it would.” 
You whine as he curls his tongue inside, pressing against your clit with the bridge of his nose. That familiar heat begins to build between your legs. You worry your lip between your teeth, letting the sensation tighten in your belly until it becomes too much. 
You tug on his hair, pulling him away from you. The bottom half of his face shining. 
“Tesoro, ” you breath, “if you don’t fuck me now, I’m gonna-”
“Oh, you’re gonna what?” He raises his eyebrows at you. 
You pause, then pout. “Cry.” 
He chuckles and sighs, getting up. “You sure have me bent around your little finger, bebita.” 
“What?” You blink at him in mock surprise, “I don’t know what you mean, you’re the one incharge here.” 
“Sure.” He murmurs, lightly taking hold of your chin again to kiss you deeply. He intentionally wipes some of your wetness from his cheek onto yours as he moves back, a cheeky smirk on his face. 
You tut, but he quickly kisses you again, wrapping his arms around you and pulling off your top and bra, quickly followed by his own clothes. 
His cock is burning and hard as he rubs it firmly against your skin, only breaking contact to grab hold of your ass and lift you up. He presses you against the wall and raises your legs to his hips, which you quickly wrap around him with a yelp and a giggle into his neck. 
“Gonna fuck me against the wall, sir?”
“Mmm hmm.” 
You grin. “Can’t wait the ten seconds it will take to get to the bed?” 
He shakes his head. “Nope. Plus I want Farrah to see.” He nods to the Farrah Faucet poster above you. 
You snort and shake your head at him. “You’re such a goof.” 
He kisses your cheek, rubbing firm circles into your thighs with his fingers as he holds you up. He slowly rubs the head of his cock against you, rocking his hips to make swallow circles. 
“You fucking love it.” He mutters against your lips as he thrusts into you. 
You moan as he fills you, the stretch of him igniting your deep burn of arousal into a full on blaze. 
“That’s it, that’s better isn’t it? Better for you to be full of my cock, sweet thing.” He mutters as he sheethes himself fully inside, the head of him rubbing perfectly deep. 
You barely manage a nod before he starts moving, fucking you hard against the wall. His hand once again around the back of your head to stop it from smacking against the plaster.
You hang on for dear life, your fingernails digging into his skin unintentionally as he hits that sweet spot again and again and again, knowing he would take care of you, relentless in his pursuit of your pleasure. 
You kiss him hard between your moans and gasp for breath, biting sharply at his bottom lip and whining when he nips you back. 
He shifts his weight slightly, pushing forward with his left  leg and your back arches as he presses deeper, your legs shaking. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoes around your apartment. Javi mutters in half broken sentences under his breath, jumbles of words that would probably still be incoherent if you weren’t distracted by the way rams into you. How he hits every sweet soft so perfectly. 
Pleasure builds in your stomach, your toes curl as he keeps up his relentless pace. Not giving you a moment of reprieve as your hurtle towards your second orgasm.  
You squeeze his biceps, trying to stave off your pleasure for a moment longer, but it’s seemingly impossible with the way he moves in you. 
“Gonna make me cum, baby.” You whine in his ear and Javi’s thrusts stutter for the smallest moment, a quiet groan escaping his lips before he recovers himself and focuses all his energy on stuffing himself into you at the exact same pace. 
“That’s it baby,” he grunts, sweat beading on his brow, “squeeze my cock, cum for me-oh shit!”
You cum hard against him, gasping as your walls clamp down around his thick length and digging your nails into his skin. For a second it’s like you're floating. 
He thrusts twice more before he buries himself to the hilt and cums deep, pressing his face into your neck and he groans and shakes with the force of it. 
You hold him for a second as he breathes hard, still pinning you to the wall. Once he regained his own composer, Javi took note of your shaking legs and knew as soon as his body weight was taken off you, you were going to sink to the floor. Always a caretaker, Javi gripped your thighs and hoisted you up; instinctively your legs wrapped around him as he carried you to your bed.
“Rub my back?”
“Happily.”
Moments like this seemed so domestic with him, seemed like you were just a normal couple spending a sweaty summer day in bed. Never mind the fact he had 10 minutes before he needed to get the hell out of here before your next client showed up, lest they ran the risk of running into each other. Always a little awkward, and you always tried to schedule a little time in between clients to prevent such meetings. Nothing but class in Candy’s room.
*
“What do you wanna know about Gabriel?” Candy asks him, the sun from her open window illuminating golden off the skin of her back. She lazily smoked a cigarette that Javi gave her; it was practically an agreed upon part of payment at this point.
“Do we really have to just jump into it? Feels so transactional.”
She laughed at that. “Well it is a transaction, Peña. I’m not just calling you up on a random Tuesday to talk drug lords.”
“Yeah, okay. What do you know? Apparently enough if you’re on a first name basis.”
She shrugged. “That’s pretty standard. I’m not going to call him Señor Lorea while he’s balls d-”
“I get the picture.”
Candy gave him some information that was useful to start with; where he socializes with other deals and producers (and hookers), how many children he has, and where they go to school (after making him promise the children wouldn’t be involved), and a few other details. Candy said she could find out more with some time, but Javi had to work to get her out of Colombia. 
“C’mon, you gotta get going before my next client.”
Javier groaned loudly, not wanting to move away from her. “I’ll pay for any time he’s paying for.”
“That’s not how it works, I can’t just call him up and cancel, this isn’t a dinner date.”
“You’re telling me you don’t have his number?” Javi teased, trailing his finger down her spin, noting the way it was more visible than the last time he noticed. He wondered if she was eating okay, or if this was a by-produce of coke parties.
“Most clients want to stay anonymous, they don’t want me calling them in the middle of the day to play boyfriend-girlfriend.”
Javi gently flicked her shoulder, making her giggle. “It’s for your safety, Candy”
“Oh yeah, I won’t know how to get a hold of you otherwise, I can’t just walk into the DEA office, heaven forbid.”
“Well, you could-”
“Can’t let the whole office know you solicit hookers.”
“I think that ship sailed.”
“Your sweet little catholic boy of a partner would have a heart attack.”
