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dilf-docs · 3 months ago

Text

Give Me Coffee, Utah Love

sleazy!joel 'mullet' miller x younger fem!reader

summary: on the run and looking for a fresh start, a cheap gasoline coffee and to-do list slipping from your bag later, you (have lost your mind and) consider this stranger's proposition.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap (52/25), pwp, p. in v., fingering, (one) pussy spank, degradation kink, lwk breeding and exhibition kink, nasty filthy sex, public sex, one joke about kys, strangers to ???, pulled an all nighter for this yey me (its 3am and my alarm sounds at 4:10 lol) so forgive me if i made any spelling mistake, i wanna see ur comments/reblogs bc i crashed out so bad i feel like i deserve it

word count: 4,060 words

side note: that one girl who doesn't play abt snl. okay but who works harder? the devil, a7estrellas or me, that only needed two pedro snl sketches and is acting like a yuppie in the 80s doing cocaine on a bathroom after work bc WOW so many new content. yes, men with mullets should die but this is pedro! song of choice for this piece is queen of the gas station by sleazy dilf patroness lana del rey. also up next, renaldo inspired one shot to celebrate the snl 50 series! (update: read it here)

You liked driving at night.

There was simply something about the eerie silence, the shadows casting upon the streets, barely touched by the headlights and the moon, the quiet hum of the radio and the slow shift of your hands on the wheel.

You liked driving at night, but today, it feels off.

Just this morning, you had looked at your house one last time. It still had that white paint on the porch, that had faded due to the sunlight, and those scrapped stickers on what had been your childhood room's door.

He had tried talking some sense in to you, claiming all your life was there, in Arizona. With him. But Phoenix had started to feel like a prison and he was your warden. So you snuck at dawn when no one would notice, like a criminal. Very fitting.

The sun hadn't touched yet the kitchen where you ate when your feet balanced off the chair and now graced the floor in a lazy manner, eating cereal with marshmallows first and now, just about three days ago, just oatmeal, because it seemed like what a grown up would do.

But in many ways you were still the same kid who was too shy to raise her hand in class because she couldn't find her voice, bound to be forgotten among much louder and brigther kids. Yet he had seen you.

So you stayed: put up with dances where he would spin you until the world was reduced to a blur, and the quiet home life in town-- kids running around and barbecues on the summer seemed like a good ending. You dreamed of a truck and a garden, and the few friends you made all seemed to share the same vision. Except for one.

When Dorothea came back from New York, eyes too wide and smile too bright, she seemed like a different person. In many ways she still was the same girl with an accent who had shared her sandwhich with you during recess, but her words now carried ambition and her gaze seemed awoken by a purpose you couldn't find but on the road that drove out of town.

But folks kept her at arms length. The amusement in her smile was infectious as a disease, and with whispered stabs they would talk behind her back. Your friend bore a scarlett letter for wanting more.

You had never wanted more; compliant might of be your second name. But when you'd see her walk by your house, shorts above her knees and that city girl strut with her sneakers against the hot asphalt, you were envious, and Williams seemed so small and dull.

Who does she think she is? he would say, and you'd nod your head, despite the secret admiration hidden in your eyes.

Suddenly, the red truck sounded stupid and the married life with kids could wait.

We could wait, you had said outloud.

He had laughed, like you just told a joke. It was on surprise, but it felt cruel.

Why? like he couldn't understand you-- as if you spoke on a different language. What is there to wait for?

You took your decision that day.

It started slow, by wearing skirts that rode up with the wind, blaming the lack of clothes on the heat. Then with the nicotine between your lips, the forbidden act making clouds that escaped your red lips. Or wearing the other make up Dorothea taught you, now holding hands with her as people whispered she had tainted your naive soul too. He caught your new smell, and spoke harshly about not wearing clothes that made other men turn to eat out the sun-kissed skin of your legs, because you'd turn too, gaze defiant and full of mischief, but that he didn't know. Might as well wear nothin'. But he cried with his face buried in the same uncovered legs, saying he hated to see you like this; he didn't recognize you.

It was easy then.

One day you packed your bags and took the car you'd been given as a graduation gift, leaving town with what seemed a lifetime stashed in the backseat.

You left a note for your parents, neatly placed on a bed you wondered when you'd sleep again in, if you were ever to be back. To him, who you now just start to wonder if you ever really loved or just accepted because it's what there was and nothing more, you hadn't left a note nor explanations.

He wouldn't understand anyways.

Just the promise of what could've been, shining in the middle of your bed.

You had been driving non-stop, afraid like a fugitive who was being chasen. Sometimes, you'd take stops on the road and pulled out a pen and a book, despite your fingers itching from driving and your urgency to check the phone you'd been to coward to turn on to see the wake of messages your disappearance might have sparked.

There was a sting somewhere outside the ache of your bones or the flutter of your tired eyes, and it cried for home and longed for the life you always envisioned for yourself. But it also felt like a second skin you couldn't quite wash off with the cheap soap and cold water of the motel you had crashed in a couple of hours ago.

You didn't want to live in suburban desert dreams back at Williams. You wanted to feel alive.

It's nightime when the little peep sound jolts you awake. You had been driving in auto-pilot; your car needs gas and you needed rest.

Its probably ten at night, and according to your map, Utah isn't that far. It's a fresh start: a place where no one knows your name or your whole life, for the matter.

Your car comes to a stop under faded neon lights in the middle of the road. There's a truck parked next to your car, the guy inside the convenience store, and that's about it. You're filling your tank while suppressing a yawn, when a movement across your station catches your eyes.

The only other customer, a man old enough to be your dad. He's staring at you, leaning against his truck, arms crossed while the biceps flex with the position, tense. Even from your place, you can see how the veins pop here and there, making you gulp on instinct.

The smoke of his cigarrette gets lost in the neon hues and starry sky. Doesn't he know you're not supposed to do that at a gas station? Yet, his lack of care and recklessness picks your interest.

(Hey! The last time you had human contact was about a day ago and after seeing only roads, asphalt, desert and mountains, you deserved a little treat to entertain yourself)

"Like what you see, doll?" sporting the most sleazy smile you'd ever seen.

Something about him was as alluring as uneasy, the nervous tremble of your hands but the warmth between your legs speaking of said conflicting emotions. You pretend to be invested on the task of filling your truck (the reason you're here, after all) but the way your body burns, begs, to look again is humilliating. So you do, but he isn't there anymore, althought his truck is.

"You know, wearin' a dress like that at night isn't a good idea for'a girl like you"

He appears from seemingly nowhere, making you jump. Your heart flutters and you clench at nothing with the sound of his deep voice, low, akin to a rumble or a thunder. It's laced with diversion, and the not so subtle way he eats you out with his eyes like a starved man, wolfish grin on display as he leans now against your car, makes his intentions all the more clear.

"Why?" you feel oddly bold, instead of scared. Maybe it's the lack of sleep, because why the hell would you be flirting in a gas station, at night, entertaining an old and slighlty creepy albeit attractive man when you had been engaged less than a day ago?

"The weather" he appears nonchalant, balancing the cigarrette like a toothpick between his chapped lips. "Or men"

"Bold of you to say that while wearing that" you poke fun at his outfit, which consists of some shorts, worn t-shirt and a vest. He's sporting the tall socks and slippers combo, dressing like a grandpa but he pulls it off alright. "Also, men? Like who, you?"

He laughs, the sound sprouting rich and grave from his chest. It makes you dizzy. Yup, let's blame the lack of sleep again.

"Well, look at that. Sure got'a mouth on ya', doll" he gets closer, and his scent floods your nostrils. Wood, gasoline, musk, sweat and burnt ciggars. "Just takin' care of you. Say, how about ya' warm that shaky frame of yers? This place has sum coffee goin' on. Shit, but it works"

He could poison your drink for all you care, but all his teeth are on display and he's got a dimple. Also, you're fighting your fluttering eyelids in here.

"Y/n" it's your way of agreeing while extending your hand.

Instead of shaking it, he pulls you even closer and kisses it, his warm lips brushing your cold hand. You shiver at the contact, and it may be the way his firey auburn holds your gaze while doing so or how big his hands feel, both your mind and heart racing.

"Joel" he says, and then that same calloused palm finds its way to the soft part above your ass in your back, guiding you to the store.

Inside, it smells like cheap coffee and grease. You clutch your bag tighter, and choose a table as the stranger pays for your coffee, or well, Joel.

"There ya' go" and he places the hot brown liquid in front of you.

Now that he's closer and under the yellow-ish lights, you take a better look at his face. His eyes, which mock the drink in front of you. His hands, that seem to almost swallow the small cup with their size, and then his hair. God, alright. He sported a fucking mullet of all haircuts. And boy, wasn't it embarrassingly attractive? Your eyes fall towards his beard and mustache, grays sprinkled across them. But your mind and eyes alike went back to the thought of feeling the slightly greasy looking hazel strands, calling for your touch.

"Gonna take a sip or what?" and he smiles. You don't know if it's in diversion by your doze-off or because he knows why.

You had never felt this hot and bothered. Hell, not even normal hot. He had never made you feel like this, and now some fucking random skanky man was getting your panties on a twist in the middle of the road.

"I-I'm going to the bathroom" you manage to squeak out, running for your life.

Inside the stall, you splash some water into your face, as if trying to make you react. Get yourself together, you tell your reflection in the mirror, but then you're fixing your hair, and as you reach for your red lipstick you realize you left your bag back at the table. Fuck.

You get out, only to find your bag weirdly sprawled on the seat, the handles centimeters away from falling to the floor. Then, he, who you only see his sturdy back and broad shoulders, crouched down, like he's reading something, althought Joel doesn't seem the type of guy who chooses to read in his free time.

"Joel?"

And then you see it: the tiny notebook you had been scribbling on the road, looking even smaller on his grip.

Your To-do list.

It may sound stupid, but a week before leaving, you bought it: the last memory of your town and the start of your new life. At twenty-five, the concept may sound a little stupid with what you've written, but you felt your new life deserved to have space for some of those dreams or fleeting thoughts you had during class written down.

And now fucking Joel was reading it.

"Wow, doll. Ya' sure are full of surprises" he chuckles, flipping through the pages. What sounds better: killing him or yourself? Hmm, maybe throwing the burning coffee at him would suffice.

"Give me that back" you extend your rigid hand, voice clipped.

The stupid trail of decisions catches up to you. Why had you trusted a stranger that had oggled you right in front of your face? You're too starved and horny to think straight, clearly, because now he's mocking you while your face burns with red shame.

"Saved your bag from fallin' when ya' rushed outta da seat. Then this lil' thing came out" he stops on a page. "Skinny dipping. And'ere I thought you're a good girl"

"Shut up and give me that" you seethe.

"Wow, doll" Joel chuckles yet again. "don't get yer panties in a twist. If ya' wanted so, jus' ask"

You scoff at his boldness. "Excuse me?"

"Ya' heard me" he gets up from his seat, body towering over yours.

Was it hot in here? Why was your body warm all of the sudden? Was it the coffee? No, you hadn't even take a sip. Joel searches before looking at you again with a content gaze and an ugly smug grin, like he's used to having his way.

"Sex with a stranger" then searches for other, the sound of the pages the only other sound in the room, still not overpowering the one of your heart, echoing in your ears. "Sex in a bathroom"

He closes the little book and hands it back to you. You take it with force, ears burning at their tip. "So?"

"Funny" he muses. "I can help you with both"

Your head drops back against the cold wall as Joel's lips find your collarbone.

This was stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Of all the decisions you've made in your life, this one is either the worst or the best. Fuck, you hadn't even arrived at Utah and could cross two things from the book.

His kiss is rushed, rough and sloppy, sucking on your lips so hard you feel them swollen and bruised. Joel's tongue then pokes inside your mouth, to taste your insides and all of you more deeply, content with the savor of your sweet mouth and gloss smeared across his own. It isn't often that he gets a chance like this: sure, casual sex is like breathing for him at this point in life, where he's made it too far without building a home for a wife. But now, here? You, this pretty young thing, the small whimpers coming out of your lips, how you squirm under his frame and groping hands that travel through a body he can't get enough of. Shit, he ain't young anymore but he's painfully hard and can't stop his task despite his aching joints and age. Joel just wants to taste all of you forever, despite the shit place and rather funny circumstances:

You both, strangers, in an dirty dark alley behind a gas station, about to fuck.

He's pressing his knee tightly between your thighs, the same one you had spotted before thanks to his shorts. His strong grip pins your hand above your head, rendering you immobile under his weight, that presses over you. Shit, you should be thinking this through and running away, but the complete submission and reckless choice makes it all the more hot.

Your throat works up soft, needy noises and Joel marvels at the sounds.

"Keep 'em comin', doll. Wanna know I'm makin' you feel good"

His lips leave lazy wet trails across your skin. The skirt of your dress is raised by his leg and pressed knee.

"Hmh, Joel-" you needily whimper.

"Shh" he swallows a moan with his mouth, "but jus' for me, doll. Keep it low, will ya'? Or want the whole place knowin' what a dirty slut ya' are? Fuckin' with da first stranger that looks yer way?"

You had never been degraded, less thought it would turn you this much on.

"Joel" you whimper his name.

He groans into your mouth, lewd tongues tangling and tasting the messy kiss with fiery passion and hate. Your fingers fist into the thick material of his vest, nails about to ruin it, but by the way his eyes darken and he smiles, Joel might be into it.

The man pulls away for breath, a string of saliva connecting you two.

His hand gropes your ass and then moves to your exposed inner thigh.

"What'a dirty girl" your fingers hook into his worn-out jeans, tugging the peaking waistband forward to you. His weight and chest push into you, "so wet and eager for this dick, you cockhungry whore"

To prove his point, his thick fingers rub your clit through the material of your panties. You tilt your head back in pleasure at the newfound sensation, and he takes the chance to mark your exposed neck and collarbone, making you moan his name when he sinks his teeth on the skin.

"All 'tis for me?" and his fingers fingers slink down to trace your folds again. Your back arches, breasts pressing against his chest. You dig your nails on his broad back, making him hiss with pleasure as you grab for support.

His rough digits slide and push your sticky panties aside, then plunge inside your pussy. You whimper quietly, the squelches of your pussy swallowing his fingers the only sound in the dark, aside from the busy road ahead. The calloused pad of his thumb circles your sensitive nub, pressing and massaging as his lips travel down to the valley of your tits.

"Wanna free this bad girls and taste 'em" he pulls down your dress, mouth practically watering at the rosy soft skin. "Fuck, doll. No bra? Ya' were lookin' for this, ain't you? Makin' the job easy. I'm just'a lucky man"

He wants to see how they bounce with each thrust, eyes darkening with the shade of lust.

"I- Fuck"

Joel's fingers thrust in and out at with a rapid pace and delicious movements you had never been pleasured before with. Now, when he curls them? That nearly sends you over the edge, reaching a spot you had never known existed.

"S'tight" he groans at your clenching warm sticky walls, fingers slowing but still moving as you ride out your high, drenching him in your liquids.

"Found sum sugar for that shit tastin' bitter coffee, eh?" he takes his own fingers on his mouth and sucks on them with a rather obscene gesture, taking them out with a loud pop. His tongue licks what's left off, and you whimper at the lewd image. "Yer too sweet, doll. Can't get 'nough"

Your arms wrap around him, as Joel rolls his hips, seeking friction to relieve him of the uncomfortable strain against the denim.

"Ready to take me in, doll? I'll just warn ya' somethin'" his free hand unbuckles his belt and tugs down the jeans and boxers down, dick in display: hard, and leaking with precum. He drags his teeth against your ear, and his hot breath ghosts over you with coffee and ciggars. "See that? Think ya' can take it?"

The tuft of sweaty hair leading down to his length has you salivating, and your fingers wrap around him before you realize it. Joel winces at the touch.

"Like a champ" and you swear his erection throbs in your palm, head angry and needy.

What a gentleman.

He doesn't wait for more words, teasing your moist folds with his tip before he's inside, buried to the hilt, rough fingers steady bruising your hips as he thrusts you up against the wall. You look up at the flickering lampost, wondering how did you ever made it here and what the hell are you doing, his groans deep inside your ear as his head is buried in the crook of your neck, labored breaths against your ablazed skin. For a moment, he looses the spot and favors looking at you, to take in the sight infront of him: mouth slightly gaped open, eyes lidded, and fingers desperately digging into his back. You're fucked out of your mind, but so is he.

"Like what you see?" you mimick his words from earlier. He lets out a dry and labored chuckle.

"I do"

He snaps his hips, and you're not sure what is it that creaks, too many things happening outside (the cars, the whiff of gasoline, the nocturnal wind). Joel soon takes up an erratic pace. He's so deep in you, his balls slams into your pussy with each thrust he forces into you.

You should start writing more things on that notebook if they would become true and as good as this. Earn a ridiculous sum of money for free, for example.

Joel grunts, hands busy holding you against the wall, but he so badly wants to play with your bouncy tits, so you let out a yelp when his wet tongue rolls over the skin, mouth then sucking the skin until it's bruised, kissing lazily around your hardened nipples until teeth bite on them.

He's going insane; should go more often late night driving if he'd end up fucking pretty naive sweet-tasting girls behind alleys.

His cock fills you so perfectly it doesn't take long before your walls are spasming around his cock, and you're about to cum for a second time, before on his fingers now over his girth inside of you. Joel can sense it, so his filthy mouth goes for it:

"Go on, doll. Show me what yer made of"

You fall apart with a sharp cry, face buried into his shoulder with a bite to muffle it.

He groans as the pleasure rolls through you. "Milk me dry, c'mon. Take all of ma' seed like the slut ya're" Joel speaks while moving inside you, deeper and quicker, aching for release. Then he's pulsing, cumming with a harsh grunt. "Don't waste a drop, doll. I know you're considerate jus' like that"

His hands slide down to your waist, his long hair drenched, sticking to his forehead. There's the silence of the night and your breaths as you try to compose yourselves.

"That's a good girl" while softnening cock still inside you.

"See? Told you: took you like a champ" you pant, trying not to think of what lead you to now, just focused on the high. "I like to keep my promises"

Joel laughs, but its a soft sound; light. It caresses your chest like a wind chime.

He then pulls out, your folds a mess and his dick coated with your juices. "Shit, look at ya' hungry pussy, doll. Wore me the fuck out"

You help him pull up his pants, looking at the socks while you contain a laugh. Then you think again and the alley pulls you out of your post sex haze. Yeah, filling those two checkboxes in your To-do list will feel good as fuck, but:

Now what?

"Joel?"

"Hmh?"

He pulls up your dress to cover your tits when the wind brushes through the alley, with a weird softness to him, then fixes your panties, giving your clothed pussy a weak slap that sends a shiver through your body.

"Thanks for the treat. I'ont remember orderin' desert"

You laugh as you push him off your body, refusing to meet his eyes. This is the second man who has seen you naked, and while definitely not good at words, his wolf-like hunger in his brown eyes and needy mouth besides the hard dick have said more than enough. Besides, it's a little late to be embarrased but you're still trying to process this wild huge leap you took to celebrate the start of your new life.

"Drive safe" you mutter, starting to walk away, thinking how the hell you'll survive the two hours left in the orad with such a sticky pair of panties and sweaty body.

"Where you goin'?" his deep voice stops you before you've reached the end of the alley.

"Utah" you answer in a beat, heart beating dangerously fast.

The same sleazy smile from the first time you saw him adorns his handsome face, all teeth in display.

"Really, doll? Well, lucky you" he lights up a cigarrette, trail of smoke condensing in anticipation. "'Cause that's jus'bout where I'm headed"

cr: divider @kodaswrld / gif @a7estrellas

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fawnnlvr · 3 days ago

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red velvet hair | criminal minds

summary: in which the bau is never fully prepared for the disturbing stories of one of their assistant agents who never fails to leave them absolutely speechless.

pairing: criminal minds x catvalentine!reader

word count: 1.5k

warning: this is so stupid. mentions of blood and mental illness because cat valentine. ♥︎ this is truly the stupidest thing i have ever written and willingly posted. im sorry in advance to whoever has the misfortune of coming across this.

masterlist

author's note: this is honestly for doodoos and giggles. i just like the idea of having a ditzy reader like cat valentines absolutely traumatize the already traumatize. also, i know i should be posting about my hot!diva!reader but a girl can get distracted :( also i just love victorious and i might do her helping out spencer with his addiction because cat was addicted to bibble.

The BAU wasn't really sure how you got hired as a apart of the behavioral analysis unit since they were not sure how you passed the psychological evaluation or written tests. You were what the FBI considered a special exception, just like Spencer Reid since you were extrodinary in passing the phsyical tests and using unique ways to solve problems. You also were very charming towards your instructors and Strauss. It weren't even the little things that led them to question how your mind worked, it was the things you'd say and do outright that you considered to be normal; today was one of those days that Hotch made another mental note to get you drug tested later on.

You and Penelope gathered around Spencer's desk to see the photo that Penelope had printed out. You leaned on Spencer's chair while Penelope leaned on top of the desk as you all stared in shock.

"It's remarkable. Something like this makes you questioned everything you thought you knew." Spencer stated, shaking his head at Emily's photo as you nodded in agreement.

"Yeah, it's like the monolith in 2001." The computer tech commented, a teasing tone in her voice as she eyed Emily who sat not too far away.

"So there was actually a time when something like this was socially acceptable?"

Penelope sighed at Spencer's inquiry, "You and [Name] are young. 80s left a lot of people confused. This is erm... especially sad."

"Alright. Very funny guys. Very funny." Emily finally spoke out in a dry tone, snatching the paper out of Penelope's hand. "What'd you do to it?"

"Do?" Garcia hid a laugh.

"You obviously altered it in photoshop or something — that hair." Emily scoffed, as she showed the photo towards them, not believing it was ever her.

"Oh— no pussycat, that is— that's all you. Garfield High, class of '89."

Emily peered down back at the photo, a new frown appearing in her face, "You really didn't change anything?"

"I hacked it as is. You're really trying to tell me you don't remember rocking that look."

"Perhaps your lack of recognition stems from a dissociative fugue suffered from an adolescence. Say it a Siouxsie and the Banshees concert." Spencer joked which caused penelope to giggle but you were very confused.

"Who?"

"You don't know Sioxsie and the — nevermind" Emily cut herself off, sighing. It was already terrible that she graduated in the 80s and she did not need to be reminded of her age yet again.

"Well whoever they are, they must be pretty cool. I think you looked really cool in your yearbook photo, Emily." you said with such sincere and genuiness that the receiver of the compliment's heart warm.

"You think I looked cool?"

"Yeah! We could've maybe had been friends had we gone to school together. But, what happened to the coolness now?" you tilted your head. You asked the question without any hint of malicious intent, and full of genuine curiosity. You like when people dressed goth or alternative. You never were one for status quos and your entire high school was filled with people of that nature.

Spencer and Penelope stifled a laugh as Emily stared out into space, questioning where her life went wrong to have such a backhanded compliment by a girl who used to skip the number three when counting. They learned that habit was fixed during your FBI academy days.

"What are we talking about?" Morgan had joined the group, a cup of coffee in his hand. "Woah! Prentiss, that's you? Oh my that is, something!"

"What is going on?" Rossi followed behind Morgan, the same suprise is evident on his face. "Oh! That is a... lovely photo."

"You know what, what did you guys look like in high school because I am positive we all went through a phase." Emily asked, defensiveness clear in her tone.

"Well fear not because I had time this morning for another hacking of a fellow agent, Miss [Surname], and let's just say that I have never felt more jealous of a life lived than yours my dear."

"Oooo I haven't seen this picture in a while!" you squealed, excited to see how you were at one of the happiest times in your life. Penelope brought out the photo and everybody gathered around, curious as to what era of you they would see.

They always knew that you were a sort of special type of person but they had only met you in this era of your life. The you they know and love is somebody who is undeniably herself and a sweetheart who gives everybody her love unconditionally.

They never would've expected for Penelope to pull up a photo of an alternative fairy-like girl. You looked into the camera with the smile of a model in the perfect position that caught you from all the good angles. Your head perfectly tilted just a teensy bit down, your smile not quite reaching your eyes but offering a sense of lightheartedness and mischief, and your eyes captured this sort of fun youthfulness. You also wore a hot pink off the shoulder shirt with cybersigilism prints and many metal necklaces. But what caught the other agent's eyes the most was your red hair.

"Did you get your photo professionally taken?" Spencer inquired, his mouth still slightly agape.

"You barely aged! What year did you graduate?" Rossi asked, although he wasn't quite sure he wanted to hear the answer at his old age.

"Hollywood Arts, class of 2002." It had been six years since then but still at 24 years old, you barely changed in terms of style from your high school self.

"You went to an arts school?" Emily asked and you enthusiastically nodded.

"Who would've guessed I would've joined the FBI?" you laughed, reflecting on how much life had changed since then, "One time, I performed in a play as this spy who used bananas as a gun and now I get to use a real one. How crazy is that?"

"More concerning than crazy." Spencer muttered under his breath.

"What's with the red hair?" Morgan was still fixated on your dyed hair which sort of did make sense from how much you already express yourself through your clothing and personality like Penelope had.

"I had red hair for I think six years, but my hair wasn't exactly the healthiest so now it's natural, but i loved it so much." you shared with them.

"Why did you choose red?" Penelope questioned and you laughed because to you, the background behind the decision was one you could look back and find humor in.

At that moment, Hotch and JJ quickly made their way towards the bullpen area to inform the rest of the new case that had landed onto them that needed their utmost attention.

"That's actually a really fun story. In my freshmen year—" Hotch and JJ knew better than to interupt your while you are sharing a story because it could either truly be a fun story, or a disturbing one that they would later bookmark to discuss with you later. "I snuck out of my house to hang with my friends and when I tried sneaking back inside— my brother thought i was an intruder—"

The entire group could imagine where this story was going because any mention of your older brother never involved anything good nor legal, but none of them could have expected the full story. Except Doctor Reid, who quickly tied together the red hair connection to the scared brother.

"And so he took a vase and smashed it over my head. I was like knocked down for a few seconds but when I pulled myself up, I looked in the mirror and the blood had stained my hair since I had blonde highlights and I thought— wow, I look amazing with it! So later that week, I dyed it red. I also just really love red velvet cupcakes."

You innocently looked at the reactions of your fellow agents and none of them could speak. Emily opened then closed her mouth. Spencer couldn't even muster up any words for the first time in forever as you left his mouth slightly agape once again. He had predicted the story's route but even as he did, he is never prepared for you to actually say it. Sometimes he sort of hopes he is wrong, but on the off chance that he is, the story is always weirder or more disturbing than he imagined.

JJ and Penelope just locked eyes and couldn't move. Hotch blinked at you with the same stare of, 'We will call the counselor again'. Rossi learned to stop getting suprise and just offered you an encouraging smile and thankfully, he broke the silence.

"Red velvet cupcakes do look scrumptious. The red hair suited you."

You had an innocent laugh, "Right? When me and my friends performed a food song to little kids, I even dressed as a red velvet cupcakes. I had this whipped cream hat and everything."

"Um, I think Hotch and JJ have a case." Spencer stated and everybody did their best to snap out of their daze and direct their attention towards what should be more important.

"[Surname], can you please get the preparations ready for the trip." Hotch stated. You were the assistant of the group and part of your job involved getting traveling arrangements ready and helping JJ communicate with people.

"On it, sir!" You walked away without a care in the world as the rest of the agents made their way to the briefing room.

"Hotch." Morgan stated his superior's name with loud concern.

"I know Morgan."

#criminal minds #spencer reid #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds x reader fluff #criminal minds crackfic #emily prentiss x reader #spencer reid fluff

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iwtv-theories · 4 months ago

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Similarities between Daniel & Armand (analysis)

In the iconography: 20 y old Daniel is on his knees (and 20 y old Amadeo is on his knees in the painting). I also have to point out that young Daniel has a startling resemblance to the white-washed Amadeo painting as well. A visual cue that they’re more alike than meets the eye.

"Bartering with desire" vs "in kind". At 20, both were 'rent boys'. Daniel 'bartered' himself for dr*gs. While Armand was 'donated...in kind' to pay for art work . "In kind" = payment in goods or services as opposed to money. "Bartering"= trade by exchanging one commodity for another.

At the end of Louis' interviews both get their heads shoved into walls.This could be visual symbolism : both their ‘minds are broken’ because both of them can’t recall a decade’s worth of memories. Ironically, Louis may know more of his own story , than Daniel or Armand .

"curiosity"

“An instinct to self efface" . Effacement :“to erase oneself from a situation (to keep oneself in the background ) ” . Cough Armand literally erasing himself from memories & his Rashid disguise. Interestingly, out of all the traits Armand lists about Daniel this is the one trait Daniel agrees is true about himself. Both of them use ‘self-effacement’ as a manipulation tactic to find connection with others. Armand does so to stay with Louis. Daniel uses it to "get angles” and get people to "open up" to him. Literally right after Daniel said this he almost got Armand to open up about his life story

Armand:" That warrants investigation" vs Daniel the "investigative journalist".

Daniel & Armand lounging on the couch and saying Louis is being overly dramatic XD

"Lestat, Lestat , Lestat..."

being turned while having terminal illnesses : Parkinson's (Daniel) & in the show an unknown illness (for Armand) . Similarly , in the books Daniel was turned due to alcohol poisoning and Armand due to being poisoned.

Armand says in ep 4 his memories as a human are “all fragments” vs Daniel saying his memories from the 70s-80s were a “all a blur” .

Both are called “boy” despite being old men. Santiago, the youngest coven member referring to the oldest : “I don’t know what the boy sees in him.” Louis: “he looked like a boy masquerading as a gentleman.” Daniel: “I’m not your f*cking boy! I’m an old man with all the triggers that come with it.” Daniel : “save it for the rent boy.” Armand looking visibly triggered by the comment then asking to leave the room . Armand to Marius (who often called him “boy”) : “I hate you! I’m a man and you deny it!”

As a human , book Amadeo had a drinking problem while book Daniel almost died of alcohol poisoning. Young Daniel (in the show) may also have drinking issues like his book counterpart /book Amadeo. Armand to Daniel in episode 5 : “a genteel drinking problem , like your father .” Armand’s dad : “Ivan the drunkard… Ivan was hopeless. Ivan would never see another sober night or day .Ivan would die soon poisoned by liquor./ a soft prayer for my father that he would not freeze to death tonight as he had almost done so many times, falling down drunk as he did in the snow. (*this echoes human amadeo getting so drunk he fell into the canal)”

Show Armand says Marius called him his "beloved Amadeo", which seems like foreshadowing/an easteregg of 70s dm since "beloved" was his nickname for Daniel in the books. Armand tries to emulate the Marius/Amadeo dynamic in his future relationships since he still equates it to love. Like how he tries to put himself in the Amadeo role with Louis as his 'Maitre (master) '. But for d.m he put Daniel in the Amadeo position (partially because it’s his first relationship with a human , since becoming a vampire and his relationship with Marius is the only vampire/human relationship he’s had) . So at least on some superficial level he recreates some aspects of the Marius/Amadeo dynamic, with Daniel .

In the books Marius feeds human Amadeo his blood, like Armand does to human Daniel. In the books amadeo says Marius’ blood tastes like “honey”.Cough- Louis describing Armand's blood as tasting like "honey" and Armand saying to Daniel in ep 5 "like honey on your tongue" (*this could be foreshadowing he will drink Armand's blood in the 70s/80s… or simply when he was turned).

