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luxcuriousao3 · 2 months ago

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Fevered Mistakes

Summary: Ghost, a formidable Alpha, is captured and dosed with rut inducers. You are the omega he's tossed into a cell with. WC: 3429 Warnings: a/b/o, graphic nonconsensual sex, nonconsensual drugging, unprotected PIV sex, referenced torture/experimentation, blood, vomit, death, hurt no comfort, background ghoap, POV switches denoted by triple asterisks (***) Notes: Based off the first half of this post that I made a bit ago. Ngl, I don't really like how this one turned out, but y'all were begging for it so, so I feel bad just letting it rot in my google docs lol. There are two scrapped versions of a second chapter that would make this fic farrrrr less angsty, but idk if I'm ever gonna continue this, so I'm treating this like it's a one-shot with the warnings. If I ever do post a continuation, it will be linked on my masterlist, so you can check for it there. And hey, maybe if y'all share your thoughts about this in my inbox or whatever, it might entice the brainworms again lol. Taglist: @captainsherlockwinchester110283

There was a girl in the cell.

She was small and soft in the way that almost all omegas were, though it was her scent that really gave her status away. Sweet and alluring but soured by fear, it invaded his nostrils and made him all the more dazed. The blow to his head, the one that had landed him in this situation, would have been hard enough to kill him, had he not been an Alpha.

He’d been sloppy. Let his feelings for Johnny get in the way of procedure. But seeing his beta, laid out on the floor, bleeding from his head, still as a corpse… he couldn’t have controlled himself if he tried. And at that point, he hadn’t wanted to try.

He’d gotten distracted, and he’d paid the price.

It had been three days since he'd been captured, by his best estimate. It was hard to measure, between the head injury and being kept in a room with no windows. All he had to go off of was how often someone came in to torture him for information. He never gave any up, of course. Even compromised, he never would. He'd been trained far better than that.

Still, he wasn’t in very good shape. Beaten to hell and back, his head scrambled… his feet dragged uselessly as he was pressed up against the bars, one of his captors unlocking the cuffs on his wrists while the other two kept him restrained. The fourth jammed a syringe into his neck, injecting him with some unknown substance. Ghost tried to break free, to throw a punch or a kick, anything, but his reflexes were sluggish, his thoughts painfully slow. All he succeeded in doing was annoying them, and he got an elbow to the back of his neck for the trouble.

He was no omega, couldn’t be immobilized by a simple scruffing, but fuck if that shit didn’t still hurt like a bitch. He collapsed to the concrete floor of the cell with an animalistic howl, and the sourness in the omega’s scent spiked, her heart rate speeding up. Ghost couldn’t find it in himself to care—the very last of rational thought was beginning to abandon him as the pain spread from the back of his neck throughout his entire body, growing unbearable as it reached his groin. He felt like there was fire raging just beneath his skin, and his senses sharpened as his dark gaze locked onto the wide-eyed omega curled up in the corner, neck cracking unsettlingly with the speed at which he turned. He had time for only one more thought before instincts took over, his heart dropping out his arse as dread turned the blood in his veins to ice before it began to boil all over again.

Rut inducers.

***

When you woke up, you were escorted to the cell in which you spend your heats. That confused you, since your next heat wasn’t supposed to be for another month at least.

It also terrified you.

Though you didn’t remember much of what happened during your heats, you did remember the pain. The desperate, burning need for an Alpha’s knot, and the aching, gaping emptiness when you were denied it, the only thing that could bring you any relief. This cell held nothing but bad memories, and you didn’t want to be anywhere near it.

But you had no choice. For as long as you could remember, you did as you were told, the way a good omega should. In your sleep, you thought maybe you saw glimpses of a time when things were different, when there were no scientists in white coats and men and women in military uniforms controlling your life. But you knew those were just dreams. None of it was real.

You sat on the thin mattress in the cold, dank cell for hours before something finally happened that could explain why you were there. A man was brought in—massive and with a terrifying skull mask on his face—and you barely had to take a whiff of him as he was shoved into your cell with you to know that he was an Alpha. There was that familiar smell of damp, scorched earth after a lightning strike, and you knew from the intensity of it that he was angry. No, not just angry. Furious. The very air reeked of electricity and burning plastic, overwhelming any hint of his natural scent. This was an Alpha that was ready to rip, rend, tear, kill. And you were stuck alone in a cell with him.

“Не сопротивляйтесь,” one of the uniformed men told you, expression entirely unsympathetic. It was almost worse than the look of sadistic, scientific glee on the face of the white coat next to him. “Ты сделаешь только хуже.”

Don’t fight back. You’ll only make it worse.

Your eyes widened, and you barely had a chance to shake your head before the unfamiliar Alpha was on you, grabbing your ankle in a brutal grip and dragging you away from the corner you’d curled up in. You screamed in pain as you felt the bone snap like a twig under his large palm, instinctively hitting your hands against his broad chest as you tried to fight him off. If you had been in heat, you wouldn’t have cared, wouldn’t have even felt the pain from him breaking you, would have spread your legs and begged him to knot you. But you weren’t, and so your survival instincts overtook those of your omega. You knew you would be punished later for disobeying, but at the moment, you didn’t care. Anything was better than being knotted by the feral Alpha on top of you. He would maul you to death while he fucked you, you just knew it.

The Alpha grabbed your wrists in one hand, pinning them above your head. The other ripped your shirt off, causing your back to arch and your tits to spill out of your bra. He buried his face in your neck, inhaling deeply and letting out a satisfied growl. You tried to headbutt him, and he snarled in your face, wrapping a hand around your throat and squeezing tight enough to make your vision go black around the edges in less than ten seconds. By the time you caught your breath and were able to think again, his hands were busy yanking down your pants and underwear in one harsh tug. You let out a hoarse shriek of fear, flipping onto your belly to try and crawl away, ignoring the searing pain in your shattered ankle. But that was your fatal mistake. His beefy palm met the back of your neck, fingers digging in as he lifted you slightly by it, his other hand coming around to roughly grope your breasts.

And you stopped.

You stopped moving, stopped screaming, you nearly stopped breathing. You were limp as a ragdoll as he scruffed you, utterly and completely paralyzed. You could do nothing but take it as he shoved your face into the dirty concrete, pried your legs apart, and forced himself inside you. You could feel the agonizing pain as his cock practically tore you in half, could feel the ice cold fear freezing every cell of your body, could feel his blunt nails digging into the ultra-sensitive skin of your nape. You could feel everything. But you couldn’t do anything to stop it.

It seemed to go on forever, and yet take no time at all. One second, you were pliant and supine beneath the Alpha as he pounded into you, his weight constricting your lungs and making it difficult to breathe. The next, the restrictive grip on your neck was gone, replaced by a sharp pain at the junction of it and your shoulder as his teeth sunk into your flesh. Into your mating gland. Your own screams were echoing in the tiny cell, now, no longer confined to your head.

“M’sorry, M’sorry, M’sorry,” a rough, wet voice chanted in your ear. It was the Alpha, speaking to you in English. You could understand it, even if you couldn't speak it. He was still on top of you, still inside you, his knot stretching you far beyond your limits. And yet he was… apologizing? You stopped screaming in your confusion, the terrified screeching replaced by the sound of your heaving sobs.

“M’sorry, M’so sorry, they dosed me, M’sorry,” the Alpha continued, voice slurred. You struggled to focus on his words, distracted by the liquid you could feel dripping down your thighs. It was probably blood, you realized distantly. His knot wouldn’t have let any of his seed escape. That’s what it was there for.

That, and to keep you from running.

The Alpha’s voice grew more and more gravelly as his knot began to deflate, his apologies interrupted by grunts as he began to move his hips again, thrusting in and out of you shallowly. You whined, clawing at the floor, trying to wriggle free, but he just settled nearly his entire weight on top of you.

“Don’ fight,” he growled, and you could tell from the strain in his voice that he was at least trying to resist his instincts. It didn’t make you feel any better, especially not when his fingers inched closer and closer to your nape again. “Don’t, or m’gonna have to— fuck, I don’t— fuckin’ be a good omega an’ take it— m’sorry, fuck— don’t fuckin’ fight me—”

You were still sobbing, shrieking like a dying thing with every quick, brutal snap of his hips against yours. Too out of it from being scruffed, you missed the warning in his jumbled plea threat, continuing to struggle underneath him. You felt your ribs crack as he pressed the rest of his considerable weight onto you, and the strangled, stuttering gasp that left your throat was the kind of sound that belonged in a horror film.

The Alpha seemed to think so too, as he moaned in a horrid mixture of pleasure and abject misery before he scruffed you again. You went still, once more trapped in your own body. It was the worst sensation you’d ever felt, worse than the experiments the white coats ran on you, worse than your punishments, worse than your heats spent alone. Worse than the shattered ankle or broken ribs, worse even than the feeling of him ripping you apart from the inside. You were always helpless and vulnerable, being an omega, but this… when you were scruffed, you were no longer a person. You were just an object, to be used as your Alpha saw fit.

Your Alpha.

The man on top of you—who was knotting you for the second time now—was your Alpha. He’d claimed you, the pain in your shoulder was proof of that. You would wear his mark forever, now. You would belong to him for the rest of your life.

You prayed that it was short.

Your Alpha released his painful grip on your nape again, but you didn’t try to get away this time. You were far too disoriented. Being scruffed once was bad enough, but twice in as many minutes? You could easily go into shock from that. You probably were in shock, but you didn't panic, feeling too distant and floaty. The ice in your veins was numbing you from the inside. That was nice… you leaned into it, letting your blankly staring eyes flutter shut—

“Omega!”

Your eyes snapped back open and you whimpered, trying to curl in on yourself. That only caused pain to flare up all over your body, the burning between your legs as you tugged on his knot pulling another scream from you.

“Stay still,” the same harsh voice ordered, and your instincts forced you to obey. The command was a little more collected this time, a little more coherent, even if he was still groaning and slurring.

“Don' move,” your Alpha panted, each word sounding like it was dragged out of him. He started to fuck you once more. “Don’— don’ wanna scruff you ‘gain.”

You didn’t have it in you to be grateful. Didn’t have it in you to be sympathetic to his situation either, not while he was still rutting into you like an animal.

They dosed me, he’d said. You wished they’d dosed you. At least then you wouldn't feel the pain…

***

Simon had never hated being an Alpha more than in that moment.

Bollocks deep in a pretty little omega, one already stuffed full of his come and wearing his mark… he wished fervently that this was just another of his nightmares, the ones that stuck with him like a bad smell even after escaping Roba.

Between the disorientation from his forced rut and the nasty head injury, he almost let himself believe that it was. If it was a dream, he could give in, and he wouldn’t actually be hurting anyone. He could just ride it out, come in trousers wherever he was sleeping, and hopefully, it would end faster.

But her screams were far too real.

She wailed like she was being flayed alive as she struggled underneath him, and his Alpha—after being denied a partner for his ruts for over a decade—was brutal and swift in its response. Scruffing her like a scrappy mutt, growling in pleasure at the way she submitted to him—the way she was forced to submit to him.

It was nearly impossible to think around how fucked his head was—by instinct and injury both—but after he'd knotted her for the second time, he was able to act a little more like the trained soldier he was, and not like a panicked civvie.

He didn’t argue with himself any longer. He accepted the reality of the situation as it was. He was in rut. He was trapped with an omega. He had brutalized and claimed her. If he kept focusing on trying to stop himself altogether, he was going to kill her. He needed to give up on that and instead just try to minimize the damage.

Starting with stopping her from going into shock, and then stopping her from fighting back. It only made his Alpha all the more eager to dominate her—by any means necessary.

It sickened Simon that that part of him existed. Deep down, he feared that it always had. That Roba hadn’t created it, back in the desert. That he’d just unearthed it. All of Simon’s evilness, all his wicked desires…

It was why he’d never taken an omega before. Never even let himself date one, back when that was something he did.

Johnny was perfect, in that way. In many ways, really, but him being a beta—it soothed Simon’s fears. The fears that were being proved true.

He didn’t know how long passed before the rut inducers wore off. It had to have been hours. The omega—his omega—was still facedown on the ground when he pulled out of her for the last time. She was bleeding from where he’d bitten her, and where he’d bred her, his cock drenched in her blood, her own thighs stained with a mix of it and his come.

Simon threw up at the sight. He told himself it was just from the head injury.

He was naked, except for his mask, which was pushed up past his nose. He didn't remember taking off his trousers, though he recalled that his shirt had been cut to shreds the first day of his captivity by his torturer. He didn’t remember a lot of his mini-rut, as was common when it was induced. But the evidence of what he’d done was right in front of him. The omega—not mine, not my omega, not mine—was clad in nothing but the scraps of her clothes. Her side, hips, wrists, and the back of her neck were bruised. Her ankle was bent at a funny angle. A small patch of hair near her nape was missing, leaving her scalp red and raw. Simon looked at his hands, and found the strands woven between his fingers.

She didn’t move.

Simon pulled his mask into position and Ghost took over. He moved towards the girl, feeling for a pulse. She flinched violently when he touched her neck, and he felt relief—and guilt—reverberate through him. Ghost was good at ignoring his feelings, though.

“S’over,” he told her, voice gruff. “S’done now. Promise.”

The omega didn’t acknowledge his words, just kept her shoulders tucked up by her ears, guarding her neck. Ghost didn't protest, simply felt along her spine for any breaks. He didn’t find any, so he carefully rolled her over.

Her breasts were red and raw, nipples bleeding from being scraped back and forth across the floor. There was a hand shaped bruise around her throat, and petechiae in the whites of her glassy eyes. Ghost ignored his horror at the sight, and began to palpate her ribs. She inhaled sharply when he touched the eighth and ninth ones, a pitiful, pained whine escaping her.

The ribs were probably fractured, if not broken. The bruising above them was clue enough. There was another massive bruise low on her belly, and Ghost swore. Internal bleeding. He may have actually fucked this poor omega to death. There was no way she survived the night if she wasn't treated soon.

He got his pants and trousers on, hoping it would help her believe the worst was over, and then got to work doing what he could—wrapping her ribs with the dirty blanket in the corner, and holding the scraps of her shirt between her legs to try and stem the bleeding there. It wasn't enough. It wasn’t nearly enough. He didn’t even know if it was really worth the discomfort it caused her—but he couldn't bring himself to just let her die. She was his omega.

Not mine, not mine, not mine.

He talked to her as she faded. Tried to keep her awake with the sound of his voice, though he knew it was probably the last thing she wanted to hear. He told her stories from his childhood—the few good ones there were—told her the plot of the last film he and Johnny had watched, told her about Johnny. That was the topic he lingered on the longest. It was far easier to talk about his beta than himself. And by the time her eyes slipped closed and her shallow breathing stopped, it was Simon that was holding her, not Ghost, despite the mask on his face.