Javi chuckled at that. For his own privacy and everyone’s safety, Javi never told Candy the names of his partners; except for Steve, but Steve had met her several times. He did, however, give them all nick names if they stayed around long enough, and Santi’s was obvious. “Pope turns into a blushing virgin every time we have to go to a- a, uuhhhhh” He hesitated on what to call it without offending Candy.
“A whore house?”
“You said it, not me”
Candy turned over and smiled, shoving at him. “Go, I gotta wipe your cum out of me. This boy is a bit of a blushing virgin himself so I gotta be thorough.”
With an over dramatic groan, Javi rolled over and put out his cigarette and took Candy’s to put it out for her. Still, he stuck around as she went to the bathroom to clean up. He lit up a fresh one as he took a look around the apartment. It was clean, dressed up in an effort to hide how cheap the place actually was; posters covering cracks from age and holes made by angry clients, a carpet covering the scratches from when one shoved her into her side table, curtains perpetually covering a side window to hide the bullet hole and duct tape from when a John’s wife caught them. He wanted better for her, he did. He wanted better for all the women he was involved with, for his community, that’s why he did what he did. But Candy was special. He’d been trying to get her a visa for years, but she hadn’t given anything big enough and her life hadn’t been put in danger on behalf of the government for her to be granted one. 
Least he could do was fix her window next time. Let a little sun in.
He looked over the posters. “You got an Aubrey Hephburn poster yet?”
“No, surprisingly.”
“Good, I got you one I saw at a store. Didn’t wanna bring it in case you had one already.”
Candy poked her head out of the bathroom, watching Javi pull on his socks and shoes as he sat on the bed, jeans still unbuttoned. “Javi! You didn’t!”
“I did, hermosa, I’ll bring it next time.”
Grinning, she turned back to fix up her hair in the mirror. “You’re the best, I’m going to give you the best blowjob of your life. Can you hand me some lingerie, baby?”
“Making me pick out what you’re wearing for your next boyfriend, awfully messy.” He teased, but found a red and black bra and panty set.
She dressed as Javier finished smoking his second cigarette.
“Alright! Out!” Candy walked out of the bathroom in a silky, fluffy robe. Javier couldn’t help but smirk at the juxtaposition between how she looked for this new man and him. For him, Candy was perfectly happy to be dressed down with him comfortable, herself. She didn’t have to dress up for him.
As she ushered him out the door, Candy planted a kiss on his cheek before opening it, only to find Santiago on the other side of the door, leaned up against the wall.
“Diego!” Candy said, sounding surprised. “You’re early.”
Santiago, however, was staring wide-eyed at Javier with a strike of fear in him. 
“Garcia, what the hell are you doing here?” Javi couldn’t help the jealousy that crept up in him, instinctively trying to wrap an arm around her that Candy shrugged off. What was he doing with her? He needed to be careful, a DEA agent in bed with a prostitute that was frequented by powerful and dangerous men, he was setting her up for harm. Santiago couldn’t protect her like him.
“I… I was going to wait until it-it’s time… I didn’t want… to be… rudeImsorryIllgo” Santi averted his eyes and headed back towards the stairs. He stopped only long enough to stuff his hand into his pocket, pulling out the money he was going to pay her and sitting it on a wide guard rail before descending down the several flights of stairs.
Candy turned to Javi. “What the hell was that?”
Grabbing the money and placing it in Candy’s hands. “My partner.” Javi quickly ran down the stairs, following after the flustered kid. “GARCIA!”
*****************************
CATS OUT OF THE BAAAAGGGGGG
Poor little flustered santi ;-; I love him.
And my precious, protective baby boy.
Also, THERES A PLAYLIST NOW! Please comment songs you think fic the vibe. 70's music but 80's and 60's is okay too, even outside of those decades as long as they fit the vibe or the content (I.e. I have some Lana Del Rey because I think it sounds right, or I have sugar sugar by the archies bc the line "you are my candy girl" etc.)
Gonna take a moment to plus my latest series on my dark blog, Blessed be the Fruit, a Handmaid's Tale AU with Joel (and some Tommy) it is a dark fic so dub con due to the nature of the AU, but not the gaphic horrors of TWW.
Again, thank you thank you thank you for my beleoved Fen for writing the smut!
Comment to be added the tag list!
@runa-falls @lunar-ghoulie @campingwiththecharmings @whatthefishh @itspdameronthings @persephone-girl @criticalarchitecture @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @beelzebeth87 @pimosworld @millerscoffee @heareball @thatwonderouswoman @poolbool @meveispunk @lovable-liar @millllenniawrites @read-and-wip @missdictatorme @the-fox-den @milkymoon2483 @k-ra @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @rosellacwrites @legendary-pink-dot @dreamingofbucky @axshadows @englandsgray @starsthatwatch @laiisleitte @fairlyang @alwaysmicado @theywhowriteandknowthings @casa-boiardi @lostfleurs @ninebluehearts @puglover12 @sub-aro @laiisleitte @itspdameronthings @heareball @comfortlessjoy @csarab615 @calaveramangonda @bit-dodgy-innit @stevngrant
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lethalchiralium · 9 months
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Diamondback | [1]
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a/n: i love this series and i haven’t even finished out the ending yet
warnings: Mentions of cheating, mentions of pregnancy (not reader), mentions of alcohol
summary: Pine, Arizona. You’ve touched down in Phoenix and driven up to a relatively normal sized city, more than ready to see your best friend and grossly underprepared for an interview you got twelve hours ago. It’s hard to tell if you’re ready, but now you have to be. It’s time to chase the light.
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You weren’t surprised that the Hotshot Fire Station wasn’t located in town, but on a backroad that was in a patch of sand, surrounded by high mountains. Sand has already contaminated your boots and hair by the time you had exited the airport in Phoenix in the early morning. A manila folder sat in between your hands as you looked at the silver building, nerves dancing up and down your spine. The sun was bearing down on you, something that used to really be your friend. 
Change is good. Change is supposed to be good, right? So why am I nervous? Don’t be nervous. People can see when you’re nervous. Quit it. Quit it!
Swallowing a bit of your nervousness, you moved out of the sun and into the building. You opened the door and walked into what appeared like the front room - it was painted a soft beige, floor made of sealed concrete and decorated with mismatched couches and seats - you could hear the clink of workout equipment down the hall, the smell of air freshener was dull. 