Armand , during their first encounter, and while describing death says “it’s okay it’ll be like a bath ” . Before Amadeo died he was bathed first by his maker . Armand also uses a rag (to remove the dried blood from daniel’s neck). This reminds me of when Marius first met amadeo and used a rag to clean his face / give him a bath. ��He bathed me slowly . He had a soft gathered cloth with which he wiped my face.”

Human Amadeo/daniel were incredibly sarcastic and snarky to their future vampire makers

In the books, when Armand reunited with Marius in Tva he mumbled annoyed “same old tricks”. In tqotd , when Daniel reunited with Armand he says “same old dance.”

And both of their makers abandoned them

The parallels between Armand/Daniel persist throughout ep 5 , Daniel says he’d be a good companion to Louis because he has traits similar to Lestat and Claudia .

But the IRONY is throughout the whole episode we see Daniel has A LOT of similarities to Armand . Possibly laying the groundwork for devil's minion in the 70s-80s.

I think while Armand was reading Daniel’s mind -whether it was subconscious or conscious - it irritated him even more that they had so much in common. Or at least how similar Daniel was to Amadeo. Especially because he was trying to discern why Louis found him “more fascinating” .

For Example , all the other traits Armand lists out about Daniel could also be attributed to himself

'Dirty'

'Deceitful'

'Enterprising'

'A splinter of coldness ' .

“He wants you in pieces for the privilege of putting you back together “

There’s also other more superficial similarities like Daniel saying he’d do night swims if he was a vampire (similar to Armand who swims often). Or the fact they both read the newspaper often.

I feel one of the MANY reasons Daniel and Armand were probably constantly butting heads and being snarky to each other in the present timeline is because on some subconscious level they remind each other of themselves (and they don’t want to acknowledge that). Especially Armand who is constantly playing a new character to placate his lovers . Young Daniel definitely reminded him of Amadeo . Similar to how Claudia reminded Armand of his past self as well .

If I missed anything feel free to add to the comments or in a reblog :P

#armandaniel #devil’s minion #daniel molloy #armand #iwtv

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harmonyrae · 3 months ago

Text

Inked

Synopsis: Somehow you won a free session from the most famous tattoo artist in Linkon. You never expected to be sucked into his world, but you’re slowly becoming even more obsessed with him. And with who you are when you’re with him. When you finally discover what he’s involved in, will he push you away or show you a whole new world?

AN: This fanfic was inspired & entirely fueled by the artwork above, done by the amazing @obligatedart - thank you for letting me use your work as the cover art! Go check them out and see the other tattooed Rafayel pieces they’ve done. I’ve written over 80 pages in a week so... comment if you want to be tagged for part 2!

Content Warnings: explicit language & sexual content, alcohol consumption, public sex, threesome, oral (m&f receiving), creampie, PiV, birth control mentioned (yay protection), mentions of needles (tattoo needles, not medical), genital piercings, vehicle accidents, injuries, blood, 18+ MDNI

Word Count: 16k

“I still can’t believe you won the fucking contest!”

Tara punches you in the arm and you grunt, swatting at her with a pout. She leans away from you to protect the coffee in her hand before giggling and gently rubbing the spot she hit.

“Sorry, sorry, I just… I spent so much money buying like 50 raffle tickets and you bought ONE and beat all the odds. Did you cast a spell? Are you a witch?!”

Tara’s animated voice draws the attention of the other cafe patrons. You sip your latte silently and try to avoid their judgemental gazes. Tara sets her cup down and crosses her arms. She leans back, squinting at you.

“So it’s tomorrow, right?”

You nod and lean on the table in front of you to pick at your blueberry muffin. Tara snatches the muffin away and you look up at her with wide eyes. She’s definitely irritated with your silence. But what can you possibly say? Sorry? Sorry for winning a once in a lifetime raffle to get a free tattoo by the best tattoo artist in Linkon? Who has a 5 year waitlist? Who has tattooed the biggest celebrities? Who was a judge on the #1 reality show for 3 years running trying to find the next big artist? Who is absolutely, positively, undoubtedly the hottest man you’ve ever seen in your life? Fuck no, you are not sorry at all.

“I know you wanted to win so I don’t want to talk about it and make you upset.”

Tara rolls her eyes and plops your muffin back on its plate. You sit back and sigh, looking Tara up and down. She didn’t seem like the type to have a lot of tattoos, but she hid them well. When she wasn’t in her uniform she was showcasing the artwork on her body. The designs were gorgeous and you wished you had been more patient when getting yours. You basically ran to the tattoo shop on your 18th birthday to get a super basic bitch tattoo just because you could.

“I want to hear about it! I am going to live vicariously through you. Spill bitch.”

You chuckle and finish off your latte before pulling out your phone to show Tara the email chain you started with the artist. She grabs your phone instantly and scrolls through the messages.

“Oh my god, even his emails sound hot.”

You roll your eyes and watch Tara’s eyes light up when she sees the design.

“Holy shit. You are BRAVE! AN underboob tat?! You’re gonna show him your tits the first time you meet him?! Biiiiiitch!”

She squeals before zooming in on the design and ogling at the details.

“This is so pretty! The seashells and the little pearls and chains? Amazing. It will match your chest piece really well too!”

She was right, the seashells and pearls would tie into your mermaid chest piece perfectly. It was the first tattoo you put a lot of effort into, getting the design nailed down and taking your time finding a good artist. You wanted this next piece to compliment it and expand on the original concept. The shells would be a dusty pink to match the tails with the beading and pearls adding a little sparkle. You smiled, your pre-tattoo butterflies swirling.

“OH! You sent him a picture of your chest piece.”

She slapped your shoulder excitedly.

“In a bikini top! Are you KIDDING ME? Imagine him opening that picture and just getting to stare at your gorgeous tits and that tat? I’m horny just thinking about it.”

You grab her wrist to stop her flailing, your cheeks are burning since her voice is just a little too loud. She glares at you, her sly smile absolutely beaming.

“Jesus Tara, shh! It’s not a big deal, I’ve wanted this piece expanded for a long time and Rafayel’s specialty is literally anything ocean related. He’s going to touch up the girls too.”

She raises her brows and drops her eyes to your chest and you quickly realize your mistake.

“The mermaids, you horny bitch, the mermaids.”

She nods slowly.

“Uh huh… sure!”

You don’t argue with her, let her think what she wants. You were already anxious thinking about the appointment. She was right about one thing, you were basically showing him your tits the same day you officially met. It’s like “Hi, nice to meet you, here’s my tits” - nice.

When you get home that night you spend extra time prepping your skin and finding the right outfit. Sure you’d be taking off your top and just wearing pasties, but making sure you felt your best beyond that was important too. You drink your sleepy time tea, since the pre-tattoo butterflies had turned to pre-tattoo anxiety.

You slip on your nightgown and settle back, trying to force yourself to relax. About 30 minutes later, you’re on your phone. You just couldn’t help it, you scroll through your feed liking Tara’s selfie with her boyfriend, Jeremiah. A photo of Caleb at a bar, he must have gotten some R&R today. And what’s this? Zayne posted a meme? Doctor Zayne? Oh, Greyson won a bet - that makes more sense.

As you scroll, you start finding posts reposted by Lemuria Studios, recent clients, sketches done by artists and then a video that makes your chest tighten. Rafayel sits hunched over the arm of some buff dude in a tank top, the tattoo gun in his hand moves steadily against his skin. God, he looks hot. He’s just sitting there, doing his job, why are you freaking out? You want to put the phone down, watching him work is only going to make you more anxious for tomorrow. But you can’t seem to let it go. You’re mesmerised by the outline of the muscles of his forearm, barely visible under his own colorful tattoos, they twitch as he colors in the lines he just made. His dusty purple fringe brushes his cheeks, his earrings sway as he bobs his head to whatever music is playing. He stops and wipes the guy's arm with a towel before leaning back and looking at the camera. He smiles and… fuck… You drop your phone and stifle a moan. You’re not going to survive tomorrow.

The next morning, you wake up early to get ready. You cook a huge breakfast, as difficult as this session was going to be, you didn’t want to make it worse by passing out. You down a huge glass of water while you do your makeup. You sweep your hair over your shoulders in two long braids and slip on a beanie. Your joggers sit comfortably on your hips and you change out your fitted halter for a dark cut off t-shirt. You were committing to the comfortable vibe, especially if you were going to be mostly uncomfortable very soon.

Your phone rings and you race to the kitchen to see Tara’s picture flash on the screen. You answer and put it on speaker as you lace up your boots.

“What’s up?”

“I’m just checking in before your session. Are you nervous?”

You chuckle under your breath. She has no idea.

“Oh yeah, I always get pre-tattoo jitters. They’ll go away when I get there.”

“I doubt it! Girl, his face is going to be inches away from your tits. I’d bring a change of panties if I were you.”

“Tara, what do you think people at work would say if they heard you talk like this?”

“Oh, they’d lose their minds! Sweet, innocent Tara would never warn you about imagining him dropping his tattoo gun and climbing on top of you, ripping your pasties off and –”

“TARA!”

She giggles for a minute straight, barely able to catch her breath. You swing your backpack over your shoulder and jog down to the garage.

“Sorry! Honestly, I think you’ll have a great time. You’re gonna look hot with the new tat and I can’t wait to see it. Send me pics!”

“Of course. I’ll text you during breaks.”

After you hang up, you secure your helmet and hop on your bike. You take back roads instead of the highway since you know you’re too nervous and driving fast would be a bad idea. By the time you get to Regent Square, you can feel your heartbeat pounding against your ribcage. You find a long term parking garage and pay the outrageous fee. When you check your phone, you realize you only have 10 minutes before your appointment. You were supposed to be there at least 15 minutes early to fill out the paperwork. You jog down the street, only slowing long enough to catch your breath before heading inside the studio.

Lemuria Studios is gorgeous, the pictures posted online don’t do it justice. The floor to ceiling windows bathe the room in sunshine, the weathered brick walls covered in bright graffiti, neon signs with what you assume to be words - although you are not sure what language it is and the hardwood floors are covered with vibrant rugs with intricate patterns. A large sectional couch corners off the waiting room where a few patrons wait for their artists. There are various tattoo stations, each decorated to suit a different artist. Towards the back of the studio there is a door with an ‘R’ in what looks like ceramic tiles. Must be Rafayel’s private room.

You approach the front desk and greet the receptionist with a smile. She passes you a clipboard with release forms and leaves to walk to the door at the back. You watch her knock and crack the door open, she says something before turning back to look at you. You quickly refocus and fill in the paperwork. You place the clipboard on the counter and take a seat on the couch, fiddling with the tassels of the pillow next to you.

You’re about to stand and start pacing, your nerves getting the best of you, when you hear a door squeak open. You lift your eyes to see the man himself, emerge from the room and stroll towards the front of the studio. You clench your fists, yep, he’s even hotter in person.

He’s dressed casually, his button up is definitely not buttoned up. His neck tattoo swirls down his neck to the center of his chest, two koi fish swim in a circle around his Adam's apple, the fins extend towards his jaw and down his neck with pink lotus flowers complimenting the red scales of the fish. Cut off sleeves let you see his signature tattoos, full sleeves on both arms. Not an inch of skin untouched, the full color underwater scenes are vibrant, bright orange and purple coral, dark blue waves highlighted with teals and white, schools of yellow and blue fish swim in circles around his forearm and a dolphin soars over the waves. His fitted jeans hide the leg tattoos you’ve seen in photos, the ocean waves that look more like flames than water that spiral from his ankle to his hip. He also supposedly has more tattoos on his torso, but you avoided looking up any photos of him shirtless because, well… that would be dangerous.

His shaggy hair casts a shadow over his eyes, but his smile is on full display. He turns to you and you hold your breath to avoid giggling like an idiot. His blue eyes are so bright, the wash of pink in them shines in the morning light that streams through the windows. As he approaches, you awkwardly stand and put on a shy smile.

“Hi! I’m Rafayel, nice to officially meet you.”

He extends a hand and you nearly fall back onto the couch, finally taking a breath. You take his hand and revel in the softness of his skin. He suddenly yanks you forwards and starts pulling you toward the door at the back of the studio. You stumble along after him.

“I can’t wait to show you the final sketch, it’s everything you described but I added a little something that I think you’ll like.”

You giggle as he pulls you into the room. The bright purple walls are covered in either framed sketches, polaroids of tattoos, or random tattoo designs scribbled on a napkin or envelope. A vintage jukebox, with a modern AUX attachment, sits in the corner. A stack of canvases leans against the wall and a bucket of various spray paints sits on the floor. His drawing table has countless sketches pinned to it, including yours. The design is exactly what you imagined, but there’s an additional element. The centerpiece that directly connects to the chest piece is now slightly larger, having a net pattern woven behind it with a few fish and broken shells.

“That’s amazing, holy shit! But it’s a bit more than we originally planned on, are you sure you have time?”

He immediately starts getting the transfer paper prepared. You see him shrug.

“The whole day is yours, it was booked by the radio station that set up the raffle. It’s actually pretty nice only having one client to work on, I can take my time.”

You feel your cheeks flush. He would take his time on your piece, it was flattering and nerve wrecking. You set your bag down on a chair in the corner and stuff your hands in your pockets.

“Oh, awesome, I didn’t realize…”

“You’re nervous aren’t you?”

You huff out a laugh and put your hands on your hips.

“Not at all, I have plenty of tattoos. I know the drill. I’m totally fine, just excited.”

He turns, the transfer paper in hand, and walks over to his station. Everything was meticulously set up from the tiny cups of ink to the paper towels to his tattoo gun. He sets the transfer paper down before heading to the sink in the corner and washing his hands.

“Do you need tape?”

You watch him scrub his hands, it was almost like he was a doctor preparing for surgery. You tilt your head and hum to yourself, trying to figure out his meaning. He dries his hands and looks at you, his lips set in an amused smirk.

“For your nipples.”

You immediately drop your gaze and try to laugh to distract from the blush rising to your neck and cheeks. You clear your throat and meet his gaze.

“No, I wore pasties. Like I said, I know the drill.”

He smiles and motions towards the table. He puts on gloves and gives his bottle of transfer cream a shake. He eyes you expectantly.

“Whenever you’re ready.”

You turn away from him and face the padded table in front of you. You tug your shirt off over your head and toss it over your bag on a nearby chair. You hesitate to turn around. You’re not sure why you’re so nervous - sure you are literally half-naked in front of a guy you could only dream of, but he’s done this countless times! Your tits are not the first ones he’s tattooed under. You turn to face him and watch his eyes drop to your chest, he glances at the transfer paper and back to you, mentally lining up the art on your body.

“Yea, this will look amazing on you.”

His voice is rougher than before, you clasp your hands behind your back and rock on your heels.

“Thank you… uhm… do you want me to lie down or?”

He walks up and squeezes some transfer cream onto his gloved hand.

“Just stand right here. This might be cold.”

You brace and when his fingers touch the skin just under your breast, you gasp. Not from the cold, but rather from the jolt of electricity that sparked through your system.

“You were right, s’cold.”

He chuckles and continues to rub the cream along your upper rib cage, under your breasts and down the center of your chest. He grabs the transfer paper and lines it up.

“Can you hold 'em up for a second?”

You blink.

“Your… breasts. I want to make sure this will line up properly.”

You silently curse at yourself for how stupid you feel. You really should have chosen maybe a leg piece or maybe a cute little forearm number, but no you had to do this. You cup your breasts and lift them, staring at the ceiling to avoid eye contact. He lines up the transfer and presses it to your skin, slowly peeling it away.

“Fuck yes. That looks perfect. Take a look in the mirror and let me know what you think.”

He turns away and changes his gloves while you check his placement. Just the transfer looks insane, your previous embarrassment melts into excitement. You turn back to him with a huge smile.

“I love it! It’s gonna look so good!”

Rafayel smiles and you skip over to the table. You miss the flush that spreads across his cheeks as he watches your tits bounce on your way over. You hear him clear his throat as he leans to drag his chair over with his foot. You lay back on the table, your head sinking into the pillow and your hands resting on your stomach.

Rafayel sits and slides closer to you on his chair. He picks up his tattoo gun and dips the needles into the ink. He looks up at you, shaking his head to get his fringe out of his eyes.

“Ready?”

You relax your shoulders and sigh, looking up at the ceiling.

“Hell yeah.”

The outside of Rafayel’s palm rests against the side of your breast, holding the skin taut as he begins tattooing along the edge of your rib cage. The pain is about as bad as you expected. The vibration of the tattoo gun against your ribs makes your teeth chatter. You close your eyes and try to distract yourself while adjusting to the sting of the needles.

“So, why mermaids?”

Rafayel’s voice breaks up the monotonous buzz of the tattoo machine. You tilt your chin down and look at his god-like profile. With his attention on your tattoo, you finally let yourself examine his face. The ear you can see is littered with piercings. Double conch, helix, daith, an industrial with a little fish charm attached. His eyes have a hint of black smudged along his lash line, of course he wears eyeliner… of fucking course. And it looks so damn good too.

He has a variety of facial piercings, which look amazing and now you want one… or two. A small silver septum hoop. You notice he occasionally wiggles his nose, rubbing it across his top lip, a nervous habit perhaps? His lip piercings have you in a trance, the shark bites, the vertical labret - how would they feel against your lips? You also caught sight of a tongue ring. The things this man could probably do with his tongue…

“Still with me, cutie?”

You are glad he was refreshing the ink on the needles as you have a very physical reaction to this new little nickname he’s given you. You cough and try to steady yourself, once you are still he continues his work.

“Yeah, sorry, I was just distracted.”

“Oh yeah, by what?”

He’s teasing you now. Great. But you never back down from a fight and if he wants to poke at you with his cute little comments - and not just the needles in his tattoo gun - you’ll give it right back to him.

“By you.”

He laughs, a hint of surprise on his face.

“Oh really? What distracted you exactly?”

“I was just admiring your piercings. I haven’t gotten nearly enough.”

“What piercings do you want?”

His tattoo needle continues to buzz and the pain slowly fades to a numbness.

“Definitely more on my ears. I like the tragus. And then maybe my navel, basic, I know.”

“No way, the navel is a great piercing. There are a lot of creative jewelry options too. I love mine, I’d recommend it to anyone.”

“You have your belly button pierced?”

He chuckles and shifts his hand, his pinkie dangerously close to your pasty making your heart flutter.

“Yup. Was one of my first actually. After that it was all downhill. Now I have too many to count.”

“Really? What other piercings do you recommend then?”

He hesitates and glances up at you. His eyes flick to your breasts and back. And you swear you caught him biting his lip for a moment.

“Body piercings are fun. But if you’re not ready for that but bored with your ears, facial piercings are a good place to start. Septum made me cry like a bitch, but it’s a great one.”

“Made you cry like a bitch, huh?”

Your mocking tone makes him pause and look at you, his lips set in a pout. You giggle at his pathetic, yet adorable, expression.

“It’s because it fucks with your sinuses or some shit, not because it hurt!”

“Okay, okay!”

“I’ve gotten some piercings that make grown men weep and didn’t flinch, trust me, it was not because of the pain.”

You raise your eyebrows at the implication, but you decide to hold your tongue and not entertain the thought of what those ��other” piercings might be. You settle your head back and take a deep breath.

“And what about tattoos? Which one was the most painful?”

He hums to himself, his hand once again shifting and pushing your breast slightly upward as he colors in a line.

“My neck was the worst, by far. I’m glad I didn’t pick something that went directly over my Adam’s apple cause I would not have survived.”

“That piece is really nice. Did you design it?”

“I did. Then my apprentice tattooed it. Never been prouder of the kid. Now you’ve asked a few questions, I think it’s only fair you answer one of mine.”

You sigh dramatically and chuckle when he stops working. You know he is staring at you, probably pouting again, so you stare at the ceiling.

“Alright, fair is fair.”

“Why mermaids?”

“Oh uhh…” You stutter as you try to find the right words. “Because they’re tragic yet beautiful.”

Rafayel stops again and looks at you, his brows raised.

“Art and literature depicts them as beautiful creatures, but their counterparts are much darker. Sirens lure sailors to their watery graves. They’re… underestimated? Like their beauty distracts while their voice reels them in. It’s powerful.”

“Was there something that prompted the need for a constant reminder of their power etched into your skin?”

You shift your gaze to his hands, resting on your stomach, the tattoo gun hovering over your skin.

“I spent a long time under someone’s thumb, feeling powerless. He always felt like he had to protect me. I was… lost… for a while. Then I read a book about a siren, using the form of a mermaid, who charmed the men in her life into submission while planning their downfall. I didn’t want Ca– my friend to be hurt though! I decided to put on a ‘damsel in distress’ act for him but I’m still in control, ya know?”

Rafayel nodded sharply, his gaze more intense. He shifted on his stool and the familiar hum of the tattoo gun started again. With his focus back on your body, you felt your mind start to spiral. Was your explanation dumb? You know sirens are not exactly mermaids, but mermaids looked better. Did he think you were dumb and confused them? Should you have said ‘cause they’re pretty’ instead?

“Most people don’t realize sirens and mermaids aren’t the same thing. Seems like you do.”

“I do! Yeah, I just… I guess…”

“Liked how mermaids looked better than a half bird sea creature?”

His voice was light, sarcasm had found its way back to him and you sighed in relief.

“Don’t get me wrong, I saw some good siren designs but nothing clicked. This one did. Plus I think it makes my tits stand out.”

Rafayal lets out a breathy laugh and sits up straighter in his chair. He grabs a paper towel and wipes the excess ink from your skin. He moves his chair forward and settles his arm over the top of your breast, his hand resting at the center of your chest. You can feel his breath fan across your skin and you have to bite your lip, hard, to avoid shivering.

“It does, but I have a feeling they looked perfect before too.”

You don’t realize you’re holding your breath until you feel slightly dizzy. Did he just? Did he? He complimented your tits. This man complimented your tits, with his face inches away from them, while stabbing you repeatedly with a needle. How are you supposed to respond to that?

“Thank… you.”

Rafayel laughs at your whispered appreciation. His hands work carefully, shifting and sliding to draw the centerpiece.

“Okay, next question.”

Over the next four hours you and Rafayel go back and forth with questions. It almost felt like you were on a first date. You talked about your favorite music, his favorite movies, your job at the Hunters Association, his secret sushi restaurant that’s opening in six months. On your break at the two hour mark, he offered you a soda and walked in circles around the room, stretching his legs, while talking animatedly about a rave happening later this month. And when you begged him for the details so you could get tickets, his smile grew tenfold.

As he was adding the final touches, he stood bent over you poking and dabbing away ink until you were nearly ready to scream. His hair would brush against your shoulder and you’d stiffen, leading to Rafayel joking about ‘staying loose or it’ll hurt more’ which made you squeeze your thighs so tightly you nearly cried. When he finished and was doing the clean up he surprised you, his cheeks were a tad rosy and his usually playful tone more serious.

“I haven’t had this much fun during a session in a while. So… Thank you. I hope you like it.”

You took his hand and sat up, hopping off the table to turn and face the mirror. You were speechless. The lines were sharp and straight, the colors bright, the shading made everything pop out as if the seashells were just sitting on the surface of your skin. Your mermaids were glowing - their scales nearly sparkled and the ocean waves surrounding them looked so real. Tiny sparks floated around the mermaid's hands, creating a shield of fire. Like they were putting on a show or putting up a forcefield. You couldn’t stop yourself from squealing with excitement before you turned around and lunged towards Rafayel, pulling him into a hug.

“Oh my god…”

As soon as your chest collided with his, your excitement faded and pure terror replaced it. You jumped back, instinctively covering your chest with your hands. His ears were bright red and he stared at you, unable to blink it seems.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t even think! I was so excited and… Shit… I –”

He reaches out and takes hold of your arms. You snap your mouth closed.

“It’s okay. I’m glad you love it. I do wish that you hadn’t… pulled away so quickly though…”

You blinked rapidly. He was pouting again, pouting because you pulled away from hugging him. From hugging him while… His thumbs brush against your skin and you tilt your head, scanning his face for confirmation that what he said was real.

“I was going to wait to ask you out until after I bandaged you up and you had your shirt on, but why waste a perfectly good moment?”

Your mouth hangs open and you feel your knees jerk. Rafayel’s hold on you tightens and he helps you lean back against the table.

“Shit… let me get you some juice, you’re probably crashing a bit.”

Oh, he has no idea just how badly you are crashing out right now. He jogs out of the room and returns with a small bottle of orange juice. He opens it for you and holds it to your lips. You take a sip and lift your hand to hold his wrist while he helps you drink. His eyes meet yours and you stare at him, he doesn’t look away, his gaze burns straight to your core. He sets the bottle down and grabs a paper towel, dabbing at your leaking tattoo gently.

“Yes.” You whisper.

“What?”

“Yes, I’ll go out with you.”

If you thought you’d seen him excited before… He smiles, his dazzling teeth take your breath away. You raise a brow when you realize he has gems adhered to his canines - can he get any sexier?

“Well, I’d say this session went swimmingly.”

You giggle and rest your palms on the table behind you. He gets to work cleaning your tattoo and snapping a few pictures for you before covering the fresh ink with Saniderm wrap. You pull your shirt back on and down the rest of the orange juice - you were starting to feel your endorphins fade away and your body was reeling from the experience.

“How does tomorrow night sound?”

He holds his phone out to you and you take it, seeing he already set up a contact for you. You feel your cheeks burn when you see the contact name “Tattoo Cutie.” You don’t correct it, just add your name beside it and punch in your number before handing it back to him.

“Sounds perfect.”

You wake up to a banging on your front door, it’s so loud you’re sure your neighbors will complain to you later. You don’t even bother putting on your robe and jog through your living room. You swing the door open and Tara flies through, nearly knocking you over. You close the door and follow her through the hall to your living room.

“You’re casting a spell or making one of those wish bottle things or whatever it is that you’re doing to make your life so damn perfect.”

She plops down on your sofa and crosses her arms. She stares up at you with a stern expression. You try not to giggle since Tara’s version of “stern” comes across a lot like Rafayel’s pout.

“I didn’t cast a spell. I just –”

“You just what? Became the luckiest girl in the world without even trying? That’s even worse!”

You finally let out a laugh and sit down next to her, pulling your legs to your chest.

“Listen, I have no idea what’s going on, I am just trying to enjoy it while it lasts. It feels like I’m going to wake up any moment and realize it was all a dream.”

She shifts on the sofa and turns to face you.

“I don’t want to sound like I am jealous in a mean way, I am jealous in a ‘give me some of your luck’ way. Maybe then Jeremiah will finally propose…”

You grab her hand and squeeze gently.

“Oh come one, you literally picked out your ring with him! He’ll propose, he’s obsessed with you. He’s also terrified of you, so he knows better than to half-ass a proposal. Give him more time.”

Her cheeks flush and she looks down at her hand, holding up her ring finger. She lets out a sigh and looks up at you with determination.

“I want to know everything about last night. Every dirty detail. Spill.”

She kicks off her shoes and crosses her legs under her, fully facing you. She won’t let go of your hand, so you’re trapped on the sofa with her until you tell her about your date.

“He picked me up on his bike and –”

“He rides a bike! Oh my god that’s hot - what kind?!”

“A Kawasaki. It was really nice, dark blue with bright blue headlights. He told me he collects them so –”

“He collects motorcycles? Oh my god…”

“Are you going to let me tell you about the date or not?”

Tara huffs and lets go of your hand. She lifts her fingers to her mouth and pressed her lips together, “zipping her lips” so you can continue.

“We drove around for a while and then he took me to – oh I don’t know if I can tell you…”

“BITCH IF YOU DON’T –”

You laugh and lean away from her flailing hands. You raise yours in surrender.

“Okay, okay, but you have to promise not to say anything, swear.”

She places a hand over her heart.

“I swear on Winterford the 3rd I will not speak a word.”

“Woah, swearing on your dog's life is intense Tara.”

She crosses her arms and glares at you. You roll your eyes and continue.

“He is opening a sushi restaurant in a few months, so he took me there to show me around. It’s down at the pier near Whitesand Bay.”

Tara opens her mouth to say something but instantly closes it. You nod in approval, her self-control is improving.

“He doesn’t have a name for it yet, but the interior and kitchen are done. We made sushi together and ate on the rooftop terrace looking out over the water.”

Tara lets out a closed-mouth squeal and claps her hands. She motions with her hands for you to continue.

“We walked along the pier and talked for a long time. When it got dark he offered his jacket - I know - and then we went back to his bike. He drove down this alley where graffiti artists practice and gave me a can to try it out.”

“Wait - sorry - you defaced public property?”

“Rafayel owns the building and advertises it as, and I quote ‘an artists playground’ so no I did not.”

“That’s a shame, it would have been hot.”

“Tara! I’m a public servant! I’d lose my job.”

She pokes your shoulder.

“Only if you get caught!”

You rub your temples and suppress the urge to laugh at her antics.

“What happened next?”

“He drove me home.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

She punches your shoulder and you fall back onto the couch.

“TARA!”

“YOU DIDN’T EVEN GET A KISS? WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”

“I DID! Just not… okay… he kissed me on the cheek when he said good night. It was cute.”

“CUTE?”

You sit up and push her, she doesn’t even move.

“I don’t want to rush things!”

“At least tell me he made plans for a second date with you?”

“He did. We are going out on Friday night.”

“Thank god. Please, I beg of you, get laid or at least make out with him!”

“Tara, I swear to god…”

“You have been insanely stressed lately and from what you’ve told me, he is super into you. Just let go babe, enjoy it! Enjoy him.”

You cross your arms and shake your head.

“It’ll happen when it feels right. I won’t lie, I hope it’s sooner rather than later, but I also am willing to wait. I –”

You stop yourself, feeling your cheeks heat up. Tara’s expression softens.

“Oh. Oh.”

You get up from the couch and head into the kitchen to make a pot of coffee. Tara is right on your heels.

“You liiiiike him. Aww, babes!”

She wraps her arms around you, hugging your back as you pour coffee beans into your espresso machine.

“I just started seeing him, it’s too early to tell.”

“Sure. Keep telling yourself that.”

She releases you and slides onto a bar stool, her arms leaning on the island. You start chopping up fruit and try to ignore the butterflies in your stomach. The sound of your coffee machine cuts through the silence and you avoid looking at Tara, knowing she can read you like a book. Maybe it was after the tattoo session or when you were holding hands on the pier, but at some point you realized you really liked Rafayel. He made you laugh and he asked the most bizarre questions that made you think about life in a new light. You wanted more and god, you hope he does too.

By the time Friday rolls around you are definitely ready for some fun. You’ve been constantly sharing memes back and forth with Rafayel all week. It’s certainly eased the stress of work. But you want to see him and you’re eager for his call when you finally clock out and head home.

You’re barely in the front door when you hear your phone buzz. You see Rafayel’s name light up your screen and have to force yourself to count to ten before answering it. You don’t want to seem that eager.

“Hey, you.”

“Hey cutie, how was work?”

“It was okay, not too much activity today so I was stuck cataloging old reports. I almost fell asleep like three times.”

“I bet. I… shit… I have to tell you something.”

You clench your fist and lean against the door to your bedroom, dropping your bag to the floor.

“Okaaaay.”

He sighs and the knot in your stomach tightens.

“I have to reschedule.”

And there it is, your heart sinks.

“Oh… yeah okay.”

“Not because I want to, trust me. I owe someone a favor and have to be at a party.”

You bite your lip, propping your hand on your hip as you start to pace.

“I see.”

You can’t mask the edge to your voice. A party? Someone is calling in a favor for him to come to their party? He is famous, so it would make them look good, but why couldn’t he invite you? Was he embarrassed of you? Did he not want people in his life to know you were dating? Or seeing each other? Or just talking? Are you even dating?