It was Simon that watched her die.

It was Simon that realized he didn't even know her name.

And it was Simon that howled with grief and rage, clutching the broken body of the omega—my omega, my omega, mine—against his chest.

Footsteps rapidly approached the cell, and Simon snarled like a rabid animal as he turned towards the bars. He barely had a second to pull his omega—dead, dead, dead, she was mine and I killed her, she was innocent and I killed her—behind him before a familiar voice rang out. The only voice that could have possibly reached him in this state, that could stop him from giving into his instincts completely and going feral.

“Simon?”

“Johnny,” Simon growled, sounding desperate and broken. He felt broken. This little omega had managed to do what Roba and a hundred others had failed at. And she hadn't even tried.

“Let us help her, Si,” Johnny coaxed, moving closer while Price and Gaz hung back. Wise, because Simon could barely keep himself from baring his teeth at his own beta. Johnny didn't back down. “Si. Let us help her.”

Simon hesitated for a long moment, fighting his overwhelming instincts, before moving away. Johnny rushed in, immediately checking the omega’s pulse and starting compressions when he couldn’t find it. Simon tried to struggle to his feet, but he nearly fell over, Gaz and Price catching him. He snarled, weakly pulling away from them, but they held fast.

“We got you, soldier,” Price’s deep voice rumbled in his ear. “Stand down.”

Simon slumped, unable to hold himself up anymore, all his injuries catching up to him.

“I killed her,” he whispered raggedly, eyelids falling shut. He felt Gaz shake him to try and keep him awake, but he simply didn't have the willpower, anymore. “She was mine and I killed her.”

The mantra rang in his head even as he lost consciousness, and her screams of pain and the look of fear on her face as she lay dying followed him into his dreams.

less angsty ending

#simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley fic #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley fanfiction #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley angst #simon ghost angst #simon ghost x you #ghost angst #ghost x you #ghost x reader #alpha ghost #cod fanfic #cod fic #ghost call of duty #ghost cod #call of duty fic #call of duty fanfic

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witchy-worm · 3 months ago

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I had the pleasure of claiming @destielpiebitch's incredible fic Paging Doctor Novak in this years DCBB! I've always loved a medical story of any variety, and I have a soft spot for nurse!Dean, so I was immediately drawn to this fic when I saw the claims gallery. It was such a delight to work with this author, and I feel truly honoured that I got to make the art for this incredible fic!

Go check it out here: LINK TO FIC

This fic also inspired me to make chapter headers for the first time! I made the stethoscope and clipboard in illustrator and added the watercolour-y background colours in photoshop.

Banner and fic info behind the cut!

Title: Paging Doctor Novak

Author: Salamitsunami1

Artist: WitchyWorm

Rating: Explicit

Pairings: Dean/Cas, past Dean/Lisa, past Dean/Rhonda

Length: 51,314

Warnings: Graphic and accurate depictions of medicine, medical emergencies, and medical procedures. Past unfaithful Dean. Minor character death

Tags: Rom-com, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Happy Ending, Hospital AU, Sexual Tension, Doctor Sexy M.D., Getting Together

Posting Date: October 31, 2024

Summary: Dean Winchester is many things — a nurse, an in-charge on the medical-surgical floor, and a big fan of the ladies. What he’s not is a commitment kind of guy, and he’s definitely not a night duty kind of guy. Things change when a hook-up-gone-wrong gets him lumped on night duty for an entire month, and to make matters worse, he’s been lumped on night duty with a brand new intern. As with all interns, Doctor Castiel Novak is cocky at best and dangerous at worst, but for some reason, and maybe it’s just the way his ass looks in those teal scrubs, Dean’s got a soft spot for the guy. Or a really hard one. Either way, it’s not long before Dean’s new roster is the least of his concerns; he wants that dorky doctor guy, and fuck, he wants him for real.

#destiel #destiel fanart #dcbb 2024 #spn fanart #supernatural fanart #dean fanart #dean winchester #castiel #castiel fanart #supernatural #spn #nurse!dean #DEAN IN DINOSAUR SCRUBS #bang art #destiel au #dr sexy #Cas in tight scrubs

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naughtyjjk · 10 months ago

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just a massage (pt. 1)

characters: nanami x reader warnings: 18+, smut, massage, sexual tension, dirty talk, fingering, masturbation this fic is planned to have 3 parts. if you want to be tagged when i update (and for future posts in general) just leave a comment! read part 2 here

it’s not your first time coming to the massage parlor, but you still feel a little out of place, even if you know how all of this goes.

there’s no one in the room with you, yet. on the bed, you go to lie down on your stomach with only a towel tied around your waist. this is the procedure—you get undressed first, almost completely naked, stripping free of your stresses so that you're ready to fully relax and alleviate any soreness in your body. but you can’t help feeling a little self-conscious every time you start.

what you don't expect is for the masseuse to appear through the doorway completely shirtless, wearing only a pair of tight shorts. nothing is left to the imagination, so you can see everything that he has to offer. it’s hard not to stare. he’s... well, he's hot, your brain supplies unhelpfully.

you take a moment to appreciate the sight of him. the man's blond hair is stylized in a clean look, and he has sharp eyes and an even sharper jawline. his chest is toned, his abs look delicious, and his thighs are thick and strong. it's obvious that he works out regularly. and you didn’t intend to check him out so thoroughly, but your gaze drifts to his arms, the veins that are visible there, and down to his hands.

in a moment, those hands are going to be on you. all over your body. you swallow at the mere thought of it.

before you know it, the man has made his way to the massage bed, standing right next to you. he nods at you in acknowledgement and says nothing else as he grabs all the items he needs from the counter to the side.

you know that his name is nanami kento because it had showed up when you booked the appointment, but it's still a little strange that he doesn't introduce himself whatsoever. he seems to be the quiet type, but from the way he moves, there's confidence, too. he must be skilled at his job.

watching him, you find that you can't look away. it's embarrassing to admit, but you've been fighting to keep your thoughts pure this whole time, and it's quickly becoming a losing battle.

his back is turned to you and you watch his muscles flex as he moves. there are dirty thoughts swimming all through your head; you can't help it, not when there's such an attractive man in front of you on full display. you feel guilty too, because it's not like you came here for anything other than a massage, and nanami is so serious looking that you can tell he holds himself to a high degree of professionality. there's no way he would go after a client. the thought probably never even crosses his mind.

knowing this, you tell yourself to calm down. don't stare at him too much. don't let him realize how you're practically lusting after his body.

he gestures at you and that's when you finally snap out of it. he's telling you to get comfortable on the bed and you do as you’re told, sighing once you're in position. there’s gentle instrumental music playing in the background, a soothing tone that could probably lull you to sleep after a while. right now though, sleeping wouldn’t be possible, given how you’re hyperaware that nanami's full attention has turned to you.

a second later, without any warning, you feel cool liquid hitting your back and you almost gasp aloud. following that, a pair of warm hands begin to spread it all over your skin. up and down, nanami moves slowly, rubbing across your shoulder blades, along your spine, fingers splayed out. occasionally, they’ll wrap around your ribs, tickling the sides of your breasts.

once the oil is spread out evenly, nanami focuses on your shoulders, kneading into the muscles there. he’s skilled, you can tell that much. somehow, he manages to hit all the right places, working out knots in your muscles that you didn’t even know were there.

“hmm. you have a lot of tension in this area,” nanami murmurs, pressing down. “where else do you usually feel discomfort or pain?”

he asked a question, but all you can think in the moment is, god, his voice. it's low and a bit rough and it does something to you, awakens something in the pit of your stomach.

your eyelids have fluttered shut, melting under his touch. you feel so comfortable here that you almost forget to reply. “mm… a bit lower.”

following your directions, nanami slides down to your lower back, palms dragging against your skin as if to pull all the tension away from your body. he reaches the dip where your hipbones start, rubbing the skin with his thumbs.

“here?” nanami asks, and you hum in confirmation. “let me know if it hurts, but i’m going to go a bit deeper. usually, it’s most effective when you press hard…”

somehow, the pressure is just right that it makes you let out a soft moan, entirely unintentional. embarrassed, you mumble, “s-sorry.”

“don't worry, sweetheart,” nanami reassures you, and that nickname has you melting. he presses at the same place once more. “it's better not to hold back your sounds. letting it out can help make you feel better as well.”

so, even though it still makes you slightly self-conscious, you allow yourself to freely vocalize your appreciation for nanami's work whenever he hits a particularly good spot. after a while, you hardly even notice your own noises, too engrossed in everything nanami is doing that’s making you more and more relaxed… and maybe something else, too.

you don't know if it’s caused by the increased blood flow from nanami warming up your body or what, but you start to notice something stirring inside you. something that you recognize and can only be described as getting turned on. fuck, you curse mentally. this isn’t right. nanami may be insanely attractive, and he's treating you so well, but in the end, he’s only doing his job.

“try not to move so much.” nanami holds you still, bringing your thoughts back to the present. his voice lowers in pitch, just a whisper when he adds, “i know you can be good for me.”

and that—you swallow thickly. you can’t tell if nanami said it on purpose or if you're just interpreting it the wrong way because you're starting to get all hot and bothered now, fighting to keep your growing arousal in check.

but nanami only moves on as normal. he slides both hands down one of your legs, then back up. he does the same for the other leg. again and again, he continues, alternating between the right and left sides. each time, his hands seem to move further inward until he’s fully concentrated on the soft, sensitive skin of your inner thighs.

for a brief second, nanami's hands snake under your towel, brushing against your ass. it happens so quickly that he has already retreated before you can even process it. but then it’s there again—a slight pressure on your ass, just grazing it with his fingertips. so light that it could be passed off as an accident. this time, you gasp, feeling tingles spread from the place of contact.

“does it feel good?” nanami's voice is suddenly right beside you, whispering in your ear. the tone is low and sultry—seductive, even. there’s something inherently sexual about those choice of words, the way he says it, the implications behind them.

“ah—y-yeah.” you shudder making a physical effort to keep your breathing even. “feels good.”

satisfied, nanami asks, “want me to keep going?”

and, you think, is this really happening? maybe you were wrong about him. maybe he's not as serious as you thought he'd be, because he clearly knows what he's doing to you. he has to… right?

your heart is racing, and all nanami does is wait patiently for your answer. so, you shift on the bed, spreading your legs apart just the slightest, but it’s an obvious invitation that you know nanami will pick up on. “please.”

without even seeing him, you just know that nanami is smirking.

you moan when he slicks his hands with more oil and begins to run them along your thighs again. heat rushes between your legs and you hadn’t noticed until now, but there’s definitely a wetness there. and it’s not just from the oil—you're dripping, no doubt caused by nanami's sensual motions.

the rational part of you thinks, fuck. this is so inappropriate. you shouldn’t be getting aroused from this, all turned on and riled up in a massage parlor of all places. but the two of you have already gone well past what’s appropriate and there’s no denying that you want more.

“mm… n-nanami,” you try to convey with urgency.

"kento," he corrects you. "call me kento."

shuddering, you moan out, "kento."

nanami's breath hitches at the sound of his name around your lips and it's the first real sign that he's affected by all this, too.

“good girl,” he says, voice low and soothing. the praise sends shivers up your spine. “just relax and focus on my hands.”

it’s not like you can really concentrate on anything else even if you wanted to, especially with the way nanami is being so distracting. your mind is going blank more often than not, but still, you have to ask, “i-is this something you do regularly with your clients?”

“give massages? that’s kind of my job.” nanami chuckles, hands never stopping even once. he’s deliberately missing the point, even though it’s obvious that he’s aware how this is quickly veering away from being a normal session. “now, stop thinking so much and just feel.”

his hands meet in the middle where they rub along your inner thighs, brushing against the sensitive skin, sliding dangerously close to your pussy. moaning, you let himself get lost in the sensations, finally giving in.

“ngh—there,” you mumble. “o-oh… fuck…”

“that’s it, let yourself enjoy it. there’s nothing to be worried about.” nanami's movements have grown more daring, not at all matching his words. “remember, this is just a massage.”

nanami moves higher and higher, nudging the towel until it’s riding up on your hips, exposing your ass fully. he pauses as if to admire the view before warm hands caress your cheeks, rubbing in circular motions. the oil makes everything feel even better, a smooth glide across your skin as anticipation boils inside you.

it’s hard to tell how long this goes on for. nanami seems content just touching you, holding the mounds of your ass in his hands and alternating between gentle scrapes of his fingertips and hard squeezes with his palms.

soon, the rhythm of his movements begins to change, and it takes you a moment to realize that nanami is subtly spreading your pussy apart. you hold your breath as he trails a finger slowly, slowly along the outside of your opening.

“you have a nice pussy,” nanami says appreciatively, almost like he’s just making normal conversation, and you go hot at the compliment. “so wet and tight…”

fuck. you can’t help it; arousal washes through you and you have to bite back a moan as nanami continues working his magic. you're being seduced—every dirty word insinuating something more is calculated, every touch on your body is meant to break you down—and you're hardly even resisting. the sexual tension is palpable in the air. it’s no surprise that you can feel yourself getting wetter and wetter.

you swallow, mouth dry. you remind yourself to take slow, steady breaths.

it’s just a massage, you think helplessly as nanami brushes past your pussy again and again and again, merciless in his assault, leaving you trembling on the bed. without fail, your body flinches every time those skilled fingers come in contact with your most sensitive spot. it’s torturously repetitive, and you may know exactly what’s coming, but the effect it has on you is still the same.

just a massage, you think as nanami traces around your opening, applying almost enough pressure to push inside. groaning, you lift your hips subconsciously, trying to get him to go further. nanami only chuckles at how eager you are and removes his hands altogether. it's fucking agonizing.

just a massage, you think. except it’s not. not with the way nanami is playing with your pussy, feeling the wetness there. he brushes a single finger past your clit, igniting every nerve in your body, and you jolt at the sensation. you feel yourself throb with need, so fucking turned on.