This was so much different than your Firewatch tower in Yellowstone National Park; it was a two day hike to it, there was a babbling brook 50 yards away with a small campsite nearby as well. All you had was your radio, books, and binoculars to keep you company for two to four months out of the year, as well as an old laptop that was connected to very shitty ethernet. You had many years of firewatching under your belt, you had taken classes for fire science and wildfire safety, as well as EMT training just in case one of your fellow fire watchers had a medical emergency. You were well prepared for this job, to be a 141 Hotshot.
The 141 Hotshots were the second municipal hotshot crew to ever be formed and based in Arizona, holding up legacy of the Sandstone Mountain Hotshots, who had perished in a wildfire less than a decade prior - it was said that the Superintendent of the 141 had trained under the Superintendent of the Sandstone Hotshots only a few years before the tragedy, a man who you had read about before even thinking about becoming a Hotshot seven years ago, especially before your fiance forced you into fire watch. Wildfire firefighting work was grueling, you were very fit because of your work as a fire watcher, but this takes it to a whole new level.
“Y/N!”
You had stopped in the middle of the front room, eyes now focused on the sweaty and dirt stained face of your childhood best friend - Alex Keller. The man had been kind enough to lend you a room in his apartment and put in a good word to the well-respected Superintendent he had worked for for almost seven years. It had been a few years since you had seen him; you had only a backpack waiting in your rental car. You instantly opened your arms and let Alex hug you, not bothered by the sweat or dirt on him. 
He patted your back before releasing you, a smile on his mustached face. “I hope that dickhead didn’t cause you any trouble.” 
The dickhead he was talking about was your ex-fiancé, the man you definitely did not want to talk or think about. You rolled your eyes. “Alex, I’m fine.”
He gave a small huff before continuing, “Well? Did you decide?”
You held up your folder, to which the man smiled wider. 
“Good! I know Price is gonna like you.” He patted your shoulder before he nodded back towards the hallway he had come from. “C’mon, I’ll give you a tour.” 
“I don’t need a tour, I need to get to my interview-“ You blubbered before he grabbed your arm, pulling you towards him. “Alex!”
“I’m takin’ you to the interview, dingaling.” He chuckled, your apprehension slipped away and you then began to walk beside him. “So stubborn for no reason.”
“I like to think my stubbornness is a good quality.”
Alex gave you a look, you laughed at him. “Sure.” You opened your mouth to retaliate but he kept talking. “Anyway, I’m goin’ to Farah’s after my shift, you’ll have to fend for yourself. You know where I live, and the code to get in.”
You sighed. “I’ll be fine.”
He patted your back, smile still big. “You always are.” He then looked towards the large equipment you two were walking towards, seeing his fellow Hotshots working out or fixing their gear before he took your arm, stopping you from continuing. You looked to your friend as he spoke, “Are you sure you want to do this? It’s a lot different than just sitting in a tower and just watching a fire.”
“I was a Hotshot for a year, Alex.”
“Yeah, six years ago.”
You were about to retaliate to his argument when you heard your last name be called. You looked around Alex to see a genuinely handsome blond man, standing tall with his hands behind his back. Alex turned to look at the man, a hand then clapped your back. “Y/N, this is Assistant Superintendent Riley.”
Riley had a bored look in his eye, it made your skin bristle a little. He glanced to Alex before going, “Supe’s waitin’ on you, L/N.”
British? You glanced at Alex before he pushed you forwards, you immediately kept walking towards the door Riley was holding open. You nodded to him before walking into the office, watching as the man you were hopefully interviewing with stood.
Damn, what is with having pretty superiors?
“L/N, I’m Superintendent John Price of the 141 Hotshots, and you’ve just met my Assistant, Simon Riley.” 
“British?” You blurted out as you held out your hand.
John chuckled a little before he took your hand with a firm handshake. “Yes, Liverpool. Simon’s from Manchester.” He gestured to the seat across from him as you let go and you instantly sat down, then handed him your manila folder. He took it, settling down in his chair as you heard the office door click. Footsteps behind you instantly told you that Simon intended to stay for the interview, noticing in the corner of your eye that Simon now leaned against the wall, watching you. “So, I heard you were fire watch?” 
Your full attention was on John now, he had settled onto his arms on his desk. You nodded in response. “Six years.”
“Lonely up there.” Simon commented, John gave him a sharp look before gazing back at you.
“Keller said you were a Hotshot before. Why’d you quit?” You stared at John, noticing he hadn’t even opened your folder of qualifying classes and certificates. 
“Fiancé-“ You cut yourself off before continuing. “Ex-fiancé convinced me to do fire watch instead. Said it was less dangerous, which it is.”
There was a twitch in John’s eye. “Then why are you here?”
“For a job-“
“Don’t run around the question. Why would you leave a cushy job that I’m sure pays well in one of the most beautiful National Parks in the world?”
“To be clear, sir,” Your eyes narrowed. “My personal business as to why I decided to change my career so quickly is none of your concern. I can promise it won’t be a problem, I didn’t leave because I was forced or fired.” You glanced to Riley. “And I may have not been on a team for the past few years, but that doesn’t mean I’m not a team player.”
The Superintendent in front of you chuckled, your facial expression didn’t change but your chest tightened.
I’ve done it again. There goes my new job. Rest in peace my independence - I’m gonna have to move in with Mom. 
“You have all of your qualifications?”
A moment of shock stopped you from speaking, but you pushed through it, confusion flooding through your chest. “Uh, yeah. In the folder, fire science, EMT, fire safety training-“
“Where were you a Hotshot?” Simon’s voice made you look over to him, your answer instant, “Diamond Mountain.”
Simon whistled. “Up near Reno?”
You nodded as you looked back to John. “Was tough. No one liked me on the team except the Supe. Said I had potential.”
He had finally opened your file folder, flipping through the papers with almost blatant disregard for any of the information on the printed pages. He closed the folder after only looking through it for fifteen seconds, tossing the file back onto the desk. He settled on his elbows as he leaned forwards. “That Supe gave you flying colors when I called him.” Oh thank you, Breaker, thank you. Best Supe ever. “Said he was disappointed to see you go to fire watch so quickly.” You kept stoic, watching as John stared back. “You’re not gonna quit on me, are you?”