“It’s more like work, she’s offering free tattoos to the guests. The other artist fell through so she’s calling me in so her party doesn’t ‘crash and burn’ - her words not mine.”

“Uh huh.”

“Okay, you’re pissed.”

You stop dead in your tracks and straighten up.

“I am not!”

“I can hear you pacing.”

You look down at your shoes. Of course you wore your chunky boots with the clicky heels today. The taps on your wooden floors were that loud? Damn.

“I’m not mad, I promise.”

“Then you’re irritated?”

“No…”

“What is it? Come on, tell me.”

“I guess… confused?”

“Confused about what?”

You close your eyes and sit down on your bed. Bracing yourself for the embarrassment you’re sure will wash over you after your next statement.

“Is there a reason you couldn’t bring me? I know you said it was more like work, but I guess… You know what, nevermind.”

You flop back onto your mattress and cover your eyes with your arm.

“Nope! Not ‘nevermind-ing’ - I would love to bring you, I just… I… fuck how do I explain it?”

“You don’t want anyone knowing about me?”

“No! Fuck no! That’s not what I… shit… okay, I didn’t think you’d want to come. It’s not a normal party. Not everyone is… comfortable with this sort of thing.”

You sit up immediately. Your hand tightly grips your phone.

“What kind of party is it?”

He pauses. The silence stretches for what feels like hours. He finally sighs and chuckles under his breath.

“It’s a sex party, babe.”

You audibly gasp and slap a hand over your mouth. You shake your head and ignore your throbbing clit to continue the conversation.

“Oh, I… right… I get it. Sorry. Uhm…”

“You’re more than welcome to come as my plus one, but only if you’re comfortable.”

You take a moment and consider your options. A sex party. As Rafayel’s plus one. You’ve never been very adventurous with your sexual endeavors. You didn’t even realize sex parties happened in real life. You’re practically salivating just thinking about it. You stand and face the mirror hanging next to your closet. What have you got to lose?

“What should I wear?”

Rafayel laughs, he clears his throat before continuing.

“Something sexy, but that’ll be easy for you. I’ll bring you a mask.”

You pause after opening your closet.

“A mask?”

“Yeah, everyone wears masks to add to the ‘experience’ - everyone at these parties knows each other most of the time, but the masks offer a sense of freedom. Everybody can do what they want for the night, no consequences.”

You tug at the fabric of a sleek black dress as you mull over the idea. Just for the night. No consequences. Maybe Tara is right, maybe you should just let go.

“What time?”

“It starts at 9. I’ll pick you up in an hour.”

“See you then.”

After you hang up you get to work figuring out your outfit. Rafayel might have confidence in your ability to pick out a sexy outfit but you certainly didn’t. Should it be sexy and cute? Just sexy? Sexy and slutty? Sexy and fancy? You pull dress after dress from your closet and nothing feels right. You finally decide to forgo dresses completely. The first skirt you pull out is the one. You can visualize the outfit and while it’s much more revealing than you’re used to, you are pretty sure you’d be wearing more than most of the party goers regardless.

You zip up the pleather mini skirt, adjusting it so it sits high on your hips. Your legs were on full display, the skirt mostly serving to just cover your ass. You grab your favorite black bra and shrug on the mesh top. Layering gold necklaces so your torso doesn’t appear so bare. You look in the mirror and jump up and down with excitement. Your tattoos are fully visible through the mesh. You had lathered lotion onto your new tattoos so the peeling wasn’t noticeable and carefully applied perfume, avoiding the healing skin. Your red pumps sit next to the door with your red crossbody clutch. You were ready, well sort of.

Rafayel called you only a few minutes later and you carefully made your way to the first floor. You were comfortable wearing heels, opting to wear them all the time when hitting the club with Tara or going on dates. But tonight, your nerves were making your ankles a little wobbly. The elevator door opens to the front lobby of your apartment building and you spot Rafayel leaning against a car just outside. Fuck.

He had a button up, that was actually buttoned up this time, tucked into shredded jeans. His boots were laced with gold laces. He had multiple chain necklaces around his neck. As you got closer you realized his shirt was also see through, just little golden floral appliques scattered over the sheer fabric. You could see everything and god, it was a sight. The definition of his abs, the dark lines of a tattoo on his side and swirls of ink trailing from his neck piece down his chest. You spot his navel piercing, sparkling as the setting sun casts what almost felt like a spotlight on him. Something else sparkles, nipple rings. You swear under your breath. He’s going to kill you, not literally, but - well he might with how fast your heart is beating.

He finally looks up from his phone and spots you. His eyes widen and he stares, jaw slack, for at least a full minute. Your cheeks burn and you have to focus on his face so you don’t sneak a peek at his torso again.

“Fuck, you look amazing.”

His words make you stammer. You swallow hard, working up the courage to respond.

“I can say the same for you.”

He wraps an arm around your waist and kisses your cheek. You feel his body against yours and sigh, wishing you could delay him letting you go.

“Ready to go, cutie?”

You nod and he opens the passenger door for you. You slide in and finally take a good look at the car you’re in. You’ve never ridden in a Bentley before - the seats were soft under your thighs. The leather is silky rather than sticky against your skin. The car was painted a similar dark blue to his bike and had the same bright blue headlights. You already knew he liked the color blue, but this just made it more obvious.

He settles into the driver seat and the engine revs to life.

“You’re sure you’re comfortable with this?”

You lean on the center console as you face him, leaning forwards.

“I’m sure.”

“We can leave at any point, Talia will just have to deal with it. Just don’t hesitate to –”

You press your index finger to his lips, silencing him. The surprised look on his face makes your smile hurt your cheeks.

“Rafayel, I’m sure.”

He smiles and you drop your hand, but he grabs it immediately and laces his fingers with yours. He rests your hand on his thigh, rubbing your hand with his thumb as he sets off down the highway.

As the gates to the mansion open, you squeeze Rafayel’s hand trying to quell a wave of nerves. This mansion is huge, you spot two guest houses and a pool with a waterfall - a full ass waterfall - nestled in the backyard surrounded by hundreds of trees and flowers. The cobblestone driveway leads to a massive mahogany front door, where two men stand, dressed in black. Rafayel continues rubbing your hand with his thumb.

“It’s intimidating, I know. It’ll be better once we’re inside.”

You watch party goers enter, getting pat down briefly before heading inside. From what you can see, they’re dressed fairly normally. Dresses and heels, suits or blazers. Rafayel parks in the garage of one of the guest houses and rushes around the car to open your door. You give him a playful glare.

“You know I can open my own door, good sir.”

He takes your hand and helps you out, bringing your hand to his mouth, his lips pressing against your knuckles.

“I’m aware.”

You don’t argue when he wraps an arm around your waist as he leads you to the main house. He enters through a backdoor and a security guard greets him with a smile.

“Raf, good to see you. Talia is in the main room already. She told me to show you to the booth. And who is this with you?”

His voice hardens when he spots you. Rafayel leans over and kisses your temple.

“She’s with me.”

The guard nods and unlocks a door, ushering you both inside.

All the lightbulbs have been replaced with warm red bulbs, fake candles cover every surface, cushions and blankets are tucked in corners. Rooms that typically never have beds have become makeshift bedrooms. Wait staff stroll in and out of the kitchen with platters covered in hors d'oeuvres and flutes of champagne. A DJ is perched on a balcony overlooking the main floor, the music a mix of soft jazz with sultry singers.

You’ve yet to spot any party goers, so you relax a bit as you take in the lavish interior. You’re pulled behind a curtain, a small room sits behind it with a padded table, a small cabinet, a portable sink, a large medical light and a few stools. Rafayel walks up to the cabinet and crouches, examining its contents. You spot a large collection of tattoo equipment. As Rafayel sets up his station, you peek through the curtain and see people walking around. Everyone is wearing masks and at least some form of clothing. You hear Rafayel call your name and you jump back through the curtain.

“Curious, are we?”

You scoff and cross your arms. He turns to you and holds something out. You take it and realize it’s a simple black eye mask, made of simple fabric with a thick elastic band. When you look back up at Rafayel, he is already putting his on. You slip the mask on and fiddle with the elastic, unsure if you should tuck it under your hair. Rafayel touches your hand and you pause. He turns you around and collects your hair, holding it up so you can slip the elastic band underneath. He lets your hair go and smoothes it back in place.

“You’re welcome to look around, you don’t have to stay here with me.”

“I’ll stay, at least for now. I can be your assistant.”

He smiles and brushes his thumb across your cheek. He stares at you for a moment, his eyes bouncing from your eyes to your lips. You hook your fingers in the belt loops of his jeans and he leans closer. Is he going to –

“Raffie! Oh my god thank you thank you thank you!”

A woman with long purple waves bounces through the curtain. You almost let out a gasp when you see she’s naked from the waist up. Rafayel slaps a hand over his eyes and sighs.

“Talia… You might be the one person at this party I absolutely do not want to see naked.”

“Raffie, you’re so dramatic. I have pasties on!.”

If she did have pasties, they were… camouflaged. Her teasing voice only seems to irritate Rafayel more. Or maybe it’s because of her cute little nickname for him.

“Talia, please…”

Talia sighs dramatically and dives through the curtain for a moment. When she returns she has a silky purple robe on. She reaches up and yanks Rafayel’s wrist and pulls his hand from his face. His eyes remain closed.

“I put on a robe, Raffie. Chill out.”

Rafayel opens his eyes and shoves her shoulder playfully.

“Stop it with the Raffie.”

“I don’t know, I like Raffie. It’s cute.”

Rafayel stares at you and you can’t help but laugh. Talia giggles and grabs your hand, shaking it wildly.

“When Rafayel said he was bringing a plus one I was shocked. He never brings anyone around me honestly. You must be special.”

“Oh, no I’m –”

“She is.”

Rafayel cuts you off and you nearly choke on your own saliva. His hand grazes your hip, holding you close. Talia smiles and pokes his shoulder.

“I see. Well… here you go.”

She hands you and Rafayel a keyring with three cards attached. You flip the cards back and forth, not seeing anything printed on them.

“In case you decide to… participate. Feel free to tattoo as long as you like, I only promised the service until midnight.”

Rafayel nods and accepts the side hug Talia offers. She gives you a quick hug as well - taking you by surprise - before skipping out of the room.

“So that’s Talia. She’s my aunt. And she’s so great at introductions.”

He puts his keyring in the cabinet and sits down on one of the stools next to the table. He starts spreading out a wide array of flash tattoos he’s designed, making it easier for selection. You fiddle with the keyring.

“So what’s this about?”

He looks up and, even in the dim lighting you can see his ears turn red.

“It’s a… aha… a way to approach someone you want to interact with and express interest.”

You stare at him, letting your mind wander as you try to figure out how it works. You avoid Rafayel’s gaze, embarrassed that you don’t understand his implications. You hear him stand and approach you. His hand covers your own and he takes the keyring. You watch as he flips to the blue card.

“An individual will approach another individual, or a group of individuals, and hold up a card. They’ll wait until they’re chosen or refused. The card tells you what they want.”

You lift your wide eyes to meet his.

“The blue card is for the male. The red card is for the female. And the yellow card is for both.”

You blink rapidly and clear your throat.

“So if I approached you and held up this.”

He holds up the red card.

“It means I want you… In whatever way I can have you.”

You take a deep breath and feel your chest tighten. You press your thighs together and basically beg your pussy to calm down. He places the keyring back in your hand and closes your fingers around it. He lifts his hand to hold the side of your neck. He leans closer, his nose brushing against yours, his breath fanning across your face. His lips barely graze your cheek, just above your lips. Every breath you take pushes your chest against his. It takes everything you have not to grab him and devour him on the spot.

You hear the curtain behind you flip open and Rafayel lets go of your neck, looking up to see his first client. You sit on a stool and watch Rafayel tattoo client after client. Most are completely naked, which takes you a bit of time to adjust to. You help him by cleaning the table - very well - between clients.

Every time a woman enters, their breasts bouncing and pussy proudly on display, you feel a twinge of pain. And when Rafayel puts his hands on them to begin working, it feels like you’re going to throw up.

Before you know it, midnight is less than a half hour away and your nerves start to swirl. What will Rafayel want to do once his “duties” are done? Just as you’re getting ready to ask him, a perky brunette with olive skin strolls in. Golden chains draped over her perfect body. She leans against the table and points to a simple jellyfish design.

“It’s a popular one. Where’dya want it?”

He clears the table and she lays down on her back. You glance down at your phone and check the time and when you look back up, she is laying with her legs spread wide. You hold your breath and look to Rafayel, who is still focused on getting his supplies refreshed. When he turns around a look of genuine surprise graces his face. He sets his tattoo gun down and crosses the room to wash his hands.

“Are you sure about that? It’s worse than a piercing and harder to heal. You won't be able to participate anymore tonight.”

“A night of passion or a tattoo on my pussy by the famous Rafayel? I am absolutely sure.”

Rafayel doesn’t look at you as he puts on his gloves. You tense and drop your gaze. He sits on his stool and slides over, when you finally look up you see him basically staring at her pussy. You gasp silently, you didn’t think it was loud enough for anyone to hear, but when Rafayel glances over his shoulder at you you quickly get up and dash through the curtain.

You don’t look back and you don’t hear him call for you - not that you could hear anything over the music and moans. You walk through the various rooms, grabbing a glass of champagne from a waiter on your way. You finally find an empty room and sit down to catch your breath. You down your champagne in one go and fiddle with the stem of the glass.

You know you shouldn’t be upset, you weren’t in a relationship and this was technically your second date. From the sounds of it, he’s tattooed that area before. Of course he has, it’s his job. It isn’t a big deal. You feel foolish for running out like that, he probably thinks you’re dramatic and can’t handle his job or his fame. You set the glass on a table nearby and cover your face with your hands.

You finish off two more glasses of champagne before feeling brave enough to head back into the main hall. You take your time as you walk back to Rafayel’s tattoo booth, letting yourself watch the chaos around you. Clusters of people on beds, tables and even the floor. Riding, licking, sucking, moaning. You feel like you’re in another world, where shame and embarrassment don’t exist. If you weren’t so frustrated you might actually be enjoying yourself.

You stop at the staircase, your eyes locked on a couple wrapped around each other. It’s not like the others, they take their time, kissing and touching before he lifts her to ride his cock. Her moans are soft and the smile on her face - she’s experiencing pure bliss. You feel your cheeks heat and your throat tighten. You want that, not just a night of passion with a hot guy. And maybe you aren’t able to handle Rafayel’s job or fame. Is that such a bad thing? That you know what you want? Or what you don’t want?

“Cutie?”

Rafayel’s voice breaks you out of your spiral. You feel his hand on your back and you turn to face him. You know your cheeks are flushed, your eyes hazy yet vacant as your mind tries to make sense of your newfound clarity.

“I’m sorry I ran out.”

He places his hands on your shoulders and rubs your arms.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I know it’s your job and you’ve probably tattooed plenty of pussies - it’s not a big deal.”

“Really? I think it is a big deal if it upsets you.”

“I wasn’t upset. It doesn’t matter anyway, if I can’t handle it then maybe you should find someone who can.”

He stiffens, his brows knit together and his eyes darken. His voice drops and his tone becomes rigid.

“Is that what you want? For me to find someone else?”

“Maybe I am uncomfortable with the idea of you touching another girl's pussy, even if it is for your job. So yes, find someone who doesn’t care.”

He pushes you back against the wall. His hands move from your arms to tightly grip your hips.

“What if I like that about you?”

You open your mouth to respond, but he leans in, pressing his chest against yours.

“Do you want my hands on you? Only you? Only touching your pussy?”

Your chest heaves, pressing against him with every breath. His hands move up your waist, forcing your back to arch off the wall towards him.

“Cause that’s what I want. I don’t want to touch anyone else like that, not when yours is the one I can’t stop thinking about tasting.”

His nose rubs against yours.

“I told her to change the location or get out.”

His lips brush against yours, you can almost taste him.

“So don’t tell me to find someone else because you’re the one I want. So please, don’t run away.”

You let out a shaky breath and reach up to grab his neck, you capture his lips. He moans against your mouth and you bite his lip. He gasps and tries to pull back but you don’t let him. You hold him to you and slide your tongue into his mouth, which he quickly sucks in. His tongue dances with yours leaving you breathless.

He leans down to pick you up. You wrap your legs around his waist and his hands dive under your skirt. He grabs your ass and you roll your hips against his stomach. He walks over to an unoccupied sofa and sits down with you straddling his lap. You run your hands down his body, feeling the chill of his nipple rings against your palms. He pushes your hips down and you lower onto him, his bulge growing harder under you. He suddenly pulls back.

“Wait - do you want to go somewhere private?”

You grind your hips against him and he groans loudly. You can feel eyes on you and it makes you grind harder. You lean forward and press your mouth to his ear.

“I can’t wait… and I want them to watch you take what’s yours.”

Something inside of Rafayel snaps. He rips the mesh top from your body and pulls up your skirt over your hips. His hands roam across your back as he places kisses to your chest. Your relentless grinding makes him nip and lick at your skin in response. He unhooks your bra and tosses it over the sofa, his mouth moving to capture your nipple. You throw your head back and sigh, your breathing becoming more erratic by the second.

He lifts your hips and you whine, the friction of his bulge against your clothed pussy wasn’t perfect, but it was something. He picks you up and stands, dropping you onto the couch. He kneels and unzips your skirt, pulling it completely off of you. You tug the buttons on his shirt loose and run your hands over his chest. He pulls off the shirt and you reach to unbutton his pants, but his hand stops you. You look at him, confused.

“I have to show you something first, okay baby?”

You nod and lean back. He unbuttons his pants and bends to pull them down completely - along with his underwear. Your jaw drops, literally drops, at the sight of his cock. Not just because he is well-endowed - not to the point of discomfort, but you’re sure you’ll be sore tomorrow. But because the moment you saw that glint of silver your pussy throbbed so hard you nearly came.

Right at the base of his slit sat the silver ball, you reach out and wrap your hand around him. He shudders but remains still for you. You run your fingers over his slit, already leaking pre-cum, and roll the silver ball between your fingers. You feel the other end of the piercing underneath, you shift the piercing back and forth. He moans and his hips twitch. You stroke him slowly, working your way down to the silver studs at the base, sitting atop his pubic mound. You moan as your fingers rub across it, imagining how good it will feel against your clit.

“Having fun, cutie?”

His words are broken, his breathing labored as you work him. You smile up at him and push yourself to the end of the sofa. He reaches his hand out and strokes your cheek. You hold his gaze as you stick your tongue out and lick his slit. His hands grip your hair and he pulls you away from him. He towers over you, making you lean back onto the couch. He climbs over you and leans down, pressing his lips to your neck.

“How wet are you right now?”

You roll your hips up against his cock and he growls into your neck. He sits back to tug your panties down your legs. He lowers himself again, pressing his entire body against yours. You moan with how hot his skin feels against yours. You wrap your arms around him and cling to him, your legs spreading wider as he settles against you. His hands roam your body, pinching at your nipples, fingering your weeping pussy, palming your ass - every touch sending shockwaves through your system.

He dips his fingers further into your pussy and you pull your hips back. He looks at you, sweat already dripping down his forehead. You run your fingers through his hair, pushing it out of his eyes - those beautiful fucking eyes.

“I don’t want your fingers Raf, please…”

He chuckles and slides his hand down to line himself up. You feel the chill of metal against your entrance and flinch.

“Look at me.”

You tear your eyes away from his cock and meet his gaze. He leans forward and kisses you. It’s a slow and steady kiss. Your mind swims as you feel his tongue slide in. And then you feel that delicious stretch, his cock sinking into you, the metal balls of his piercing stroking your inner walls. The kiss turns messy as your moans and his gasps harmonize and fill the air around you. Finally your hips jerk forward and you feel his pubic piercing press to your clit. You pull away from the kiss to scream his name, the pressure and chill of the metal overloading your senses.

Rafayel whines as he holds still to let you adjust to him. You claw at his back and he drops a foot to the floor beside the couch to angle his hips better. You know he’s about to pound into you and make you scream even louder. The thought of the people around you watching makes you delirious.

“Raf.. I need you– I need you to move, please…”

He doesn’t hesitate and he pulls back until just his tip is tucked inside and then he rams his hips forward, sending you backwards on the couch. You squeal and moan as he finds his rhythm. He rests his forehead against yours and gasps for air, his chest turning red from the exertion. Every snap of his hips pushes his pubic piercing against your clit making it throb and the drag of those inside of you drives you crazy. Finally you feel it, that silver ball hitting that spongy spot that makes your legs shake. You whimper and ignore the tears sliding down your cheek, the pleasure completely encompassing your being.

“Fuck… I need to come, ahh.. Shit…”

He starts to pull out, but you wrap your legs around him and lock your ankles. He looks at you, his forehead tight as he fights off his orgasm. You release his back for a moment to grab his face, pressing a kiss to his swollen lips.

“Come inside me, baby. Pill… I’m on the pill, just come for me…”

Your command is immediately obeyed, you feel his release and shudder as the warmth fills you. His pace never falters and the added slickness from his release makes his cock slide through you even faster. Your g-spot is hit every single time he thrusts and you finally feel your back arch and your body tremble, your orgasm hits and you scream.

“Yes yes yes yes yes yes yes Rafayel fuck yeeeeessss…”

As you both come down, you feel his body relax against you. You lean your head to the side and he nuzzles into your neck. His soft kisses help your breathing to steady. You open your eyes and gasp quietly. Rafayel lifts his head and follows your gaze. A small group of people are standing in a circle around the sofa where you and Rafayel are lying. Some of them are holding cards and leaning on each other, some are just smiling and whispering to each other.

“They want to join.”

Rafayel whispers in your ear. You hold onto him, suddenly very aware of how naked you are - how naked everyone is. Rafayel lifts you, his cock slipping out before he settles you on his lap. He wraps his arms around you protectively.

“We can tell them to leave, if you want?”

You hear your heart pounding in your ears. Before tonight, you never would have thought you’d be interested in experiencing certain things, but now…

“Are you uncomfortable with anything?”

He looks at you, his brows raised in surprise.

“Another man’s dick in you, for one. Or his tongue…”

“I meant, for you.”

He tilts his head.

“I thought…”

“I don’t want you anywhere near another girl’s pussy. But his… tongue…”

You look up and stare at a particularly attractive man standing on the outskirts of the small group, partially hidden in shadow. He’s tall, broad shoulders, the hard lines of his abdomen glisten with sweat. An intricate tattoo of a dragon starts at his chest, its wings spread across his shoulder and down his arm, the body trails down his side, curving over his abs before its tail spirals down his hip and coils around his thigh. Before you can stop yourself, your eyes shift and damn… you can appreciate a pretty cock when you see one. His black and red mask covers his whole face, but even from a distance, his eyes are piercing. Rafayel follows your eyes and sees him, a blue card in his hand.

“What do you want him to do to me?”

You lean into his ear and nip at his earlobe, his cock springing to life against your thigh.

“I want him to suck you off while I ride your face.”

Rafayel groans, his head pressed into your shoulder. You play with the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Only if you want to. I want you to be comfortable. I want you to feel good.”

He lifts his head and looks at the man, who you’re positive is smiling wickedly. Rafayel gives him a nod and he approaches. The rest of those watching move back slightly, giving your trio more room. The man pulls a large round ottoman over and kneels beside it. His voice is deep and smooth, sending shivers down your back. Watching a man like this make Rafayel writhe with pleasure sends a new slickness to your tender pussy.

“Your ass goes here pretty boy, you lay back with your head on the couch so your girl can sit comfortably.”

He pats the ottoman, now lined up against the couch. Rafayel stares at him, his mouth hangs open. You examine the man before you, you wonder if he’s wearing contacts. Crimson eyes stare directly at Rafayel. Just as Rafayel is about to speak, the man lifts a finger to where his mouth would be. He reaches around his ear and you hear a quiet click. The lower half of his mask detaches and he slides it off, his face now only partially disguised. His smirk is breathtaking, he licks his lips slowly.

“I’m a man of my word.”

You look at Rafayel and narrow your eyes. He shakes his head.

“I’ll explain later.”

You lean in and kiss him, he whines when you pull back. He stands up with you in his arms and sets you on your feet beside him. He approaches the man, who is at least 2-3 inches taller than him. The man places a finger under Rafayel’s chin and lifts his gaze.

“Your legs don’t move and your hands stay still. If you thrust, I hold you down. I’m doing the work here. Just like she –”

He points at you over Rafayel’s shoulder.

“She is riding. You lay there and take it, got it?”

You watch Rafayel tense, but with how his breathing accelerates you can tell he is turned on. He lays down, positioning himself as instructed. The man kneels and places his hands on Rafayel’s knees. Rafayel looks down and watches the man slowly glide his hands up his thighs. You crawl onto the couch, watching the man caress Rafayel. Finally the man wraps his large hands around Rafayel’s cock and strokes him until Rafayel is panting. The man nods at you and you pull on Rafayel’s shoulders until he rests his head back on the couch. You lift your leg over his head and hover over his face, but he doesn’t let you tease him. He grabs your thighs and pulls you down without warning. His lips close around your clit. You gasp and grab onto his elbows.

You feel the chill of his lip piercings, his septum ring brushes against the skin just above your clit. And you finally have your answer, how his tongue ring would feel… you’ll never be the same. The ball rolls over your clit, the sudden chill and pressure makes your vision blur. You start rolling your hips. His moans start to get louder and you look up to see the man has started licking Rafayel’s shaft, placing sloppy kisses to his tip. He sucks his tip into his mouth and suckles, the lewd slurping sound he makes pushes you to grind your hips faster. When he finally takes Rafayel fully into his mouth Rafayel’s hips jerk. The man stops and lifts his mouth off of him and you feel Rafayel shake.

“I told you, no moving.”

He presses his forearms onto Rafayel’s thighs and grip his hips. You feel Rafayel’s fingers dig into your thighs as he laps at your clit, making your core heat unbelievably fast. You watch the man take Rafayel back into his mouth, lowering himself until Rafayel’s cock is fully in his mouth. Rafayel shakes under you and whimpers loudly. Hearing him whimper like that could make you come untouched, you’re sure of it. You watch the man’s throat move as he swallows around his length. You grind faster, knowing Rafayel won’t last long if this mystery man is deepthroating him so easily. He finally thrusts his tongue inside you and you lean forward, resting your hands on his stomach.

“Tell him to finger you.”

The man’s rushed words take you by surprise. As soon as he says them he is taking Rafayel in his mouth again. You lift yourself up just enough to hear Rafayel take a deep breath and groan wildly. You shift and bring your knees closer to his head.

“Raf, fingers… in me.”

A cocky smile tugs at his lips.

“I thought you said… you didn’t want my fingers?”

He barely gets the words out before he gasps, the man has shifted and sucked one of Rafayel’s balls into his mouth, his hand stroking his shaft. You look back at Rafayel and smile.

“Do as you’re told, pretty boy.”

You sit back down before he can reply. He quickly lifts his hands and circles your pussy as he continues to work your clit with his tongue. His teeth graze the sensitive bundle and his fingers curl and scissor rapidly against your puffy walls, not giving you a moment to adjust. You lean down and run your tongue over his nipple ring, he rams his fingers into you harder in response, finding your sweet spot. You take the piercing between your teeth and give it a gentle tug and start rolling your fingers over the other side.

You watch as the man starts bobbing up and down, from tip to base he takes Rafayel’s cock over and over.. You swear you can see the outline of Rafayel’s cock in his throat. He starts groaning, the vibration sends Rafayel into a frenzy and you feel your orgasm crest.

“I’m coming fuck fuck fuck… ahhhh yes Raf yes..”

You hear the man moan and look up to see Rafayel’s release leaking out of the sides of his mouth. That sight makes your climax so intense you worry you might blackout. You feel Rafayel start tapping your thigh and you quickly lift yourself away, he gasps for air but laughs as he relaxes. You crawl off of him and are mortified to see the couch around his head completely soaked, his face and hair drenched. But you can’t find a reason to care when he looks so pussy drunk.

The man stands and wipes at his lip with his thumb, you glance down at Rafayel’s cock and see not a drop of his release is left behind. This man really sucked him dry and cleaned up… impressive. Rafayel sits up and looks up at the man.

“Debt is paid. See you next week, Rafayel.”

With that, he turns and leaves. You look at Rafayel and crawl onto his lap.

“I’m looking forward to hearing what that was about…”

You try to wipe his forehead with your wrist.

“Leave it, I like smelling like you.”

You slap his chest and he chuckles. He looks up to see there are still people waiting.

“Still in the mood to experiment?”

You don’t even glance around, you just lock your arms around his neck and kiss his cheek.

“No, I want you to myself. I need to see if my mouth can make you whimper like that again.”

He glares at you and pinches your side. You try to wiggle away from him, but he grabs you and hauls you over to lay on top of him.

“I can promise you, when it’s your mouth, I’ll be so delirious I might speak another language entirely.”

You kiss his nose.

“That’s hot.”

He laughs and kisses your nose.

“Let’s get out of here, yea?”

You’ve basically lived at Rafayel’s apartment over Lemuria Studios for the past week. It’s closer to the Association and much nicer. Plus, waking up next to him is a great way to start your day. And being fucked senseless every night is definitely helping you sleep better.

“You should go by your place after you get off work, pick up some clothes and shit.”

You put down your coffee and stare at him.

“I want you to be comfortable when you stay here.”

You stand up from the bar stool and walk around the kitchen island. He stops chopping vegetables to lean on the counter and look at you. His shirt hangs off your shoulders, the hem barely covering your ass. You run your hands down his chest, placing a kiss over his heart. Wrapping your arms around his waist, you press yourself against him. He rubs his hands over your back and rests his chin on your head.

“I like changing into your clothes when I get off work. I like using your shower gel so I can smell like you. I like sleeping naked in your bed. I am more comfortable than I’ve ever been.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I want you wearing my clothes and sleeping naked…”

You feel his hands glide down your back and pull his shirt up over your ass. The cool air against your bare skin makes you shiver. He leans down to kiss your neck, his hands feeling the curve of your ass and diving lower between your legs.

“I just think you should have some of your own things, you know?”

“I’ll pick up a few things after work.”

His fingers press against the crotch of your panties and you shiver.

“When do you have to leave for work?”

You glance over his shoulder at the clock and smile. You giggle and grab onto his neck, keeping him close.

“About an hour…”

He plants his hands under your ass and lifts you up. He continues placing messy kisses to your neck as he walks you to his bedroom.

“That should tide us over until tonight, yea?”

Work wasn’t boring, but you were itching to leave and head to your place. The more you thought about it the more excited you were to have your things at Rafayel’s place. You loved smelling like him, but your hair types are very different and his products are definitely not working for you. You planned your entire evening while working. Completing reports, canvassing Wanderer hotspots, scanning physical reports into the digital system - with every mind numbing task, you got closer and closer to the self-care date with yourself.

When you open the door to your apartment you’re greeted with the scent of extremely ripe bananas. You forgot you’d gotten them the day before the party and now… You close your front door and drop your keys on the entry table. You enter the kitchen and stare at the bananas. As you poke at them, you have an idea. It’s been ages since you’ve baked banana bread, but your grandmother's recipe is a classic. You find the recipe book on your bookshelf and gather the supplies you need. But before you bake, you need “an everything shower.” Badly.

Your shower gel is more floral than Rafayel’s, which is refreshing. And your scalp is finally able to breathe with your products gently scrubbing away the buildup. Shaving takes forever, but it’s worth it, Rafayel’s silk sheets would feel like heaven against your skin tonight. You put on a face mask while moisturizing and dance around your kitchen in your underwear while you stack the ingredients for the banana bread on the counter

Once the bread is in the oven, you grab a small suitcase and start packing up a few essentials. The travel size versions of your hair care products, underwear, an extra work uniform, a set of pajamas - just in case - two casual outfits and your go-to little black dress. You throw the uniform you wore today in the washer into the dryer and go through your fridge in case anything went bad while you were gone.