“oh—mm, kento…”

“look at how much tension you have here,” nanami says. “you’re all pent up, aren’t you? is that why you’re… looking for some release?”

moaning, you're finding it increasingly harder to concentrate on anything other than the hands that are teasing you. and it is teasing—every action slow and languid like nanami has all the time in the world to take you apart. you can’t help but get impatient, frustrated at the fact that you're both still keeping up the pretense of treating this like a regular appointment.

because what you really want is for nanami to pound you into the bed already, use those skilled hands of his to slip inside you and finger you as deep as he can go. talk dirty to you as the two of you fuck while forcing yourselves to be quiet at the same time in case anyone could hear them from outside the room. god, just imagining it has you getting more wet, your pussy pulsing and begging for more of his contact.

any chance you had of holding back is gone. you're only getting more turned on by the minute, given the suggestive tone of nanami's words and the way he seems to know all of your weak spots, taking full advantage of them. fuck, nanami has made you so horny.

but nanami seems to decide that he’s done playing with your pussy for now. he goes back to rubbing your ass, then shifts to your lower back, higher until he reaches your shoulder blades. and down after that, both palms flat, drawing parallel lines on either side of your spine, over your ass, along your legs.

squirming on the spot, you wait rather impatiently for nanami to touch you where you want it again. but what he does next surprises you—he pulls at the towel and wraps it tightly around your waist, securing it in place as if nothing had happened. then he steps back and clears his throat.

nanami says, simply, “all done.”

"wh-wha—?” your eyes flutter open for the first time since you started. your head is still clouded with arousal as you turn around to try and get a look at nanami.

“your session is over,” he informs you like he didn’t purposely stop as soon as he got you all worked up. “you can get dressed and go now.”

“but i—” you pause, unsure of what to say. you don't want to leave yet. you're beyond aroused, dripping between your legs, aching for more, and you want nanami's hands back on you until you—fuck, until you come.

nanami licks his lips, eyes darkening as he takes in the desperate state you're in. “i know you might still have some… kinks you want to work out, but our time is up for today,” he says, gesturing at the clock on the wall. “please feel free to book another appointment for yourself if you'd like more of my services."

blinking, you slowly push yourself up from the bed, still processing everything. it’s true that you hadn’t exactly expected to get laid when you came for a massage, but nanami was the one who started it, and he got you to this state—so aroused and turned on that you can hardly think properly. he should take responsibility. but as it is, all nanami does is give you space to gather yourself, back turned to you as he busies himself with setting up for the next appointment.

shuffling awkwardly off the bed, you feel like you just went through one of the hottest experiences of your life only to get denied in the end. your pussy isn’t happy with it either, still throbbing between your legs, begging for attention.

"oh, one last thing," nanami says. he steps closer and closer toward you until he has you pinned against the wall, lining up your hips together and grinding into you, just once.

gasping, you throw your head back, feeling exactly how hard nanami has gotten in his pants. the contact of his erection against your aching pussy is delicious, and you let out an utterly wrecked sound, moaning openly at the much-needed friction. “ah—f-fuck—”

mouth right by you ear now, nanami whispers, “i’ll be waiting for you to come back. next time, i'll give your pussy the attention it deserves.”

as nanami steps away, you feel the muscles in your legs giving out on you. you have to hold onto the wall to stand upright. your head is swimming, dizzy with arousal from nanami's parting words, arousal reignited by his actions.

in the changing room, before putting on your clothes, you slip a hand under the towel and don't think twice as you begin to masturbate yourself, far too turned on to wait any longer. your movements are restricted, but you don't untie the towel yet because it feels more taboo this way, like you're committing a forbidden act, and it gets you off more than you'd like to admit.

the setting makes you hyperaware of your surroundings; people are constantly going back and forth in the hallway, and this is a public changeroom. someone could walk in on you at any time. fuck, the whole scenario shouldn’t be this damn hot.

you're already wet and dripping so it doesn't take much to slip a finger inside yourself, pumping it in and out, slow at first. agonizingly slow, like how nanami would do it if he were here. but even that feels so fucking good, to finally give your pussy some stimulation and relief for being pent up for so long.

breaths coming out ragged and uneven, you close your eyes and lets the desire overtake you as you add a second finger. you replay everything that nanami did during their session, the ghost of his touches still lingering on your body. warm hands up and down your back, your legs, your inner thighs… your pussy. oh, the way he deliberately didn’t give you what you wanted but still teased you, teased you, teased you. you have a lot of tension here…

and then you imagine what the two of you would do if you had more time, if you didn’t care about breaking the rules and gave yourselves over to lust completely. the heat of nanami's body flush against yours, his cock rubbing against you, penetrating you, stretching you open as he fucks you, hips moving frantically until you both inevitably come—

the visual proves to be too much and you moan, low and drawn out, free hand moving quickly to cover your mouth so that you muffle the sound of your pleasure. fuck, you want nanami so bad. you want to lie down on the bed again and spread your legs and feel those enticing fingers caress every part of your body until you're begging for his cock to go inside you. hard and rough. filthy.

your hand leaves your mouth as it trails down to circle your clit, shuddering as you play with the swollen nub there. the pace of your thrusts has sped up significantly, trembling as you lean against the wall for support. your hips rock back and forth, both hands moving in tandem as you finger yourself and pleasure your clit, chasing the high of your orgasm.

somewhere out of sight, you hear nanami talking to a stranger, a colleague, another client, maybe. it’s impossible to make out what he’s saying, but just the sound of his voice, low and sultry and so fucking seductive, is enough to send you right to the edge.

“k-kento…” you moan. god, he’s right there, on the other side of the wall. and it’s more than likely that he could hear you if you're too loud, if you lose yourself and fuck, you might as well admit it: you want nanami to hear you. you want nanami to know that you couldn’t even wait to go home because the session had been unbearable for you and you're just that horny. you would give anything to drag him in here and beg him to make you come.

and it’s coming, your release; you're really feeling it now. your pussy is throbbing hard and fuck, fuck, you're close. so dangerously close. moans spill out of your mouth, panting as you thrust into yourself even faster. you can’t take it anymore. you can’t hold on any longer. your hand draws tight circles around your clit, and a jolt of pleasure shoots up your spine, and then your hips are stuttering, head thrown back, mouth falling open as it all rushes through you at once. o-oh, fuck—

you come to the image of nanami fucking you hard in your mind, smooth rolls of his hips as his cock pushes deep into you, again and again. you come all over your hand, your arousal dripping down your leg, onto the floor. the noise that slips past your lips would be embarrassing if it didn’t feel so fucking good.

slowly regaining your breath and returning to your senses, you look down at the mess you've made, a puddle of your wetness beneath you. you clean yourself up as best as you can and quickly get dressed, grabbing all of your belongings and heading to the door.

as soon as you step outside the changing room, you stop in your tracks. because waiting by the entrance is nanami, alone. the other person must have left already. nanami isn’t saying anything, but the expression on his face tells you that he knows exactly what you've done.

swallowing hard, you walk past him, all the way to the main lobby and out the door of the massage parlor. your pussy is still throbbing faintly in your pants, a lingering echo of your orgasm. you think about the towel and the wetness on the floor you left behind in the changing room for nanami to find, proof of your desire and lust. the self-pleasure you indulged in while fantasizing about nanami.

next time, you think with resolve, you won’t be getting off on your own in a locked room. you're going to have the real thing.

next time… you’ll make sure that nanami won’t be able to resist fucking you.

after you’ve left, nanami runs a hand through his hair and lets out a shaky breath, cursing. he doesn’t know what came over him. as part of his job, he sees a lot of naked bodies, but he’s always been able to keep a distance and maintain a sense of professionalism. but you—the minute he first saw you, he couldn’t deny his attraction to your body, and that feeling only grew over time as he got started on your massage.

he loved the feeling of lathering oil all over your body, running his hands over your smooth skin and around your curves like he couldn’t get enough of you. he loved watching as you relaxed under his touch, as you undeniably became more and more turned on when he took his time teasing you.

just thinking about it again has him groaning. he glances down at his shorts, at the obvious tent between his legs. the bulge there is obscene, fabric stretched to its limit, and he feels like he could burst at any moment. there’s a wet spot where the tip is and and the fabric shifts as he twitches. he doesn’t remember the last time he had been this painfully hard.

and nanami tries to resist, he really does, but he can’t take it anymore. he’s so fucking aroused that he can’t think straight at all. pushing down his pants, he lets out a sigh once his cock is finally free, springing up now that it’s no longer restricted within its confines.

it stands tall between his legs, rigid and rock hard, curving upward. the veins are prominent and he’s leaking uncontrollably, precum pooling at the head and spilling down his shaft in a steady stream.

standing by the bed where you had been lying not long ago, nanami closes his eyes and thinks of you in his mind. he doesn’t touch himself yet; instead, his hands start on his neck, trailing down to his collarbones and chest, pausing to play with his nipples. the jolt of pleasure there causes his cock to twitch in anticipation. then he goes further, down his stomach to his hips, brushing against the base of his cock...

his hips thrust forward into the air, into nothing, as he imagines himself climbing on top of you on the bed, pinning your hands so that you can’t escape. he lines up his cock with your pussy and pushes into your entrance slowly, slowly.

here, nanami finally allows a hand to touch himself. he’s waited long enough; he’s about to go crazy with arousal and can’t fucking take it anymore. fingers wrapping around his length, he gives himself a firm squeeze, moaning, feeling his cock throbbing hard in return.

and then he snaps, the last bit of his self-control withering away. he pumps his cock with purpose, fast, faster, until his hips start moving in time with his hand, bucking forward at every stroke. he’s fucking you, fucking into that tight pussy of yours, watching as you squirm and tremble and moan beneath him.

breathing hard, nanami twists his hand and circles his cockhead. the action makes his hips stutter, a rush of pleasure washing over him. his whole body is burning hot. he’s getting close, working himself right up to the edge, so close to coming now—

his balls feel so heavy and full. he has to use his free hand to hold onto the side of the bed as he feels his knees going weak, stroking steadily, never stopping or slowing down. his cock aches, throbbing in his grasp. one finger swipes over his slit and his mouth falls open, head thrown back as he whines and cries out.

he thinks about what you’d look like when you come, begging him for your release. p-please, kento, fuck me harder—i need your cock—i-i’m so close, i’m gonna—gonna come—

“f-fuck,” he grunts. and nanami is coming with you, choking out a broken moan as his cock pulses and pulses. with two more strokes, all the tension in his body is released at once, ropes of white splattering in front of him. he comes in spurts, emptying everything he has all over the massage bed, and it’s absolutely filthy.

he’s still panting by the time he’s done, coming down from the high of his orgasm. looking around, he remembers where he is and feels dirty for jerking himself off at work. quickly, nanami cleans up the evidence, wiping and sanitizing the bed so that it’ll be presentable for future appointments.

looking at the door, he’s grateful that no one walked in on him because he’s not sure whether or not he would’ve been able to stop in the moment. it had felt so good. he had been so fucking horny, all because of you.

he doesn’t regret doing it. he just can’t let it happen again.

part 2 here! part 3 coming soon

tag list: @megumisdivinedogs @urlilwhore @l0rdgeosupport3rr @purple-obsidian

(comment to be added)

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk men #jjk smut #jjk imagine #nanami kento #nanami smut #jjk nanami #nanami x reader #jjk x reader #naughtyjjk

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drewharrisonwriter · 24 days ago

Text

What Matters

Status: Complete.

Pairings: Javier Pena x Female Pregnant Reader

Word Count: 3,768 words

Summary: A late-night errand to the convenience store forced you to confront everything you thought you'd left behind

Author's Notes/Warnings: MDNI. 18+ only. This fic contains explicit content, gun violence, and themes of hidden pregnancy, inconvenient labor, and birth. Reader discretion is advised. I'm also not a medical professional nor do I have a background in medical procedures, I only have childbirth experience twice, and those are two different experiences that I pulled inspiration from for this fic. So sorry for any unrealistic expectations or mistakes on pregnancy and birth in this story. This is a fic requested by someone on Ko-Fi. I really enjoyed writing my first Javi Pena fic. But I also know the themes are pretty weird, so, if this is not your kind of fic or these things trigger you, please scroll away.

Read this on AO3 | Check out my Masterlist | Updates Blog | Ko-Fi

The fluorescent hum of the convenience store lights grated against her nerves, already worn thin by the rhythmic tightening in her belly. She’s so close to feeling overstimulated. She reached for the carton of juice on the shelf, her fingers trembling slightly as another wave rolled through her. I have time, she told herself. Babies don’t always come on time. But the pattern, sharp and increasingly regular, betrayed the truth she didn’t want to face.

She shouldn’t have been out here tonight, she should have driven herself to the hospital two hours ago. Yet, here she was, scanning the shelves for the electrolyte drinks and snack bars she'd forgotten to pack in her hospital bag. A ridiculous errand, in hindsight. She’d been too stubborn to ask for help. Too scared of the pitying looks, the probing questions if someone saw her.

Too scared of seeing him.

And as if the world is playing some cruel prank on her, the bell on the store’s glass doors jingled and startled her from her thoughts, and her head shot up reflexively. The door had opened before she even registered the familiar silhouette, framed by the warm glow of the streetlights spilling through the windows and the ugly fluorescent lighting of this old convenience store.

He says her name.

His voice, low and rough, was unmistakable. For a moment, her heart stalled, her breath catching painfully in her throat. Javier Peña stood frozen in the doorway, his brown eyes wide as they zeroed in on her—and the obvious swell of her belly.

She hadn't seen him in six months, not since she'd sneaked out of his apartment before the sunrise and slipped away without so much as a goodbye. Not since she'd found out she’s carrying Bogota’s Cassanova’s bastard child the day before. Now, months later, here he was, Cassanova himself in the flesh but feels like a ghost pulled straight from her dreams—or nightmares.

“Shit,” she hissed under her breath, gripping the juice tighter and turning sharply away from him. She started walking away but the contraction clawed its way up her abdomen, making her wince, she straightened quickly, hoping he hadn’t noticed and continued walking.

“What the—?” Javier took a cautious step forward, his brows furrowing. He caught up with her and gently grabbed her hand and said her name again, softly. She took a deep breath and turned back to face him.

His gaze flicked to her stomach, then back to her face, and the disbelief gave way to something sharper. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Hey, Javi.” She sighed.

“You’re pregnant.” He stated.

“Yeah, no shit.”

“I-it’s mine, right? It’s gotta be m–”

“Javi, I need to go.”

“What the fuck?”

She tried to speak. She wanted to tell him that she knows a baby is not part of his plans, heck they’re not even exclusive. There were so many things she wanted to tell him at that moment, to cut him off before he could launch into the inevitable storm of questions, but the words wouldn’t come.

He says her name again with a sigh.

“Look,” He started. “I think we need to talk.”

“I don’t have the time to talk, Javi. Besides, there’s nothing to talk about.” She tells him, tugging her hand back from his grip.

“What the hell does that mean? You’re obviously pregnant, it’s obviously mine—”

She scoffed and shook her head. “I’m gonna stop you right there. Pena. I have shit to do. Forget you saw me tonight.”