“No sir.”
“Not gonna run off when shit hits the fan? Or use this as a step to get to structure?”
“No sir.”
With one nod, John sat back in his chair.
“The crew’s going on a hike.” He nudged his chin towards the door. “Got running shoes, Firewatch?”
With a smile on your face, you nodded. 
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Summers in your fire watch tower were hot and dry - you used to sit at the worn desk, a book you’ve read thousands of times under your fingertips, as you watched over the large fields of brush and the faraway whispers of dense forests in the heart of Yellowstone. The four fans about the small one room cabin were on high, trying to move air around and keep you from overheating. It was nice, calm - even when you were watching a wildfire one year with high distance binoculars. Something about relaxing in the cabin and being over ten thousand feet in the air - it gave you a sense of calm. After years of having to fight to prove yourself, somewhere you can just be yourself was dropped into your lap.
Your heart was in your throat, you supposed sand had lodged into your esophagus by the time the 141 Hotshots had hit the second mile of the ‘hike’. Alex was kind enough to stay behind with you, not saying a word as the jog up a steep terrain was about to throw you into the hands of God. Both Price and Riley were at the head of the single file line, it slithered through the well defined trail like a Western Diamondback Rattlesnake - poised and ready to strike. There was a soft jingle that came from Alex, the sound of his two necklaces, and there was only the chchchchch of shoes against loose gravel and sand. 
You were supposed to be up in that stupid one room cabin in Yellowstone by now, but here you were. Pushing yourself well beyond your now adjusted limits, you didn’t feel the need to entertain Price's statement in your head - you didn’t leave your ‘cushy’ job in Yellowstone for fun; you didn’t even want to go, but there was no way you were staying anywhere near Justin and that oddly sweet southern girl he got pregnant. You quite literally packed up three outfits, a couple pairs of underwear, and only took two pairs of socks and shoes. You had nothing else with you, anger pumped through your veins so intensely, that you wouldn’t dare go get the rest of your belongings without someone to keep you in check. 
“Don’t beat yourself up.” 
You looked to your right, seeing that Alex had slowed to your pace to talk to you. You then gazed back in front of you, seeing the person in front of Alex had a shirt tagged ‘Soap’. What the Hell kind of name is Soap? “I’m not.”
Alex chuckled. “Sure.” His elbow hit your arm, your head whipped to look at him. “It’s okay to be upset.”
You glared at him, eyebrows furrowed as you kept pace. “I don’t want to talk about it.” You pushed yourself further, closing the distance with the Soap Guy by a couple of feet. Alex was instantly at your side again. If you weren’t trying to be on your best behavior, you’d throw a punch directly in his smug face. He was right when he said Justin was bad news, and you were dreading the ‘I told you so’. “Can we do this later?”
Without even looking, you knew Alex gave you the look that he always gave you - you’re lying and I know you are, so I’m gonna wait until you’re not being stupid to talk about it. “I got you a key for my apartment, it’s coming in tomorrow. I didn’t really have time to clear my spare room, though.”
The sun was burning you, you regretted not thinking about sunscreen in that Phoenix airport store, you regretted not having better jogging gear, and you definitely regretted not packing your suitcase. You would have all of your hiking gear, but this job was quite literally a last minute decision you made in an airport bar. But did you regret this?
Your head looked out to the right, watching the scenery slowly change as you jogged behind the line of well-trained or in-training Hotshots. Golden colored brush, tall trees that you observed were pines, and an occasional cactus. You then looked back to Alex, his head faced ahead. He had truly grown into a handsome man, much more confident than that young adult you left in New Orleans six years ago. Sun-kissed skin and obviously gelled hair, a smile that seemed permanent; your best friend had done well for himself, you thought you had done the same. But your life had exploded into a million pieces, cutting into your not so delicate skin. You had to prove yourself, you had to do this to gain control again or everything might fall apart again.
You weren’t quite sure that you would actually regret this change, but anything was better than that one bedroom apartment in the Irish Channel in New Orleans, and with the witch of a woman who called herself your mother.
You turned your head forwards. “I’ll try to get out of your hair as quick as I can.”
“Don’t rush it.”
“Alex-“ You turned to look at him, but realized the group had slowed, you stopped on a dime. 
The blond looked at you, giving you another look but it was one you couldn’t read. His hand settled on your back, pushing you to stand in between him and the stopped Soap Guy. “We’ll chat later.”
The booming voice of John Price made you snap to attention, “This is what we have been assigned to preserve. Take a breath.” You took a breath through your nose, the air tasted nothing like Yellowstone - the air in the valley you stood above was bitter and gritty, but it felt clean. “Then look out onto these thousands of acres of forest, admire it.” Your eyes fluttered as you gazed upon thousands of acres of dense pine trees, fields of brush and grass, and mountains that danced through the landscape. A twinge of guilt trembled through your stomach, guilt that you had left your entire life for an incredibly dangerous job that can get you killed at almost any turn. Your eyes moved from the horizon to the bearded man, watching as he fixed the band on his watch without even a glance to it, his eyes on all of the crew you only had a moment to glance over earlier. You watched his eyes scan every single person’s face before his eyes landed on you, maybe just for a moment too long before he looked to Alex. 
“Breathe it in, because this will be one of the last times that you can look upon this sight without any negativity.”
It was truly a sight that stood before you. Breathing in air you’ve never had the chance to before, seeing the wonders of nature in a different place of America was incredible. Your lungs burned, you hadn’t had a fast-paced and tough hike since you were a Diamond Mountain Hotshot. It was good, you knew it was good for you - your eyes wandered back to Price.
“Because once I’m done with you,” His blue eyes landed upon you again, his voice sharp like a dagger as it sliced the sentiment into your brain. “all you’ll see is fuel.”
Okay, get yourself out of the gutter. He’s your boss, not a fucking treat to dangle in front of yourself! You literally just broke up with Justin, you cannot get the hots for your hot boss! KEEP IT TOGETHER!