You’re setting the trash bag by the front door when you hear a muffled grunt. You press your ear to the door and hear more quiet groans and shuffling feet. You stand on your tiptoes and look through your peephole as quietly as possible. You see what looks like a white helmet and a purple jacket. They’re so close to your door you start to panic. You hear a knock at your door and you freeze.

“Cutie? Are you still here?”

Rafayel’s voice is muffled behind the door. You let out a sigh of relief and swing the door open, forgetting you’re only in your underwear. Rafayel is hunched over against the doorframe, the sleeves of his leather jacket are torn and the left leg of his cargo pants are shredded and bloody.

“Shit! Rafayel what happened?!”

He tugs at his helmet but can’t get it off. You push his hands away and unhook the straps to pull the helmet off his head. His face is pale and he’s drenched in sweat, but he still smirks when he sees you.

“Damn… what a welcome.”

“Shut the fuck up…”

You lift one of his arms and wrap it around your shoulder. You carefully help him walk into your apartment, kicking the door closed behind you.

You help him sit down on the couch and drag your coffee table closer to elevate his leg. The fabric is almost completely torn away from his skin and you can see the dirt and gravel stuck in his wounds. You help him remove his gloves and jacket, carefully inspecting his arm to see if there’s any wounds you haven’t seen. You tug his damp t-shirt off and look for any cuts. Bruises are already starting to darken over his ribcage.

You rush through your room to the bathroom to get a first aid kit and a few towels. You toss your face mask in the trash and put on your robe, haphazardly tying the belt at your waist. When you return Rafayel has his head back on the cushion with his eyes closed.

“Raf? You with me?”

He opens his eyes and smiles weakly. He tries to sit up, but clutches his side with a grimace.

“Rafayel, you need a doctor.”

He shakes his head, but keeps a hand pressed over his ribcage.

“It’s not that serious, trust me. I just need it cleaned up. I’m sorry I just showed up like this…”

“Rafayel…”

“I’ll get checked out when my doctor gets back in town. I promise.”

You rub your forehead and reach to turn on another light. You place the first aid kit on the coffee table and rush to the kitchen to grab a glass and a bowl of water. You hand Rafayel the glass, set the bowl down and sit down in front of him.

“Drink that.”

He doesn’t argue, he drinks the water slowly while he watches you work. You dip a towel in the water and gently try to clean the dirt and gravel out of his wound. He winces, but doesn’t struggle. You start putting a bit more pressure to see where the deeper cuts are and he groans. You look up at him and he has his eyes closed tightly.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?”

You continue cleaning the wound until it looks clear of debris. You shake a can of antiseptic spray, squinting your eyes at him as he shrugs.

“I crashed, no biggie.”

You grit your teeth and spray a more than generous amount on his leg. His leg shakes and he curses under his breath. He reaches for your hand and takes the can, chucking it across the room.

“Enough! I.. I think it’s clean…”

You flash him a smirk and grab a roll of gauze to start wrapping his leg.

“I haven’t crashed in a long time, but these things happen. I’m okay.”

You continue wrapping his leg in silence. The feeling he is hiding something ripping into you like a knife. This is a serious injury, he could have lost his leg or worse. He’s a careful driver, you know that. So what caused him to crash? You finally look at the helmet on the floor next to the couch. The white paint on the side is scraped and you can see a thin crack along the visor. But what catches your eye is the intricate red design on the front.

“Nice helmet.”

“Thank you. I don’t get to wear it often. Guess it’ll be retiring until I get it fixed up, huh?”

You nod. He leans forward and grabs your hands.

“I know it looks bad, but I’ve had worse. Come on, look at me, please?”

Just as you meet his gaze his phone rings. He grabs his jacket on the couch and digs his phone out. His gentle smile drops when he sees the caller.

“I need to take this, I’m sorry.”

He lifts his leg and tries to stand up, but you push him back.

“I’ll go, you need to keep your leg elevated.”

You walk to your room, closing the door behind you. Holding the handle, you don’t let the lock click. You wait until you hear a hushed “hello” before pulling the door open a crack. You press your ear as close to the opening as possible. Rafayel’s voice is hushed.

“I need to know their name.”

“No, I know. I know. I’d never seen them before.”

“I don’t give a fuck, they almost got Ryūō caught. Cops knew which bike to follow.”

Your eyes widen at the mention of cops. Who is Ryūō? Is that really a name?

“Yea, they caused my crash. No, Zayne’s out of town. Of course I’m not at the hospital, I’m not a fucking idiot. I’m okay, seriously, I need to focus on Ryūō.”

Zayne?! As in your childhood friend, the head of cardiology? That Zayne? Is he Rafayel’s primary physician too? Why can’t Rafayel go to the hospital?

“I want a name by the end of the night, put any expenses on my card.”

“No, don’t say anything. I’ll set up the next meeting and fill everyone in.”

“Yeah, fuck… Okay, have Ryūō call me.”

You’re tempted to swing the door open and confront him immediately, but your brain is swimming with theories.

“Cutie? You can come out now!”

You open the door slowly. Your eyes narrow and you glare at him from across the room. He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes and your stomach tightens. As you approach him, he shifts uncomfortably, your gaze finally unsettling him. Just as you sit down to finish treating his leg, his phone rings again.

“Is that Ryūō?”

He looks up from his phone, his expression darkens. You don’t leave, instead you continue wrapping his leg and sit in silence while his phone continues to ring. Finally, he answers it.

“Hey.”

“No, doc’s out of town. I’m okay. It could have been worse.”

“Where’d you stash your bike?”

“No no no, I’ll send someone to get it. Keep your head down for a few days.”

“I’m looking into it.”

“He put down Onryō so I’m guessing it’s personal. Could be you, could be me, or both. I’ll have more info by the end of the night.”

Onryō? As in the Japanese yokai? You remember reading about popular yokai’s before your vacation to Japan after you graduated college. You recall they are ghosts who hyperfocus on vengeance. Their passion could be born out of jealousy or hatred. Does he think this person is trying to hurt him and this Ryūō person? Now Ryūō makes more sense. Another yokai.

“Sy, I am asking you not to look into it. It’ll get too messy if you get involved.”

Who is Sy?

“I know what you can do and I am asking you not to do anything. Please. I will call you as soon as I know anything.”

He hangs up and tosses it on the couch. He covers his face with his hands and groans, running his hands through his hair before looking up to stare at you.

“Go on, ask.”

You secure the gauze with tape. Picking up a new towel, you dip it in the water and squeeze out the excess before moving to sit next to him. You wipe his face and he relaxes, you continue down his chest.

“I’m pretty good at puzzles. So… I think I pieced most of it together.”

“Do tell.”

You feel his fingers trace your jaw. You pause and look at him.

“Bikes, cops, code names, someone is messing with you or whoever Ryūō is. My educated guess… Racing?”

He looks down at his leg, his brows furrow.

“Am I wrong?”

He sighs and looks at you again.

“Spot on.”

“So can you tell me what really happened now?”

He pulls the towel out of your hand and pulls you to him. You lean against the couch, careful not to put any pressure on his ribs. Once you settle, he takes a deep breath.

“I’ve been a part of the racing scene for a few years. Ryūō and I started around the same time. Now, we’ve become leaders… kind of? We’re used to having targets on our backs. So we’re careful about bringing new people onto the scene. Today, we held an open race to test the waters and it bit us in the ass.”

“Onryō? You mean?”

“Yeah... They signed in and before the race even started, cops rolled up. They targeted Ryūō and he pulled off the race to pull the cops away from us. That’s when the prick kicked me off my bike on a turn and I fucked up my leg.”

“So you have people looking for this Onryō person, what will happen when they find them?”

“My people will call me. And I’ll deal with it.”

You cross your arms and glare at him.

“And how will you, “deal with it” exactly?”

Rafayel tosses his head back on the couch and closes his eyes.

“I can’t tell you that, cutie, you know that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I am not going to put your job on the line. You have a duty to report this kind of thing, right? The less I say the better.”

“So Ryūō and Sy, they’re the same person, right?”

Your question makes Rafayel sit up straight, he turns to you and grabs your shoulders tightly.

“Drop it. Please.”

“No. You came to my door, bleeding and bruised and you’re expecting me to just ignore whatever shit you’re into that caused all this? Really Rafayel?”

His grip tightens.

“You’re not getting hurt because of me.”

You reach up to hold his face in your hands. Your thumbs brushing under his eyes.

“I’m a hunter, I am good at taking care of myself. I’m not afraid of whatever it is you’re involved in, but what I am afraid of is you getting hurt.”

He leans into your touch, his cheeks warming and his pale skin starts to flush.

“I know you’re able to protect yourself, but these people… They’re different. They play by a different set of rules and I don’t want you to risk your job or your safety for me.”

“That’s my choice.”

He huffs out a laugh and leans his forehead against yours.

“I know, I just… fuck…”

You kiss his nose affectionately and he wraps his arms around you, pulling you to his chest. You curl up beside him, pressing your face into his neck.

“Let me choose you.”

He rubs your back and your body relaxes next to him.

“So…”

He kisses the top of your head and hums encouraging you to continue.

“What’s your name? Like your racing name?”

He chuckles and leans back, tucking you into his side. You rest your head on his shoulder.

“Kiko.”

You close your eyes, it seems all the racers pick a yokai as their code name. You try to remember the lore behind Kiko.

“That’s a type of Kitsune, right? A holy fox? No, spirit fox!”

“Yep.”

You shift so you can look up at him.

“I thought you’d pick something ocean related like… Kōjin or Tatsu?”

“A biker with an oceanic racer alias, purple hair and brightly colored Kawasaki?”

“Oh…”

“Yea, I don’t need cops breathing down my neck at the studio. So I chose something, I guess, that fit my personality?”

“You relate to a fox, huh?”

“Curious, playful, intelligent. Yea, I think so.”

“They’re also very loud if they don’t get love and affection.”

Rafayel nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, you giggle, swatting at him to sit up.

“I guess it’s an accurate description then.”

You look down at his helmet and squint. The white base and red lines around the eyes and at the center.

“Ohhh… that explains your helmet!”

“Yeah, usually I wear a white leather jacket but I was in a rush today.”

“You don’t race the blue bike you’ve been driving me around on, do you?”

“No, I have a different bike for races. Different colors and fake plates.”

You sit up, cross your legs and face him.

“Take me with you.”

His eyes widened in surprise.

“Like, on a ride?”

You smile, a wicked gleam in your eye.

“On a race.”

He stares at you, his mouth open and eyes unblinking. You stare back, your smile unwavering.

“You realize it’s illegal, right?”

You nod.

“And dangerous?”

You nod.

“And you might –”

You slap a hand over his mouth. He chuckles, the vibrations tickling your hand.

“I know the risks. I want to see more of your world. Especially when mine is so… blah…”

“Hmm mmh mmh hmm huh mhm!” He mumbles, trying to speak to you through your hand.

You move your hand away and pinch his cheek. He grabs your hand and holds it tight.

“You fight Wanderers for a living! That’s not ‘blah’!”

“Fine. I want to see more of your world because I…”

You look down at your lap, trying to hide the blush spreading across your cheeks. He grabs your chin and lifts your face to meet his gaze.

“Because what, cutie?”

“Because I hope I can be a part of it…”

He plants his hands on your waist and lifts you, plopping you down on his lap. His hands hold onto your ass and he pulls you closer. It’s at this moment you realize you’re still not wearing any pants and the rough fabric of his cargo pants rubbing against your nearly bare pussy makes you twitch. You grab onto his shoulders and try to lift yourself off his lap.

“Your leg!”

“It’s fine, stop squirming.”

You let out an exaggerated sigh and shift your knees wider to properly straddle him. He squeezes your ass and rubs his hands down your thighs. You run your hands down his chest and start to play with his nipple rings, which earns you a deep groan. He takes the hint and stops teasing you.

“I want you to be a part of my life, but it’s a complicated one. Are you sure?”

You wrap your arms around his neck and thread your fingers through his hair. You lean forward and place a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“Show me a whole new world, Aladdin.”

He chuckles and bites his lip as he looks up at you.

“My dick is not a magic carpet, but I will take you for a ride.”

You slap his chest and try not to laugh.

“You’re so stupid…”

He seizes the opportunity, with your hands on his chest, to grab your face and pull you to him. He kisses you until you can barely breath, your worries fade. You’re not sure what you’re getting yourself into, but you’re sure of one thing - Rafayel has made you feel more alive in the past week than you’ve felt in years. And you’re going to chase this feeling, for as long as possible.

Rafayel finally lets you breathe and you smell something burning. He scrunches his nose and you sniff the air, trying to determine what it could be. Your eyes widen and you scramble to crawl off of Rafayel’s lap.

“My banana bread!”

Part 2

(AN Part 2: Surprise! It's also a crowfish fic. Smile.)

Tag List (comment if you wanna be added!): @trishiepo0 @not-so-quite-human @kitsunetori @babyx91 @libriomancer @lilyadora @crowskitten22 @letharue @silverbrain @m00nchildwrites @plsdonttakemyname

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wosofutbolfan · 4 months ago

Text

I Am Woman, Hear Me Roar

Alexia Putellas x Explorer!R

8.5k Fluff, Fun, Minor Angst

Hi Guys,

This is pt4. in the 'I Would Climb Every Mountain With You" otherwise known as Explorer!R Universe. TW: description of killing an animal.

Highly recommend you read those 3 first, as this is entrenched in lore. Pt 1 can be found here.

It's developed from an ask I received from @karsonromanoff so thank you so much for the idea! I hope I did it justice and I'm sorry for the delay and the words. ha.

This is the first time I've written since my dad died. I'm not being emo or heavy about it but I am asking to please, be kind. I know there's nice people out there but often they're drowned out by the loud haters.

So throw us a comment, like or reblog if you enjoyed. I'm just trying to get back into something that brought me joy. I know I enjoyed writing it.

Also, may be weird for a fic about a spanish gay footballer, but you probably need a good working knowledge of Bear Grylls to understand 80% of this. ha.

As has become tradition, here's the song running though my head when writing! Yes, my music taste remains to be that of someone born in 1962. God love Helen Reddy.

“Vamos Ale! I don’t like to make Miguel wait…” you shout from the kitchen, bag resting on the countertop as you try to fix your bracelet with your left hand,

“Deja de preocuparte, a él no le importa, I will be one minute…” you head called back from the bedroom where your wife had been getting dressed for 2 hours now.

Yes.

Your wife.

Sometimes you couldn’t believe it.

Sometimes the weight of the band on your finger catches you by surprise and you’d remember.

Sometimes Alexia would place her hand on your bare thigh and you could feel the cool metal on your skin and you’d remember.

Sometimes you’d get called “Mrs Putellas” at a school talk, or at the Doctors, and you’d remember.

It felt so natural that sometimes you’d forget that you weren’t always Alexia's wife.

But now you are. And had been for almost 6 months. And married life couldn’t have suited you more.

Your wedding ring was your new favourite accessory, you never took it off.

In a fire you would save Alexia and your ring.

Maybe even your ring first.

It was embossed with the imprint of grass that Alexia has been collecting from each pitch of each game she had played in since you had met. The intricate design brought tears to your eyes as soon as you saw it. Made even worse by the inscription “’cause you are my goal”.

You would be embarrassed if Alexia hadn’t cried like a toddler when you presented her with the ring you had made for her, which had rock from each of the 7 peaks you had scaled, as well as a granule of sand from the Dead Sea set within it. Integrated into the metal, visible but smooth to the touch.

The inscription 'every mountain high, every valley low' on the inside of the band.

You knew you’d done good and you knew your Ale well enough to anticipate the absolute mess she would be when presented with it, ensuring you had a pocket full of tissues for the inevitable waterfall.

You weren’t wrong.

You had to assure a passing couple on the trail you had chosen that she was fine, not having a medical incident and you were definitely not mid break-up but in fact exchanging wedding bands early because you knew your fiance well enough she didn’t need her teammates to witness this much of her soft side.

Though you tried, they still saw enough on your wedding day to tease her for the last 6 months with no sign of slowing down.

Though right now your wife's behaviour was nothing but unexpected. You had agreed to attend one of Alexia's events this evening. Since getting married you had felt more of a duty to attend and make up for the years you’d left her carrying her own handbag whilst you trotted over mountains on the other side of the world.

She insisted that you didn’t have to. Like she always did. You weren’t one for the fancy dresses and the flashing cameras. But you saw the gleam of hope in her eyes as she insisted she would be fine on her own.

You couldn’t let that sparkle dim.

Also you had to set off for a camp in a few days and you had gotten seriously stuck in the honeymoon phase meaning that an evening without your wife by your side wasn’t something you could stomach.

Not that you would admit to being so clingy.

But it wasn’t like Ale to take so long to get ready, neither of you being particularly fussy, usually she would throw on some light makeup, smack your bum whilst you ate nutella off a knife under the hob light, procrastinating getting ready until she dragged you and dropped you into the ensuite, steal a kiss and a spray of perfume, and wait for you whilst watching old football clips in the living room.

But now, as you still struggled to attach the clasp of your bracelet and you had one eye on the poor Barca driver, Miguel, waiting in your driveway, you started to grow frustrated at your wife's sudden vanity.

You smelt her perfume invading your senses as you felt her arms envelope you from behind, moving your uncoordinated left hand away and easily attaching the clasp of your bracelet for you, pressing a kiss to your neck as she did so.

“Finalmente… Let’s g-...” you spoke as you turned in her embrace, finally taking in her attire which stopped you in your tracks.

“Boobs”

You had suddenly turned into a 14 year old boy and you couldn’t explain it.

You had seen your wife naked hundreds of times.

Hundreds of fantastic times.

But here she stood looking, regal. Her hair falling lightly over her face, her dark sparkly dress with wide shoulders and only what you could describe as a boob portal you had been rendered speechless. Mouth gaping open like a fish.

“...Amor?...” you heard the delight in her voice. “Are you listening to me… my eyes are up here.” she jokingly clicked her fingers in front of your face which took you out of your breast-inspired trance.

“Ale you are so beautiful” you looked deeply into her eyes but you didn’t miss the blush rising from her neck. And you meant it. She was. Wow.

“Do you like it?” she asked, shyly, “You don’t think it’s too much? It’s just the first event we’ve gone to together since we got married and I wanted to…”

You interrupt her but pressing a kiss to her lips, and, well, if you slipped a little tongue in there then fine. She was your wife after all.

“What? Show the world what they're missing out on? I am so proud to stand by your side, my love.” you whispered into her lips, as you toyed with her wedding band.

You couldn’t help yourself…”and your boobs are fantastic.”

She barked out a laugh as you leaned back into where you left off, but she took a step back, her heel clicking against the tile floor, to which you let out an annoyed grumble.

“Oi Oi, Mi Amor. What about poor Miguel, he is waiting, Si?” she teased.

“He doesn’t care… Cálla y bésame.”

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You took a deep breath and leaned back on your chair at the round table you found yourself at. Alexia had been pulled from your side which she had stuck to like glue all evening, to go and present the final award of the evening which she had just done, very sexily if you do say so yourself. All confident and boob-y.

You smiled, imagining her now making small talk backstage, eyes bored but a smile plastered on her face as she tried to make her way back to your table.

Your other table-mates seemed to take the opportunity of the break in the ceremony to raid the free bar put on by the charity. Which seemed very uncharitable of them. But, as you toyed with the rim of your glass, who were you to judge?

Stomach full from a mediocre-mass produced meal and head happily fuzzy from the bubbles you had consumed you found yourself oddly satisfied as you sat here. In this conference room-turned auditorium in the middle of Barcelona, here, loudly and proudly as Alexia's wife.

Mrs Putellas.

You couldn’t help but smile to yourself, you felt weirdly grown-up. With your wife, your house, and your business. You blinked and missed yourself becoming so settled and for once in your life you weren’t terrified of the idea.

You saw the glint in Alexia's eye. When Irene and her wife would come round for dinner and bring their kid. She’d surrender all hostess duties and sit on the living room floor, crawling around at the beck and call of whatever imaginary game the 5 year old insisted on. You’d seen her perfect her lion roar in that very spot. It probably matched the glint in yours when you were grocery shopping and a child being pushed in a trolley would go past shoving cookies into the trolley without their Mother seeing.

Maybe, you thought, maybe it was time…

“It is you! I am so sorry to interrupt. I had to come over to introduce myself. I am such a fan…”

You glanced around, expecting Alexia to be standing over your shoulder and smiling politely at the person who had approached your table to meet her… but you were met with blank space and then you engaged your silly brain and realised the person was speaking English and looking at you and…

Oh My God.

It’s Bear Grylls.

“Oh My God. You’re Bear Grylls.”

You let out.

Stupidly.

Standing and thrusting your hand out like an idiot to your legitimate childhood hero.

You and your brother would watch his series for hours as children. Sat cross-legged 2 inches from the TV on your living room floor, eating up every second of his adventures. Your mum had to stop you from eating a woodlouse once in your garden because you’d seen him eat a cricket in the Amazon the evening before. Your brother smacked upside the head for trying to drink a cup of his own wee for the same reason.

Now you were a well-seasoned adventurer yourself you knew that all of that was for theatricks.

You had spent more than 7 weeks wandering the Amazon yourself once, and not one drop of urine passed your lips. Not one 8 legged insect had you gulped down in one.

But still.

Hero.

He took your hand graciously, as you both sat back down you prepared to barrage him with questions but before you could he jumped right in…

“I have been wanting to meet you for years. But my team said you had disappeared off to Spain and couldn’t be tracked down. Please, I've been desperate to know. .. Tell me all about summiting Orjas del Salado…”

So you told him, and you asked him about his adventures, and you chatted for what could have been hours, sharing stories and advice with Bear-fucking-Grylls.

He blushed as you pointed out his for-TV tricks and you thanked him for being a portal into the wider world from your living room.

At some point you felt Alexia return, a strong hand on your shoulder. You paused your monologue about Patagonia and giddily took her hand in yours, introducing them to each other.

Polite pleasantries exchanged you could tell she had legitimately no idea what was going on or who this middle-aged English guy at your table was, but judging from your excited eyes, she didn’t need to interrupt.

It didn’t take too long for someone from his team to pull him away for an interview with the charity. But as you stood to say your goodbyes he made an offer, “You know, me and the production company are making a special about survival in the Alps… I would love for you to be a guest star.”

You stood there like a gaping fish for a moment. “Really?” you asked, in wonder, your 7 year old self spinning around in glee in your chest. Alexia smiling up at you from her chair at the joy in your voice.

“Of course! I would be honored, it’s especially about how to survive in an Avalanche situation. Obviously, with what happened in Nepal…you are an expert in that fie…”

At that point, Alexia stopped her polite silence she had been maintaining whilst you had your moment with your childhood hero. And abruptly stood, clutching your hand hard in both of hers, stern look on her face.

“No.”

From the look on his face you gathered that this successful upper-middle class white English man had not been told no too often, and a beat of silence followed which Alexia was more than happy to fill.

“Sorry Señor Oso. She doesn’t do snow now. Thank you for the offer though.”

She said it with such finality that even you didn’t think to question it. Her mis-translation brought a smile to your face. Her hands still encompassed yours, her eyes didn’t leave his face. As though daring him to rebuff her.

He looked at you as though to confirm she could answer for you. Of course she could. But you knew this refusal wasn’t just about you, but about her also. You knew the anxiety it would cause her for you to put yourself in that situation wasn’t worth anything on this planet.

Nevermind the trauma it would dredge up for you. So obviously, you agreed.

“Sorry Mr Grylls. Not my rodeo anymore. I’ve got some contacts though who you could work with” you politely confirmed your refusal and felt Alexias hands lessen their grip on yours in relief.

“No, no, of course. Sorry. But no. I would really love for you to be involved in the series. We have an episode about promoting women in outdoor pursuits. It's still on the drawing board, but if you are interested I’ll get our people to liaise with each other!”

“That sounds amazing but… I don’t have any people for you to…”

“Don’t be silly Mi Amor” Alexia interrupts again, hand still in yours and the other expertly reaching into her clutch and pushing a card into his outstretched hand… “We have people. Please, Oso, be in touch.”

Smiling vaguely and confusedly at your wife, still clearly mildly terrified of her, he takes the card as he's dragged away by his handler. He's probably still in hearing distance as you squeal in glee and throw yourself into your wife's arms, making her spin with the momentum.

“Ale, Ale, Ale!!! Do you know who that was….” you exclaim.

She can’t help but laugh aloud at your antics, soft look on her face as she lifts you lightly off the ground to stop your spin.

“Si Mi Amor, ese era el hombre oso de la televisión. Tu favorito.” she replies with a smile on her face, speaking softly, somehow, in the middle of this event where she was the guest star, making you feel as though you were the only person in the universe.

“No.” you corrected “..eres mi favorito.” You sealed your words with a light kiss to her lips, chaste but warm.

“Ah, Si. And you have had some wine. You always get soft after wine.” she lightly rolls her eyes with affection at your gushing over her.

It’s your turn to roll your eyes as you pull her into a soft sway, your childhood hero quickly forgotten now you’re in the company of your wife.

Though the giddiness in your bones from your encounter remains.

“Si the wine.” you agree moving your lips close to her ear as you whisper, breath dancing against her cheek, your hand moves to her chest and you feel her breath falter at your closeness,

“but also your boobs.” and you quickly poke her exposed chest between her breasts before she can stop you, and you move away from her pulling her behind you as you rush off to the bar.

“Amor!” she cackles.

“Vamos Ale! A La Barra!”

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Estoy Muerta.”

You grumble in complaint into the chest of the warm and moving pillow that you had clearly settled on in the night.

“Shh Ale.”

“Me estoy muriendo y a mi esposa no le importa.”

“You are not dying Ale. You are hungover and over 30”, you mumble in reply, moving away from resting on her chest, the heat becoming too much for your own fuzzy brain.

“Explain to me how that is different.” she doesn’t take kindly to your light chuckle in reply, as you move your hand to cover your eyes from the sunlight starting to bleed through the curtains.

You peek an eye open and see the remnants of your previous night strewn across the bedroom floor.

You take in the glorious dress of your wifes thrown across your chest of drawers. You recall unzipping it with your mouth after making very good use of the boob portal. Much to Alexia's delight.

You had probably taken it a little bit too far at the bar. Your giddiness let your binge-drinking brit out a little too much.

You had a flash of memory at dancing on a table at a dive bar in the town centre, before being brought down by Alba who you had called and demanded come and dance the night away.

Meanwhile Alexia had been in the corner trying to drunkenly explain to Mapi a set of complicated tactics that they should try out at an additional training session in the morning.

“I thought you had scheduled extra training today Ale” you teased after taking in her pasty complexion as you rolled over and settled back down onto your, cooler, side of the bed.

“I hate you.” she replied, quite seriously, as she moulded herself against your back, taking your hand in hers and burying her face into the back of your neck.

“Of course you do, dear, it feels like it.” you tease again, wiggling yourself and making her grumble again.

You rest there for a few moments, before you’re dragged onto your back again and pulled into Alexia's embrace as she moves you around like her own personal teddy bear.

You go with the flow, quite used to your wife's clingy nature, especially when she didn't feel well.

But your silence doesn’t last two minutes before she rolls you over again, now onto your back, “Oh bloody hell, where are we going now.” you mumble, as she rests her head on your chest this time, nuzzling into your breasts.

“me estoy poniendo cómodo.” she mutters into your bosom, “allá. ahora estoy cómodo”. You run your hands through her hair, smiling down at your wife who is practically purring at the attention.

“Bebé…”, you make a noise of affirmation.

“Will you…” you know what she wants, and you know she must be feeling bad if she’s asking for attention.

“Si, my love. voy a trenzar tu cabello. One big plait or lots of little ones?”.

“The tingly ones por favor” she mumbles into your chest. Your heart expands at her adorableness, never quite learning the English for ‘french plait’ they became known as the ‘tingly ones’ in your household, because of the feeling she would get as you plaited her wet hair after a game, hands working through her scalp.

It brings a smile to your face and you can see the lovesick smile on hers where it is squished against your chest.

You start to section out her hair as she lies still, your ministrations slowly putting her to sleep, working methodically in the quiet morning.

Moving strand over strand in intricate braids, lightly tugging her scalp and undoing when it's not perfect and redoing, giving her an extra scratch to the soft skin behind her ear when you get there, knowing it's her most sensitive spot. Receiving a sleepy purr in satisfaction as your reward.

You hear the animals from the national park outside, feel the sun starting to warm the room around you. Her chest rising and falling against yours hypnotising you further into the moment. You’ve got grand plans, brunch and a walk along the beach in your mind, maybe a lazy afternoon swim, hold on no. Maybe a lazy afternoon skinny dip. Yeah.

That sounds good.

You’ve almost finished tying off the last plait when you are startled back into the moment by the buzzing of your wifes phone on the bedslide table.

You fight back a smile at the groan that is emitted from your fully grown-pro-athlete-wife. It resembled that of a teenager who’d been asked to clean their room or no dessert. When she doesn’t go to make a move you nudge her shoulder.

“Ale. Ale, your phone."

“No.”

“Yes."

“No."

“C'mon Ale.” you reach across and pick the phone up. “It could be important. It could be your secret wife wondering where you are.”

She rolls off you at your tease, throwing you a glare that resembles more of an angry kitten than anything, “It could not be, she knows where I am. I snuck out whilst you were dancing on the tables in that last bar to make plans for dinner.”

“Ah, Si of course. My mistake.”

She surges up and gives you a completely unnecessary chaste kiss, as though even the joke is too much and she has to confirm she’s kidding. The phone has stopped vibrating against the bedside table and the silence that settles over you both is welcome.

“How are you so okay? I feel like I have been run over by a truck.” she states as she rubs her face, finally sitting up to start the day.

“You are old.

“I am 2 months older than you.”

“Two, very long, months my darling.” you tap her cheek lightly as you move to get out of bed, throwing on one of her oversized t-shirts you find on the floor.

“Seria, how?” she asks again, now sprawling across the space you have vacated.

“I am English. I once did a vodka shot through my eyeball in the park. I was 14.” you state, plainley, eyebrow raised in challenge as she just looks at you, open mouthed.

“Ojalá no hubiera preguntado.” she mutters, as her phone starts to ring again.

“Ale, phone.” you say, just to annoy her.

“¡lo sé!” you hear thrown at you, as you head downstairs to set some food out for Billy-the-Goat, and make a coffee for your dying wife.

Soon after, you feel her presence behind you as you stir her coffee, turning as you feel her hands wrap around your waist and presenting her coffee and she takes it from you as though it's a ballon d’or. She takes a sip before she presses a kiss to your head.

“That was my agent.”

Your heart drops, and you can’t help the petulant whine that leaves your lips.

“No, Ale! I wanted to spend the day together. Try that new brunch place Alba told us about. Have a swim, just be together. Whatever brand needs you can wait. Tell them no, please” you finish your little monologue with a pout, and you feel a childish frustration rise as a laugh teases against her lips. You don’t get very far when a kiss is pressed against your lips.

“Well that sounds like the perfect hangover cure Mi Amor. Do you not want me to tell you what it is before I tell them no though?” there's something in her taunt, a glint in the eye that makes you think twice as your mouth already wraps around the refusal.