She turned away once again and started to walk away when another contraction rippled through her body, stronger this time, and she had to brace herself against the shelf to stay upright.

“Are you alright?” He asked. Great, he’s not budging. She could just drop these things and waddle as fast as she can to her car and drive away, far from him. But oh, this horndog’s child is pressing so low and the pressure is starting to feel too much.

“I’m fine, just leave me alone.” She started panting and Javi trembled slightly at the scene.

“Are you in labor?”

“No,” she snapped, though the lie sounded thin even to her own ears. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

“You’re sweating and leaning against the goddamn shelf,” he shot back, his tone climbing. “And pregnant. What the hell are you doing here?”

Her glare was sharp enough to cut through steel. “What does it look like I’m doing, Peña? I’m picking up—”

The sharp crack of gunfire outside drowned out the rest of her sentence. The air seemed to freeze between them.

On Instinct, Javier yelled “Down!” and tackled her and his head whipped toward the door, his body tensing as he reached for the holster on his hip.

“Get down,” he barked to the others in the store, the command sharp and immediate. The cashier let out a strangled yelp before ducking behind the counter

She didn’t have time to argue. Before she could process what was happening, Javier had closed the distance between them, his hand gripping her arm as he pulled her toward the back of the store while hunched down. Her heart hammered in her chest, every contraction now fighting for dominance against the adrenaline flooding her system.

“This can’t be fucking happening,” she muttered under her breath, clutching her belly as she stumbled along behind him.

“Yeah, well, it is,” Javier snapped, his voice taut with focus as he scanned the dim aisles for an escape route. “And you’re about five minutes away from telling me why the hell you didn’t think to call me before any of this.”

She bit back the retort on her lips, swallowing the bitter taste of fear. Her body had other plans. Another contraction hit, and this time, the flood she’d been dreading broke loose. Warm liquid pooled at her feet, the unmistakable sign that there was no more pretending.

“Javi…” Her voice trembled, quieter than she meant.

He stopped, turning just in time to see the wide-eyed panic on her face. His gaze dropped to the floor, where the sheen of amniotic fluid glistened under the harsh lights.

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered.

She nodded, her breath hitching as she clutched her stomach. “Yeah.”

“Okay. Okay, just—breathe,” Javier muttered, more to himself than to her, as he scanned the store. His hand tightened on her arm, steadying her as her knees threatened to buckle. “This is not the place for this.”

“No kidding,” she ground out, teeth clenched as another contraction raked through her. “This isn’t part of my birth plan.”

The gunfire outside grew louder, punctuated by the shattering of glass as bullets tore through the storefront.

“Move,” he ordered, his voice low but commanding as he led her toward the storeroom door at the far end corner of the store. His free hand hovered near his gun, his eyes constantly flicking to the front of the store. “We need to get out of here. Now.”

She wanted to argue, to tell him that moving felt like an impossible task when her entire lower body was on fire, but another round of gunfire stole her breath—and her choice. Javier pushed the storeroom door open with his shoulder, guiding her inside. The dimly lit space smelled of cardboard and spilled soda, and it was marginally quieter than the chaos outside.

“Got a magic escape route I don’t know about?” she bit out, clutching the edge of a nearby shelf for support.

He ignored her sarcasm, already moving toward the back wall. His fingers skimmed along the edges of stacked boxes until he found what he was looking for—a steel service door.

“Stay here,” he barked, glancing back at her.

“Not going anywhere,” she shot back, doubling over as another contraction took hold. She let out a low groan, her nails biting into the shelf’s metal edge.

Javier paused, his jaw tightening as he watched her. For a moment, the hard edge in his expression faltered, replaced by fear, but this is not the time to let his vulnerabilities show. So he shook it off quickly, yanking the door open and peering out into the alley beyond.

“Clear,” he said, turning back to her. “Come on. We’re not waiting for the next round.”

“I—” She started to protest, but he was already at her side, one arm sliding around her waist as he guided her toward the door. Every step felt like climbing a mountain, her legs shaking under her weight. By the time they reached the alley, her vision was swimming, and the cool night air hit her like a slap.

“Javi,” she gasped, her fingers clutching his jacket as another contraction hit, this one stronger than the last. Her knees buckled, and he caught her, lowering her carefully onto the ground beside the wall.

“Shit,” he muttered, crouching beside her. His hand brushed her hair back from her sweat-dampened forehead, his other hand resting lightly on her shoulder. “How close are they? The contractions.”

She let out a shaky laugh, though there was no humor in it. “Close enough that you better start figuring out how to deliver a baby.”

His face paled, the words hitting him like a physical blow. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m dead serious,” she bit out, her voice rising with the next contraction. “This kid is coming whether we’re ready or not.”

For a moment, he just stared at her, his hand hovering uselessly in the air. Then, with a muttered curse, he pulled himself together, standing abruptly. “The jeep. We’re getting to the jeep.”

“You want to move me now?” she demanded, her voice a mixture of incredulity and panic. “Are you out of your goddamn mind?”

“We don’t have a choice!” he snapped, glancing back toward the convenience store as another round of gunfire erupted. “It’s either the jeep half a block away or right here in the dirt.”

She hated that he was right. Hated him even more for the way he grabbed her under the arms, hoisting her to her feet with surprising gentleness. Every step to the jeep was agony, the contractions relentless and unforgiving. By the time they reached the vehicle, she was panting, tears streaming down her face.

He opened the passenger door, helping her inside before running around to the driver’s side. “Hang on,” he said, his voice tight as he started the engine. The alley blurred past as he navigated the narrow streets, one hand on the wheel, the other resting lightly on her thigh. She wasn’t sure if the contact was meant to steady her or him, but she clung to it like her life depended on it.

“Oh no…” She gasped, “I can’t— It’s happening.”

His knuckles went white on the wheel, his voice a desperate growl. “Hold on. Just a little longer.”

But it wasn’t up to him. The jeep jolted over a pothole, and she let out a strangled cry, her body doubling over with the force of another contraction.

“Javi!” she screamed, her voice raw. “I can’t—oh God, I can’t hold her in!”

“Shit, shit, shit!” Javier gritted his teeth, his hands gripping the wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white. “We’re almost there, just—breathe or something!”

“She’s coming, holy fuck!” she cried, her voice breaking on a sob. Her legs shifted instinctively, her body bearing down whether she wanted it to or not. “Oh my God, she’s really coming!” She pulled her dress up, revealing her contracting belly.

The jeep jolted again, and she let out a guttural scream, her back arching against the seat as her body pushed on its own. Her legs spread as far as the cramped space of the passenger seat would allow, her hands gripping the edges of the door and dashboard like a lifeline.

“I’m sorry about the seaaaatt—hgggnnhhh!” she wailed, her head snapping back as another contraction hit like a tidal wave.

Javier’s startled laugh broke the tension, echoing in the enclosed space as he risked a glance her way. “You’re apologizing for the seat right now? Jesus, we’re having a daughter, and that’s what you’re worried about?”

“We?” she managed between ragged breaths, glaring at him through the pain. “We aren’t doing anything, Peña—I’m the one—oh God!” Her words dissolved into a scream as the pressure reached an unbearable peak.

His eyes darted between her and the road, the hospital’s glowing sign barely visible in the distance. But her cries pulled his attention back to her. “Shit—okay, okay, just—keep pushing!” he said, his voice pitching higher as panic bled into his usual cool.

“What the hell do you think I’m doing?” she snarled through gritted teeth, her hands trembling as they pressed against her thighs. Another guttural cry tore from her throat as the baby’s head began to crown, the unbearable stretch making her gasp.

“Holy shit,” Javier muttered, his grip on the wheel tightening as he tried to stay focused. “She’s crowning! The head—it’s—oh, God, I can see her head!”

“Good for you!” she shot back, sweat pouring down her face. “Get us to the damn hospital before—aaahhh!”

Her body bore down again, her muscles screaming as the baby’s head emerged slowly, bit by agonizing bit. Javier’s focus faltered, his gaze darting between her and the road as he tried to process the surreal scene unfolding beside him.

“We’re almost there,” he said, more to himself than to her, his voice trembling with a mix of awe and panic. “Just a little further, okay? You’re doing—uh, great.”

Her glare was sharp enough to cut through his nerves. “If you tell me I’m doing great one more time, I swear to—aaahhh!” Her scream drowned out her threat as another push brought the baby’s head fully free.

“I can see the hospital,” Javier blurted, his voice barely audible over her cries. The glowing red sign of the ER loomed closer as he turned sharply into the entrance drive. “Just hang on—we’re almost there!”

Another contraction hit, and her body took over, her legs shaking as the baby’s shoulders emerged, followed by the solid bulk of her torso. The jeep skidded to a stop in front of the emergency room entrance just as she let out a sob of relief, the baby halfway out.

Javier threw the jeep into park and jumped out, shouting for help. “We’ve got a baby—she’s having the baby! Right now!”

A team of nurses sprinted out with a stretcher, their hurried footsteps a blur as they reached the passenger side. One nurse crouched beside her, calming her with a soothing voice as she braced her hands to support the baby’s tiny body.

“Push one more time,” the nurse instructed, her voice firm but kind.

“I can’t—” she sobbed, her strength wavering as the final contraction built.

“Yes, you can!” Javier’s voice was suddenly at her side, his hands hovering near her trembling shoulders. “You’re almost there. You can do this.”

With a final, raw cry, she pushed, and the baby slid free into the nurse’s waiting hands. The tiny, squalling baby with thick black hair was placed on her chest, all surprisingly heavy, slick and warm, as her teary laughter broke free.

“She’s here,” she whispered, her voice trembling with exhaustion and joy. “Oh my God, she’s really here.”

Javier stood frozen for a moment, staring down at the scene as though he couldn’t believe it was real. Then, with a shaky laugh, he reached out to touch the baby’s head, his fingers brushing gently against the dark, damp curls. “She’s perfect,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

The nurses sprang into action, guiding the stretcher toward the ER doors, but Javier lingered beside her, walking next to the stretcher, never leaving her side as they cleaned up both mother and child.

Later that evening, she lay propped against a mound of pillows in her hospital bed, exhaustion etched into every line of her face, but her arms cradled her daughter lovingly. The baby let out a small sigh, her tiny hand curling around the edge of the swaddle.

Javier sat in the chair beside the bed, elbows resting on his knees and his fingers steepled under his chin. His eyes were fixed on the baby, his expression caught somewhere between awe and a simmering tension he hadn’t yet voiced. Finally, he broke the silence.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

His voice was low, but it carried a weight that made her chest tighten. She glanced at him, her fingers brushing over the baby’s soft, dark hair. “Javi, don’t—”

“No.” He leaned forward, his tone sharpening. “Please.” He sighed, and softly followed, “I at least deserve an answer.”

She sighed, her shoulders slumping as she looked away, her gaze falling on the bassinet next to her bed. “What would it have changed?” she murmured, her voice barely audible.

“Everything,” he said, his frustration mounting. “It would’ve changed everything.”

“How?” She turned to him. “You’re not exactly a picket-fence-and-family type, Javi. I didn’t want to—”

“To what?” He sat back, his hands gesturing wide. “To let me know I have a kid? To give me a chance to step up?”

“That’s exactly it,” she hissed, looking down at the baby who stirred at her father’s rising voice and glared at him. “I didn’t want you to feel trapped and like you had to step up. I didn’t want my child to be an obligation you resented later. I know how you are. You would’ve done the right thing because deep down… deep, deep, deeeeep down… you’re a good man, but it would’ve eaten at you.”

His jaw tightened, frustration flickering across his face. “So what? You thought you’d do me a favor by deciding for me? By just disappearing?”

“I didn’t want you to feel like you had to give up everything for something you didn’t ask for.” Her voice was firmer now, but there was a tremor beneath it.

“You don’t get to decide that,” he cut in, his voice rising slightly. “You don’t get to decide who I am or what I want.”

“I’m sorry…” She whispered, casting her gaze back down to her baby.

Javier sat back, his hands falling to his thighs as he stared at her. “You really think I’d look at my daughter—our daughter—and see her as an obligation?” He shook his head, his voice dropping softer, but no less resolute.

“I’m not saying I’ve got it all figured out, baby. But I know what matters. And you’re wrong if you think I wouldn’t have wanted this.” She looked away, tears pooling in her eyes as her defenses began to crumble.

“I didn’t want to mess up your life, Javi. I didn’t want to hold you back.”

“Hold me back?” He let out a humorless laugh, rubbing a hand over his face. “You didn’t even give me a chance. You just—what? Decided I’d be better off without knowing my own kid? You thought that was fair?”

She swallowed hard, her voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t think it mattered.”

“It mattered,” he said firmly, leaning forward again. “And it still matters. I don’t care what you say, I should be on that birth certificate. She’s my daughter, and I’m not walking away from her.”

Her tears spilled over, one hand trembling as she reached up to wipe them away. “I don’t know how to do this with you Javi. With how you live your life…”

Javier let out a slow breath, leaning back in his chair as if to give her space, though his gaze never wavered. “I don’t either,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “But we don’t have to figure it all out tonight. We just… start. We’ll figure it out for her.”

She looked down at the baby, her tiny fingers curling against the soft blanket. “You’re sure you want this? You’re sure you won’t regret being tied to us?”

“Stop,” he said firmly, sitting up again. “I’m already tied to you, baby. I’ve been tied to you since day one, couldn’t shake you off my head even if I tried… and boy, did I try. And now…” His voice softened, a small, almost disbelieving smile tugging at his lips as he glanced at their daughter. “Now, there’s no question.”

Her heart ached at his words, the raw sincerity in his tone. For a fleeting moment, she wanted to believe him and reach out, to close the distance between them, to let herself believe that this could be more. But she couldn’t. She wouldn’t. This is Javier fucking Pena. Bogota’s Cassanova. He fucks information out of women, he fucked information out of her once, too.

“I’ll let you put your name on the birth certificate,” she said finally, her voice steady despite the tears still clinging to her lashes. “And you can see her. As much as you want. I won’t stand in your way.”

His shoulders relaxed slightly, though his brow furrowed as he studied her. “But?”

She shook her head, a bittersweet smile playing on her lips. “But that’s all this is, Javi. I’ll let you be her dad, and I’ll do everything I can to make that easy for you. But… we don’t go back to what we were. I can’t.”

He stared at her for a long moment, the weight of her words settling over him. He nodded slowly, though his jaw tightened. “You’re still afraid I’ll mess this up.”

“No.” Her voice was firm, her eyes meeting his. “I’m afraid I’ll let myself believe in something that’s not real. That you’ll get caught up in this—in her—and think it means we should try again. And then one day, you’ll realize this isn’t the life you want, and it’ll break me.”