He gave you a smirk before he started to jog towards you - then past you, then Riley behind him, and the crew followed. You waited for the Soap Guy to go for you to turn and go, but you noticed in the crew that you weren’t the only female - you didn’t catch that earlier when you went out to get your running shoes from your rental car. The only one who even looked at you gave you a smirk, she had almost black hair cut right at her shoulders, covered in tattoos. She was four people ahead of you, so it shouldn’t be hard to find her and hopefully make a friend out of Tattoo Girl. Your eyes then moved to the bold letters on the shoulders of the Soap Guy. You then saw him look over his shoulder at you.
What the fuck is with all of these guys being pretty?
“Say ye'r th' fresh meat. Alex said a lot o' guid things.” He had a wild mohawk and a charming smile, his fingers pinched the front of his shirt so he could somewhat fan himself.
“Scottish.” You remarked as Soap chuckled, following the person in front of you - you followed too, but he had moved to jog beside you like Alex. “Why do they call you Soap?”
The man looked over onto his back, tsking before giving someone ahead in line an invisible dagger through their chest. “Damn bastard wasn't suppose tae put that on mah shirt.”
Alex elbowed you again, you kept your eyes forwards now. The trail was becoming steep again, but it was easier to descend than to climb earlier. Your lungs were burning, but you were somehow pushing through. Adjusting and all that jazz. This shit is gonna suck with all the weight I have to carry during drills. Hopefully I get used to the heat quickly or else this might actually break me.
The Soap Guy cleared his throat, nudging you with a knuckle, you didn’t spare a moment to look at him. “Top secret!”
“He put Dawn dish soap in the dishwasher one night, and we came back to the station to a floor of bubbles. So his name is Soap.” Alex snickered, a smile grew on your face as Soap audibly deflated.
“So why aren’t you named Bubbles?” You kept your arms close to your chest as the route kept winding around, both men allowing you the worn gravel path as they opted for the sand and patches of grass.
Soap scoffed, “What, so I can be th’ ‘prettiest girl at th’ party’?”
A cackle of laughter came from the man you were following, another man with a nickname written on the back of his shirt - but he was conscious about the sun by wearing what looked like a well loved baseball cap. In big black letters in between his shoulder blades was ‘GAZ’, and Gaz kept cackling like a hyena. Soap took a couple fast strides forwards, immediately tugging Gaz into his sweaty armpit. The man screeched, Soap yelling some Scottish obscenities that you wouldn’t have been able to decipher if you tried. All Alex did was laugh, you watched as Soap now jogged next to Gaz, who was trying to get out of his hold. 
“That’s the Team Leaders for you.”
You spared a look to Alex. “Team Leaders? Them?”
Your friend shrugged. “For as stupid as they act now, they’re amazing in the field.”
“Good to know.” Your legs burned, chest roared in pain. You gazed out onto the landscape, now noticing that the silver dot in the distance was turning into the Fire Station. “I could use a drink.”
“I also feel that you need a drink.”
You reached out and smacked Alex’s arm, snapping at him, “That’s not funny.”
He glanced to you, grabbing your hand and squeezing it. “There’s a quiet bar in town, I’ll send you the address.”
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By the time you had gotten into your rental car after being dismissed with the rest of the Hotshots, you were exhausted. Lungs hummed with a slight burn, your back splattered with aches. It wasn’t hard to know you needed a stiff drink, especially after changing career paths drastically and uprooting your entire life. 
You ditched going to Alex’s apartment as soon as you realized you really only had three outfits and barely any necessities to last you four days. Instead of going out to the nearest Walmart to get some new underwear and some shampoo that wasn’t Alex’s, you found yourself at the polished dark oak stool of a warmly lit quiet bar. There were barely a handful of souls in the small and cozy bar, it was well decorated and taken care of - yet you haven’t seen a bartender for twenty minutes. At least you were tired enough not to care, just glad you remembered deodorant when you had gotten back to your car. The bar had good air conditioning, softly blowing cool air around the black and gold themed bar. 
Your phone had been off all day, but now it sat in your hands, on and with non-stop notifications. You had instantly put on Do Not Disturb, upset about it. Hundreds of calls from your ex-fiancé, almost a thousand texts, begging for forgiveness, then blaming it on you, then apologizing. Next was the calls from his mother, his three sisters, his brother - all people you had considered family. All were either asking where you were or asking to talk, to have Justin explain. You wouldn’t dare listen to them, wouldn’t dare listen to their defense for a slimy cheater. You wished you could just shove one sentiment down their throats:
He’s a liar, pathetic, mean, and he’s gonna get what’s coming to him. I don’t fucking cater to him anymore. He’s gonna have to learn how to suck the energy out of someone else.
The only message you wanted to read was from Justin’s father, a man you respected deeply and one you knew despised cheating. In your bones, you knew that man would take your side, even if the rest of his family took your ex-fiancé’s. The only reason why you didn’t tap on the message was because a voice had broken you from your focus.
“Thought I told you to go home and rest?”
You looked up in surprise, seeing the familiar face of Simon… behind the bar. Your eyebrows furrowed, “I thought you were a Hotshot?” 
The blond shrugged in his white button up and black vest, resting his tattooed hands on his side of the bar. “Gotta have a year round job, had to pick up a shift for Lucy.”
You didn’t look away from Simon when you turned off your phone. “141 Hotshots aren’t year round?”
“God no.” He shook his head, pulling out a clean glass and a napkin, letting it settle on the bar in front of your folded arms before setting the cold glass in front of you. “We’re only mandatory for 90 consecutive days a year - I still need this cash for gas.”
A nod, you settled your phone in your lap. “Long Island, please.”
His hand was reaching for water, but it had stopped. He gave you a sharp look, a warning. “You almost passed out coming down the trail. My statement still stands,” He took the glass back, pouring water into it from the pitcher he retrieved only a minute ago. “Go home.”
Your phone buzzed in your lap. The pit of despair in your stomach got deeper. “One drink.”
He placed the glass of water in front of you. “Drink it, then go home.”
A straw was set in front of you, but you didn’t move your stare from the blond’s face. “I just moved across the country with the clothes on my back and barely enough money to rent a car.” You moved the glass off of the napkin, setting it a few inches away as you continued, “I’m moving into my best friend’s apartment because my eight year relationship ended ‘cause my fiance had to get his dick wet with another girl for an entire year.”