You take a moment too long apparently, and she takes things into her own hands as she clutches her coffee happily and spins around, “I’ll tell them no! Don’t worry Mi Amor…” teasing lilt in her tone. Whatever the news is, it has pulled her from her hangover.

You wait a beat

Another.

“Fine, What is it!” you groan out in defeat, hands raised to the sky, Alexias t-shirt riding high on your thighs as you raise your arms.

Your wife turns and is distracted momentarily by the flesh on display. Before you cough and she remembers what she's supposed to be doing. Coy smile on her face returning.

“That was my agent…” you huff out at her drawing out the anticipation. “Or should I say our agent.” your brow furrows in confusion as she continues… “she has been contacted by a muy interesado oso.”

Realisation starts to dawn on you, memories of the previous night flashing in your mind and you can’t help the grin that forms.

“Si, Mi Amor. It turns out he really meant it. She said they were willing to offer anything to get you on. She’s getting the details now and will contact us again after our day together today to see if you are interested”.

“I am interested!” you exclaim with glee, Alexia throwing her head back in laughter.

“I know Amor, but let's let them sell it to you. You need the details. Though… I am sure it is no more dangerous than ojos de vodka.”

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Hola, love!” you shout into your empty hallway, hands full of groceries, you shuck off your trainers, hearing them thump against the wall as you struggle into the kitchen.

Tonight was the premiere of “Man Vs Woman” , the special episode of your and Bear's adventure. After the offer was made you met with the TV production company via Zoom to go through ideas.

You pretended you didn’t know Alexia was standing just outside the door to your study, listening and clearly deciding if she thought it was too dangerous or not. At least that's what you deduced from her interrupting with a cup of tea every time a particularly hairy idea was mentioned.

When you brought this up with her you pretended you didn't see her blush creeping up from her neck. Because you’re her wife and it was the wifely thing to do.

The concept was a really cool one. You were excited from the start. The idea was that you and Bear would both be dropped in an inhospitable environment with a map and a knife and nothing else. Neither of you would be told what type of environment but you had assurances in your contract that it wouldn’t involve snow. You had 28 days to get to the muster point. Whoever got there first won.

Simple.

Convincing Alexia it was really cool. Less simple.

“Amor what if there are animals!”

“I know how to avoid dangerous animals. And there will be a medical team on standby,”

“What if you fall and cut yourself on your knife."

“What if you get tackled and break your leg?”

“That's different. What if you lose your map and can’t find your way out and you have to live out there forever”

“I will always find my way back to you.”

“What If-”

“Ale.”

You stopped her rambling with a kiss and when you pulled away you looked deeply in her eyes.

“Que pasa I miss you too much?” eyes wide and vulnerable.

There we go. Her real source of anxiety.

You had spent more time apart than most couples but since you scaled down your travels you had fallen into a sweet domesticity you could admit was a struggle to pull yourself from. 28 days plus the week before to get to the location is longer than you’d like. But it was an adventure of a lifetime. Maybe… maybe your last adventure? The thoughts had been creeping in more and more recently.

Of early mornings chasing more than sunrises, maybe rising due to a baby's babble instead?

You’d made sure that Alexia really knew how much you’d miss her the night before you flew out. On reflection maybe you should have rested your muscles a little more before such a physically demanding month but. Be serious. Look who your wife was.

You are not God's strongest soldier.

So, off you had gone. Competing against your childhood hero for all of womanhood. And you couldn’t lie. You loved it.

Being blindfolded and dropped in an unknown location was exhilarating. Learning the land as you went, with only a map and a knife in hand it was one of the biggest challenges of your life.

The team had made good on their promise and the tropical rainforest you were in couldn’t be further from a snowy mountain range.

You’d refused to let anything slip to Alexia in the 3 months you’d been back. Lips tightly sealed no matter what she tried. You wanted her to be surprised and watch it in real time with you. In all the games you'd attended since you had to deal with an injured Mapi yapping your ear off whilst you tried to concentrate on the game, probing for hints about if you won, what you won, where you were, if you wrestled a snake, how big was the snake you’d wrestled.

“Maria stop with the snake!” you’d finally snapped during the tense quarter final of the Queen's cup.

Which had worked.

For all of two seconds.

“What did the snake taste like?”

You’d originally planned to go home to England with Alexia to watch the premier with your family. But then a schedule mess-up in the league had meant that Ale had to play in a rescheduled game the day after the premier. It just didn’t work for her to come to England.

She insisted you still go, but you refused. You wanted to watch her game. And you knew she’d need you when the show was on. Even if she didn’t know that yet.

You started to unpack your groceries mindlessly, you’d picked some great snacks for the evenings viewing, you suddenly were hit with how suspiciously peaceful your house was, though, you were sure you’d seen Alexia's car in the drive.

“Ale! Love!, ¡Estoy en casa! Come help me unpack!” You shouted into your empty kitchen, back turned to your living room, you had a few hours before the show was on air, “I got that ice-cream you like! I know it gives you a tummy ache sometimes but don’t worry, I'll rub your tummy how you like afte…”

“Amor!”

You turned around at the panic in her voice, “Wha–”

“SURPRISE!”

Ale stood in your living area, face reddening, surrounded by her closest Barca teammates as well as Mario, his ever pregnant wife and his kids, your mum and brother as well as Eli and Alba. Everyone comically in paper party hats and some lop-sided bunting was up above your couch,

“HOPE YOU BEAT THE BEAR SNAKE!” it read, and you immediately knew who was on the decoration committee.

You jumped in surprise, dropping the ice cream and immediately ran into your mum's open arms, “Mum! You’re here!” you squealed into her neck, hiding the tears that had appeared in her presence.

“I am, love. Alexia literally wouldn’t let us refuse the flight. She pretended she didn’t understand English when we tried to at least pay for it. And you know I have a 265 day streak on duolingo but my accent must need work because she didn’t understand my Spanish.”

You pulled yourself from her neck with a wet laugh and transferred yourself into your wifes open and familiar strong arms. “Aleeee” you whined. She knew you meant thank you. And I love you. And you mean the world to me. But you were too British to do that infront of people.

“You need to stop pretending you don’t speak English when you don’t like what you hear.” you muttered without malice after placing a kiss below her ear.

“I know amor. I love you too. And your family needed to be here for your big moment! You couldn’t miss this with them because of me. And then also. Mapi happened and now we’re having a viewing party! There's a cake!”

“And Ice Cream Ale! Don’t worry, I’ve saved it! Though we don’t want your barriga to hu-” Mapi stands the space you'd just vacated holding up the abandoned and slightly battered carton of ice cream. She's stopped from her gleeful teasing by Ingrid covering her entire face with one big palm.

“We wanted to be here to support you.” Ingrid interrupted her girlfriend, addressing you kindly.

“We all did!” you hear from Alba in the back, already tucking into the buffet set up on the coffee table, paper hat skew-whiff on her head. You have never felt so loved. It was perfect.

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“So, when are you going to tell her you’re ready for them?”

You are brought out of your daydream by Ingrid sidling up to you and addressing you with her familiar soft lilt.

“Huh?”

She doesn’t reply vocally, just nods her head towards your wife, who is currently having a very intense game of 2v2 in your garden with 2 of Marios youngest and Mapi.

The kids little legs making them toddle around after the small ball adorably, Mapi and Ale giving soft touches they would easily catch up with.

You can’t help but laugh out loud as Ale takes Mapi by surprise and takes a shot against her hard, the ball catching her bare thigh in a manner which must have left a sting much to the small Spaniard's disdain.

Her and the two kids start to chase Alexia around the garden, dramatically tackling her as she suddenly becomes some sort of football monster, rolling around and blowing raspberries on their stomachs as Mapi cheers her toddler army on from the sidelines.

You feel another knock against your arm, dislodging your hand which is supporting your head as you lean over the breakfast bar facing the garden. Lovesick looks clearly on your face, going off Ingrid's coy smile.

“You know, barn. Kids. Munchkins…”

“Yeah, Yeah I get it Ingrid…” you steal another look outside at your more-often-than-not-stern wife getting grass stains on her comfy shorts for the entertainment of your best friends' kids, suddenly you feel like being really really honest. You turn to Ingrid with a shy smile of your own, “soon.”

Her face lights up, teeth on display unable to disguise her smile. “Yeah?” she asks, before turning to look towards the garden, “Me too.”

You smile to yourself and drop your head onto the dark haired girl's shoulder, you both taking a moment to watch your partners play with the kids. The moment is ruined by your mum mussing up your hair on her way past,

“Come on Love, we need to wrangle these last-minute spaniards, it starts in 10 minutes!”

She had a point to be fair. A very chaotic 8 minutes later you practically push Eli into her seat on the couch after she tries to get another plate full of food for Mario’s wife, “¡Está llena de Eli! ella esta embarazada no tiene hambre!” you cheekily remind her, your wife looking up at you from her place on the floor with tender eyes.

“And you…” you turn your attention towards her as you make your way to your seat, “get up here.” you demand, patting the empty space next to you.

“I’m bueno down here Mi Amor, me and Bruno can watch from down here.” she insists. the 4 year old of Marios nestled on her stomach, her arms wrapped around his sleeping form where he attached himself to her after being forced back inside.

You hesitate for a moment, not watching to make a scene or be too needy in front of all your closest family and friends, but you knew that Ale would need to be within touching distance of you in the next hour.

You’re about to make your peace with it when Mario glaces your way. You and Mario have worked together for years. Years before you met Ale and the girls.

You’ve battled more than just bears together. Weeks spent isolated in the mountains. And a bond like that means that you can communicate with just a look.

With just that glance he’s up and pulling his toddler into his own burley arms. Bruno remaining in his deep sleep through the change.

“I’ve got el monstruo Ale. Go sit with your wife."

She doesn’t need any more direction, the small interaction is subtle and missed by everyone, except your brother who sends you an exaggerated puppy dog look.

“Fuck off” you throw at him, finger in the air, quickly grabbed by Alexia, “Hey, I thought you wanted me to sit here!” she teases, sending your brother a wink.

“Stop ganging up on me…!” you’re about to protest further before you’re shushed by Mapi, of all people, sitting on the floor between Ingrid's legs who sits on the couch above her. “It's about to start!”

She has a point, a familiar British accent fills the living room, Spanish subtitles appearing on the bottom of the screen for the Spanish contingent. Bear’s voice is as dramatic as ever, long sweeping scenes fill the screen of intense jungle, a crocodile and an action shot of a snake thrown in for good measure.

“Serpiente!” Mapi shouts, pointing at the screen, before Ingrid hushes her and pulls her back against her legs.

“We all know by now that humans are masters of the jungle. But the unanswered question remains. Is it the King, or Queen of the Jungle? Find out tonight in Man V Woman.”

The title fills the screen with a dramatic crescendo of music. Your friends and family whooping as though it's the champions league final. Alexia barely contains her excitement next to you. You had been steadfast in your refusal to tell anyone the outcome.

The next shot is a recognisable one, the sound of trees being hacked with a machete accompanies a close up of a muddy puddle set deep in the jungle, until the water is disturbed by a ever-familiar battered boot stomping in the puddle, blaugrana laces pulled tight, as proudly as ever.

This prompts another wild round of jeering from the crowd around you as the camera pans out and reveals your full profile as Alexia places a loving kiss onto your shoulder, “That's my wife!” she shouts, proudly, making you laugh.

Bear's voice over continues as you pull Alexia's hand into yours, half pulling her on top of you, she gives you a peculiar look, this being more PDA than you would usually allow in front of your English family, but she goes with it, too full of pride to be worried otherwise.

As the voiceover continues, highlights of your career flash across the screen to introduce you to the audience.

Mountains in Peru, Arctic Explorations, Treks across Siberia, all flash across the screen, mixed in with childhood pictures your mum must have supplied painting a picture of your career so far and your expertise in your career.

The music turns more dramatic as you shift uncomfortably, being the only one to realise in the room what's about to happen.

A picture of you smiling with Arjan at the peak of Everest, ice picks raised proudly in the air. You feel Alexia stiffen on your lap, ever so subtly. Stock footage of snow hurling down a mountain as Bear describes the avalanche you got trapped in.

He gives out stats and figures to heighten the drama… “your chance of survival drops 3% every minute you are trapped after the first 15 minutes… being trapped for 2 days… our guest star did the unthinkable…”

The room is bathed in a white light as the screen changes. Camera shaky and audio changing to the shouts and heavy breaths of whoever the body worn camera is strapped too. “Yahām̐, Yahām̐, she is here!”

The camera catches Arjan digging desperately, it's clear now the camera is strapped to a rescuer on the slopes of Everest, the TV production company having access to the footage through a sister company who were filming a documentary about altitude rescue at the time.

It shakes as the man helps dig, grunts of exertion as the spade digs desperately. A flash of colour and your snow suit is revealed, face pressed up against the rock you had found shelter near.

Arjan clears snow from your face desperately and puts his head close to yours, “She’s breathing!” he pulls you up and your hand, satellite phone frozen in place, falls from the side of your ghostly white face as the camera fades out.

The whole segment couldn’t have lasted more than 32 seconds. But it had felt like time had slowed. You could feel from her placement on you that Alexia hadn’t taken a breath. Her eyes remained wide as she stared at the screen.

There was a heaviness in the room around you.

The voiceover continued, explaining the challenge to the audience but the silence continued. Eli glances at her daughter worriedly, every few seconds.

Just as you thought the tension couldn’t get any more intense… “That's what Alexia looks like when she visits England for Christmas and mum won’t let us put the heating on.” your brother jokes, awkwardly, a crooked smile on his boyish face.

The room is silent, your mum hiding a smile behind a hand only you notice. He goes to speak again, probably to apologise when-

Alexias' laugh shocks even you, bubbling up from deep within her chest. She closes her eyes, a stray tear escaping at the pressure. Laugh still rumbling deep in her chest, slowly the room joins in, as though they’ve been given permission, and soon your in a choir of laughing spectators, your brother blushing deep red at the attention.

“Thank you” you mouth to him across the room, as you wrap your hands around your wife, whos body still shakes with the odd giggle.

He tips an imaginary hat at you in return.

Because he is an idiot.

The challenge begins, unhelpfully, with you throwing yourself out of a helicopter into the rainforest, “Oh Dios Mio” she mumbles, heard subtly under Mapis, “Cool!”.

You press your lips against her shoulder again and mutter into her skin; “I am here, I am warm, I am Safe.” Like a mantra, you feel her nod and grip your hand tighter.

The thing about being in the environment completely opposite to an avalanche inducing mountain range, was that it was hot. Hot and wet. The camera follows both you and Bear as you struggle through the elements seperatly, deciding when to camp down and preserve energy and when to try to gain more miles.

Bear goes hard, and Mapi looks up at you aghast as you decide to build a shelter and bunker down for seven days straight. The heat zapping any energy you had.

“What are you doing! It's a race!” she exclaims, to which you laugh and zip your mouth closed with your fingers, cocking an eyebrow at her as she eagerly looks back towards the TV like a small child.

You spend two days collecting water and, seemingly, according to Mapi, wasting time cutting palm leaves and collecting bark to make twine. Meanwhile Bear is hacking down trees, making spears out of sticks and rock and throwing himself at seemingly anything that would give him a bit of protein on the move.

You’ve ridden yourself of most of your clothing due to the heat. Smothering yourself in mud from the riverbank you were camped next to, you explain to the camera its sun-cream qualities and how it’s safer than clothing as it also protects you from dehydration.

All the while you weave and weave and weave your leaves together, quietly, assuredly.

You explain to the camera; “I am a master weaver. My wife likes it when I plait her hair. Alot. She’s cute. Sorry Ale.” you wink at the camera as your wife groans on your lap and her teammates start to tease her, “Amor! Why!”

“Now. Let's see how this works!” you grin and pull up a large basket to the camera.

The screen shows you scantily dressed, boots safely on a rock in the background, in the river, moving twigs into position to make a run for the fish to swim directly into your basket.

You explain the contraception, set some bait and say your goodnights to the camera, crossing your fingers for a full basket in the morning.

Cheerful music begins as the camera fades back into your campfire, fish on a stick roasting and cooking heavenly, your muddied but smiling face coming into view.

“Bear can eat his roaches and drink his wee. I’ll be here with my fish buffet!” You joke, under your shelter, camera panning to tens of fish in your basket waiting to be smoked.

The next scene shows Bear explaining the protein benefits and the unusual flavours of a witchetty grub as he struggles against the rainstorm.

The music begins to ramp up. Graphics on the screen showing both of your progress. Bear has made much more progress than you. But struggling physically. He’s developed a terrible case of trench foot but was still making steady progress with his machete.

You chose to travel up the river. Walking along its bed you are able to make more direct progress, but it’s more energy draining wading through water. You have, however, had a relatively strong diet over the last 3 weeks.

You’re sitting on the river bed, tending to your basket of smoked fish you’re carrying with you for energy when you suddenly remain completely stock still. Dramatic music begins. Your head raises subtly and then out of nowhere.

“Serpentine!”

A snake strikes at you from the shallows, clearly after your basket, or you, or whatever it can get its fangs in. You react quickly, crouching down to your knees, keeping a low centre of gravity to keep your balance as your right hand reaches into the shallows.

You and the snake strike at the same time, and you throw yourself to the side as you bash a jagged rock against its head.

The next scene shows you taking a mouthful of grilled snake; “Tastes like chicken!” you joke at the camera. Before popping a piece of charred snake skin into your mouth.

You feel Alexia shudder in your arms.

"I'm never kissing you again" she lies.

Mapi slowly turns around, mouth agape, gobsmacked look on her face. “Snake!” she whispers, in disbelief. “You beat a snake!” You can’t help but laugh and lean over to turn her head back to the TV.

“Told you you’d find everything out tonta.”

The map on screen shows the last day of the challenge, Bear's voice over explaining distances to the muster points, as well as geographical challenges. The screen swaps quickly between the two of you, running, climbing and swimming to where you both believed the finish line to be.

You were making good progress, as was Bear.

A close up of a Brazilian flag on the edge of a waterfall.

A close up of you throwing yourself into the river.

Bear gripping a cliff edge and heaving himself up. The camera shows the bottom of the flag pole as he pulls himself up. The camera pans up. And the flagpole is bare.

The screen changes to you.

Standing, still relatively scantily clad in your battered boots, your hiking shorts cut down to short-shorts and thin vest muddied and holey, fish blood staining your arms,holding the flag proudly up in one arm.

The room around you erupts. “She did it!” “¡Jefe de la Jungla!!!!” “I always knew!”, “She killed a snake!”. You find yourself at the bottom of a pile of bodies as Alexia's teammates celebrate in the way they know how. Which is apparently to throw themselves at you in a pile up.

“That's my wife!” Alexia chants proudly from within the pile, laughing gleefully, all earlier angst forgotten.

The screen goes blank, and the image shows you and Bear embracing, laughing as the voiceover continues; “... at least this time. It's a Queen of the jungle… or should I say. La Reina de la Jungla.” Bear quips, as Alexia groans, forever hating her nickname, and the screen cuts to black.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It’s hours later, many more plates of food, celebration toasts and questions from Mapi about the snake later. That you're finally in the quiet of your bedroom in your wife's arms.

Your mum and brother are set up in the spare rooms and you have all got plans to meet up with the Alexias family at the game tomorrow before going out for a meal.

Your head is settled on her chest as she plays on her phone above you, struggling to calm down from the evening's events, and as usual, struggling to sleep before a game. You play with her wedding ring on her spare hand. Feeling the cool metal beneath against her warm skin.

You feel her swipe furiously through her phone, getting more agitated as time passes, grumbles that are not-quite words emitting from her chest.

“Hey. Love.” you sit up and pull her phone away. “What's the matter?”

“Nothing.” she replies, bottom lip out in a pout, pulling her phone back into her hand.

“It’s not nothing. Tell me.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Alexia.” you sigh, “We aren't doing this.. What's got you so…” you look down onto her phone and see. Yourself? It's her tiktok open and you see an edit of the show being played over… “Hot Stuff? Ale. What's this?” you glance at the comments section and see a selection from seemingly anon accounts;

‘I have never understood Alexia more’, ‘I wonder who calls who capi.’ ,‘Capi, your wife's thighs are bigger than yours’.

“Nothing!” she grabs her phone back from your grip… you arch an eyebrow at her which crumbles her resolve in 3…2…

“Fine! It's all over my TikTok. The comments about you. The fans have made these edits. Of you! All, wet and… muscley and… nearly undressed.”

“And you…don’t… like me wet, and muscled and… naked? Cause, love, I have evidenced otherwis…”

“Shut up! Of course I do but you're mine!”

Oh. Realisation dawns on you and you can’t help but smile.

“Don’t laugh!” she grumbles. “You’re jealous….” you tease in a sing-song voice. “I am not jealous!” she insists, “It's just… tu eres mio! And these people are all looking at you”.

“I am,” you agree, with a smile. “But, love. Try being married to Alexia Putellas. Maybe you’ll keep your shirt on at games now.” you tease, making her smile and roll her eyes.

Eyes softening as you pull her phone from her grip and plug it in for her. Settling back into her chest, nuzzling against the warm skin you find there.

“I am so proud of you.” she whispers into the now dark room, placing a kiss on your head. The moment became more serious and tender.

“I love you” you reply, softly, the moment feels weighted, and you’re not sure what makes you do it. Maybe it's the adrenaline of the evening, having completed your life's ambition, or maybe it's the wine you drank.

Though, really, you know it's because of the images of your lanky wife curling herself onto the rug in the living room because Bruno had decided she was the world's best pillow again. But you can’t stop yourself.

“Ale. I want to have kids with you.”

Her hand stops its movement in your hair and she rushes over to turn the bedside lamp back on.

“Que?” she breathes out. Hands finding their place softly on your cheeks, a look of urgency in her eyes.

“I want us to have kids. Me and you. I want that with you. Is that something you’re ready for?” you whisper, eyes looking deeply into hers.

“En serio?” she asks, as though she's afraid of the answer.

You nod in response. Moving your hand to wipe away the tears that have appeared on her cheeks.

“Sí, Mi Amor. Quiero eso contigo. Mucho.”

You're both smiling too much to kiss, but you make a good go of it anyway. And as you bury yourself into your wife's arms. Hands roaming and adrenaline of a decision made rushing through your body you can't help but think.

This is the beginning of the biggest adventure of your life.

#alexia putellas x reader #woso x reader #alexia putellas imagine #woso community

562 notes · View notes

lila-lou · 4 months ago

Text

✨Classic✨

Summary: Ben is cocky, relentless, and completely fixated on you, especially the curves he can’t stop staring at. His teasing turns shameless, his comments indecent, and his obsession with your boobs impossible to ignore.

-Requested-

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Reader

Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, Language

Word Count: 11512

A/N: English isn’t my first language, so please be lenient. 💙✨

The bell above the diner door jingled, and you didn’t look up right away. It was just another busy Saturday shift at Carter’s Diner, and you were already juggling too much—balancing college classes during the week and working here on weekends to make ends meet. But a nudge at your side broke your focus, and you glanced over to see your boss, Lindsay, standing next to you, wide-eyed and biting her lip like a schoolgirl with a crush.

"He’s here", she whispered, leaning in conspiratorially.

You frowned. "Who?", you asked, finishing the note for table five’s bacon-and-eggs special.

Lindsay didn’t answer right away. Instead, she nodded toward the booth at the far end of the diner. Your gaze followed hers, landing on a man sliding into the cracked leather seat like he owned the place. His supe suit was unmistakable—green and gold, hugging his broad shoulders and chest. He wore it like armor, and the confidence radiating off him made it clear he knew everyone in the room was watching.

"That’s Soldier Boy?", you asked in disbelief, keeping your voice low.

Lindsay nodded, her lips curling into a knowing smile. "He’s been coming here for months. Loves the chili and fries. Looks even better in person, doesn’t he?", she said, nudging you again with an elbow.

You wrinkled your nose and shook your head. "Ugh, I don’t like supes", you muttered under your breath. "And him even less. I’ve only heard bad things about that guy".

Lindsay gasped, pretending to be scandalized. "Oh, come on, you don’t know him. And he’s got that old-school charm. They don’t make men like that anymore".

"Yeah, because that’s probably for the best", you replied, grabbing the coffee pot. Lindsay was still watching you expectantly, her grin almost infectious.

"Be nice", she called after you as you made your way toward the booth. "You know, he tips well!".

You didn’t bother answering her. Instead, you tightened your grip on the coffee pot and walked toward the booth, your heart beating faster with every step.

Ben had been coming to Carter’s Diner for months now. It was the only place in the city that felt like a time capsule—the cracked tiles, the faded wallpaper, and the smell of cheap coffee and sizzling grease. Nothing here had changed since the ’80s, and for him, that was the point. The world outside had moved on in ways he didn’t quite understand, and this place was his escape from it.

As you walked up to his booth, coffee pot in hand, he didn’t look up at first. His gaze was fixed on the laminated menu, though he didn’t really need it. The same chili-and-fries combo was always his order. But then you spoke.

“Coffee?”, Your voice was soft but confident, with a natural warmth that cut through the background hum of the diner.

Ben’s eyes flicked up, and for a moment, he just stared.

Damn.

He hadn’t noticed you before—must’ve been new. But now, seeing your face, he couldn’t look away. There was something about you, something fresh and untouched by the world’s grime. His gaze lingered a second too long, taking in your bright eyes and the slight curl of your lips. He felt a twinge deep in his chest, a strange mix of curiosity and desire, like a spark catching fire.

And then his eyes dropped lower.

The tight uniform you wore did little to hide the curve of your chest. Those big, perfect tits stretched the fabric just enough to make it clear that whoever designed the diner’s dress code hadn’t thought about women like you. Ben shifted in his seat, his jaw tightening as a familiar heat stirred in him. The slight twitch in his pants was unmistakable, and he shifted his legs, adjusting to keep himself in check.

He leaned back in the booth, his lips curving into a sly, knowing grin. “You new, sweetheart?”, he asked, his voice a low rumble that was equal parts charming and cocky.

“Just here on the weekends”, you replied, your tone polite but clipped. “College bills don’t pay themselves”.

Ben arched a brow, his grin widening as he tilted his head, studying you like you were the most interesting thing he’d seen in years. “College, huh?”, he said, the rich timbre of his voice drawing more attention than you’d have liked. “Smart girl. What are you studying?”.

You sighed, already regretting answering his question. “Literature”, you replied curtly, tapping your pen against the edge of your notepad. “Anything else you’d like to know, or should I just take your order?”.

Ben didn’t answer right away. His gaze had drifted, dropping shamelessly to your chest again, where the snug diner uniform strained over your curves. His smirk grew, slow and wicked, as if he didn’t care one bit about being caught.

"Literature", he said finally, his voice laced with amusement. His eyes flicked back up to meet yours, the intensity in them making you stand a little straighter. "Didn’t peg you for a bookworm, sweetheart. But I guess I shouldn’t judge a book by its…cover". His eyes dipped again, lingering for just a second too long, making the double meaning of his words painfully obvious.

Your jaw tightened, and you resisted the urge to dump the coffee pot in his lap. Instead, you gave him a tight smile, your pen scratching furiously against the notepad as you scribbled down his order. "Chili and fries, right? Got it. I’ll put it in".

Before you could turn away, his hand shot out, gently brushing your wrist. It wasn’t enough to hurt, but it was enough to stop you in your tracks. "Hey, take it easy", he said, his voice softer now but still laced with that maddening confidence. "Didn’t mean to piss you off. Just…appreciating the view".

Your eyes snapped to his, and for a moment, the air between you crackled with tension. He looked at you like he was daring you to respond, his smirk still firmly in place. It was infuriating—he was infuriating—but there was something disarming about the way he held your gaze, like he wasn’t used to people calling him out and maybe even liked it when they did.

"Well, maybe next time you can ‘appreciate the view’ without making it so obvious", you shot back, pulling your wrist free and stepping back. "Enjoy your coffee, Soldier Boy".

Ben chuckled as you walked away, the deep, rumbling sound following you all the way back to the counter. You could feel his eyes on you the whole time, but you didn’t look back. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

"Well, that was something", Lindsay teased, leaning against the counter as you slapped the order slip down. "You might be the first woman to ever give him a hard time. Most girls would’ve melted into a puddle by now".

"Yeah, well, I’m not most girls", you muttered, reaching for the coffee pot again, trying to ignore the way your heart was still pounding.

Lindsay grinned, watching as you busied yourself with anything to avoid glancing back at the booth. "No, you’re not", she said knowingly. "And that’s exactly why he’s gonna keep coming back".

You didn’t respond, but deep down, you had a feeling she might be right.

The next week, like clockwork, the bell above the diner door jingled at the same time it had the week before. You were wiping down the counter, trying to get through another weekend shift without running yourself ragged, when you glanced up and froze.

There he was. Soldier Boy—Ben—strolling in. The grin on his face was unmistakable, and the moment his eyes landed on you, it only widened. You cursed under your breath. Of course, he’d come back.

“Guess who’s here”, Lindsay whispered, nudging your side as she passed with a tray of plates. Her smirk was infuriating, but you ignored it, grabbing the coffee pot like it was a shield.

He walked straight to his usual booth, sliding in like he hadn’t thought twice about it. You could feel his eyes on you the entire time, but you kept your head down, busying yourself with meaningless tasks to delay the inevitable. Finally, though, there was no excuse left. You straightened your apron, took a deep breath, and walked over to him.

“Coffee?”, you asked, keeping your tone as neutral as possible.

Ben’s grin widened the moment you reached his booth, and he leaned back against the cracked leather like he didn’t have a care in the world. "Sweetheart, you already know the answer to that", he said, his voice dripping with playful arrogance. "Keep it coming. Best damn coffee in the city".

You rolled your eyes, pouring the coffee without a word. He didn’t take his eyes off you for a second, his gaze heavy and lingering, making you hyperaware of every move you made. As the coffee filled his cup, you caught his smirk out of the corner of your eye, and it made your stomach twist—not from nerves, but from irritation. At least, that’s what you told yourself.

"Chili and fries again?", you asked, pulling out your notepad and pen, eager to cut the interaction short.

"Of course", Ben said, his tone smug. "A classic, just like me".

You raised an eyebrow, glancing up at him. "Sure", you replied dryly, scribbling the order down. "Anything else? Or are you sticking with ‘just like you?’”.

Ben laughed, the sound rich and deep, like he found you genuinely amusing. It annoyed you that it was… a little charming. "Oh, feisty today, huh?", he said, leaning forward and resting his forearms on the table. His grin didn’t waver. "Gotta say, I like that. A little spark keeps things interesting".

"Glad I could keep you entertained", you muttered, stuffing the notepad back into your apron.

Ben wasn’t done, though—not even close. "You know", he began, his tone slower now, like he was letting you in on a secret, "most girls would be falling all over themselves to get a chance to talk to me. But you? Nah, you’re all business. It’s… refreshing. Kinda cute, even".

Your jaw tightened, and you shot him a pointed look. "And yet, here you are. Same booth, same order. I guess I must be doing something right".

His eyes lit up at that, and he let out another laugh, his head tilting back slightly. "Oh, you’re good. Real good", he said, pointing at you as if you’d just told the punchline to the best joke he’d ever heard. "I like you, Y/N. You’re sharp. Makes me wanna stick around and see what else you’ve got".

"Thrilled to hear it", you replied flatly, turning on your heel. "Your food will be out in a few".

As you walked away, you could feel his gaze on you, practically burning a hole through your back. You set the order slip on the kitchen counter with more force than necessary, muttering under your breath. Lindsay caught your expression and sidled up beside you, smirking.

"He’s got you riled up, doesn’t he?", she teased, crossing her arms. "I don’t blame you, though. Guy’s a piece of work—but he’s hot".