“Baby…” He leaned forward, his hand brushing the edge of the blanket around their daughter. “I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“Maybe not on purpose,” she said softly, her lips trembling. “But we both know the life you live, Javi. And I love you too much to risk hating you later.”

Javi was left speechless by her confession. He didn’t even know if she meant to say that out loud… She loves him…

The words hung between them, a truth she couldn’t take back. Javier’s expression shifted, he wanted to confirm if he heard her right, but he didn’t press her.

Instead, he reached out, his hand covering hers where it rested on the baby. “Then we start here,” he said simply. “She’s what matters.”

She nodded, the weight in her chest easing just enough to let her breathe. “She’s what matters,” she echoed.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedropascal #pedro pascal cinematic universe #pedro pascal fan fiction #pedro pascal fan fic #pedrohub #joel miller #dieter bravo #dave york #javi pena #javier peña

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pucksandpower · 1 year ago

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Under the Influence

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Summary: Charles Leclerc knows three things (1) wisdom teeth have nothing to do with being wise (2) his face looks like a chipmunk and (3) he really really really loves his girlfriend

Warnings: mention of minor medical procedure

You wake up to the sound of your phone buzzing on the nightstand. Bleary eyed, you reach for it and squint at the screen. 37 missed calls and too many texts to count, all from Charles.

It’s the big day — your boyfriend is finally getting his wisdom teeth removed this morning. You had wanted to go with him to the oral surgeon but Charles insisted he would be fine on his own.

Clearly, that was not the case.

The phone starts vibrating again and you swipe to answer. Before you can even say hello, Charles’ slurred voice comes through the speaker. “Ma choupinette! I misssss you!” He draws out the last word for several seconds. You stifle a laugh at how loopy he sounds from the painkillers.

“Hi, my love. How are you feeling?” You ask gently.

You hear some shuffling on his end of the line.

“I feel ... so good! I can’t feel my face though. Is it still there?” More shuffling noises. “Yep, still here! Wow, my cheeks are soooo big and fluffy now!” He descends into a fit of giggles.

You grin and shake your head. Your poor Charles is definitely still under the influence of the drugs. “I’m glad you’re not in any pain. Are you home already?”

“Yep! Safe and sound in my bed. But it’s so lonely without you here. You should come over and cuddle me!” His words come out muffled, no doubt because his mouth is still numb.

You glance at the clock — it’s still relatively early in the morning. “I would love to but I have a few things to take care of first. I’ll come by this afternoon to check on you though, okay?”

Charles lets out an exaggerated sigh. “Fiiiiiine. Hey, did you know you’re the most beautiful girl in the whole world? And you’re so nice too! I’m the luckiest ...” He trails off into incomprehensible mumbling.

You have to press your hand to your mouth to hold in your laughter. Anesthetized Charles is even more adorable than regular Charles. “Thank you, my love. You’re very kind. Now get some rest, I’ll see you soon.”

“Okayyyy, bye bye gorgeous!” Charles singsongs before hanging up. Still chuckling, you set your phone down to start getting ready for the day. Your productivity is short lived however, as your phone immediately starts buzzing again.

Charles is calling you back.

With a mix of amusement and exasperation, you answer the call. Before you can ask what’s wrong, Charles’ cheerful voice exclaims, “I forgot to tell you I love you!”

You can’t help but laugh out loud this time. “I love you too, Charles.”

“Yay!” He cheers. In the background, you hear a woman’s voice telling Charles to stay in bed and get some rest. It must be his mother looking after him. Thank goodness for her help today.

You talk Charles into hanging up and leaving you be for now. As entertaining as loopy Charles is, you do need to run some errands. You eventually make it out the door and head into town. While perusing the aisles of the grocery store, your phone buzzes again. Expecting it to be Charles, you don’t even look at the screen before answering with an amused, “Yes, my love?”

Instead of your boyfriend’s sleepy voice, you hear numerous screams and squeals on the other end. Before you can ask what’s happening, the chaos turns into a bunch of people chanting “Say it again! Say it again! Say it again!”

Your stomach drops. You pull the phone away to look at the screen. Sure enough, Charles is broadcasting on Instagram Live and waving at an alarmingly large crowd of fans gathered below his apartment. Dreading what you’re about to witness, you bring the phone back to your ear. The chanting continues until Charles finally obliges.

“Y/N Y/L/N, I love you sooooo much! You’re the bestest, most bootiful, charming girl in the whole universe and I love you more than racing!” His confession is met with deafening squeals from his adoring devotees. You stand frozen in the cheese aisle, one hand clutching your grocery basket, cheeks flaming red. This is not exactly how you hoped your relationship would go public.

Charles is still slurring sluggishly into the phone, rambling on about how perfect and wonderful you are. You try to get a word in edgewise to stop him but his fans keep egging him on.

“Charles, honey, maybe you should get off Live and rest ...” you attempt feebly.

He gasps dramatically. “Wait, are you my girlfriend? Y/N? Is that you?”

You sigh, resigned to your fate. “Yes Charles, it’s me.”

The screams somehow increase in volume at this admission. Charles laughs with delight. “Guys, this is my girlfriend! Isn’t she the coolest? I’m the luckiest guy ever!”

Despite your embarrassment, you can’t help but melt a little at his ear-to-ear grin and heart eyes on the screen. He looks utterly smitten, even in his disoriented, post-op state. His fans seem to be eating it up too, flooding the comments with things like “My life won’t be complete until someone looks at me the way that Charles looks at Y/N” and “Charles is boyfriend of the year!”

You spend the next 15 minutes gently trying to persuade Charles to end the livestream and rest to no avail. He is having far too much fun gushing about you and interacting with his followers. You field a few questions from curious fans, keeping your answers light to avoid revealing too much. It’s clear they are enthralled by this lovestruck version of the normally private Ferrari driver.

Finally, after Charles has told the story of your first date no less than five times, his mother comes to your rescue. She appears on camera and tenderly tells Charles the “show” is over and he needs to sleep. He pouts adorably but allows her to tuck him back into bed and take away his phone. Just before the Live ends, he blows a loopy kiss to the camera and says “Love you, mon chouchou!” The fans go wild in the chat before the feed cuts out.

You slump against your shopping cart in relief. Your phone is already flooded with texts from friends and family who saw the Instagram fiasco. You shoot off some quick reassurances that you’re both fine and it was just the medication talking. Bagging the rest of your abandoned groceries, you check out as fast as possible. There’s somewhere you need to be right now.

Twenty minutes later you’re knocking on the door of Charles’ apartment. His mother opens it with an apologetic look. “I’m so sorry about earlier dear, the anesthesia made him a bit out of it as I’m sure you noticed.”

Charles perks up when you enter his bedroom. “You came!” He mumbles happily, making grabby hands at you. You settle onto the bed next to him and he immediately nuzzles into you like an affectionate kitten. His mother slips out to give you two some privacy.

You run your fingers soothingly through his hair. “How are you feeling now, my love?”

“Mmm ... sleepy. And really happy you’re here." He smiles dopily up at you. “Did I do something silly earlier? I don’t really remember.”

You debate downplaying it but figure he’ll find out eventually when the internet explodes. “You may have repeatedly declared your undying love for me on an Instagram Live ...” you say sheepishly.

Charles’ eyes go wide. “No way, really? Wow ...” He blinks slowly, processing this new information. A sly grin spreads across his swollen face. “Well it’s true. I meant every word.”

You kiss his forehead tenderly. “I know you did. Now get some more rest, I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

Charles looks up at you adoringly. “I love you,” he says.

“I love you more,” you boop him on the nose.

He giggles. “No way. I love you more-er.”

“Impossible. I love you most,” you insist.

“Nuh-uh,” Charles protests. “I love you most-est.”

You laugh at his stubborn persistence. “Alright, you win. Now close your eyes.”

Charles snuggles impossibly closer into your side and soon his breathing evens out as he drifts back to sleep. You brush a few curls off his forehead and whisper “I love you most-est-est.”

You make sure the blankets are wrapped securely around him and shake your head affectionately at your adorable, clueless boyfriend. Today certainly didn’t go as expected but you wouldn’t trade your Charles for anything in the world.

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icu-fetish · 2 months ago

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Sara barely opened her eyes. Her body felt alien, heavy, and unresponsive. The bright light of the hospital room cut into her gaze. An oxygen mask was tightly pressed against her face. Her chest rose and fell with visible effort. Fear gripped her more and more. She tried to remember what happened, but her thoughts were muddled. She felt helpless and alone.

Sara's gaze stopped on two female figures in white coats. They leaned over her, whispering soothing words. Sara tried to make out their faces through her half-conscious state but saw only blurry outlines. Sara noticed the gleam of metal instruments in their hands. These were two doctors... not nurses. "Intubation," she heard muffled.

The doctors, having put on sterile gloves, leaned over Sara. Their faces were serious. "Sara, we need to act quickly. Your lips have turned grey, and your breathing has become erratic. Even the oxygen mask isn't helping anymore, and we have to move to more invasive methods."

The other doctor continued... "Soon you won't be able to breathe on your own. So, we only have one option. After the injection, you'll be in a coma. Then we'll perform the intubation. You'll be completely connected to an artificial apparatus. Of course, you won't be able to eat or drink – we'll insert a nasogastric tube. Also, necessary catheters will be attached to your body."

Sara was in panic. She understood that without the artificial apparatus, her condition would deteriorate rapidly and could lead to a fatal outcome. Every minute counted. The doctors exchanged glances. "Everything's ready," one quietly said. The other took a syringe with a clear liquid and brought it to Sara's vein.

One of the doctors took Sara's hand and gently stroked it. The other prepared the intubation instruments. Sara's heart began to pound in her throat. She nodded, but her eyes were filled with anxiety. She felt the needle pierce her skin, and warmth spread through her veins, bringing a slight numbness. Her eyelids grew heavy, her thoughts jumbled, and everything around began to blur into a haze...

The doctor carefully opened Sara's mouth and introduced the laryngoscope, illuminating the path with bright light reflecting off the mucous membrane. The other doctor took the endotracheal tube, checked its integrity, and quickly, but with utmost caution, inserted it through the open vocal cords into the trachea. Then she secured it with a cuff, which she carefully inflated to ensure a tight seal and prevent air leakage.

A plastic holder, made from soft material that fit snugly against Sara's face without causing discomfort, was placed to stabilize the tube. The doctors checked the correct placement of the tube by listening to the lungs with a stethoscope.

Ventilation parameters were set on the monitor, showing all necessary indicators: breathing rate, air volume, oxygen level. The doctors adjusted the ventilation mode according to Sara's condition, entering the data into the system. The machine started its work, rhythmically supplying air to the patient's lungs, accompanied by a soft noise that now became part of the room's background sound.

The monitor showed that blood oxygen saturation began to stabilize, and the heart rate returned to normal, indicating the procedure's success.

The doctors spoke to each other, their voices quiet. "The nurses will insert the nasogastric tube," said one, looking at the monitor readings. "Sara will be intubated for quite some time. However, we'll probably have to perform a tracheostomy on her," added the other, with a note of concern in her voice. Before leaving the room, the doctors checked Sara's condition once more, ensuring all parameters were stable and the equipment was working correctly. Then they left for the next patient.

After the intubation, nurses entered the room. They inserted the nasogastric tube for feeding and a catheter for the bladder. They also connected a peripheral venous catheter for administering medications. All actions were performed quickly and professionally, leaving Sara under full medical supervision.

Every day, doctors visited her, checking vital signs, adjusting the machines, changing medications through the peripheral catheter, and ensuring care for all the connected tubes. However, after several days, the doctors decided to remove the nasogastric tube because Sara needed another surgery - they were to install a GJ tube. This feeding tube allows food to be delivered to the stomach. The doctors understood that only a tracheostomy would provide more stable and long-term respiratory support.

The operation went successfully, but Sara did not wake up. In the room where Sara lay, there was silence, only interrupted by the hum of the machines sustaining her life. The doctors decided to keep her on life support, performing all procedures until some sign of improvement appeared or until another decision was made.

Maybe today she will open her eyes...

#intubated #ventilator #breathing tube #breathing tube holder #oxygen mask

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hauntedestheart · 1 month ago

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A Business Investment (FxM Body Swap)

Another story from the world of business.

Mason McKinley was sure he was going to be a famous actor someday- he just needed the world to realize it.

Growing up in his small midwestern hometown where he was the hottest guy around, it had felt like being the star was his birthright. He'd netted the lead in every school play since elementary school, modelled for local catalogues, even won homecoming AND prom king. 6'4'', a killer jawline, luscious blonde hair and bright blue eyes, literally the poster boy for the local gym… how could Kentucky not be in the palm of his hand? All he had to do was wear a nice tight shirt that showed off his muscles and flash that pretty smile of his and anything he wanted fell into his lap.

It didn't take long for Hollywood to give him a reality check- turned out that Mason was not actually a very good actor, and once he was up against talented dreamboats rather than the wimps in drama club, his star came crashing down to earth.

After six years in the business and his claims to fame were a handful of minor background roles in some long running procedurals, some poorly reviewed theatre, and an embarrassing ad spot for STD testing that everyone back home was still making fun of him for.

In the small pond he'd been biggest fish around, but out in the ocean? He floundered.

While he was waiting for his big break, Mason needed a survival job, and thanks to some other actor friends he'd gotten employed as an attendant at an expensive country club. The young actor hoped that one day a big shot producer would come in, see him, and cast him on the spot, but since that hadn't happened yet he spent his days fetching water bottles and chasing after lost tennis balls. Not exactly his Hollywood dream.

Still, the tight white shorts of the uniform made his ass look amazing and if he flirted with the wealthy old clientele of the club, he took home a killing in tips. Being a corn fed midwestern hunk made him "exotic" to rich out-of-touch Californians, and Mason had no qualms about debasing himself a bit for some cash. A little wink here, a flex there, a look the other way when someone got a little handsy… it paid the bills.

He had his limits though.

"Yoo-hoo!" A shrill voice rang out across the tennis court and Mason winced- luckily his acting skills allowed him to smooth the disgust from his face before he turned around to greet the plump middle aged woman who had materialized beside him.

"It's good to see you again Ms. Grant," he lied through his pretty white teeth, and he was feeling generous so he threw in an extra lie for free. "You look lovely today. Is your hair different?"

It was a stupid question- as the head of some kind of beauty company the woman was always changing her look, in this case from a dark black perm to a platinum blonde bob -but Ms. Grant still let out a surprised gasp and tilted her head side to side as if she were modelling the latest fashion. It was not a good look, but Mason dug deep into his Stanislavski training and managed to keep a smile on his face.