The stare of your Assistant Superintendent would’ve made you laugh if you weren’t waist deep in misery; his eyebrows furrowed just a little, his lips pressed into a thin line. His hand raised from the bar, grabbing another glass. 
“Not to mention his mistress is pregnant.”
He let out a grunt, moving away from you to grab the liquor. “One drink.”
The buzzing phone on your lap did nothing to deter your small smile. “Thanks, Assistant Supe.”
He turned around, a small chuckle escaped him as he said, “You can just call me Captain like everyone else.”
“Captain Riley,” You smiled, he gave you a glare over his shoulder. “Thank you.”
He turned back around, grabbing his bottle of liquor before returning to his spot from before. He began to make your Long Island Iced Tea, eyes kept on his work as he spoke, “Remember to be at the firehouse at 6am. This is your only drink tonight.” Ice cubes clinked the glass as they were dropped in. “You got a ride home?”
You shrugged. “I’ll be fine.”
Simon looked up from his work, meeting your eyes with a sharp gaze. “I’ll take you home.”
A flush ran through your chest, eyebrows raising as you blubbered, “No, I’ll be fine, I promise-”
His hand waved a little. “Just wait for me.”
You smiled at him. “Thanks, Cap.”
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I’ve had this idea in my head where both reader and Scud work in the shop as a couple, and Blade has been putting them to work so much that they can’t find time for anything else, leaving Scud super needy! Also I don’t know if you’d be down to write any male readers but it’s so hard to find any 😭
UMM I’D LOVE TO START WRITING FOR MALE READERS TOO?? I used to do a lot of FxF and MxM when I started writing but I’m still new to x readers so this is gonna be a nice challenge PLUSS I still need to get better grounded with Scud
I’ve rewatched like all his scenes and realized he’s just a stoned, sassy, nerdy mechanic who definitely jerks off in the back of his van
May I offer anyone a plate of bottom Scud!? 🎀 If I was boy I’d fuck the actual brains out of him
。・:*:・゚★,。・:*:・゚☆
If Blade gave you one more assignment to do, you were either going to kill him or yourself.
It felt like everytime you neared the end of another one of his grueling tasks, he came rounding the corner with another lingering on his tongue. You only stare daggers into his soul as he speaks it into the air.
Minutes turn into long hours in the shop, welding parts back together while having to mend and bend metals. You were nose deep in work, so much so that it left practically no time to stop and have a proper conversation, only ever going over to talk business and business only.
However, lord knows when you’ve got The Scudster hanging around, business talk is boring talk.
The first time you walked over to his station was in a hastily search of a torch gun, spotting it on Scud’s desk and swiping it off, not realizing he wss mid roll of a joint and swiftly knocking the herb onto the floor, hearing his cry of distress ring out behind you.
You had made a mental note to buy him another quarter the next time you got extra cash, but the thought was quickly burned away with a flick of the torches trigger.
Unfortunately, good work takes time and patience, which Scud does not have. He sits lounging in the chair with his joint, (real stoners smoke the weed off the floor) lazily clicking away on the computer. He thinks about you and how you’re just around the corner, loud clattering coming from your station.
Scud sighs to himself at first, he missed you. He missed you even though he could see a glimpse of your moving frame, which only made him miss you more. Scud sighs a lot louder this time, now growing antsy for some attention.
He wanted you to straddle his lap and tug his choker in the teasing way you do, taking big long drags from his joint before blowing them down into his throat. Scud rested his head in his hand, feeling his cock stir in his pants as he thought about you. He wanted you to ride him, or maybe he wanted to ride you.
Scud’s body started to tingle as he imagined all the things he wanted to do to you, running his hands up your shirt or even down your pants. He could feel his cheeks turning red as his cock twitched, feeling his pants start to tighten.
The door to the shop swung open, Blade striding in down the stairs obviously with another assignment for you. “Hey B!” Scud called out, hopping to his feet off the chair and stepping in front of the man.
“Josh.” Blade frowned at the male standing in his way.
“Look man can ya give Y/n a break? Whatever it is I’ll do it, just let him rest for an hour” Scud spoke in a low voice, knowing that if you overheard him you’d tell him that your fine and can handle it.
Blade analyzed him for a moment, glancing between Scud and you. “An hour. Both of you. Be ready for my return” When he swiftly turned and walked out, Scud silently pumped his fists in the air before practically skipping over to you.
Scud slams into you from behind, tossing his arms around you and plucking the joint from his mouth, exhaling the smoking into the space around you. “Hey there, handsome” He brought the herb up to your lips and snagged the torch gun out your hands, moving it off to the side and spinning your chair, straddling your lap.
You smiled up at him, feeling your pants start to tighten as you took a long, much needed drag from the joint. “Hey there, Sctud” He scoffed at the nickname, lightly shoving you with a playful smirk. “I get you a break and this is my thank you? How rude”
“I felt like I was gonna die! It never ended” You groaned, tossing your head back as you spoke around the smoke. Scud took the opportunity to dip his head down and mark up the bane skin of your neck, since you were flashing it all to him of course. He grinded against you, feeling your soft moan vibrate under his tongue.
Scud sucked and bit along the underside of your jaw, trailing up to your lips and watching as you took a deep drag, pulling Scud closer by the choker around his neck. Your lips crashed together, exhaling the smoke as Scud licked into your mouth. His hands cupped your face as he grounded his hips down, feeling you becoming increasingly harder underneath him. “I missed you” He mumbled against your lips, and adorned a dorky smile.
You brought the joint to his lips, moving your hands down to unbuckle both your pants. “I missed you too… how long do we have?” You freed your cocks and kept a steady hand on Scud’s hip as he shoved his pants further down, grunting when you wrapped your other hand around the two of you.
“An hour, been thinking about this all day” The stoner replied in a giddy tone, nibbling on his lip as you began to stroke your cocks from base to tip, purposely running your fingers more over Scud’s leaking head then your own. “Of course you have, boy liker” You huffed out against his lips, reaching back up to lock your lips together.