"Yeah, well, he’s also full of himself", you muttered, refusing to look back at the booth. "Bet he thinks the whole world revolves around him".

"Doesn’t it?", Lindsay quipped, winking.

You sighed, trying to shake off the irritation. But when you snuck a glance toward Ben’s booth, you caught him looking straight at you, his grin still firmly in place. He raised his coffee cup in a mock toast, like he knew exactly how much he was getting under your skin.

Damn him.

Four weeks had passed, and like clockwork, Ben showed up every Saturday. Same time, same booth, same order. But something had shifted. By now, you couldn’t help but notice how his flirtation had gotten bolder with each visit, his comments dirtier, his gaze lingering longer than was polite. He made no effort to hide the way he looked at you, especially when he thought you weren’t paying attention.

And while you hated to admit it—even to yourself—you found yourself looking forward to it.

Still, there was a growing frustration simmering beneath the surface. For all his swagger, all his cocky charm, Ben hadn’t actually made a move. Not a real one, anyway. Sure, he called you “sweetheart” and let his eyes wander far too much, but he hadn’t asked you out. And while you’d never admit it out loud, it bothered you. Part of you had started expecting it, even wanting it.

Today, however, things were different. You’d been called into work earlier than usual, and with your shift almost over, you were trying to juggle your plans for the evening. There was a book you desperately needed for Monday’s class, and the bookstore was closing in twenty minutes. You didn’t have time to change before leaving, so you’d come to work in the clothes you planned to wear out: a tight, ridiculously tight, fitted top that clung to every curve and accentuated your chest more than you’d usually allow.

Ben noticed the second you walked back out onto the diner floor. His gaze locked onto you like a missile, and for the first time in weeks, he seemed genuinely thrown off. He didn’t even bother hiding it; his eyes dropped to your chest and stayed there, his jaw tightening slightly.

“Fuck me”, he said, his voice lower and slower than usual as you approached his booth with his bill. “Is that what you’ve been hiding under that little uniform all this time?”.

You rolled your eyes, but you could feel the heat rising to your cheeks. “Don’t start”, you warned, trying to sound unaffected, though his reaction was already flustering you.

Ben grinned, leaning back in the booth as his eyes roamed over you, lingering far too long on your chest. “No, seriously. I think I deserve a little heads-up before you walk in here looking like… that”.

“Like what?”, you asked, setting his bill down on the table.

“Like that”, he repeated, gesturing to your top with a wave of his hand. His eyes gleamed with mischief, but there was something darker in them too, something raw. “I mean, fuck, sweetheart. You trying to kill me or what?”.

You crossed your arms over your chest—mostly to shield yourself from his gaze—but that only made his grin grow wider.

“Can you hurry? Please?”, you said, forcing your voice to stay even. “I’ve got somewhere to be“.

“Oh yeah? Where’s that?”, he asked, sitting up straighter, suddenly interested.

“Bookstore”, you replied, already turning to leave. “Closes in twenty minutes, and I’ve got to grab something for class”.

Ben was quiet for a moment, and when you glanced back, his gaze was still firmly fixed on you, a thoughtful look crossing his face.

“You’re not walking there dressed like that, are you?”, he asked, his voice laced with something between amusement and possessiveness.

You blinked, caught off guard. “What’s that supposed to mean?”.

Ben shrugged, sliding out of the booth and standing up, towering over you with that cocky grin still plastered on his face. “I mean, a girl like you, dressed like that? You’re gonna turn heads. Might need someone to keep the vultures at bay”.

“Let me guess”, you said dryly, crossing your arms once more. “You’re volunteering?”.

Ben tilted his head, his grin softening into something a little more genuine. “Damn right, I am”.

You hesitated for a moment, glancing at the clock above the counter. The bookstore was closing in less than twenty minutes, and you knew there was no way you’d make it on foot. You didn’t own a car, and even if you bolted out the door right now, you’d still be too late. Frustration bubbled up, and you let out a small sigh before turning back to Ben, who was now watching you with an annoyingly amused expression.

“Do you even have a car?”, you asked bluntly, crossing your arms as you fixed him with a questioning look.

Ben arched a brow, clearly enjoying your sudden shift in tone. “Sweetheart, do you really think someone like me walks everywhere?”, he replied, his grin widening. “Yeah, I’ve got a car. Why, you need a ride?”.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t deny the obvious. “The bookstore closes in twenty minutes, and there’s no way I’m making it in time on foot”.

Without hesitation, he was pulling a few crumpled bills from his pocket and tossing them onto the table. The motion was casual, like money meant nothing to him—which, you figured, it probably didn’t. His eyes sparkled with amusement as he extended a hand toward you.

“After you”, he said, his voice dropping into that rich, teasing tone that made your stomach twist in ways you refused to acknowledge. Then he leaned in, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your ear. “Big, bad Soldier Boy is saving the day”, he murmured, his voice low and deep, sending an uninvited shiver down your spine.

You stiffened, refusing to let him see how much his proximity affected you. Shooting him a sharp look, you brushed past his outstretched hand, deciding to ignore the theatrics entirely. “Let’s just get this over with”, you muttered, heading for the door.

Behind you, Ben chuckled, the sound rich and amused, and you could feel his gaze following you all the way out to the parking lot. As you reached the sidewalk, you heard the unmistakable growl of an engine starting up. Turning, you saw him pulling up in a sleek, black muscle car that looked like it had been pulled straight from a vintage car show. He rolled down the passenger window, leaning an arm casually against the frame as he looked up at you.

“Get in, sweetheart”, he said, his grin widening. “Clock’s ticking, remember?”.

You hesitated for half a second, contemplating the wisdom of climbing into a car with Ben of all people. But the clock was ticking, and your options were limited. With a resigned sigh, you opened the door and slid into the passenger seat, the scent of leather and faint aftershave filling your senses.

The door shut with a satisfying thunk, and Ben shifted into gear, the car roaring to life beneath you. He glanced over, clearly pleased with himself. “Now, hang on. This baby’s got a little kick”.

“Just drive”, you said, ignoring his grin as you buckled your seatbelt.

Ben smirked, gunning the engine as the car peeled out onto the street, the tires screeching slightly against the pavement. “Yes, ma’am”, he said, throwing you a quick wink.

You sat back, gripping the edge of your seat as the world blurred past the window. Ben handled the car with practiced ease, weaving through traffic like he owned the road. You hated to admit it, but there was something thrilling about the way he drove—something confident and controlled, yet just on the edge of reckless.

“So, what’s the rush?”, he asked after a moment, his tone teasing. “Don’t tell me you’re actually this dedicated to your homework”.

“It’s not homework”, you replied, shooting him a glance. “I told you. It’s a book I need for class. And if you’d quit talking and drive faster, I might actually get it before they close”.

Ben’s grin widened, and he pressed down harder on the gas. “Your wish is my command”, he said smoothly.

You turned back to the window, hoping the rush of the ride would drown out the way his voice lingered in your mind. The bookstore came into view just as the minutes ticked down, and Ben pulled up to the curb with a flair that was entirely unnecessary but undeniably his style.

“Made it”, he said, throwing the car into park and turning to you with a satisfied grin. “Told you I’d save the day”.

You rolled your eyes, unbuckling your seatbelt. “Don’t expect a medal”, you shot back, opening the door and stepping out.

Ben leaned across the console, calling after you. “Come on, Y/N. Admit it—you’re impressed”.

You turned, giving him a look that was half-annoyed, half-amused. “Stay here. I’ll be right back”.

When you came back to the car, clutching the book you’d rushed to get, Ben was still lounging in the driver’s seat, one arm draped casually over the steering wheel. The headlights illuminated the quiet street, casting long shadows, and the faint hum of the engine added a low, steady background noise. As you climbed back into the passenger seat, he raised an eyebrow at you, an expression somewhere between amused and incredulous.

“So”, he said, his voice dripping with mock seriousness, “you just assumed I’d wait around to drive you back, huh? Didn’t even bother asking. Gotta admit, sweetheart, you’ve got some nerve”.

You shot him a sidelong glance, unfazed by his teasing. “You’re still here, aren’t you?”, you replied, setting the book down on your lap and clicking your seatbelt into place. “Figured that meant you didn’t have anywhere better to be”.

Ben smirked, leaning back and studying you with those sharp green eyes that always seemed to see a little too much. “Fair enough”, he said, his tone slow and easy. “But what makes you think the Soldier Boy’s personal chauffeur service is free?”.

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest. “Oh, come on. What do you want? Gas money? A thank-you? Fine. Thanks for the ride. Happy?”.

Ben laughed, the sound low and genuine, and he shook his head as he shifted the car into drive. “Nah”, he said, glancing over at you with that cocky grin. “I think I’ll just take the pleasure of your company as payment. Call it even”.

You tried not to let the comment rattle you, but the way his voice dipped on the word pleasure sent a flicker of heat through your chest. Clearing your throat, you turned your gaze out the window, watching as the city lights flickered past.

The car ride to your apartment, not back to the diner, was quieter than you’d expected, but not uncomfortable. Every now and then, Ben would make a comment—a sly remark about your book or a teasing question about your weekend plans—and you’d give him a sharp but good-natured reply. It was a strange kind of rhythm you’d fallen into, like sparring partners who secretly enjoyed the match.

When he finally pulled up in front of your building, he put the car in park but didn’t move to turn off the engine. Instead, he leaned back in his seat, watching you expectantly. “Well?”, he said, tilting his head. “Aren’t you gonna invite me up for a drink? Or at least offer me a cookie or something for my trouble?”.

You turned to him, raising an eyebrow. “You expect me to reward you for doing the bare minimum?”.

He chuckled, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. “Not a reward, sweetheart. Just… hospitality. I did just save your ass, remember?”.

You sighed, debating for a moment. Part of you wanted to tell him off, to end the the afternoon here and shut the door on his relentless teasing. But another part of you—the part you were trying very hard to ignore—didn’t entirely hate the idea of spending a little more time with him.

“Fine”, you said finally, opening the door and stepping out. “But don’t get comfortable. One drink. That’s it”.

Ben grinned, killing the engine and climbing out of the car. “One drink”, he echoed, his voice laced with amusement. “Scout’s honor”.

As you led the way up to your apartment, you couldn’t help but wonder what exactly you were getting yourself into.

You unlocked your apartment door and pushed it open, flicking on the lights and stepping inside. Ben followed close behind, his boots heavy on the hardwood floor. You glanced back at him, already regretting your decision.

“Make yourself at home”, you muttered sarcastically, setting your book down on the kitchen counter.

“Oh, don’t worry”, Ben said with a grin, already looking around the room shamelessly. “I planned on it”.

He didn’t wait for an invitation to explore, his sharp green eyes scanning every corner of your apartment. His casual arrogance was impossible to ignore, the way he carried himself like nothing and no one could challenge him. You busied yourself grabbing a couple of glasses and a bottle of wine, figuring it was the easiest option for “one drink”. But when you turned back, you caught him standing by the laundry basket in the corner, something lacy dangling from his fingers.

It was a bra. Your bra.

“Seriously?”, you snapped, setting the glasses down with a clink. “Put that down”.

Ben didn’t listen, of course. He held the bra up, inspecting it with a cocked eyebrow and a smirk that made your blood boil. “This yours?”, he asked, his tone mock-innocent. “Didn’t peg you for the lacy type, sweetheart. Looks… sturdy. But then again—”, his gaze dropped deliberately to your chest, lingering in a way that was anything but subtle. “—guess it’d have to be, huh?”.

Your cheeks burned, and you crossed the room in a few quick strides, snatching the bra out of his hands. “You’re unbelievable”, you hissed, shoving it into the laundry basket where it belonged. “What is wrong with you?”.

Ben laughed, completely unbothered by your anger. “What? I’m just making an observation. Don’t get so bent out of shape, sweetheart”.

You glared at him, fists clenched at your sides, but his smug grin only deepened. He leaned against the edge of your couch, arms crossed over his chest, watching you like he was thoroughly enjoying himself. “Relax”, he drawled, his voice dipping into that lazy, cocky tone that drove you insane. “You’re the one who invited me up here. You should’ve known what you were getting into”.

You opened your mouth to retort but couldn’t find the words. He was infuriating. Absolutely, undeniably infuriating. And yet, the way he looked at you—bold and unapologetic, like he couldn’t get enough of you—made your heart race in a way you didn’t want to admit.

“I’ll pour the wine”, you said finally, spinning on your heel and heading back to the kitchen before you could say something you’d regret.

As you reached for the bottle of wine, you heard Ben's voice cut through the air, dripping with disdain.

“Wine?”, he asked, his tone laced with mockery. “Do I look like a fucking pussy to you?”.

You froze, bottle in hand, and turned to see him, still leaning against the edge of your couch, arms crossed and an eyebrow raised. He looked genuinely offended, like you’d just suggested he trade his supe suit for a tutu. The cocky smirk was still there, but now it was edged with that signature Soldier Boy arrogance.

“What’s wrong with wine?”, you shot back, narrowing your eyes. “It’s easy, it’s quick, and I’m pretty sure it won’t kill you”.

Ben scoffed, pushing off the couch and striding toward you. “Sweetheart, I don’t do wine”, he said, his voice low and rough as he leaned on the counter, his eyes locking with yours. “I’m a whiskey man. Always have been, always will be”.

“Of course, you are”, you muttered under your breath, setting the wine bottle down with a bit more force than necessary. You crossed your arms and stared up at him, trying to ignore how close he’d gotten. “Well, sorry to disappoint, but I don’t keep whiskey stocked for uninvited guests”.

Ben tilted his head, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Uninvited? Funny, didn’t feel like that when you practically begged me to give you a ride home”.

Your jaw dropped. “Begged?”, you repeated, your voice rising. “I asked. There’s a difference”.

“Sure, sweetheart”, he said, clearly not buying it. “Whatever helps you sleep at night”.

You glared at him, and he just chuckled, reaching out to pluck the wine glasses off the counter. “Guess we’re slumming it tonight”, he said, holding them up with a theatrical sigh. “Pour it, then. Let’s see what all the fuss is about”.

You stared at him for a moment, torn between kicking him out of your apartment and pouring the wine just to shut him up. Finally, you grabbed the bottle and poured, slapping the glass into his hand with a little more force than was probably necessary.

“There”, you said, your tone sharp. “Enjoy”.

Ben raised the glass, swirling the wine with an exaggerated flourish. “Cheers, sweetheart”, he said, his grin widening. “To my first and last glass of this shit”.

He took a sip, his expression immediately souring. “Yep”, he said, setting the glass down on the counter with a clink. “Tastes like regret. You actually drink this crap, or is this just for decoration?”.

You couldn’t help it—a laugh escaped, despite yourself. “It’s not that bad”, you said, smirking at the way he was glaring at the glass like it had personally insulted him.

“Not that bad?”, Ben repeated, shaking his head. “Sweetheart, life’s too short to drink wine. Let me guess—you don’t even have a bottle of Jack around here, do you?”.

“Nope”, you said, crossing your arms again. “Like I said, I don’t keep whiskey for uninvited guests”.

Ben grinned, leaning in closer. “Guess I’ll have to bring my own next time”.

The implication hung in the air, bold and deliberate, and you felt your cheeks flush. “Who says there’s gonna be a next time?”, you shot back, raising an eyebrow.

Ben just smirked, his green eyes glittering with mischief. “Oh, there’ll be a next time”, he said, his voice dropping to a low rumble. “Trust me”.

And damn it, the worst part was that some small, traitorous part of you wanted to believe him.

Ben leaned in closer, his towering frame dominating the small space of your kitchen. His voice dropped to a low whisper, smooth and teasing, as his gaze shamelessly dropped to your chest, lingering in a way that was anything but subtle.

"So tell me", he murmured, his lips curling into that infuriating smirk as his eyes flicked back up to meet yours. "How do you handle these?".

He licked his lips slowly, like he was savoring the thought, and you felt your breath hitch despite yourself. The heat of his gaze was tangible, burning through the fabric of your too-tight top, and you could feel the tension crackling in the air like static electricity.

Your cheeks flared hot with indignation, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing you flustered. "Excuse me?", you said sharply, crossing your arms over your chest once more, as if that might block his view.

Ben chuckled, unbothered by your tone—or by anything, it seemed. He leaned one elbow on the counter, his posture casual, but his grin was wolfish. "Come on, sweetheart", he drawled. "You walk around with those—", he gestured vaguely toward your cleavage, "—and you’re telling me you don’t notice the way every guy looks at you? Hell, I can’t even blame them. They’re… impressive".

Your jaw tightened, and you glared at him, trying to channel all the irritation you felt into your voice. "You’re unbelievable", you snapped. "Do you seriously talk to every woman like this, or am I just lucky?".

Ben shrugged, the motion impossibly smug. "Only the ones who can handle it", he said, his grin widening. "And you, sweetheart, you’ve got fire. Makes me wanna push a little, see how far you’ll go".

You were seething now, but his words sparked something else beneath the surface—something you didn’t want to acknowledge. You’d dealt with his cocky comments before, but the way he looked at you now, like he was imagining exactly what he’d do if you let him, sent a shiver down your spine.

"Push all you want", you shot back, stepping closer and jabbing a finger into his chest. "You’ll find out real quick I’m not like those other women who swoon every time you flash that stupid grin".

Ben’s smirk softened into something darker, more deliberate, and his voice dropped even lower. "Oh, sweetheart", he said, his eyes locked onto yours. "I already know you’re not like the others. That’s why you’re so damn fun".

The air between you felt impossibly thick, the tension humming like a live wire. He was standing so close now that you could feel the heat radiating off him, his scent filling your senses.

"Tell you what", he said, his voice smooth as honey but laced with that familiar edge of cockiness. "You pour me another glass of that fucking awful wine, and I’ll stop staring at your tits". He paused, his smirk turning downright wicked. "For at least five minutes".

You wanted to yell at him, to throw him out of your apartment and slam the door in his face. But instead, you grabbed the wine bottle and poured, your hand steady despite the fire simmering in your chest.

"Five minutes", you said, sliding the glass across the counter toward him. "That’s all you’re getting".

Ben chuckled, lifting the glass in a mock toast. "Deal", he said, his green eyes sparkling with amusement. "But don’t blame me if I break it".

The five minutes turned into ten, then twenty, and before you knew it, you were pouring from a second bottle of wine. The two of you hadn’t even left the kitchen. Ben leaned against the counter like he belonged there, his grin widening with every teasing jab and witty comment you threw his way. To your surprise—and mild annoyance—you were actually enjoying yourself. The tension that had been crackling between you all evening hadn’t disappeared; if anything, it had grown thicker, heavier, like a storm waiting to break.

“You know”, Ben said, swirling the wine in his glass like it was whiskey, his voice low and drawling, “you’re a lot more fun than you let on, sweetheart. All that fire, all those little comebacks… you’ve got a hell of a bite”.

You smirked, taking another sip of your wine. The alcohol had loosened your tongue, making you bolder. “And here I thought a big bad supe like you couldn’t handle a girl with a backbone”.

Ben barked out a laugh, setting his glass down on the counter. “Handle? Sweetheart, I live for it. Most people don’t have the guts to talk back to me. You, though…”. His eyes raked over you, lingering for just a second too long. “You’re something else”.

You rolled your eyes, pretending his words didn’t send a jolt of heat through you. “Is that your idea of a compliment?”, you asked, raising an eyebrow. “Because I’m not impressed”.

Ben’s grin turned downright wicked, and he stepped closer, invading your space with an ease that made your heart race. “Oh, I think you’re a little impressed”, he said, his voice dipping lower. “I mean, look at you—two bottles in, still here with me. If you really hated me that much, you’d have kicked me out by now”.

Your jaw tightened, but before you could fire back, he reached out, his hand brushing lightly against the hem of your top. The move was casual, almost absentminded, but his fingers lingered, teasing the fabric like he was testing your reaction.

“Speaking of backbone”, he said, his tone shifting to something darker, more deliberate. “This little thing can’t be doing much to support these”. His eyes flicked down to your chest, and then back up, locking onto yours with a gaze that was equal parts cocky and predatory.

Your breath caught, and your hand shot out, grabbing his wrist before he could go any further. “Ben”, you warned, your voice low but unsteady.

He didn’t pull away. Instead, he leaned in closer, his lips curling into a slow smirk. “What?”, he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “Am I wrong?”.

Before you could think, before you could stop yourself, the wine-fueled heat bubbling inside you erupted. “You’re impossible”, you muttered, and the next thing you knew, you were shoving him—not hard, but enough to make a point.

Ben laughed, catching himself against the counter, but instead of backing off, he grabbed your wrist, pulling you toward him with a surprising amount of force. His other hand went straight to the hem of your top, and in one swift, fluid motion, he tugged it over your head, leaving you standing there in your bra.

“Ben!”, you gasped, your cheeks flaming.

"You’ve been teasing me all day, sweetheart. Figured it was time I got a better look”, he grinned, completely unrepentant, his eyes dropping shamelessly to your chest.

You crossed your arms over your chest, glaring at him, but he just leaned back, his gaze burning into you. “Damn”, he murmured, his voice low and rough. “Even better than I thought”.

The tension between you was unbearable now, thick and electric, and you weren’t sure whether you wanted to slap him or—well, do something else entirely. Ben seemed to sense it too, his grin softening just enough to make your heart skip a beat.

“So”, he said, his voice dropping into a whisper as he stepped closer again, his hand brushing lightly against your arm. “You gonna kick me out now? Or are we finally gonna stop pretending we don’t want the same thing?”.

The air between you felt hotter, heavier, and his gaze dipped again to your chest, lingering there shamelessly.

Your breath hitched as his hand moved to hover just near the edge of your bra strap. His fingers didn’t touch it yet, but the heat of them against your skin was enough to make your pulse quicken. You tried to steel yourself, to glare at him like you always did, but his words, his tone—it was all so… intense.

“Ben”, you said, your voice shaky but firm. “Back off. Now”.

But Ben didn’t move away. If anything, he stepped even closer, his broad frame towering over you, his green eyes dark with something primal. “Back off?”, he echoed, his lips twitching into a wicked grin. “You sure about that, sweetheart? Because you’ve been making this real hard for me all night—literally”.

Your eyes flicked down instinctively—his words leaving little to the imagination—and he laughed, low and deep. “Yeah, that’s what I thought”, he said, his confidence only growing. His hand lifted, his knuckles brushing lightly, teasingly, against the curve of your cleavage.

“Fucking shit”, he muttered, almost to himself. “These… I mean, I knew they’d be good, but seeing them up close? Sweetheart, they’re fucking perfect”.

Your face burned, and your hand shot up to shove him away, but he caught your wrist easily, his grip firm but not painful. “Oh, no”, he said, his voice dropping an octave. “You don’t get to hide now. Not after teasing me like this. You think I didn’t notice the way that little uniform clung to you every time I walked into the diner? Or how you cross your arms just high enough to—”. His thumb brushed lightly against the swell of your breast, and you inhaled sharply. “Yeah. Exactly”.

“Ben”, you said again, this time quieter, though you weren’t sure if it was a warning or something else entirely.

His smirk softened slightly, but his eyes never left yours. “Relax, sweetheart”, he said, his voice low and soothing, though the hunger in his gaze hadn’t dimmed in the slightest. “These—”, his hand finally settled just under the edge of your bra, the pads of his fingers brushing against the soft fabric, “—are driving me fucking insane. You know, I like them big".

The admission was so brazen, so shameless, it left you speechless. He chuckled at your stunned expression, his other hand sliding along your waist, his fingers curling just slightly against your skin. “Don’t get shy on me now,” he murmured.

You swallowed hard, torn between fury and something you didn’t want to name. His thumb traced a slow, deliberate circle just above the fabric of your bra, his touch featherlight but maddeningly deliberate. He was testing you, pushing you, and the worst part was that you weren’t stopping him.

“Just say the word”m he said, his voice dropping to a whisper as he leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear. “Tell me to stop, and I will. But if you don’t…”. He let the sentence hang, his fingers inching just a little higher, grazing the edge of the fabric.

Your heart was pounding, and every nerve in your body felt like it was on fire. He was insufferable, arrogant, and completely out of line. But the way he looked at you, the way he touched you—it was consuming, overwhelming, and you weren’t sure if you wanted to stop him.

And Ben, always the bold one, seemed to know exactly how much power he had in this moment. "So", he murmured, his breath warm against your skin, "what's it gonna be, sweetheart?".

Ben's grin widened when you didn’t pull away or tell him to stop. The heat in his gaze turned molten as if your silence was all the confirmation he needed. Without hesitation, his large, rough hand caught yours, holding it firmly but not unkindly. His other hand moved to his belt, undoing the thick, gold clasp of his supe suit with practiced ease, the sound of metal clinking filling the tension-filled air.

Before you could even process what was happening, he pushed your hand inside the waistband of his pants, guiding your palm to lay flat against the heated, throbbing length of him. Your breath hitched sharply, and your fingers instinctively flexed, brushing against him. He hissed through his teeth at the contact, his grip tightening on your hand as if to keep you there.

“Fuck”, he growled low in his throat, his voice rough with need. “You feel that, sweetheart? That’s what you do to me”. His hips shifted just slightly, pressing himself harder against your palm. The sheer size and heat of him were overwhelming, and despite yourself, your hand twitched again, drawing another guttural sound from him.

His other hand didn’t stay idle. It slid up your back, deftly finding the clasp of your bra. The snap of it coming undone was almost deafening in the charged silence of the room. He pulled the straps from your shoulders with deliberate slowness, his calloused fingers brushing against your bare skin and sending shivers down your spine.

“Shit”, he murmured, his voice thick with admiration as he let the bra fall to the floor. His hand moved to cup your now-exposed breast, his thumb brushing over the sensitive peak. “Even better than I imagined”, he muttered, his green eyes dark and heavy-lidded as they drank in the sight of you. “Fucking perfect”.

You opened your mouth to protest, but the words caught in your throat when his thumb circled your nipple, sending a jolt of sensation straight through you. His grin grew, cocky and triumphant, as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear. “That little gasp?”, he murmured. “Music to my fucking ears”.

Still holding your hand firmly against him, he began to move it, guiding your touch along the length of him, slow and deliberate. “You feel how hard I am for you?”, he asked, his voice husky, tinged with raw desire. “That’s all you, sweetheart”.

You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. His words, his touch, the sheer presence of him—it was all too much, and yet not enough. Every nerve in your body was on fire, every ounce of your self-control teetering on the edge.

“Tell me to stop”, he said again, his voice low but firm, his hand still guiding yours as his thumb teased your nipple. “Say the word, sweetheart, and I’ll back off. But if you don’t…". His lips brushed against your ear, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You’re mine tonight”.

Your hesitation didn’t go unnoticed, but it wasn’t long before your fingers started to move—tentative, unsure at first, but enough to draw a sharp, satisfied hiss from Ben. His hand flexed around yours briefly before letting go, allowing you to stroke him at your own pace.

His fingers pinched your nipple, rolling the sensitive peak between his thumb and forefinger with a roughness that made your breath hitch. “That’s it”, he murmured, his voice low and gravelly, vibrating with approval. “Good girl. Just like that”.

Before you could fully process his words—or the way they made your stomach twist with something both infuriating and exhilarating—his hands were on your hips, lifting you effortlessly onto the kitchen counter. The cool surface pressed against the backs of your thighs, a sharp contrast to the heat radiating off him as he stepped between your legs.

Ben didn’t waste any time. His hands moved to your chest, cupping both of your breasts with an almost reverent hunger. His thumbs dragged across your nipples, teasing the already sensitive peaks as he leaned in close, his breath hot against your skin.

“Damn it", he muttered, his eyes fixed on your chest as though it was the most captivating thing he’d ever seen. “These… Fuck sweetheart. You’ve been hiding these from me all this time?”. He let out a low, almost feral groan, his hands squeezing your breasts gently before his mouth descended on one of your nipples.

The moment his lips wrapped around the sensitive peak, sucking firmly, you felt a sharp jolt of pleasure that made you gasp. His tongue flicked against you, slow and deliberate, sending waves of sensation coursing through your body. He groaned deeply, the vibration of it against your skin making you squirm, and his hands tightened on your breasts, kneading them as though he couldn’t get enough.

“Perfect”, he muttered against your skin, his voice muffled but laced with raw need. “Fucking perfect”. He switched to your other nipple, giving it the same attention, his teeth grazing lightly before his tongue soothed the sting. His groans deepened as he sucked harder, his hands squeezing and molding your breasts as though they were made for him.

“This”, he said between licks and sucks, his voice breathless and rough. “This right here? This is what drives me crazy. Big, soft, perfect tits. Fuck. And yours…” His eyes flicked up to meet yours, dark and filled with something primal. “Yours are fucking unreal”.

You couldn’t think, couldn’t speak. His mouth on you, his hands kneading and teasing—it was overwhelming in the best way. Every nerve in your body was on fire, and the way he worshipped your chest with his hands and mouth sent your mind spinning.

Ben pulled back for just a moment, his lips glistening as he smirked up at you. “I could stay right here all night”, he murmured, his hands still massaging your breasts, his thumbs brushing your nipples. “Sucking these perfect tits of yours, hearing you moan like that. You like it, don’t you, sweetheart? You like how much I’m into these”.

You didn’t answer—couldn’t answer. Instead, you reached for him, pulling him closer, and the cocky grin on his face turned triumphant as he lowered his head again, his mouth latching onto you with renewed intensity.

Ben's mouth was relentless, his lips and tongue working over your sensitive nipple as though he were starved for the taste of you. The low, guttural groans he let out against your skin sent vibrations rippling through your body, making you arch into him. His hands, however, weren��t content to stay idle.

While his mouth stayed latched to your chest, one hand moved with deliberate purpose, sliding down to the waistband of your jeans. You gasped as his fingers deftly unbuttoned them, the sharp pop of the button lost in the haze of heat and sensation. His hand tugged at the fabric, pulling your jeans down over your hips in one smooth, impatient motion, taking your panties along with them.

You squirmed on the counter, trying to adjust to the sudden exposure, but Ben wasn’t giving you a moment to collect yourself. His mouth was still firmly on your nipple, his teeth grazing it lightly before his tongue soothed the sting. The combination of pleasure and roughness made your breath hitch audibly, and he pulled back just enough to look up at you, his lips curling into a wicked grin.

“Sensitive, huh?”, he muttered, his voice low and gravelly, thick with desire. “I like that”.

Before you could respond, his free hand moved between your legs, cupping you possessively. The roughness of his palm against your bare pussy made you gasp, and his grin widened at your reaction. He didn’t move his hand yet, just held it there, his fingers brushing lightly against you as his thumb circled idly along your inner thigh.

“You’re already so fucking wet”, he murmured, his tone somewhere between teasing and awe. His lips returned to your other nipple, sucking firmly as his fingers began to explore, slow and deliberate, teasing just enough to drive you mad. “All this from a little attention to these perfect tits, huh? Sweetheart, you’re too fucking good to be true”.

His words, his tone, his touch—it was all too much. His fingers slid against you, finding your most sensitive spot with infuriating precision, and he chuckled darkly as your body jerked in response.

“Fuck”, he muttered against your skin, his lips still working over your nipple. “You feel so good, sweetheart. So soft, so warm. Bet you’d feel even better clenching around me”.

His grin was pure arrogance, but the way his fingers teased you left no doubt—he was going to make good on every filthy promise in his eyes.

Ben didn’t give you time to answer. His mouth found your nipple again, sucking hard enough to draw a moan from your lips while his fingers worked you with a skill that had your head spinning. He wasn’t just teasing anymore; he was taking his time exploring every reaction he could pull from you, his rough, calloused touch a sharp contrast to the way his tongue rolled over the sensitive peak of your breast.