"You like? I just had it done. I think it makes me look younger, don't you? If you're not careful, one of these days I'm going to snap you up!" Ms. Grant threw her head back and let out a stage giggle, and Mason bit his tongue so he wouldn't burst out laughing himself. An attempt at a seductive expression appeared on her face and she 'casually' reached over and gave Mason's bicep a less-than-innocent pat. "And please, I've told you a million times, call me Seraphina."

Your name is Susan, Mason thought. "Of course Seraphina," Mason said.

Her hand was still on his arm, one thumb trailing idly over the curve of his muscles, and Mason gave a polite nod before escaping to ready some equipment, peeking over his shoulder to confirm that Ms. Grant was staring at his tight butt when he bent over to pick up some tennis rackets. He smirked and made sure to arch his back to give her a little show before he straightened up- it never hurt to keep the clients happy.

Ms. Grant honestly wasn't that bad, but she was a herald of destruction, because if she was here, then The California Business Women's Association weren't far behind.

The California Business Women's Association was supposed to be an organization for high powered business women looking to network, but the meetings were really just an excuse for rich bitches to brag about their success and tear each other down… with a smile, of course. Mason thought of them as the Real Housewives of the Wall Street (never mind that Wall Street was on the far coast) and while he got a sick pleasure out of observing their gossip and backstabbing, they were one of his least favorite groups to work with.

Normally a hot piece of meat like Mason could make a killing off of a bunch of mostly single women over thirty, but Dominique Banks (pharmaceuticals CEO and undisputed alpha bitch of the group) made it damn near impossible for him to schmooze. A very public divorce several years ago had made Dominique into something of a misandrist and now she did her best to chastise and shame the other women whenever they tried to engage in any talk of men, let alone flirt with the cute hunk bringing them their towels.

(Mason assumed that was why Ms. Grant showed up early to objectify him as much as possible before Dominique was there to judge her for it.)

Dominique herself descended on the court a minute later with the rest of the ladies in tow, and soon the court was filled with women in expensive active gear (some with the tags still on) milling about and pretending to warm up for a few rounds of low intensity tennis. Mason busied himself offering to take care of coats and bags while also doing his best to eavesdrop on the latest gossip.

Currently, Dominique was complaining to a trio of women about a member of the group who seemed to be running late.

"I think it's irresponsible of her to be so tardy," Dominique said, pushing deeper into an impressive lunge- she was one of the few in the group who actually kept up with her personal trainer despite a busy schedule, something she loved to lord over the other women. "I'm starting to question if she should even be a member of the CBWA."

"Maybe she had a work emergency?" one of her companions offered, watching with mild interest as Dominique stretched her calves. "She did just get that big promotion."

"'Big promotion?'" Dominique scoffed and turned her nose up. "Be serious Lucille, she's a middle manager whose office happens to be on the top floor… or a few floors down from it I suppose." The shade drew a small titter out of the other women, and Dominique smirked. "We all have demanding jobs, but we still make time every month to come to these meetings because it's important for us to connect as women in the male-dominated professional world. We're a sisterhood! If we don't look out for each other, who will? Which is exactly why we need to make an example of her."

Mason had a pretty good idea who they were talking about. There was only one woman in the group who Dominique couldn't stand- coincidentally the only woman in the group who ever stood up to her. But before the young man could search the group for a head of red hair to see if he was correct, a voice boomed out, and everyone's eyes were drawn to a newcomer who was making their way onto the court.

"Sorry I'm late ladies!"

Like a scene from a movie, sauntering across the green pavement was one of the hottest guys Mason had ever seen. He was brown skinned with carefully coiffed black hair and the kind of face that Mason usually only saw in the castings for his modelling gigs- a striking appearance enhanced by the way his eyes burned an unnaturally bright, electric blue. Tall and broad, the tight grey jacket he wore did little to disguise the bulk of his build… and if the fit of his compression shorts was to be believed, he'd brought his own tennis balls to the court.

Mason's jaw dropped, and he nearly dropped a basket of tennis balls with it before he gathered his senses and caught himself at the last second. The sexy stranger wasn't on staff (Mason would have heard if such an Adonis had been hired) but most of the members of the country club were old and gross, so who was this guy? A private trainer hired by a client? A socialite's new trophy husband? Some Middle Eastern prince?

"Thanks for waiting," the man said, making his way towards the benches with a fancy (seemingly brand new) equipment bag bouncing on his hip. "It's been so busy at work with the new startup we're launching, but I managed to move some things around to make room at the last minute."

Mystery stud unzipped his jacket as he walked and stowed it in the bag, revealing a tight grey top that bared huge, muscular arms, and was cut just low enough to allow a tasteful peek of his furry pecs. He looked down at himself and then tugged on his shirt, adjusting it so that it showed even more of his ample chest, which he made bounce a few times. A satisfied little smile came to his full lips at the sight, and when he looked back up at the CBWA, it seemed like half of the organization swooned.

Mason was feeling a little weak in the knees himself, but as much as he'd rather drool over the guy, he did technically have a job to do. He in front of the man and held a hand out, stopping the newcomer before he could join the cluster of speechless businesswomen. "Uh, excuse me sir, this court has been booked for private use by a group already."

"I'm aware," the man gave a chuckle (he was looking at Mason like he thought Mason was an idiot, but somehow, condescension was a good look on him) and tossed his curly black hair. "And I'm a member of the group- Terry Walker. Some of my eggheads at the lab cooked up a new kind of body transferal device and I've been experimenting with it in the workplace. Didn't have time to switch back before the meeting, so I figured, why the hell not?" He winked and thumped a fist into his meaty pecs a few times. "Take the thing out for a spin."

"Oh, body swapping! I think I read something about that!" Ms. Grant exclaimed, and several of the other woman in the group murmured their agreement. Mason had a hazy recollection of getting a note from his boss about something that morning, probably this, but he was saved from having to apologize when Dominique shoved him out of the way.

"You are not Terry Walker," the woman snapped, squaring her legs and and raising her chin like a lioness preparing to protect her territory. "What the hell kind of stunt is this? Did Terry hire a stripper as some kind of joke?"

The man laughed a warm, rich laugh. "You're not the first person to say that but no, believe it or not I borrowed this body from one of the guys who works in my lab. Tariq or something like that? I can never keep track of these things." He kept an easy smile on his face and shrugged his broad shoulders, intentionally stretching his shoulders back to bare his impressive wingspan. "And I'm the real deal- they wouldn't have let me in if I couldn't prove it. I look good, right ladies?"

The man's arms came up into a double bicep flex and Mason didn't know if he should be jealous of the man's muscles (those peaks) or massively turned on by them. The women were having less trouble deciding what to do and many of them were beginning to to swoon, only to straighten their spines when Dominique shot them a withering look out of the corner of her eye.

She turned back around and drew herself up to her full height (she was the tallest woman of the group, but this man had several inches on her and it was clearly grinding her gears) and jabbed a finger at the alleged impostor.

"You can't seriously expect us to believe this nonsense," she scoffed, drawing a chorus of murmurs from the flock of ladies behind her.

A sly smile came to the man's lips. "What do you mean? This is that exciting new project that I've been working on that I posted about it in the organization's official Slack, remember?" One of his bushy eyebrows shot up and he eyed Dominique pointedly. "You've been reading the Slack, haven't you Dominique? I seem to recall you saying it's so important to stay updated- but I guess you've probably been too busy lately to keep up with what's going on with your CBWA sisters. All those patent lawsuits and meetings about alimony must take up so much of your time!"

The vicious barb made several of the women gasp, and even Mason felt a chill run down his spine. In the corner of Dominique's forehead, a vein was throbbing like it was about to burst, but the rest of her expression was frighteningly neutral. Then, her lips pressed into a snarl that tried to pass as a smile.

"Yes, it can be so time consuming being being the head of a company," Dominique said, voice dripping with venom. "You're so lucky you don't have to deal with all that stress Terry. And don't worry yourself about my alimony, I'm just glad I was at least married once unlike-"

The woman realized her mistake too late, and Terry Walker smirked triumphantly.

"No comment on the patent lawsuits?" Walker added, just to salt the wound, and then she brushed past Mason (who shivered at the momentary contact with her large, solid body) and flung her bag down on the benches.

She bent down to rifle through it, giving everyone an eyeful of the tight, muscular male ass that was just barely concealed by her tight grey tennis shorts, and Mason clocked a subtle arch in her back. It was the same trick Mason used to make his butt look juicier when he was hustling for tips, and now that he was on the receiving end of it, he understood why it worked. Mason wasn't ashamed of his own ass (quite the opposite actually), but thought if he had that thing, he'd be unstoppable.

The other women converged on Terry like flies on honey, buzzing about as they all tried to get her attention.

"How did you-" "Look at that-" "So do you really have a-" "I NEED to-" "When is it-" "You have to got to let-" "Where the hell did you find-" "Please can I feel-"

The gaggle of women were all talking at once, making it difficult to make out any one question, but Mason didn't need a transcript to understand what the main topic of discussion was. Everyone was fascinated by the body Walker had borrowed, and who could blame them? A tall, handsome, muscular man with bronze skin and piercing unnaturally electric blue eyes… Mason was half tempted to dive into the crowd himself to get a closer look.

Terry, for her part, was taking the onslaught in stride, basking in the attention and tossing out answers where she could. But her new body did most of the talking as she flexed one of her huge arms in response to someone's question, bouncing the bicep up and down like a softball. She generously leaned down and extended the arm, giving the other women a chance to feel, which they all instantly took advantage of, practically hanging off of the muscled limb like it was a jungle gym.

"Okay, that's ENOUGH ladies!" Dominique snapped- or rather clapped, several times, loudly. All eyes turned to her and the women cowed, drifting away from the hunky man in their midst and falling back into line. After a tense moment of silence, Dominique raised her voice again. "Now, since we're finally all here, are we just going to stand around talking, or are we going to play?" She hefted her tennis racket over her shoulder like it was a weapon and waved her hand at the group. "We'll start off with pairs, everyone partner up."

Pandemonium ensued as all of the women scrambled to grab Terry by the arm, and Dominique was practically steaming.

"Never mind, we're doing singles."

---

Terry trounced the others, of course.

Using the body of a ripped athletic young man in the prime of his life gave her a significant advantage, but perhaps her opponents would have stood a better chance if they hadn't been so distracted staring at the ostentatious mass of flesh that was bouncing around in her loose tennis shorts as she bounded around the court. More than one match had been lost before it began when Terry's opponent's eyes were so trained on the way that hefty bulge jumped when she did that they completely missed her serving them the ball.

The sight of Terry's borrowed body on the court was a sight to behold, all muscle and bronzed skin. The shorts she had selected were shamelessly short, baring as much of the young man's strong, thick thighs as could be considered decent, and those powerful legs pumped like pistons as she used them to dart around the court- the constant action caused the shorts to ride up further as the games went along until they were being devoured by his massive ass cheeks.

Mason found himself mesmerized by the way her body's hairy pecs, which heaved up and down beneath her shirt as she ran, and it was almost funny how on a court full of women, it was the man's chest that was bouncing the most. This only became more noticeable as the matches wore on and her masculine body became sweatier and sweatier, soaking the thin gray fabric of her shirt until it began to cling to her flesh and highlight just how muscular the body she'd brought for the day was.

After an intense final showdown between Terry and Dominique (during which Dominique had been unable to score a single point, resulting her throwing down her racket and screaming at Mason for something or other), the women retreated to the outdoor lounge area where couches and tables were shaded by umbrellas, and Mason did his best to eavesdrop as he served them drinks.

"It's just been incredible ladies," Terry was telling them. The couches were arranged in a "U" shape and she sat at the direct center, leaned back with her muscular arms folded behind her head to give everyone a view of her hairy armpits. Legs sprawled wide of course, just to draw eyes to the heavy bulge that sat between her legs. "I mean we all know how hard it is for women in the workplace, but I still wasn't ready for how much easier it would be as a man! I've started swapping into a male body for all of my meetings and they've never gone smoother."

"You see, men are animals," she continued, snapping her fingers at Mason to bring her a drink. "And animals respect an alpha. That's why they have all of these stupid male rituals- handshakes and bourbon and cigars and all that. When I walk into a boardroom and I'm the tallest, the strongest…" Terry's eyes glanced down suggestively towards her bulging crotch. "the biggest, then men have to listen to me. It's almost disgusting how simple it is."

"Don't you think that kind of thinking undermines the work that we do here at this organization?" Dominique chimed in. Not to be outdone, she'd pulled up a chair so she could sit at the opening of the "U" opposite Terry, and she glared across the space at the smiling male bodied woman. "How are men supposed to learn to respect us when we act like the only way to get ahead is to become one of them? We're supposed to be empowering women, and you're jumping ship like a rat."

"I'm feeling pretty empowered right now actually." Terry slipped one of the arms out from behind her head and flexed it, bouncing the thick bicep up and down a few times, drawing a chorus of giggles from the assembled women, and Dominique frowned. A cocky smile crossed Terry's borrowed face and her sparkling blue eyes glittered in the light, and she casually rubbed at the thin layer of stubble that was starting to sprout on her chiseled jawline. Slowly, as she spoke, her hands began drifting down the masculine body she had rented.

"You do bring up a good point Dominique- I have no intention of becoming a man full-time, this body is just temporary. I'm a woman through and through, but if I can take advantage of the privileges of being a man to get ahead, why wouldn't I? Men only understand power and they won't respect us until we have it. They say, talk softly and carry a big stick, and this…" Terry's hands had reached her crotch and she grabbed at it, hefting the bulge up and down a few times. Everyone was mesmerized. "This is my stick. Today, I'm blending in with the boys' club. Tomorrow? I own it."

Mason was starting to get hard in his own shorts at this point, and he cursed, sticking his fingers into his pockets and trying to adjust himself so it was less obvious.

(A bit of bulge was good for business but standing in front of all those women with a full blown erection was just embarrassing.)

A bit flustered, he dutifully marched over to Terry and handed her the drink she had requested earlier- she didn't thank him, but she did throw him a wink, and it was so sexy on that guy's face that Mason felt his cock twitch. From the way the other women were staring, he was sure they had all noticed, and he jogged off with a red face.

"And there are recreational uses for a male body," Terry commented, stroking herself as she watched Mason's ass bouncing away. "Obviously."

"Walker, that is highly inappropriate!" Dominique slammed her glass down on the table in front of her, splashing orange liquid everywhere. "Sexual harassment is a serious issue, and furthermore, this is a professional organization. Nobody wants to hear about that!"