Scud stubbed the rest of the joint out and left it to be forgotten on the table, guiding your other hand up to his choker while rocking his hips against you. You drank up each others noises, feeling Scud’s vibrate under your fingers as you circled around the base of his neck, tugging the golden jewelry and swallowing his choked off whine. “C’mon baby, fuck me please”
You tightened your grip, focusing your strokes around the tips of your cocks. “I will, just not this second” Scud pouted and you kissed it away, moving to attack his throat. You sucked deep marks into the flesh, making sure to coat every inch of his pale skin in large red and purple love marks, some bites.
Scud moaned a little too loudly when you slipped a hand down to his entrance, teasing his puffy rim with your finger as you dragged your other hand back down to the base, increasing the pace this time as you ran back up to slick tips. You shushed him softly, pressing your forehead against his. “You wouldn’t want Blade to come see how much of a slut you are, would you?” Scud’s face bursted a tomato red, and his shook his head, cock twitching needily against yours.
“Please, please fuck me” He whispered, arms draped over your shoulders and the chair. “Just wait, I’m getting close” You teased, continuing to stroke both your cocks as Scud shifted in your lap. “Can’t you just finish inside me? Please?” At that, you slowed your movements, searching his eyes for a moment before spinning around in the chair, rising to your feet and turning Scud, formally bending him over the table.
His cheek smacked the table yet he landed with a groan, anticipation and need pulsating in his dick.
You spit a large puddle onto your finger, bringing the digits down to Scud’s hole and carefully pushing them in, listening for any sounds of discomfort. You gave him a moment to adjust, watching him squirm a bit before glancing at you over his shoulder. You leaned down to kiss him, giving him a small smile as you wiggled your fingers. “Good?”
Scud nodded, eyes lidded as he moved to lock his lips onto yours, moaning sweetly as you started to thrust your fingers. He stretched around you easily, greedily sucking you in when you made the move to slip a third finger in. You drank up every little whine and whimper that he made, scissoring the digits as you increased your pace.
“Mmh.. come on m’ready” Scud mumbled against your lips, slotting them back in place quickly. You pulled away from him once again, ignoring his whine of protest. “Are you sure? I don’t wanna hurt you” You whispered, concern evident on your face. Scud kissed your worries away, blue eyes fluttering up to look at you. “I need you, like now”
With that, you pulled your fingers out of him, spitting on your cock and spreading it around, teasing his twitching hole with your tip. Unfortunately you didn’t have a lot of time, so your teasing didn’t last long as you started to ease into Scud, the stretch sending chills up his spine as he exhaled a moan.
Scud fisted his cock in his hand, whimpering into the the table when you started to slowly thrust in and out of him, giving him the time to adapt.
It didn’t take long, with as needy as he was his hole stretched easily around you, his breathing picking up speed underneath you.
You gradually started to increase your pace, gripping his hip with one hand while the other moved up to his hair, yanking back a fistful of it. Scud groaned, each snap of your hips sending his cock forward into his hand. “Harder” He nibbled on his bottom lip, body starting to heat up as spark flew through it. You pulled him back onto your cock by his hair, shifting a little to angle yourself. Scud choked back a high gasp when you pulled back and nailed his prostrate, electricity zipping through his entire core as you did it again.
“Is this what you want?” You set a grueling pace this time as you slammed into Scud, who had become a lot louder and more vocal. “Yes. Oh my fuck- God, yes” He stuttered out, eyes rolling back as his fingers curled into the table, other hand now rolling and thumbing his sensitive tip. Scud was practically flying off the edge now, mind going completely blank as stars danced in his vision, each hard snap of your hips sending him further into the bliss.
Being high off weed and pleasure was a great combination, Scud’s cries and moans now echoing through the shop was a sign of that. “You want everyone to come down here and see us?” You tugged his hair, and moved your hand down the loop your fingers around his choker, pulling it back and smirking at his strangled gasp. “Yes! Want ‘em to see me taking your cock” He was so lost that he couldn’t even touch himself anymore, his other hand coming up to grab onto the table as well.
“God Scud, you really are just a slut” You sped up even more, and Scud almost wanted to cry. “M’your slut, all yours” He babbled, wheezing softly as you pulled his choker even tighter, black dots starting to cloud his vision. He was so close, so very fucking close and every single thrust only sent him closer.
His head was so hazy, eyes fluttering as his mouth hung open, lips slick with spit as he choked out whimpers and gasps, your grip around his jewelry only getting tighter as you also got close, increasing the pace of your hips impossibly more and pounding directly into Scud’s sweet spot, high and breathlessly cries bouncing off the walls as her felt like the ground beneath him had been pulled out.
You fucked him through his orgasm, hips stuttering as his whole body shook, Scud’s eyes rolling into the back of his skull as his nails dug into the wooden table, dots and stars swirling around his eyes as his cock twitched and spasmed, ropes of white landing on the floor. You spilled your own release deep inside him, rocking against his prostrate for a few seconds longer before pulling out, breathing heavily.
Scud remained over the table, grunting softly when you hitched his pants back up and bent down to kiss him. “Good?” He nodded, goofy smile plastering across his face. “Great. Lets finish that joint” Scud raised himself up on his forearms, moving to capture your lips in one last kiss before glancing down around the table, frowning slightly. “Fucking great” You peered down, noticing the crumpled, balled up remains of the stubbed out joint, crushed under Scud’s upper half. “That was all I had left” He pouted, and before you could reach down to kiss it away, the door swung open.
“Alright loverboys, hours up, get back to work. Also, clean whatever that might be up” Blades voice boomed from atop the stairs, and you both flickered your gaze down to Scud’s cum glistening on the floor, embarassment heating both your cheeks. He was gone was quickly as he came, leaving the two of you to giggle and whisper in each others faces, over who would clean the floor. (Scud)
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findingnemosworld · 4 months
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𝐢𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐬𝐚𝐟𝐞 - 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐰𝐢𝐧 𝐧𝐮́𝐧̃𝐞𝐳
• 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲: @ts1m1kas
𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: 𝐟𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞, 𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐞𝐱𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐞𝐝, 𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫.
𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: 𝐚 𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐛 𝐭𝐨 𝐤𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐲'𝐚𝐥𝐥
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" Muñeca!! "
His voice echoes throughout their shared flat as he walked in, an aura of dejection evident through his voice which caused her to poke her head out of the kitchen, " Amor! " it was then that she noticed just how dejected he was which caused her to walk towards him, she didn’t ask as she knew exactly he was in that sense.
He reaches over and tugs her close into his embrace, wrapping both arms around her waist while his head was buried entirely in her neck; she had her arms wrapped his shoulders to hold him as he sobbed in her arms, releasing the weight of every bad performance he had over the the past few weeks.
It wasn’t facile; she knew it wasn’t, it seemed as if people were finding any and all reasons to throw hate his way and while she tried to get him to understand that their opinions did not matter — she knew him, he strives for better each time and never settled for less.
As he seemed to calm down, he pulls back, still sniffling which drew out a soft smile across her lips, " You’re ok? "
He nods then replies, " Sí, thank you amor "
She pressed a soft kiss to his tear stained cheek then murmured, " Listen, how does a warm bath with bath salts sound? "
He offers her a weak smile and a nod, " Sí, por favor " he whispers.
She beams then says, " I’ll set it up "
He watched her walk towards their bedroom before making his way into their kitchen to find pots on the stove along with sealed containers of what he assumed to be a salad, the sight had softened his heart, reminding him of the times he’d return home from training to find that his mother had prepared food for him, especially after a grueling day or in this case, a grueling match.
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of her voice calling out for him, he turns around to walk towards their bedroom, he walks in to see that she had laid out a change of clothes for him, " Amor, I … " he paused, overwhelmed by emotion as he reaches over to kiss her cheek.
She smiles at him then says, " You don’t have to say any thing mi vida, just go on and relax, the water’s still hot "
He nods but just as she was about to leave, his hand wraps around her elbow, " Por favor, stay " he whispers.
Her heart clenched at the dejection evident from his tone, " I … I’m gonna go set up dinner for you "
He shakes his head, " I don’t need to eat, I just need you "
She leans over in order to caress his cheek and murmur, " I’ll be there in a minute "
Akin to a child, he shakes his head once again and pouts. " Stay! "
She follows him into their bathroom where he turns to her and pouts, almost as if he was silently communicating with her, she offers him a soft smile and walks up to him, helping him undress before he carefully slid into the bathtub, " ¿Puede ayudarme? " he murmurs with a pleasing tone.
She kneels down to help him; in that moment they didn’t need to speak, his expressions were more than enough, he reaches over to squeeze her hand in gratitude which in turn drew out a smile from her, " Relax amor "
He nods, his eyes flutter shut as he allowed himself to finally release the tension that has been hanging on his shoulders for the past few months, her touch was soothing, so much so that an involuntary moan escapes his lips in response to her effortless touch, she blushed and decided not to comment on it, " You’re all freshened up " she murmured.
She helps him get dressed then the pair move to the kitchen, he sits on the barstool and watches her with pure adoration as she prepared a plate of food for him then served it in front of him, just then she turns around and he says, " What about you amor? "
" You eat first, I just need to wash the dishes " She states.
" Amor, por favor " He pleads with a soft tone before adding, " I won’t eat until you have your plate next to mine "
She giggles, " You sound like a child "
" Well that’s cause I love you " He retorts before smiling, " Just come over here "
" Alright, alright! " She relents, serving herself before she takes a seat next to him.
The pair eat in a wave of comfortable silence with him finding her hand to give her a gentle squeeze in gratitude, she offers him a soft smile in return — later on, he insists on her ( or rather forced her ) to let him wash the dishes, she stood next to him as he carefully washed them in silence before he said, " Thank you for taking care of me "
She beams, " Always mi amor "
He leans forward to press a kiss on her forehead then murmur, " Te quiero mucho "
" Yo tambien te quiero " She smiles.
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chloes-awfully-soft · 3 months
Text
Hello horny tumblr girls, I wrote this little tease, hope you like to.
Blue screen
Basically a smut tease, only slightly spicy.
“Hey, don’t you fucking dare touch that!”
The bot currently fiddling with a weathered screwdriver irreverently drops it back down on the operating tray she got it from. She’s been on the table completely naked, in various states of disrepair for four hours now, in and out of consciousness, getting essentially an entire rebuild after the disaster last night.
“You’re a fucking prick dude”
“Whatever, I’m not getting payed to be triggered by your bullshit.”
The gruff mechanic attaches the last panels necessary for Ava to walk around safely with worrying about water exposer or wires getting cut.
“I Can barely stay conscious still, are you sure you fixed me right? I feel like I’m watching myself live through a tv screen right now. And my head fucking hurts”
“Last fucking question Ava, yes I fixed you right you’ll be fine.”
“But…”
“Shut, the fuck, up okay.”
He snaps her calf plate into place firmly, very intentionally causing her a sharp pinching sensation. Ava glares at her mechanic.
“I’m gonna fucking kill you someday Steve”
“Ya, aight kiddo, go talk to the software engineer everyone in the building knows your fucking and make sure she gets your head screwed on right. You’re most likely very poorly optimized right now which is why you feel like a goldfish in a plastic bag.”
Ava stands on her own two feet for the first time since yesterday evening. She grabs her jacket, slings it over her shoulders, and starts walking to her girlfriend’s workshop. Her mostly bare, silver body reflects the light from small windows she passes and she makes her way down the stairs. Steve was the single most annoying person she’d ever met, but at least he was willing to put her back together despite calling her out for her bitchy behavior at every opportunity. She was trying her best to walk with confidence, but she was starting to blue out every few seconds. It was getting really bad. She might blue screen and be unconscious in one of the empty maintenance hallways for god knows how long. Before long, and after a couple concerning error codes she’s in front of the software workshop. She fumbles in her jacket pockets for her keycard. Eventually she finds it and slides it haphazardly through the reader on the wall. The door slides open and finally, after almost a full day of grueling repairs, she gets to see the most beautiful girl in the whole world soldering at her desk.
“Ava!”
The engineer clamors out from behind her desk and comes rushing to embrace the cold stainless steel plates that protect Ava’s sensitive internals. She lays a deep passionate kiss on her bot lovers lips. Ava blue screens.
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