“God, you’re so responsive”, he murmured, his voice muffled against your skin. “It’s like your body was made for me”.

His hand between your legs pressed more firmly, his fingers sliding through your wetness with a groan that sounded almost guttural. “Look at you”, he muttered, pulling back just long enough to meet your gaze, his smirk replaced with something more primal. “So wet for me. Fuck, sweetheart, you’ve been driving me crazy for weeks, and now… now I’ve got you exactly where I want you”.

He slid a finger inside you, slow but deliberate, and you couldn’t help the sharp gasp that escaped your lips. His mouth returned to your chest, sucking and nipping at your nipple as his finger moved, curling slightly to find the perfect spot. He chuckled against your skin as your hips bucked against his hand, your body reacting on instinct.

“That’s it”, he murmured, his voice thick with desire. “Let me feel you. Show me how much you like it”.

He added a second finger, thrusting into you slowly at first, then with more confidence as he felt your body respond. His thumb found your most sensitive spot, circling it with just enough pressure to make your legs tremble.

“All this”, he said, his lips brushing against your skin as he spoke, “just from my hands. Can you imagine what it’s gonna feel like when I finally give you all of me?”.

You didn’t answer—couldn’t answer. Your breath came in short gasps, your mind clouded by the overwhelming sensations he was pulling from you.

“You’re mine tonight, sweetheart”, he whispered, his voice a low growl. “And I’m gonna make damn sure you don’t forget it”.

With a single, decisive movement, Ben’s large hand pressed against your stomach, guiding you back onto the kitchen island. The cool surface sent a shiver up your spine as it met your overheated skin, and your legs dangled helplessly off the edge, his sheer strength keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

He towered over you, his cocky grin sharper now, a predatory gleam in his green eyes as he admired the view in front of him. “Look at you”, he muttered, his voice low and rough, filled with unfiltered hunger. “Spread out for me like you were made for this”.

Before you could gather your wits to respond, Ben moved with swift precision, his hands going to his pants. He shoved them down without hesitation, the material of his supe suit pooling at his thighs. When he finally freed himself, your breath caught in your throat.

He was big—thicker and longer than you’d expected, his cock hard and already flushed with arousal. It stood proud, twitching slightly as if straining for you, and the sight alone was enough to make your heart race. He caught your expression, his grin widening into something shamelessly smug.

He stepped closer, the heat of his body overwhelming as he loomed over you, his free hand sliding down to your thigh. His grip was firm, rough, as he spread your legs wider, making room for himself between them. He didn’t rush—he wanted you to see everything, to feel every second of anticipation building like a firestorm inside you.

Ben dragged the tip of his cock against you, groaning deeply at the contact. “Fuck”, he muttered, his eyes darkening as he watched the way your body reacted to him. “So wet, so ready. You’ve been waiting for this, haven’t you?”.

You opened your mouth to retort, but any words you might have had were stolen the moment he pushed forward, pressing just the tip of himself inside you. The stretch was immediate, intense, his size forcing you to take a deep breath as your body adjusted. He growled low in his throat, his fingers gripping your thighs tightly as he held himself there for a moment.

“Feel that?”, he rasped, his voice thick with desire. “That’s just the start, sweetheart. You’re gonna feel every inch of me, and you’re gonna take it like the good girl I know you are”.

Without waiting for a response, Ben pushed further, sinking into you inch by inch with a roughness that had your back arching off the counter. His hands held you firmly in place, his strength undeniable as he buried himself inside you, groaning deeply when he finally bottomed out.

“Fuck”, he growled, his head dropping for a moment as he fought to regain control. “So tight, so perfect. You’re squeezing me like you don’t want me to leave".

Ben’s groan deepened as he thrust fully into you, his hips flush against yours. His large hand splayed across your stomach, his palm pressing firmly against the soft skin just above your belly button. His eyes darkened as he stilled for a moment, letting the intensity of the moment settle between you.

“Fuck”, he muttered, almost to himself, his voice low and thick with awe. His hand flexed slightly, pressing into your stomach, and his cock twitched inside you, buried to the hilt.

His hips moved again, drawing back just enough to thrust forward, slow but deliberate. His eyes never left yours, and his hand stayed firmly in place, feeling every inch of himself as he filled you. The way his cock moved inside you, the way his hand pressed against your stomach to feel his own movements, was overwhelming—intimate in a way that sent heat coursing through your entire body.

“Do you feel that?”, he rasped, his voice rough and breathless. His hand pressed down again, emphasizing the sensation. “That’s all me, sweetheart. Deep inside you, stretching you, filling you. You’re taking all of me”.

His hand stayed on your stomach, his palm rough and unyielding as he pressed harder, clearly enthralled by the sensation of his cock moving inside you. His thrusts were slow but deliberate, each one forcing you to take him fully, and the slight wince that escaped your lips only seemed to spur him on.

“Too much for you?”, he asked, though the smirk on his face said he already knew the answer. “Yeah, you’re feeling all of me now, aren’t you? My dick’s got you squirming, huh?”.

You tried to glare at him, but your breath hitched again as he thrust even deeper, the strength behind each movement a stark reminder of just how powerful he was. Your body arched beneath him, your legs trembling as he set a relentless pace, his cock pressing against every sensitive spot inside you.

Ben’s attention shifted to your chest, his free hand sliding up to cup one of your bouncing breasts. “Look at these”, he muttered, his thumb brushing over your nipple as it peaked from the movement. “Fucking perfect. Watching them bounce while I fuck you—fuck, sweetheart, it’s like you’re made for me”.

His hips snapped harder, making the counter beneath you creak slightly, and you let out a sharp gasp, your hands gripping the edges of the kitchen island for stability. The combination of his hand pressing against your stomach and the sight of his cock disappearing into you with every thrust was overwhelming, a heady mixture of pleasure and the faintest edge of pain from the sheer force of him.

Ben's focus honed in on your chest again, his green eyes dark and filled with raw hunger.

He leaned down, his mouth finding your nipple again, sucking hard enough to make you cry out. His teeth grazed the sensitive peak before his tongue flicked over it. The dual sensations—the roughness of his mouth and the deep, relentless thrusts of his hips—sent waves of pleasure coursing through you, your back arching off the cool surface of the counter.

"You’re close, aren’t you?", he murmured against your skin, his lips moving to your other breast. His thumb slid down, circling the sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs, adding another layer of sensation that made your thighs tremble. "I can feel it, the way you’re clenching around me. You’re gonna come for me, aren’t you? Gonna let me feel it".

You whimpered, your nails digging into the edge of the counter as the tension inside you coiled tighter and tighter. Ben growled against your skin, his lips wrapping around your nipple again as his fingers worked you, his thrusts growing harder, deeper, hitting just the right spot with a precision that left you breathless.

"Come on", he muttered, his voice rough and commanding. "Let me feel it, sweetheart. Let me feel you fall apart while I’m buried inside you".

His words, his touch, the relentless way he worshipped your chest—it all pushed you closer and closer to the edge. His teeth grazed your nipple again, and the sharp, pleasurable sting was the final push you needed. Your body tensed, your head falling back as the orgasm tore through you, every nerve in your body lighting up with overwhelming sensation.

Ben groaned deeply, feeling the way your body clenched and pulsed around him. His hand pressed harder against your stomach, emphasizing the intensity of it, and his hips slowed slightly, grinding against you to draw it out as long as possible.

"Fuck", he muttered, his voice filled with awe as he pulled back just enough to watch your face. His hand still kneaded your breast, his thumb teasing your nipple as you trembled beneath him. "That’s it, sweetheart. So fucking beautiful when you come".

Ben’s breathing was ragged, his thrusts slowing but no less deliberate as he pushed you to the brink of overstimulation, but then he suddenly pulled back, his cock slipping out of you. You barely had a moment to react before his strong hands gripped your hips, pulling you closer to the edge of the counter.

"Stay right there", he growled, his voice low and commanding, as he adjusted your position. Before you could protest—or catch your breath—he hooked an arm under your waist, lifting you effortlessly, leaving your legs dangling off the counter while your back pressed against the cool surface.

With one hand firmly supporting you, his other hand dropped to himself, stroking his thick, throbbing cock with a rough, practiced motion. The sight of him, his broad chest heaving, his jaw tight with restraint, and his green eyes blazing as he looked down at you, left you utterly breathless.

“Fuck”, he groaned, his grip tightening as his strokes became faster. “You’re a fucking dream, sweetheart".

You tried to steady your breathing, your chest rising and falling rapidly as your body still trembled from your orgasm. But Ben wasn’t done. His hand shifted its grip on your waist, pulling you just a little higher so that your chest was perfectly positioned in front of him. His gaze was fixed there, dark and hungry, as he stroked himself harder, his hips bucking slightly into his own hand.

With a low, guttural groan, he finally tipped over the edge. His hand tightened around himself as he came, thick, hot ropes spilling out, painting your chest in a way that made his breath hitch. His groan turned into a growl, his grip on your waist tightening as he held you steady, his other hand pumping himself through every last pulse.

"Fuck, sweetheart"m he rasped, his eyes fixed on the mess he’d made of you, your tits glistening as you lay sprawled out on the counter. “That’s a fucking sight”.

You blinked up at him, still catching your breath, your body limp against his hold. His chest was heaving as he slowly released his grip on himself, his hand sliding back to your waist to hold you securely. His thumb brushed against your skin, a small, almost tender gesture that contrasted with the intensity of what had just happened.

Ben pulled back, his smirk widening as he watched you struggle to regain your composure. Gently but firmly, he set you on your feet, his large hands gripping your waist to steady you. The moment your feet touched the ground, your knees buckled, unable to support you after the intensity of what had just happened.

He caught you instantly, one arm slipping around your waist, holding you up effortlessly. His cocky grin didn’t falter for a second as he leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear.

“Careful there, sweetheart”, he murmured, his voice low and teasing. “Didn’t mean to wear you out that much”.

You couldn’t respond—your breath was still coming in short gasps, your body trembling in his grasp. Your legs felt like jelly, and your mind was a haze of pleasure, heat, and disbelief. You barely registered his hand moving to your chin, tilting your face up so you had no choice but to meet his gaze.

Ben’s smirk grew wider as he took in your disheveled state—your chest still glistening from him, your legs trembling, your face flushed with heat. He kept his arm firmly around your waist, holding you steady, but his free hand drifted down to brush lightly against the mess he’d made on your chest.

“You might wanna clean this up”, he murmured, his tone dripping with teasing arrogance, his thumb smearing a line across your skin. His eyes followed the motion, dark and hungry, like he was admiring his own handiwork. “Can’t have you walking around like this, sweetheart".

Your breath hitched, and your cheeks flared with fresh embarrassment. “You’re unbelievable”, you managed to mutter, your voice still shaky but laced with irritation. You swatted his hand away, but the smug look on his face didn’t waver for a second.

“What?”, he asked innocently, his grin turning downright wicked. “Just stating the obvious. Though…”. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “Part of me likes the idea of you keeping it. Little reminder of who you belong to now”.

Your stomach flipped at his words, and you clenched your jaw, refusing to let him see how much he was getting under your skin. “You’re a real piece of work”, you shot back, your voice gaining a little more strength.

Ben chuckled low, the sound rumbling deep in his chest as he watched you with that insufferable smirk plastered across his face. His hand moved lower, sliding down your back with deliberate slowness until it reached the curve of your ass. Without warning, he gave it a firm pinch, making you yelp and swat at his hand.

"Hey!", you snapped, spinning around to glare at him, but the heat in your cheeks betrayed you.

“Thought you might need a little reminder to be more grateful”, he said, feigning innocence, his hand lingering dangerously close to where it had just been.

You rolled your eyes. “Grateful? For what, exactly?”.

He leaned in again, that cocky grin widening as his lips brushed against your ear. “For me”, he murmured, his voice dripping with arrogance. “For the ride, the fun, and that little gift on your chest. Figured I’d at least get a ‘thank you’, but no. Instead, I get sass”.

You huffed, trying to pull yourself together despite the way your body still trembled from him. “You don’t deserve a thank you for that”, you shot back, though your voice wasn’t nearly as steady as you’d hoped.

Ben’s hand slid back up to your waist, pulling you closer so your bodies were pressed together. The heat of him was overwhelming, and the mischievous glint in his eyes made your stomach flip. “Oh, I think I do, sweetheart”, he said, his grin turning wicked. “I think I deserve a lot more than a thank you, after the way I just made you scream”.

Your cheeks burned hotter, and you shoved lightly at his chest, trying to put some space between you. “You’re insufferable”, you muttered, but he didn’t budge.

Ben chuckled again, his hands tightening on your hips as he leaned down to look you square in the eye. “And you fucking enjoying it”, he said simply, his confidence unshakable. His thumb brushed over your hip, sending a shiver through you despite your best efforts to stay composed. “Now, come on, sweetheart. Be a good girl and say it”.

You glared at him, lips pressed into a thin line, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

“Still nothing?”, he teased, tilting his head. His grin widened, and his hand slid lower again, giving your ass another playful squeeze. “Guess I’ll just have to try harder to earn it then”.

Your breath caught, and his laughter followed you as you tried to pull yourself together. But the heat of his touch and the intensity of his gaze made it clear: Ben wasn’t done with you yet.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰

Taglist: @blackcherrywhiskey @baby19sthings @suckitands33 @spnfamily-j2 @lyarr24 @deans-baby-momma @reignsboy19 @kawaii-arfid-memes @mekkencspony @lovziy @artemys-ackles @fitxgrld @libby99hb @lovelyvirtualperson @a-lil-pr1ncess @nancymcl @the-last-ry @spndeanwinchesterlvr @hobby27 @themarebarroww @kr804573 @impala67rollingthroughtown @deans-queen @deadlymistletoe @selfdestructionandrhum @utyblyn @winchesterwild78 @jackles010378 @chirazsstuff @foxyjwls007 @smoothdogsgirl @woooonau @whimsyfinny @freyabear @laaadygisbooornex3 @quietgirll75 @perpetualabsurdity @pughsexual @berryblues46 @deanwinchestersgirl8734 @kr804573 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @barnes70stark @roseblue373

#jensen ackles #soldier boy #the boys #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy x y/n #soldier boy x you #soldier boy fanfiction #the boys soldier boy

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rosegolden13 · 3 months ago

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Hiii your hc of the TF141 is so so so cute hahahaha can you imagine how TF141 handles the reader's father when they are being introduced?

HIII!! Tysm for the ask!! 💗💗💗 I love this idea! i bet someone out there has done this better than me but here’s my take on it!

Simon is nervous. Can you blame him? The whole concept of a decent father is new to him. He won’t tell you he’s nervous but it’s obvious in how stiff he is on the way to your parent’s house. Your father is likely a bit unnerved by the thought of his daughter dating this beast of a man who wears a mask almost all the time. You and your father will probably have to do most of the talking at first. But once he warms up a bit, he’ll probably crack one or two of his classic dad jokes and that’ll be the start of their bonding lmao. Painful for you likely. Practice your fake laugh now.

Gaz is a charmer, always good with people, so you don’t need to worry for a second. Parents love him, always have. Even in elementary school, all the pta moms were pinching his cheeks. He will bring flowers because he’s a gentleman like that. Your mom think he’s a doll and your dad, though he gives him a hard time about being in the military and not being there for you enough, does come around. Tbh, you might get jealous because your parents seem to love him more than they love you… “Maybe you can get our girl to the gym more, eh?” “Oh, absolutely, sir. I’ll get her on my training schedule.” And then you jab him with your elbow.

Soap is also a bit nervous but he gets chatty when nervous so you won’t ever need to fill an awkward silence. Just hope he doesn’t bring up that particularly bloody work story- oop, nevermind, there he goes. Your dad absolutely makes a passive aggressive comment about his mohawk (“what are you? In an 80’s rock band?”) that you’ll have to diffuse somehow. Later, in the car, Johnny’ll ask you, “you like ma hair, right, pet?” Clearly, he wants to leave a good impression. And he does eventually! It might take a few visits but he’s a family oriented guy and your dad comes around. He’s great with aunts, cousins, uncles, siblings, your mom, but he’ll always be a bit tense around your dad.

Price… Your dad is instantly not a fan of simply because of the age gap. It feels like an interrogation with how tense that first meeting is. Your dad asks about a million questions, about his job, his age, his intentions. But Price has handled much worse and he maintains his composure the whole time, not at all shaken. Honestly, he understands why your father doesn’t trust him so he can handle a little awkward grilling. His hand rests on your knee the whole time because he can feel your nerves, a silent reminder that he won’t leave you even if this goes poorly. Once they start talking about football… you’re in the clear. He slowly but surely gains your dad’s trust, especially because they root for the same team (and that’s somehow a show of character?? Men are bizarre).

Hope you liked this!! 🫶

#john price x reader #captain johnathan price #simon ghost riley #cod x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #john soap mctavish x reader #john soap mactavish #kyle garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick #tf141 x reader

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willowsnook · 6 months ago

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hi! could i get a scotch with lime in a copper mug? 💞✨

lando norris x mclarenrookie!reader

just shut up and come here

-----------------------------------------------------------------

With Max’s car starting to falter, Lando knew he had a real shot at competing for the WDC. As the season progressed, he’d become the favorite, and it finally felt like his time. There was just one problem: you.

In your rookie year in F1, you were holding third place, just 40 points behind Lando. Exceeding all the team's expectations, you’d proven to be a real competitor — and Lando wasn’t pleased. To him, the strategy should have been obvious: you were supposed to help him beat Max. But you saw it differently. After all, you were only 80 points behind the leader, and Zak and Andrea had decided to let things play out between the two of you, which only heightened the tension.

What started as a friendship had quickly soured after you overtook Lando to win in Hungary. Furious, he stormed into your driver’s room after the podium celebration, his eyes blazing.

“What the hell was that?” he snapped, voice sharp.

You didn’t flinch, meeting his gaze. “A clean overtake,” you replied coolly.

“You’re screwing up my chances at the championship!” he seethed, his tone bitter.

"You do realize that I also have a shot at it?" You questioned. "Not my fault that I'm faster than you either."

At that, he got in your face, practically radiating anger. “Just stay out of my way,” he bit out before stalking out of the room.

It was the first of many heated clashes, and even Zak was starting to worry about the tension between his drivers. Things only escalated after your win in Baku, when Lando stood stony-faced on the podium, arms crossed, barely acknowledging the celebration. The media had a field day, and McLaren’s PR department wasn’t happy.

Seeing his growing frustration, your initial resentment slowly turned to concern. His behavior was spiraling, and it seemed no one was willing to address it — except you.

“What’s going on with you?” you demanded one day after a rough qualifying session, pushing open his door to find him pacing.

“What are you talking about?” he snapped, but you didn’t back down.

“You’re being a brat to everyone! It was fine when you were just an asshole to me, but this is getting out of hand.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replied venomously.

“If you need someone to talk to, you know McLaren has plenty of resources,” you said softly, trying a different approach.

“I don’t need your help so just fuck off,” he said and you backed off.

That didn’t stop you from giving your own therapist his email, instructing her to email him nonstop until he set up a session. Something must have worked because in the break before Austin, Lando did some press about his struggles with mental health and you heard that he’d bought gifts for the whole garage team as an apology for his behavior.

You two still didn’t really talk but he gave you a head nod now as a hello and there wasn’t much tension between you in front of the media anymore.

Then, on the Thursday before the Austin GP, during your post-free-practice interviews, a reporter brought up Lando.

“Y/N, any thoughts on Helmut’s recent comments?” they asked.

You raised an eyebrow. “Sorry, I don’t keep track of what everyone’s saying.”

“He claimed that Lando has ‘mental weaknesses’ preventing him from being a real championship contender.”

You stiffened, feeling anger bubble up. “Yeah, interesting,” you started, your PR manager nodding, likely expecting you to stay professional. Too bad for them. “Honestly, he can go fuck off.”

The press buzzed with shock, and your PR manager hurried over, but you went on.

“Red Bull’s looking for anything to distract from their own mess. It’s 2024, and criticizing a driver for being open about mental health is pathetic. We’d all be a little better off if they put him in a nursing home Lando’s one of the most talented drivers out there, so Helmut can shove it. Thanks.”

You walked off, ignoring your PR manager’s frantic scolding.

Later, after the team debrief, you headed to your room, ready to call it a day. But outside your door, you saw Lando waiting, his expression softer than usual.

“Are you okay—?” you began, but he cut you off, stepping forward.

“Just shut up and come here,” he murmured, pulling you into a hug. You rubbed his back as he buried his head against your shoulder, his voice muffled. “I owe you so much. And after what you said today… even more.”

“This stuff is hard, Lando. Sometimes it feels like the whole world’s on our shoulders.” You pulled back to meet his gaze. “I like it better when you’ve got the energy to actually fight me.”

He laughed softly, then hugged you tighter. “Can we… start over? As friends?” he asked, his voice tentative.

You smiled. “Of course — but only after I win the championship.”

He groaned, but his eyes sparkled with humor. “In your dreams, rookie.”

#lando norris x reader #lando norris #formula 1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 x reader

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bettystonewell · 7 days ago

Text

IF YOU LEAVE

Chapter 1: Pretty in Pink

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

Dean Winchester x Reader

In the spring of 1988, Dean meets the girl of his dreams. He just doesn’t know it yet. 2k words

Tags: fluff, angst, young Sam and Dean, slow(ish) burn romance, childhood sweethearts, friends to lovers, 80s, 90s, season three, spans three decades, eventual smut, Rufus - crotchety at any age

@chevroletdean is celebrating 500 followers with a writing challenge! Liane made the beautiful mood-board above for me to work with. You can find more about the Milestone Celebration HERE. I’m gonna try and finish this before the 18th, but consider this chapter my piece for the challenge 😘

Next Chapter

April 1988

The first time Dean saw you was in third grade, Mrs Petersen’s class, but it wasn’t until during recess on the second day that you spoke. Your hair in pigtails, him with dirt on his knees, and a simple exchange over a juice box, because you were yet to learn how to filter.

At that point, as children often do, you didn’t think to ask for each other’s names, and when both boys walked through Bobby’s front door that afternoon, and he asked “How was school? Did you talk t’any other kids today?” He got a smile and a grunt as both boys ran up the stairs to their room.

“That great, huh?” He scratched his forehead under his cap, and went back to the kitchen to continue supper, and the hex bag he was making up for Rufus. The idjit had shown up on his doorstep earlier that day.

“I thought you didn’t have any Rugrats?” Rufus thumbed to the hall he’d come out of. A bottle of Jack in the other.

“I don’t,” Bobby said. But just as Dean didn’t realise the significance of you in his life at the time, Bobby hadn’t realised the boys in his either.

Dinner was simple that night. Bobby wasn’t a chef, but he was determined to give the Winchester boys something normal for once in their young lives. It’s why he’d enrolled them in the local school in the first place. Bought them bags and shoes. New clothes for Sammy because Dean’s hand-me-downs were far too big for the little tyke.

He’d even taken them to a barber, somewhere he never took himself, and signed Dean up for the school lunch program.

Yeah, he was growing soft. Lucky he had Rufus to point out the fact further with his outright stares and grins.

He was just doing a good deed. Looking after the future. Wasn’t that a part of being regular folk? Never mind the lady ringing up his groceries at the supermarket had frowned at him when he didn’t have a valid excuse for why they weren’t at school that day or two days before that.

Balls. That’s what it was. And he’d kick Rufus’ if he were close enough to reach with his boot.

Comments about him getting old, also balls. If Rufus was dumb enough to keep hounding him, he deserved a gun to his sack. Don’t worry ‘bout his steel caps.

He cleared his throat. Took a swig of beer and then settled his eyes on Dean. The kid was a smartass, but he was respectable, and had to open up, eventually. “So, did you learn anything today?” he asked. Tried to force a smile onto his face.

But Dean only shrugged, still defiant he should’ve been out there with his father.

“Well, what about your teacher? What’s her name?” He knew she was a she from the paperwork, Mrs Peters, or something like that. He just didn’t bother to remember in front of Rufus.

It didn’t matter though, because Dean shrugged again and shoveled another bite of meatloaf into his mouth.

Kids.

“My teacher is Miss Reeves,” young Sam piped up. Kid was smart for a four-year-old.

“Yeah? And what’d you do with her?” It’d been a long time since Bobby had graduated high school. Had no idea what kids in preschool did, besides the ABCs, he supposed. “Did you, ah,” he looked at Rufus for guidance, but the idjit had none. “Did you colour…or…sing a song?”

“I used blue, and red, and green for the grass I draws.” Sam beamed.

Okay… “That’s great, kid,” Bobby said.

Rufus downed another shot of Jack. The glass, sharp against the table when he hammered it onto the linoleum top. “Real great.” His tongue clicked. “What about you Dean? You colour, too?”

But when Dean said nothing, “Didn’t think so,” tumbled outta Rufus’ mouth.

“You could’ve given him a chance to answer.”

“Didn’t need to. He’s not gonna. Look at him.” Rufus swiped his hand out in front. His brow raised when Dean opened his mouth, though, and then he looked interested.

“I met a girl,” he said, resorting back to his former slouching when he noticed both men frozen and staring at him.

It was the loudest he’d spoken since living under Bobby’s roof. The first time he’d shown emotion other than attitude, and Bobby couldn’t help but smile. Until he thought harder about the issue.

Did he have to give these kids the bird and the bees talk, too? Hell no, he wasn’t!

His fingers scratched through his beard. That smile of his fell to a thin, pursed line. Bit of teeth spiking through the gap.

“A girl, huh? Like a girlfriend?”

“No!” Dean lost his chin to his neck. “She’s my friend, and she’s a girl.”

Simple. Obvious. Bobby felt the fool. Until he asked the all important question.

“What’s her name?”

What was your name?

Dean couldn’t answer that because he didn’t know. You were a girl, you’d been nice to him, and you didn’t like orange juice. That was the extent of it. You’d played your game after that. The one where he chased you, and you ran, much like what hunters did. Only, you weren’t a monster, and he didn’t hunt.

Not allowed to. Too young to do anything more than babysit Sammy and stay with Uncle Bobby.

He knew they weren’t related.

When he stepped into the classroom the next morning, books in hand, his eyes swept the room. No, he wasn’t interested in the US map, or the globe in the corner. He didn’t care that Mrs Petersen was scribbling sums on the board ready for the day’s lessons or for the tall boy with the extra tires whose farts created a war zone as he walked through the dust cloud.

No. He focused on you. Hair once again in pigtails, hot pink t-shirt and matching nails, which he thought little of because it was all too…girly, but then you smiled at him and his nose tingled as a result.

“Hi Dean,” you even said, and it was all he could do to not smile back as he took his seat in the row behind you and the Bat-signal drawn onto your right heel.

He needed to learn your name.

Of course, to a nine-year-old, “You like Batman?” was far more important. He asked you that when he sat down next to you at lunch that same day. The pale green plastic of his lunch-tray, just fitting in between yours and the boy’s to his left.

Your look of disgust was apparent even from your side profile, and unlike his smile, Dean couldn’t hold back his laughter when you turned. Not only did you spit out the word, “No,” but a sliver of strawberry jello came with it.

You wiped at your chin and poked your tongue out, which made him laugh harder.

“I like Michelangelo more, but my brother says he’s stupid.” Your head and eyes dropped to look under the table. “Didn’t like it when I told him the Ninja Turtles would beat Batman up.”

“Well, Leonardo might,” Dean said, and you frowned. “With his help,” he added.

His nose tingled again.

There was lots of that over the course of the week and the one that followed. Dean learned your name, and that your mom’s middle one was Mary - it only took a couple of extra days - but from the moment you bonded over your favourite cartoons, the two of you became inseparable, and Bobby was pleased.

Both Winchester boys had a chance at normal life. Well, semi-normal due to the talismans and arsenal in his basement.

And while Rufus refused to show his face again, as long as Sam and Dean lived under his roof, Bobby didn’t mind. He rather enjoyed that. But it didn’t stop other hunters and their problems from showing up on his doorstep, and on one particular Saturday morning after hearing from Bill Harvellle, he dug deep into his wallet for a couple of dollar bills and handed them to Dean.

“Why don’t you take your brother and that friend of yours to the arcade or somethin’,” he said, then narrowed his brows at the boy. “Call the house line ‘round five. Make sure it’s safe to come home.”

Dean took the money and shoved it in his front pocket. “Yes, sir.” He nodded once, and then grabbed Sammy by the hand and pulled him to the door.

The air was warm when they stepped outside. As Dean always did, he put the needs of his baby brother first, pulling off the four-year-olds jacket, then tying it ‘round his waist. He did the same with his and they were off. Sam on the handlebars of the bike Bobby had fixed up for them, Dean peddling with all his might into town.

It was hard work, and by the time they reached your house, he was out of breath, but it was worth it to feel the wind in his hair.

Cheeks puffed, neck hot and sweaty under the collar of his T-shirt, he knocked on your front door with a tight fist, and took a step back.

The dark wooden floorboards creaked underneath his sneakers. Footsteps from the other side moved closer, and he was soon met with your grinning smile and a bright pink scrunchie in your hair.

He scrunched his nose up, but that turned upside down when he saw the Ninja Turtle action figures in your hands.

“Hi Dean,” you said, peeking around him to look at Sam standing next to their bike. “You guys wanna come in and play?”

But they didn’t. Just as Bobby had suggested, Dean had other plans, and after checking in with your mom, the three of you headed to the local arcade.

Whirs. Dings. Whistles. The electronic piano jingles and a rocking soundtrack that tried its best to overcome everything else greeted you when the tinted glass doors rattled open. Lights, as far as the eye could see, of neon pinks, greens and blues and a carpet, littered with stains of mud and grass from the other kids already there, matched all that was overhead and surrounding.

Sammy clung to Dean even tighter. His little hands tugged on the base of his shirt. While on the other side of him, your face reflected the excitement hammering up his legs.

Until this stage in his young life, Dean had only been to an arcade once. The lucky timing of a classmate’s birthday party at a different school he spent all of two weeks in, well before being dumped here at Bobby’s.

That place was awesome, but this? It was awesome, too. There was just something about not being accompanied by adults that made it better.

Pacman and Donkey Kong called his name. Q-Bert, whatever the hell that was supposed to be. Space Invaders. Pin-ball and claw machines.

“Look! They have a Ninja Turtles one!” You pointed towards the back where a large machine plastered with their now fluorescent green faces stood out amongst the rest. “C’mon Sammy.” You grabbed the youngest boy’s hand and ripped him away from Dean.

“Hey, wait,” he called, but under all the noise, it was a lost cause.

With a huff, and one eye on you both at all times, Dean jogged over to the change machine by the door and swapped his money for quarters. You guys were the worst. Annoying. Impatient. Yet the way you grabbed the chair for Sam, and held it steady for him while he climbed up, had Dean’s nose buzzing again.

His nose buzzed like that every time he saw you. Playing games, eating lunch in the cafeteria. Riding your bikes through the streets of Sioux Falls, side by side, that same wind in your hair.

It’s just a shame it didn’t last long.

Never did.

Sam and Dean Winchester flew through towns as many times as there were months in the year, sometimes more. The Spring of ‘88 a rarity. Their stint at the local school and preschool, even rarer, and one soon forgotten.

Until 1997 when Dean found himself enrolling at another school in Sioux Falls.

He didn’t know the significance of that either, but he soon would. You’d make him.

Next Chapter

Am I shooting myself in the foot by releasing this part when I haven’t finished the rest? Probably, but I’m used to it. We’ll be diving into three stages in Dean and readers life in this one - up next - 1997.