"Shut up, yes we do!" Ms. Grant shouted, and Dominique was so caught by surprise that her mouth snapped shut. All of the women turned away from her and leaned in towards Terry, ready to hang on her every word. "Give us all the details Terry."

Terry took a sip of her drink, milking the anticipation. As Mason busied himself wiping up Dominique's mess, he kept his eyes trained on Terry- the straw Mason had given her was a larger one usually reserved for boba, but he'd felt a burning need to see what those plush lips looked like curled up and sucking on something thick. The sight did not disappoint, nor did it help calm his pesky erection.

Finally, Walker spoke. "Well… you all remember Marcos, right?"

"Your pool boy?" Ms. Grant gasped, and all of the women burst out into a titter of excitement. The handsome young man had been something of a celebrity for the group ever since they'd had a mixer at Walker's house, and they were always asking her for updates. "You didn't!"

"Oh I did," Terry smirked and popped her pecs cockily. "Quite a few times actually. I never thought I'd get the chance- I just kept him on the payroll because he was pretty to look at -but it turns out he was very attracted to this body. He was begging for my cock and I…" Her hips shifted, a long, lazy thrust into the air, and the outline of the long and thick cock in question made itself known- she was getting hard. "I was happy to give him what he wanted."

"Haven't studies shown that the male orgasm is less intense than the female orgasm?" Dominique cut in, trying to land another barb, but Terry just shrugged her off.

"It felt pretty good to me when I was fucking a sexy twenty-six year old," Terry's hands were on her crotch, and everyone's eyes were glued to it as well as she began to stroke herself up and down through the thin fabric. Her borrowed voice, warm and rich, dropped to a husky growl. "But the appeal is in more than just the orgasm, it's the experience. It's about getting to be the one on top and in charge. I've been fucked by so many men in my life that getting to be the one doing the fucking was goddamn cathartic- and it isn't like some plastic strap-on, I got to use eight inches of top of the line cock to do the job."

"And these muscles!" Wrenching one hand away from her nethers, she shoved it roughly beneath her shirt, the fabric riding up and offering a peak of her host's sculpted brown torso as she groped one of his pecs. From the way her fingers were moving beneath the fabric, she seemed to be tweaking one of his nipples. "FUCK this guy is so goddamned strong! I'M so strong! I threw him around like a ragdoll and he thanked me for it, he sucked on my tits and begged me to manhandle him. I was the man. I was in control."

"Fuck!" A masculine grunt escaped her lips, and she began to stroke herself harder. Now fully hard, the tip of her cock was peeking out of the waistband of her shorts (allowing everyone to see that her host was in fact, circumcised) and it bobbed up and down as she thrust into her own hand. "There's something incredibly… visceral about being able to shove yourself inside of a man, I wouldn't even begin to know how to describe it. But it feels incredible. It feels… it feels…"

And then the rest of the sentence was a wordless roar of pleasure as she ejaculated, grinding her hand up and down the length of her shaft like a man possessed… which in a sense is exactly what she was. The mushroom head of her borrowed penis throbbed as it spewed out an impressive load of semen, staining her shirt, her face, even splattering onto the cushions next to her and the table before her, and she slumped back onto the cushions in a heap. Panting, her huge chest heaved up and down, and she waved at Mason.

Like everyone else in attendance, he stared dumbly at the debauched man in front of him for a moment until he remembered his job and realized what she wanted- usually the towels were only for sweat, but he supposed they'd work just as well for cum. But when he offered her one, she just rolled her electric blue eyes and stripped her shirt off, leading to a chorus of gasps as her borrowed body's furry muscles were fully unveiled. Wordlessly, she gestured to the mess that dotted her torso.

Mason's mouth was suddenly dry but he didn't dare swallow- swallowing was the last thing he wanted to be thinking about in this particular moment. He felt the heavy eyes of the entire CBWA on him as he dropped to his knees in front of the strapping male figure, and the young actor had been in Hollywood long enough to recognize when he was being asked to play a role.

And he had auditioned for enough productions that were basically soft-core porn to know how to play this one.

He casually ran his fingers through his hair, fluffing his golden locks, and plastered a smile on his face as he peeked up at Terry, looking for all the world like an innocent wide eyed farm boy eager to serve like no one was watching. White spunk was already starting to dry in the forest of chest hair so Mason doused his towel with water from a glass on the table to better scrub it out, meaning there was just a thin sheet of wet fabric between his hands and the perfectly sculpted body that Terry Walker had claimed for the day, so it didn't take much acting for Mason behave like he was turned on.

The young actor cheated out and angled his torso slightly so the horde of horny businesswomen watching could get a good view of his own muscular torso as he worked, perversely eager to remind his clients that there was more than one stud on the court that day. He took his time working Terry's pecs, squeezing them slightly under the guise of scraping out some particularly hard to remove spunk, and then worked his way down to her abs, digging his fingers into the crags of her six pack to make sure he got out every little speck.

And when he reached the waistband of her shorts, he let his fingers drift along the deep v of muscle that vanished beneath, teasing everyone that he might go deeper, before he reluctantly pulled himself back.

Drawing up to his feet, he dusted his knees off, and then he noticed Walker's drink- semen dotted the rim of the glass and a thin layer of white was laying atop the liquid inside. He reached for it to take it away, but Walker stopped him. She grabbed the drink herself and slowly, deliberately, licked the rim, then downed the remainder of the glass in one swallow. Only then did she let him walk away.

Terry, shirtless and smug, smiled at the other women of the CBWA, who sat there speechless. Mouths were hanging open, some of them were fanning themselves, Ms. Grant's right hand was tucked beneath her skirt, and an unexpected voice broke the silence.

"How can I try that out?" Dominique asked, her voice strained and almost desperate, and then the floodgates opened and all of the other woman began chattering. Terry lifted up a hand and everyone went silent.

"Well as luck would have it, I'm actually starting my own company to distribute this particular service, and we're working on acquiring some seed funding." A bushy eyebrow raised. "I don't suppose any of you ladies would be interested?"

"You want our money?" One of the women asked, and Terry shrugged.

"I'm offering you all an investment opportunity. Isn't that the point of this group? To uplift each other?" She smiled across the table at Dominique, who for once kept her mouth shut and bowed her head. Terry sniffed triumphantly. "But I promise that this is a surefire win. Anyone interested can message me and I can set up an appointment so you can test the technology yourself- I'm sure the experience will uplift you like nothing else."

At that, she rose to her feet, allowing everyone to see that her tenacious rental dick was already half-hard again.

"Feel free to bring your own boys too, we've got lawyers and payment plans already drafted up. Pick someone you wanna be, and we can make it happen."

Then she walked away, her exit an unofficial signal to the other women that the meeting was now over, and everyone began to disperse. The women were abuzz with excitement, but Mason kept his eyes trained on Terry Walker as she sauntered off, eager to get one last look at her borrowed body's incredible ass.

What, he wondered to himself, would these meetings look like if the entire CBWA hopped on the same train as her? Mason imagined the tennis court full of ripped, shirtless men, frolicking about playing tennis in little shorts. It was such a pleasant image that it almost made up for the fact that he'd received no tips that day.

Shit, he thought to himself, crashing back to Earth as he remembered the rent payment he had due in a few days.

"Yoo-hoo!" A shrill voice rang out, and Mason saw Ms. Grant walking over towards him. She was wiping one of her hands on her skirt, and there was hunger in her eyes. "Dear, could we talk for a moment?"

Mason's stomach sank- he had an idea what she was going to ask him about. And unfortunately, he knew what his answer would be too.

#male body swap #FxM TF #Series: Business Matters #FINALLY DONE WITH THIS HOLY SHIT

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affordablebackgroundchecks · 10 months ago

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Discover how background checks safeguard online daters. Ensure safety by verifying identities, crosschecking details, and creating trust. Background checks offer comprehensive profiles, reduce relationship stress, and protect privacy. With early red flag detection, empower informed decision-making and maintain a secure online dating environment.

https://visual.ly/community/Infographics/lifestyle/online-dating-precautions-how-background-checks-can-safeguard-you

#dating #online dating #background check #dating background check #background check benefits #background check procedure

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tossawary · 5 months ago

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Watching a lot of "Star Trek" and "Star Wars" lately has me trying to articulate a personal rule of thumb for depicting competence. Very basically, if you want to convince me that characters and organizations are not incompetent, then they need backups.

So many of the episodes that we've been watching recently hinge too strongly on single points of failure. If this one element of a plan goes down, then everything collapses. Which is fine occasionally? Cascading failures from small mistakes happen. Shit gets weird sometimes. But the repeated absence of, like, more basic operating procedures like double-checks starts to get annoying fast if we the audience are meant to believe these people are very intelligent and good at their jobs.

After the first few times, Starfleet has got to stop beaming down away teams without a couple plans for what to do if the transporters and communications go down again. "But the chances of that happening on this routine mission are so low!" Don't care. Pick a nearby cave to hide from the ion storm in BEFORE you go. Beam down a little shelter pod with emergency supplies. Arrange a rendezvous with a shuttle. Check in every five minutes so that you know the instant you lose contact. Wear safety gear. Something! Anything!

Admittedly, "Star Trek" and "Star Wars" do this sometimes, which is nice to see when it happens, but not consistently enough. These characters should regularly be considering the worst case scenarios! They should be estimating their margins of error! And sure, unavoidable accidents happen sometimes, human error is definitely a thing, and maybe the backup plans will ALSO fall through for drama's sake, but I would be reassured by the indication that these people at least tried to prepare for things going to shit while exploring the mysterious pit.

"The Clone Wars" show has so far (first half-dozen episodes) been a nightmare of logistics and protocol. Okay, so you let Anakin make a flight plan / attack plan and then... no one checked it over first? Who signed off on this? Anakin: "We're taking X shortcut!" Supposedly more senior character who is on the same mission: "What? Anakin, X shortcut is dangerous because of Y!" And it's just like, "So, you guys just didn't do an actual mission briefing first, huh? Even if it was agreed upon that X shortcut was still the best way, it sure would have been nice to warn the poor background characters about the danger of Y before flying out..."

Yes, characters and organizations making plans at all is the first step of depicting any degree of competence. But the NEXT step as a basic rule of thumb should be them anticipating what can and will go wrong, and what to do about it. After the second time something goes wrong in a very predictable, easily avoidable way and the characters act all shocked about it, it's like, "Yeah, no, this is on you now. Please start making some backup plans in advance."

#tossawary star wars #tossawary star trek

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tainted-liquor · 1 year ago

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'I Have A Girlfriend! ₊‧.°

Post-Anesthesia!Miles Morales x BlackFem!Reader ᧔᧓Ingredients: Crack, kisses, and a lil bit of smiles! zᶻ∘⋆TWs: Menace Miles, N-word usage, Cussing, Jeff abuse, me brushing up on Spanish ⁺˚⋆W/C: 1k! ♡⸝⸝A/N: Crackfic abt post-op Miles 😝 I spent 20 minutes trying to get tumblr to work on my fuhkin computer. No images but dividers idc

"Miles, Put your tongue back in your mouth!" Mrs. Morales urged as she pulled him back on the couch. "Ay, Dios! ¿Cuándo te poniste tan pesado?" She huffed, flopping back on the couch. Miles didn't answer, groaning in frustration as he slid halfway down the sofa in protest. "MamiiiiiiiiiI!" He whined in a shrill voice, gauze muffling his every syllable. "Yes, Miles? What is it now?" Mama Rio asked, her tone laced with amused irritation.

"Dónde está mi novia?" He muttered as the top of his head smushed against the glazed hardwood floor. "She's on her way Miles, calm down you're not supposed to talk too much…MILES! NO NO NO!" She urged as she watched her son attempt to spit out the bloody gauze tucked into the back of his mouth. There were three soft knocks at the Morales's door, with Mama Rio sighing in relief as she opened the door to reveal your smiling face, your eyes widening as you heard Miles's low groans of disproval in the background. "Hi, Mrs. Morales! Is he…okay?" You asked quietly, peering your head through the front door as you watched Miles inch slowly off of the sofa. "Hey, sweetie! Oh don't worry about him he's…being dramatic…" she trailed off, slowly gazing at her son who was now folded in half on the floor.

She giggled quietly, stepping to the side as she permitted you entry into her warm and inviting home. You made a B-line for Miles, scooping the liquid boy up under his arms and laying him back on the couch. "Hey, my love! How are you-…Aht! Nigga!?" you began, eyes widening in shock as he shushes you, grabbing your face in his entire hand as he barely held his eyes open. "No! I…Have a girlfriend!" he slurs, doing a half-crunch to be eye level with you as he attempts to make eye contact. You laughed quietly, gently easing him back to his resting position. "I am your girlfriend!" You chuckled, watching as his eyes widened as wide as the anesthesia would allow them to.

"Muñequita! Te amo tan mucho…" He exclaimed, engulfing you in a surprisingly lethal hug that left you tapping his forearm for release. You nodded avidly, loosening his arm slightly so you could comfortably breathe before slipping away from his grasp to go help Mama Rio with some household chores. You spent around 20 minutes making small talk with her, talking about how his procedure went, how long it would take to recover, and a bit about how much of a fool he was acting just minutes before your arrival. You giggled as you gossiped like school girls, perking up when you heard the front door swing open. "Oh, Hello Mr. Morales!" You greeted, waving a hand energetically from the kitchen sink.

"Hey! Thanks for coming to check on…Miles." He begins, head slowly turning towards his son who was now face down and completely on the floor. He was babbling absolute nonsense, singing songs in the completely wrong key to keep himself distracted as he attempted to find his footing. You rushed over to him, Mama Rio holding up her camera and covering her mouth to silence any giggles that threatened to break free. "C'mon, Vamos a recuperarte…that's it…" You grunted, lifting a very zooted Miles off the ground, knees buckling as he leaned his head on your shoulder and rested every pound of his body weight against you. You gasped, nearly falling over before Jeff quickly grabbed Miles, attempting to throw him over his shoulder and get him to his room. Everyone fell silent as a loud *pop!* noise was heard, Rio laughing as loudly as humanly possible while Jeff winced in slight pain. Miles put all his strength possible into popping his father, remaining groggy and unafraid as he gave his father a sleepy but stern glare. "Who the FUCK are you nigga?" he garbled, feet dangling in the air as Jeff held him up under his arms just above his head. He gave him the most livid glare that would've sent sober Miles into a coma, sighing and shaking his head as he mumbled to himself. "Yeah, that's it alright. Grounded for TWO MONTHS!" You lost all composure, wheezing and cackling on the floor as you watched Jeff angrily swaddle Miles in his hoodie, tying the sleeves of the red cotton together in a makeshift way to make sure his arms didn't move again.

You and Rio struggled to find your air as Jeff threw him down onto the couch, wrapping two blankets underneath the cushion and around Miles to hold him in place. Miles cried loudly, screaming as his life depended on it as his father put his hands on his hips, giving him one final glare, and walking away. You struggled to breathe as you got up and patted Miles's head, hooting and hollering as you wiped the remnants of tears from your waterline. You were just about to calm down, taking deep breaths as you stabilized your lungs. "Oh, hey, Kitty!" you cooed, glancing over at the family cat as he jumped up on Miles's chest. Miles squinted at the small ginger cat, taking it in for about 10 seconds before screaming. "WOAH WOAH WOAH WHATS WRONG!?" You asked, watching as Miles's face contorted into one of genuine horror. The cat was now long gone, swishing off into the hallway to take several deep bites of food. Miles was still screaming, babbling incoherently about some sort of 'overgrown rat' being on his chest. You lost it once more, head and chest throbbing as you laughed yourself into hysteria. You cuddled up by your boyfriend, shushing him through tears as you peppered gentle kisses to the side of his face. "Miles! Calm down, okay? It's literally your cat!" You giggled, patting his face gently as he squirmed in the makeshift straight jacket his father put him in. After calming him down and getting him to drink some water you noticed him begin to mellow out, holding him close to you as you slowly silenced him to sleep.

"C'mon, shut the mouth…No-No, don't spit out your gauze we'll change that later. I love you, Miles!" "Bleh."

#atsv #across the spiderverse #into the spiderverse #miles morales x reader #miles morales #earth 1610 miles morales x reader #menace miles #miles is 1610 #miles morales 1610 #1610 miles x reader #spiderman 1610 #earth 1610 miles fluff

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simplyanjuta · 2 years ago

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Making dynamic poses/animations that adjust to a sims body with Animation Tools by thepancake1

Made this short guide after talking to thepancake1. I haven't seen many people use this feature yet and felt like it might be worth sharing? There are some limitations to be aware of, but I think it's a useful option (for poses as well as animations) 😊

Many thanks to thepancake1 for the tools and for the helpful explanations he provided for this guide.

1. Background and in-game mechanics

The way TS4 handles different body shapes and clothes in animations (for example, in order to avoid clipping) is basically by putting markers (“slots”) on the surface of a sims body that can be then used as (IK) targets with the in-game IK system.

As you probably know, IK (Inverse Kinematics) – as opposed to the default FK (Forward Kinematics) – is a set-up where bones in a chain are influenced backwards. So, for example, when you move a hand, the arm will follow.

In a similar way, what in-game IK does, is assigning a bone or slot to animate relative to. For example, if your sim is posed with hands on the hips, you can assign the hands to the hips slot and the game will then process the pose/animation and perform IK in real time to change the position of the arms and hands relative to the hips.

Note that there are limitations to this system, though, as only hands, feet and the root bind can procedurally target other bones/slots.

Hereby, feet targets and root target are mainly used in interactions with objects, in particular in sitting animations (where, for example, the root is targeting a chair slot).

Hand targets are mainly used for adjusting a pose/animation to a sims body shape and clothes.

The in-game IK always influences the complete arm/leg (chain: foot-calf-thigh/hand-forearm-upperarm).

You can find an article that provides some background information here: https://simsvip.com/2014/08/20/community-blog-the-sims-4-animations/

2. Using the feature in custom poses/animations

Per default, when you make custom poses/animations with Blender and S4S, the relevant information that the game requires to apply in-game IK is not included. And so, you will notice that while a pose might look good with the base rig in Blender, it might not fit other sims with a different shape in game, in particular causing clipping.

You can use TS4 SimRipper to fine-tune a pose for a certain sim, but this might not be the solution you’re looking for, if you share your poses and/or want them to be compatible with different kinds of sims.

The animation tools now include a feature that makes it possible to use in-game IK with custom poses/animation as described in part 1.

Disclaimer:

The animation tools are in development and subject to change.

Currently TS4 SimRipper sims are not properly supported. (Although, imo for the purpose of the task, it doesn't make much sense to use them as models.)

As you can see in the comparison below, there might be some accuracy loss for the flexibility gained. (The position of the arms in the version without IK targets matches exactly the pose I made in Blender but doesn't work at all for the heavier sim causing extreme clipping. At the same time, the version with IK targets deviates a bit from the pose I made, but works for any sim.)

Below a short guide on how to set it up with the example pose I made.

1) You can download the tools HERE. Make sure to check the installation guide and tutorials in the wiki tab for the basics. (Note: The tools were originally made for Blender 3.0 but also support newer versions, in particular Blender 3.3.)

Some additional tips for poses in another post of mine HERE.

After you set up the tools in Blender and have made your pose:

2) Go to the S4AnimTools panel. Fill out rig name, clip splits and clip name as described in the tutorials linked above (also make sure to select “Allow Jaw Animation”).

3) Find & click “Create World IK channels”.

This will create 5 IK channels for the afore mentioned hands, feet and b_ROOT_bind bone. You can also add channels either by cloning the existing ones or clicking “Create World IK channels” again. To get rid of unwanted channels click “Delete”.

4) Set up the targeted bones/slots based on the type of pose you made.

In my example, I created a pose where a sim has the left hand on the hip, and the right hand close to the thigh. Therefore, I added IK channels targeting the “b__L_frontBellyTarget_slot” and “b__R_ThighFrontTarget_slot��.

The slots are marked blue in the picture below. Some notes:

The slots are hidden by default, I made them visible for the picture. You can unhide all bones/slots available by pressing Alt+H. But I recommend doing this on a separate rig/in another blend file or undo it directly afterwards if you don't want all the (unneccessary) bones/slots blocking your view.

The selected slots worked well enough for my example, but you should figure out what is suitable for you. (Fo example, the HandDangle slots seem to be commonly used when the arms are hanging near the body.)

As orientation you can also look up clip files for EA poses/animations via the S4S Game File Cruiser and see what bones/slots are used as targets ("Warehouse" tab -> "SlotAssignments"; IKChainIndex: 0 - left hand / 1 - right hand / 2 - left foot / 3 - right foot /4 - root). On that note: The Clip Pack export loses/resets the slot data, but you can use it to find an animation and check its Instance ID to then search for in the Game File Cruiser. (If you know the name of an animation you can also determine its Instance ID by converting the name with the S4S Hash Generator.)

5) To ensure an animation works properly and, in particular, blends with other animations in game, each IK channel should (also) target b_ROOT of the rig.

The bones are marked green in the picture below. This set up was recommened to me by pancake. Another experienced creator mentioned though that it's only necessary to target b_ROOT at the start and end of an animation, in his experience.

Also note that this seems to be a restriction for animations that are made as in-game interactions and might not be necessary for poses or animations used with Andrews Pose player.

6) The start and end frame is set according to the length of the pose/animation (I want to use the pose as a CAS trait pose and set the duration to 150 frames = 5 seconds), except for the b_ROOT target for hands where the end frame is set to 0 in my example, since they are also targeting the slots “b__L_frontBellyTarget_slot” and “b__R_ThighFrontTarget_slot” during the animation.

Note: My example is a static pose. In animations, however, you can also target different slots at different times by setting up multiple IK channels and specifying the start frame and end frame respectively.

7) Bake the animation by pressing “Bake IK”.

8) Export the clip and create a package with your pose/animation as described in the linked tutorials above.

@ts4-poses @thefoxburyinstitute

#TS4 poses #tutorials #tutorial #poses #animations #TS4 #sims 4

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yaekiss · 2 years ago

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#Mailroom Open!- Hello, I would like to request a love letter for Alhaitham. NSFW and Yandere response please, and any pet names work but if you could use Habib that would be great 💖 (I hope I did this right)

_______________________

"To my favorite feeble scholar,

I hope this letter is finding you well! I have arrived safely in Fontaine and haven't known a moment of peace since I have arrived. The chaotic cocktail of getting settled into a new city, preparing for this research project, and missing home makes me yearn for the simpler times spent in Sumeru.

Especially my time spent with you.

Thats enough of my lamenting, how fare things with you back home? Have you finally shaken the title of acting Grand Sage yet? Is Kaveh being too much of a "menace"? (Also, please let him know his mother says hello and sends her best wishes to you both). Regardless, I hope you are taking care yourself. Archons know I can't ensure you are eating well while I'm nations away. I will just have to trust that you are treating yourself with the same kindness I would extend to you.

On the topic of kindness, I have a gift for you attached to this letter. I know while I am here doing my research for the next six months we won't be able to have our usual meetings at Lambad's to discuss books over good food, but I hope these books will entertain you well during my absence.

I'm eagerly counting down the days until I can see you again. I find myself thinking of you often and it is a truly vexing experience to see you on whim like I would do so before. It makes the days seem to drag on even longer, but I pray time will fly by regardless of this.

-Sincerely, your wayward scholar

[In a simply decorated box, there are three books: one is on the topic on Fontaine's hydro transportation system and infrastructure, the second is about the complexities surrounding Fontaine's judicial system, and lastly is an infamous and popular erotica anthology from Fontaine (think the Karma sutra but French)]

꩜ Letter Content: Dom! GN! Reader x Yan! Sub! Alhaitham, Alhaitham calls you "habib", lightly implied abuse of power, unhealthy possessive and obsessive relationship from Alhaitham, mentions of sex toys, lmk if I missed out anything ! ꩜ Delivery Notes: He tipped me extra and requested me to be extra careful with the delivery so I'll hand it over to you directly instead of leaving it at your door as per usual procedure! ꩜ Wanna write a love letter yourself? Check out it out here!

There’s a knock at your door when you’re relaxing in your room, opening it shows a hotel staff member who passes you a delivery. And it doesn’t take a genius to know it’s from your beloved feeble scholar.

Alhaitham sends you a simple package, nothing too gaudy or showy, just a few accents of turquoise to denote who the sender is. It’s secure and durable, perfect for weathering long and bumpy trips.

When you open up the package, you find a few gifts he carefully arranged so that nothing would be broken if the contents were jostled around a little too hard. Gingerly, you lift out a lacquered box which reveals a set of headphones and a music player that’s almost identical to the one he owns. It rests in its cushioned groove in the box with the colours of the device matching your favourites instead of the shades of green on his set.

There’s a small note attached to the music player, “In case you ever miss me too much, you’ll have my voice as background noise for your moping, habib.” On the back of it, he’s written something akin to a track list. Flicking through the different audio files for a quick sample, you realise there’s one for every mood. Tracks with words of encouragement (...or as encouraging as someone like Alhaitham can get), ones scolding you for overworking. There’s even a really cute one where he softly hums a love song that both of you adore, his voice low and soothing. However, the best track of all might be the one where you get to hear his grunts and moans, as if he were right next to your ear in person. The sounds are so sinful and wet, you could just picture him grinding on his dildo, trying to reach his peak. And the way he pitifully breaths out a “I c-can’t cum witho- AH! -without you!” has you yearning for him yet again.

Taking the headphones off before you get too carried away, you retrieve his letter in the package. The envelope is the one from his Grand Sage office, not that he ever really uses them for work purposes. Inside it, his reply is written on parchment, the kind that’s provided for him due to his high position once again. His handwriting is as tidy as ever, the font and formatting standardised throughout the letter. His reply reads:

“Reply for: My springtime sublimity,

I was wondering when you were going to write back to me. After all, there’s no way you would’ve forgotten me in the midst of your research or from meeting someone new, right? Regardless, you have not left my mind since your departure and I’m sure it’s the same for you too habib.

Do let me know if the gifts are to your liking. I’ve managed to recreate my headphones and they will definitely be useful in blocking out anyone else who might be getting on your nerves or when you’re trying to focus on your research. I included my latest read in the package as well. I'd like for us to discuss our thoughts on the book, even if it’ll have to be done over pen and paper. I’m eager to hear your thoughts on it.

There’s also no reason for me to answer whether I’ve managed to resign from my title as Grand Sage, as evident from the envelope and parchment used. I simply have an unfortunate one last thing to wrap up before I can do so.

Moving on, habib, you know Kaveh is always a menace. I relayed his mother’s well wishes to him earlier and he just smiled. Now he’s locked himself in his room. I never have any idea what’s in that mind of his. It’ll be a miracle if I don’t have to drag him out before he starves. Although I must ask, since when were you privy to Kaveh’s background? I don’t recall him bringing it up around us. Habib, just how close are you to him? How close has he gotten to you? Do write back to me and explain.

Now, this is where I must thank you for your gifts. They all have proven to be succinct and informative. However, I must comment on the choice of one of the books. My, I knew you were lewd before, but to send me an erotica anthology habib? Though, I never said I minded it. I am simply inspired, that's all. Perhaps, you should come back sooner and we can try some of the positions referenced in it. In the meantime, habib, I can only pleasure myself with toys, although, they’re nothing in comparison to you. I’m addicted to you, the caress of your hands on my skin, how only you can make me shudder and cry out your name. You have me wrapped around your finger.

I crave you desperately, habib. There are so many words I could use to describe you with my extensive vocabulary, but the most fitting one would be blossoming. You’ve managed to sow all these emotions in me and now that they’re blooming, you’ll take responsibility right? I’ve always been logical but the degree of affection I feel for you is irregular, all-encompassing and ever-growing. Almost as if you’re twisting the very essence of my mind, rotting and changing me from the inside out. It matches in a way, spring being the season of rebirth.

This letter has gotten too long, I will end it off here habib. I trust you will stay safe and return in one piece unharmed. I await your reply.

May your days be peaceful,

- Alhaitham -”

Setting his letter back in the package, you pick up the book he entrusted to you. Flipping through the pages, it’s littered with markings and annotations from the scribe, he even wrote some questions for you to ponder over. “What do you think about this point?” “Why would the author write this in?” But there are a few unrelated… unsettling annotations that you probably shouldn’t dwell on for too long such as, “Do you know just how much I miss you?” or “How were you able to corrupt my reason and rationality to this extent?” These annotations were left in here for a reason, Alhaitham is a smart man, a renowned member of the Haravatat. There’s a message behind his carefully selected words, waiting for you to unearth it before it festers and decays into something even worse.

Lastly, written neatly on the inside of the back cover, is a puzzling riddle, each word written in a different ancient script. After deciphering the question, an unpleasant awareness worms its way into your mind.

It reads, “Would you still extend your same kindness to me after realising what I would do for you?”

Thanks for reading! Consider supporting me on kofi if you enjoyed this or check out my other works hehe ♡

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