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thejakeformerlyknownasprince · 3 months ago

Note

I really want you to get started on Jurassic Park now after reading your tags.

All right, you asked for it! This post is going to be long because I've been rereading Jurassic Park since I was about 10 years old. But. My thoughts:

Jurassic Park is the oldest story in the world: one about hubris, and the price men pay for their ignorance of nature. From the first moment the protagonists step foot on the island, they can see it. There are poisonous plants next to the pool because they "look pretty." The harbor has no retaining wall because tropical storms aren't considered important. And there's a steep price for that hubris. Wu doesn't bother to learn the dinosaurs' names before breeding them, Nedry ignores them as unprogrammable, Malcolm mansplains them to their own creators, Regis laughs at the idea of them escaping, Hammond relentlessly monetizes them, Arnold insists he can control them... And they all get eaten by dinosaurs. It's the characters with the good sense to be overawed and scared (Muldoon, Gennaro, the paleontologists, the kids) who make it out alive. Almost paradigm.

More specifically, it's a book about the most fundamental principle of engineering: be scared, be confused, and then do something anyway. Then do something else, then something else, until something works. Timmy isn't a master hacker in the book; he's just (unlike Grant) willing to push buttons on the computer until he finds the power grid. Gennaro's still a scaredy cat in the book, but he clenches his teeth and goes into the velociraptor nest anyway. The heroic characters are the ones who conclude someone has to do something, despite not knowing what that something is. The villainous ones are the ones who refuse responsibility.

Speaking of which, can we talk about Ian Malcolm? I'm a sucker for a good Cassandra character, especially one that manages to get even the genre-savvy reader rolling their eyes and going "will you shut up?" And Malcolm is one of the best, every off-putting academic habit rolled into one: He thinks he's better than other people for not liking sports. He brags about not caring about appearances and then comments on Sattler's legs. He assumes Hammond has read his monograph and — when Hammond reveals he hasn't — pulls out a copy that he keeps on his person at all times to have Hammond read on the plane. He smugly explains that other characters should've foreseen they'd be killed by dinosaurs, only to be killed by dinosaurs. He calls his theory the Malcolm Effect. I do love Jeff Goldblum's gentler, more charming take on the character ("See, here, now I'm sitting by myself, talking to myself, that's chaos theory" I say literally every time I ask a question of someone who just left the room). But I prefer the way original Malcolm gets away with being right about everything because we so so badly want him to be wrong.

Speaking of that comment about the legs: by the low low bar of 80s/90s thriller writers, Crichton is surprisingly progressive. Jurassic Park invites us to laugh with (and roll our eyes with) Sattler, every time someone expresses shock the world's top paleobotanist is a woman. The Lost World perfectly captures the "women in STEM have to be twice as competent to get half the respect" dynamic, and it's a story about the male characters over-estimating their own competence as the female ones go about saving the day. Race isn't handled perfectly, but it is discussed in both books. Malcolm's chauvinism is designed to make everything else he says a bitter pill, to poison us against him. Crichton's no feminist. But Sattler's hardiness — later Harding's and Kelly's as well — are shown as hard-won in a world that batters nerdy girls so hard that only the toughest survive.

And Malcolm is just one of the many ways Jurassic Park masterfully lampoons scientific bullshit. After little Tina is bitten by a "strange lizard" and nearly dies from the swelling, Dr. Cruz assures her parents that lizards bite zookeepers all the time, that some people are allergic to lizard venom, and that the lizard Tina drew resembles a basilisk — and then we cut to him talking to his fellow MD. Where we find out that lizards don't attack humans in the wild, no human they know of has ever been hospitalized for a lizard bite, basilisks aren't venomous, and Tina's condition doesn't resemble an allergic reaction. They have no idea what this "lizard" (a Procompsognathus) could be or how it poisoned this kid, but they've been taught to obfuscate rather than admit that. Scientists are arrogant, and ignorant of their ignorance.

But the book is every bit as positive about empiricism as it is negative about individual scientists. The seamless way Crichton blends science fiction with science fact gets me every time. His preface connects Watson & Crick to Swanson & Boyer to Malcolm & Levine, explaining each step of the research process as he goes. He goes on to explain how Genetech developed its ideas from IBM, and that IBM and Genetech both contributed to InGen, which in turn influenced Biosyn, funded by Hamaguri... and only two of those names are fictional, but don't worry about which. Crichton does his homework, and then he presents his homework in the most compelling way of any writer I've ever encountered.

You need no further proof than the technologies — satellite phones, electric cars, touchscreens, gene editing — that were sci fi in 1990, commonplace today. Crichton did the reading. And he rolls that science out ever-so-slowly: dribbling first the mystery of the worker with a 3-foot gash in his torso who claims a bird of prey did it, then the mystery of the resort that needs the world's most powerful data storage, then the mystery of the billionaire who calls in the middle of the night with "urgent" questions about what baby dinosaurs eat... Until even 10-year-old me could look at that picture of a fractal and go "ohhh, I see how the unstable phase shifts of chaos theory explain the fact that a thunderstorm caused that guy to get eaten by a T. rex." Almost paradigm.

And all Jurassic Park's banging on about chaos theory belies a deep understanding of how interconnected ecosystems are. Animals, like plants, like subatomic particles, must be understood holistically. Pretending that the best way to learn the truth of any system is through breaking it down "is like saying scrambled eggs and bacon for breakfast is human nature. It's nothing of the sort. It's uniquely Western training." Crichton clearly loves biology: "a single fertilized egg has a 100,000 genes, which act in a coordinated way, switching on and off at specific times, to transform that single cell... A house is simple in comparison. But even so, workmen build the stairs wrong, they put the sink in backward, the tile man doesn't show up when he's supposed to. All kinds of things go wrong. And yet the fly that lands on the workman's lunch is perfect." And he clearly hates what capitalism has done to biotechnology.

Hammond the venture capitalist is a perfectly despicable villain: No dinosaurs have escaped, because I said so. If there are problems, no there aren't. Put on a good show for investors, no matter how many contractors die in the process. Talk about all the "good" the park will do by making tons of money. The kids are stranded and the tech expert's dead? No they're not, because I said so, now pass the ice cream. It's truly a delight watching him get eaten by dinosaurs.

For that matter, Jurassic Park is bursting with details of style over substance. There are cutesy Apatosaurus cutouts in the hotel rooms and bars on the widows, a half-finished restaurant covered in Pterosaur poop, and a celebrity-narrated tour track that can't synchronize with the dinosaurs. It's trying to be Disney World, and it's actually a roadside zoo. The signage — "When Dinosaurs Ruled the Earth," the hand-lettered "Welcome to Jurassic Park", the room (and department) called "Control" — isn't subtle in its irony. But it is fun.

Which is yet another great sci fi trick. "Our funding is infinite but our peer review sucks" perfectly sets up the blend of the accurate with the plot-fueling (likely why Crichton reuses it several times). Why are there Pterosaurs in a dinosaur park? Our funding is infinite but our peer review sucks. Why are so many Cretaceous dinosaurs in Jurassic Park? Our funding is infinite but our peer review sucks. You didn't know Dilophosaurus is venomous? Our funding is infinite... It's perfect, because it's the opposite of how the scientific process usually works. Again: Crichton knows his shit, and he knows how to communicate it.

Like, even when I'm reading Sphere or Terminal Man — books where I'm perfectly aware I know more than Crichton on the subject, not in the least because their science inevitably became outdated — I still find myself believing, at least for the length of the story. You don't have to suspend disbelief when reading Crichton's work; he hoists it into the stratosphere for you. Half the time he won't give it back even after you're done. Almost paradigm.

But despite all that nerdery, Jurassic Park is still a rocking adventure story that builds momentum until it smashes to its conclusion at 70 miles an hour, ending the millisecond it can do so with not a word of denouement. You can practically hear that last deep piano note on the final words. It's cinematic as hell. This is Crichton post-Westworld, pre-Twister, the ultimate adventure writer. He reads, clearly, avoiding the errors of sci fi amateurs who watch too many movies (the T. rex has a distinctive smell, the island is relentlessly humid, so on) but he knows how to make a tight fast-moving story that you can consume in under three hours. His imagery is powerful, his pacing is on point, and his plot sucks you in and shoots you out like a water slide.

Jurassic Park is fun. It's informative. It makes you laugh, and gasp, and sigh, and think. It has its flaws (Harding Sr. fades out in the 3rd act, Grant's Maiasaura expertise never pays off) but those are minor in a book that stands up so well to rerereading. Almost paradigm.

#jurassic park #long post #michael crichton #science fiction #book review #jurassic park review #sci fi #i am so normal about this book #e.g. the time in 7th grade i wrote an angry email to sparknotes.com explaining to them that their summary over-identified the parallelism #between timmy holding the baby velociraptor and tina holding the 'lizard' because sattler CLEARLY STATES in iteration 1 section 4 #that the animal that attacked tina is a procompsognathus

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rangerbarbz · 9 months ago

Text

Serving Up Romance

Author’s Note: Guys holy FUCK y’all have blown up my account!! Thank you all so much! I just can’t believe it like i'm going bonkers. Thank you so much for all your kind words and everything!! Also, I can’t believe I’ve never written for 80s Stan that’s crazy. (Also i know he’s never worn a denim jacket but i had a vision)

“Serving up Romance”

You had been working as a waitress at Greasy’s Diner since you first moved to the strange town of Gravity Falls. While others might turn their nose up at waitressing, you loved it. You got the opportunity to know everyone in town, hear their gossip, and meet passer-bys driving through on road trips. You never knew who was going to walk through those doors or what incredible story they were going to tell you. One slow day at the diner, you were making a pot of coffee when you heard the bell above the door jingle.

“Welcome to Greasy’s! Sit wherever you want, and I’ll be with you in just a sec,” you called out, pouring water into the coffee maker. You heard someone sit at the swivel stool behind you.

“Take your time, doll. I’m in no rush,” a gruff voice responded. Hm. You didn’t recognize that tone. You turned around to see a man with dark brown hair in a white t-shirt and denim jacket, chewing on a toothpick. You noticed that there were patches of different fabrics and patterns all over the jacket. He hadn’t noticed you were looking at him because he was reading the small menu that was attached to the metal condiment holder.

You smiled at him. “I like your jacket,” you complimented the handsome stranger.

His attention quickly diverted to you. He chuckled. “Oh, this old thing?” He lifted up his arms to show off more of his patches. “Thanks. It’s been through the ringer let me tell ya. My ma taught me how to hand stitch so that any time I ripped it, I could fix it right up.”

“That’s so sweet.” You reached out to point at one that was yellow with small, red flowers on his shoulder. “I like this one.” He looked over to see which one you were talking about and laughed.

“That one I got from a motel pillow case! I accidentally caught my shoulder on fire.” You raised your eyebrows at him. His gaze became stern. “I learned to keep my distance from candles that day on.”

You burst out laughing. “Now is this a true story?” you asked, propping your chin up on the palm of your hand.

He grinned, moving his toothpick to the other side of his mouth. “True as you are pretty, sweetheart.”

You giggled as a blush started to spread across your cheeks.“Alright, slick, what can I get you?” you responded, removing a notepad from the front pocket of your apron. He picked up the menu and gave it a quick once over.

“Uh… Give me the bacon and eggs. Scrambled, please, and one cup of coffee.” You finished scribbling his order and turned to put it in the window.

“Can I get a name for this order?” you asked, winking at him from the coffee pot. You began to walk back over to him with a mug of black coffee.

He gave you a wide smile. “Stan Pines, proprietor of The Mystery Shack,” he answered, hand outreached to you in greeting.

“Y/N Y/L/N, waitress at Greasy’s Diner.” You shook his hand; it was firm, calloused, and felt very nice against your smooth skin. You turned over his hand to take a look at his scarred knuckles you noticed when he was holding the menu earlier. You dragged your thumb over the puckered, white lines.

“You got fighting hands, Stan.” You gazed at him through your lashes and grinned.“Sexy.” Now it was his turn to be flustered. His face grew red at your bold statement and laughed nervously.

“Thank you.” He cleared his throat. “I, uh, used to box, and I’ve gotten myself into a fair share of…scuffles.” You gave him a small smile. You were about to comment on that until the bell dinged from the window signaling that his food was done.

“Bacon and eggs are up!” the chef barked. His loud voice startled you which made Stan laugh.

“Sorry, let me get your food real quick.” You let go of his hand reluctantly and went to get his plate. What you didn’t see was him smirking to himself and touching the scars you grazed. He couldn’t remember the last time someone genuinely complimented him.

Things started to pick up after you served Stan his food, so you didn’t get to continue your conversation. However, you made sure that when he paid for his meal, you got to talk to him one last time.

“Will I be seeing you again, Stan?” you asked, getting his change from the cash register. “You should come next Tuesday! We serve waffle tacos then.” He laughed as you dropped the coins into his hand.

“Well, I obviously can’t miss waffle tacos,” he responded with a smile.

“I’ll see you then. It was nice to meet you, Stan! Don’t go catching yourself on fire on your way out!” you joked as he began walking towards the exit.

“No promises, doll.”

Over the next couple weeks, Stan continued to come into the diner and sit in the same swivel stool as he did when you first met him. He ordered a different thing on the menu each time making it his goal to try everything you had to offer. Your conversations were playful, flirty, but, most of all, interesting. He had quite the colorful past, but that didn’t scare you off. In fact, it made you more intrigued.

One day, during a particularly busy shift, Stan walked in as always. “Hey, hon!” you greeted him while placing a plate of pancakes in front of a fussy toddler. “I’ll be right with ya!” You then noticed he had one of his hands behind his back, and he seemed a bit nervous.

He didn’t sit down this time, but instead stood at the cash register. You walked over with a confused expression on your face. “Stan? Are you not eating today?”

“Um, well, no. Not today, doll. I, uh, wanted to give you these.” His face was bright pink as he presented you with a large bouquet of wildflowers. You gasped. “I hope you like them. I found a whole bunch of them in a field near one of the backroads.”

“Oh, Stan,” you said softly. You took the bouquet from him and held it gently, admiring it. “It’s just beautiful, but why?”

He started to rub the back of his neck and looked down at his feet. “There’s a drive-in movie happening tonight outside of town, and I wanted to take you with me,” he murmured shyly. “I think you’re real nice and fun to talk to and you got a knock-out smile.” He paused. “I would…like to get to know you outside the diner.” He finally made eye contact with you to see your reaction to everything he had said.

You hadn’t stopped beaming at him since he handed you the flowers. “Stan, I would love to join you.” You reached out to cup his face with your free hand and gave him a peck on his cheek, his stubble tickling your lips. “What time should I be expecting you?”

His eyes widened at you, his hand touching where you had kissed him. “Um, I. The, uh, movie starts at 7:45, so I’ll pick you up at 7:00,” he stammered, face as red as his Diablo.

“Sounds good, sugar,” you replied, giving him a slip of paper that you had written your address on while he was talking. “I can’t wait to see what tricks a romantic like you has up his sleeves.”

Stan let out a giggle before quickly covering it up by clearing his throat. “I guess you’ll have to find out tonight. I’ll see you then, sweetheart.” He gave your hand a squeeze before walking out the way he came in.

“I’m going on a date with Mr. Mystery,” you whispered to yourself excitedly, burying your nose in the bouquet.

PART 2 COMING SOON

#ford pines #gravity falls #grunkle ford #grunkle stan #stanley pines #ford pines x reader #stanford pines #imagine #pines family #fluff #stan pines #stan pines x reader #gravity falls fandom #gravity falls fanfiction

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madebyrolo · 2 months ago

Text

𝘔𝘺 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘰𝘺

Jj Maybank x reader

she/her

Dating jj has its up and downs. Growing up with an abusive father and no mother figure had him feeling alone, never feeling comfortable or lovable. Once he meets y/n his walls slowly start to come down but it takes awhile for him to accept he matters.

Obx masterlist

⋆｡⋆｡° 𓆉*ੈ‧₊˚ ༘⋆

As y/n laid with Jj in the hamock of John Bs. chateau, Jj stared at her in awe. Taking in every inch of her. If you were to put a 13 year old boy right beside him you wouldn't know which was which.

He didn't have much but one thing he did have was you, and it was worth more than anything in the world.

Call him a kook because he was rich in love.

He was happy. You were by far the best person he’s ever met on Kildare island, though don’t tell John B that.

══════════════════════

Y/n and Jj limbs were tangled in the hammock

They have been laying together almost all afternoon, you would be surprised that Jj hasn’t taken a nap yet.

You guys were talking the day away, like how you were able to score more hours at the small boutique you worked at. How Jj almost convinced a kooks dog to go home with him (thankfully he called you to show the cute little guy and you were table to talk some sense into him.)

But mainly it was you doing the talking, Jj just watched and listened. But he was fine with that.

He watched you in awe, with love and lust filmed eyes

He knew your face too well. Every emotion, muscle movement, the “imperfections”. He practically studied it and Jj doesn’t even own a single book.

He knew the way your eyes lit up when you would get happy or excited. How your brows scrunched when you were confused. The bite marks on your lips when you would get confused.

You would tell Jj everything and anything

Telling the blonde every small little details about your day knowing Jj didnt have to know how long it took the duck to cross the street.

The way you couldn’t tell a story without forgetting a small detail and making it 10x more longer than it needed to be.

The way your tounge would slip and stuttered on words.

He just always looked at you with stars in his eyes.

As you continued to talk you mention about your encounter at the gas station earlier today.

“So after I dropped off my brother at practice I stopped to get gas, I just hate how he has to be good enough for a team all the way on Figure 8.” You huff

“The funny thing is that when I was filling up this dude pulled up with his truck right beside me.”

Jj immediately perked up.

“He was talking to me, making convo for some reason. It wasn’t too bad I guess he was nice, but then started making some flirty comments. He was trying to hint on taking me on a date but thankfully my tank filled up right on time.” You told Jj

“Oh um I bet that was uncomfortable for you I’m sorry.” He said as he was more uncomfortable with it.

“It wasn’t bad. He was nice with it unlike the others just straight up being douchebags” you rolled your eyes.

“He even offered to pay my gas but I wouldn’t let him. I should’ve tho it was like $80 bucks”�� you smile to yourself trying to make heart of the situation

“Did you get his name?” Jj asked starting to feel a bit queezy.

“Jj it doesn’t matter anyways. I don’t want you to get into fights, you know I hate it.” You knew what would happen if Jj were to find out

“Yea whatever come on tell me who it is. We’re supposed to tell each other everything yeah ?” He moved your chin to look at him, with his brow cocking

“Ugh fine. But don’t go starting something okay?” You said trying to plead with him

“it was topper” you say lowly

Just by hearing the first syllable he immediately started fuming

“Topper!? Really ? Oh my god that man has balls” he said removing you from him

“Jj please dont-” you winced

“he knows we’re together why would he even try it?” He said getting defensive

“His whole friend group is quite literally obsessed with us, he would’ve, should’ve know we are together? This wouldn’t even be his first time hitting on you, and yet still getting rejected!” the blonde chuckled while putting his shoes on

“He’s been trying even before we got together, hasn’t he gotten a clue?” Jj now walking out the hammock

“Jj where are you going ?” You complained

“Look we’re pouges? He clearly knows that. He hates us for god sakes. He a kook, why would they go after pouge, let alone one they hate. Are they bored with what they have? ‘anything they want yet, crave what’s not theirs.” jj said clearly angry and jealous.

You saw him headed towards the woods.

“Jj please dont go” you said attempting to get out the hammock without rolling off.

“Topper, the kooks in general, they don’t matter to us. They shouldn’t” you raised your voice as the boy disappeared in the trees.

Y/n finally gets out, she puts her shoes on trying to follow the boy she lost vision of.

As she followed the trail she ended up in deep in the middle of the woods but no sign of Jj.

She kept walking hoping to find him somewhere, it wasn’t hard to hide but how far can he go? She continued walking getting closer to the edge of the island near the bay.

After 10 minutes of walking though twigs and hopefully not poison ivy, she found him.

He was sitting on a small abandoned old boat, covered in grime on the outside but perfectly clean on the inside with blankets. Now knowing he’s been here before.

“Hey Jay” you said walking up to him. He was laying on the floor of the boat with his vape on his chest.

He didn’t say anything, he just gave a nod and just stared at the sky. Clearly lost in thoughts, sadness lingering his eyes.

“Jj please. Whats wrong ? Talk to me.” you asked

You joined him in the boat, sitting beside him. You placed your hand on his head, stroking his blonde locks.

He didn’t budge, just laid there hopelessly. She gave him a couple of minutes to wind down before she asked anything.

“Jj we promised to tell eachother everything.” You pleaded with the boy grabbing his hands tangling your fingers putting them into your lap.

“I just find it funny that they want everything. Even when it’s not theirs.” He said with his jaw locking.

“They claim to hate us pouges. Treat us like scum, yet they are so obsessed with you. I don’t get it?” He said with a breathily laugh

“Make it make sense am I right?” He tried to mask he sadness with humor like always does.

“Jj they’re kooks, they’re hungry for anything they can put their hands on.” You said trying to ease him

“It doesn’t matter-”

“but it does ! It matters y/n?!” He raised his voice.

Jj sits ups

“They absolutely hate us, especially me and John B. I don’t know if them flirting with you is just to get me but if it is, it’s working.”

“Jj you know I would never, ever leave you. Not for money, not for looks, not for anything.” Now you grab his heading turning it to you.

“I love you Jj. I would never let anything or anyone come between us, and I know you wouldn’t too.”

He searched your eyes looking to see if you were just saying that to shut him up or telling the truth.

And you were.

but he just couldn’t bare the fact that other people had eyes on you. On His girl.

Jj loved you. He made sure to tell you every second he could.

He was greatful to have you in his life.

He felt like he was in denial or living in his dreams knowing that you wait for me just outside of his sleep.

Just trying to understand his fucked up life.

He didn't have much but he had you.

He was happy for a spilt second. He believed you. You loved him and he loved you. Everyone saw it.

John B and Sarah were sick of how in love you guys were, and they were engaged.

Thoughts now lingering in his head what he would ever do if he lost you.

Knowing you had the eyes of everyone including kooks on you.

You reassured him everytime something bother him.

He knows how easy it is for people to leave him.

But it ripped his soul out knowing you could leave him. That it was an option.

He knew topper, and hell even Rafe had eyes at one point had eyes on her. On his Y/n.

They were rich, smart, handsome, confident, even going to church every Sunday. The “safe”option.

They were everything he wasn’t.

“Can’t even blame him” jj said putting his head down, whipping his mouth with his tounge sticking his cheek.

“What? Jj what do you mean?” you ask him

“Look at you y/n…” he started

“You’re so smart, you’re like at the top of our class. So nice it’s literally giving me a sweet tooth just sitting here. You’re just so perfect.”

“You help take care of your brother when your mom either works days shifts so she’s home when you guys are. You literally volunteer anytime you can. You can get a paycheck but you don’t care about the money when you know how much it can help others. You are the most kind hearted person I know, you don’t take anyone’s shit. You stand up for yourself, I even saw you smack John b for making a joke about Sarah his own girlfriend .”

“Fiancé, She’s still a human, fucking or not it was disrespectful.”

“You aren’t like me. You’re loving and caring, you spend your time helping others. I just can’t understand how you can even consider me the person you love.”

“Jj i don’t believe any of the stuff-”

“Why me? Am I just a charity cost? A bet between you and topper who is just teasing me, or-“

“Jj enough! I’m not going to sit here and hear you talk so terribly about yourself !”

“You may not think you’re a good guy but I see it everyday! When my car breaks down you fix it, when I need help with my brother you come swooping in. When I’m sick you’re immediately at my door step with snacks and medicine. Hell you even made me the most delicious homemade soup and we all know you can’t cook for shit. You pick me up,offer me rides, watch movies I know you hate.” You give him a soft smile just adoring the boy

“And you love me. I hate to admit but I was jealous of all the hooks up before me” you say embarrassed

“But I know how hard it is for you to open up and just to let people in. I know how hard it is for you to trust anyone and yet you gave me the chance”

Jj now looks at you with guilt in his eyes

“We may not give each other silver jewelry, but you gave me your heart. That’s worth more than anything in the world.” You caress his face

“I love you Jj, I mean it. I wouldn’t mind being stuck with you forever” you joke

“I didn’t mean to make you upset, I just want to make sure you’re happy with, or without me. I love you i truly do. I just have a hard time accepting it.”

“It’s okay. I just don’t need you changing up on me. Just remember that you can always talk to me” you push his hair out his face.

“What if I were to change your last name” he smirks looking down at your lips

“See, there’s the Jj I know.” You were relieved that he was happy again

“I’m sorry for making you think we weren’t okay. I just can’t help that -”

“That you were talking nonsense? That you equally obsessed with me as them, what if you guys are in love with each other and I’m the joke?” You joke with him

“Please, he would be lucky to to get with me” Jj says grabbing your hands

“Guess im the luckiest of them all huh?” You look down at his lips

“Just like a beautiful boy with Steve Carrel” Jj joked making a reference from when you made him watch the film.

“My beautiful boy.” you say leaning in for a kiss

But before Jj could connect your lips he backs up.

“Wait you never answered me. What if I were to give you the title of Mrs.Maybank ” He smiled

“Doesn’t sound too bad” you said leaning back in

“Might have to do. I like it a lot.” you smile

“Good because you didn’t have a choice either way….”

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Ahh sorry for being not posting anything in months !!

Haven’t had any motivation or ideas but here’s a cute little Jj Maybank story :)

#ᯓ★ madebyrolo #jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #jj mayback imagine #obx imagine #obx netflix #obx x reader #rudy pankow #outer banks #jealousy

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preposterousjams · 6 months ago

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My opinion on the Latino Jason Todd headcanon

While I do understand ppl's criticism of the latino Jason todd headcanon and how its kind of racist to make the kid with parents with drug problems as the latino one, to me its more of a reclamation BECAUSE of DC's racism.

Read any 80s/90s batman issue that covers gang violence and drugs, most if not ALL of the criminals are poc; black people and latinos visibly make up the majority in the poorer neighbourhoods in Gotham. Aside from the caricaturist way they r drawn/speak, its not THAT weird cause its a reflection of irl big cities where immigrants and marginalised ppl are often forced to live in such situations, (like most of my dominican family lives in the bronx... it aint racist to say dominicans tend to flock there), BUT...the weird part is when the second a sympathetic character comes from that area, he's white and has a name thats "too fancy for the streets".

Obviously, Jason was created to look like the old robin, so I can't say that the whole "diamond in the rough" situation was purposely a tad bit racist, but its still a lil weird (especially with bruce's comment).

If Jason were a part of the overwhelming demographic in his area, the good-kid-in-a-bad-area trope has less connotations. DC is currently trying to fix this trope is by making crime alley whiter, which isn't bad but they could've just yk... humanised the non-white residents.

I also feel like the messed up way Jason was treated post-death is what makes him so relatable to latino readers. His tragic story of dying while trying to save his only living relative is turned into a lesson for newer vigilantes. Jason's particular disdain for abusers on a few occasions was twisted (by both writers and characters) into him always being dumb, reckless, cocky, angry and disobedient, always violent, never having been able to get over his upbringing. None of those things were true (he was a normal level of reckless and cocky like every other robin, not more), but its an easier narrative to digest compared to how it was in reality; a kid who worked so hard and loved even harder, died to save a woman who couldn't care less about his existence. He was an emotional AND smart kid who wanted so bad to help others get better but was remembered as too emotional (in a bad way).

THIS is the reality for many latino diasporas in day to day life; Theres no question that Latino culture is passionate and emotive, but people from other cultures assume that it is followed by instead of logical. both can coexist. emotion does not mean u have no logic. Emotions can be irrational but they aren't inherently that way, and I wouldn't say that the moments where Jason lashed out as a teenager were irrational (in og runs, not rewrites post red hood), they were mostly done to protect someone (going crazy on abusers, disobeying batman to save sheila, that time he got into a fight at school to defend his friend).

A lot of euro-centric culture is OBSESSED with the idea that rationality is separate from feelings and emotions, but not crying at a funeral doesn't mean you're better than those who do. Emotions are the basis of human ethics and morals, they define the way we interact as a collective and ignoring them does not mean they are not there. Theres no winner to a contest of who can feel the less. And the way Jason's emotions are treated (pre-rh, hes definitely unhinged afterwards lol) is so in line with how white culture tends to punish those who aren't ashamed to feel.

I TOTES UNDERSTAND that some ppl who headcanon Jason as latino are doing it for the complete opposite of reasons, like "oh here some angry emotional guy with druggie parents, haha must be latino". Its weird. I dont like it. And its only brought up so he can swear in spanish in some rlly bad text post where his emotions are getting out. But to me there's so much potential for metanarrative and commentary on how latinos are treated in media that can be exemplified through the way his character is treated. Being latino would add SO MUCH DEPTH to his character and his dynamic with the others.

#this is just my rant lol #for the non-latinos who wanna write latino jason todd pls stop the spanglish... he dont even have to speak spanish at all #you can incorporate elements of his culture/upbringing (pls pick a country tho the experience is so diff everywhere)#im super biased but carribean jason>>>>#ok but like undead lore in dominican culture is crazyyyy... like the myth of zombies comes from hispanola #my grandma was genuinely terrified of waking up in her coffin bc of stories of ppl coming back to life that she wanted to be cremated #jason todd #latino jason todd #red hood #batfam

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moonlitstoriess · 11 months ago

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Across the Universe-ch.1 (Azriel x reader, eventual Fenrys x reader)

Summary: Y/n has everything she needs in life. A family, friends, a safe place she calls home and most importantly a male whom she loves. What happens when it all changes when Y/n finds out about the betrayal of her lover and her so called family? Well, ending up in Terassen and in queen Aelin's court was not what she expected but what she will need to start her new journey full of surprises.

See masterlist

A/n: hey everyone! so this is my first work on here and I just hope you will enjoy it. Please do not hesitate to comment whether you like it/want more of it or if you have some good constructive criticism to give! I will give some clarifications at the end of this chapter as to not give away any spoilers beforehand:)

Being a female Illyrian with wings was never meant to be easy. Growing up and not knowing your parents was perhaps the greatest pain a child could endure. Especially if that child grows up in a cruel place like the Illyrian camps. For the first 20 years of her life, y/n knew nothing but pain, mistreatment and hatred as she spent her youth at the cruel hands of an old Illyrian bastard. Of course, what y/n went through was never kept as a secret but it is not like anyone cared anyway. This was Illyria, the mistreatment of females was not a surprise. In fact, the vile monsters who called themselves warriors, encouraged it.

And just like any other female unlucky enough to be born in Illyria and have wings, y/n had to get her wings clipped. Even after all those years, that moment that changed everything for y/n is still so vivid in her mind...

The leaves in the forest crunched as his boots kept stepping on them while dragging her through the maze of trees.

"Please, please I beg you do not take my wings!"

He kept on ignoring her. She called him a 'He' because y/n would never willingly say his disgusting name. Not when he was the cause of all her trauma and illnesses. She kept thrashing, begging and trying to get away but it was useless.

"I beg yo-"

Her words were cut short as a slap was delivered to her face.

"Shut you mouth! you useless bitch"

She never begged. No, y/n was strong, even then, at her weakest she was strong. She never begged. Not when he would burn her hands, not when he would whip her back, not when he would beat her up because she forgot to do a chore. But now she begged. She begged for her only form of freedom, her precious wings. At that moment y/n knew what had to be done. This was the last straw.

"Stay like that on your knees and do NOT move, or else you won't like the consequences."

As he turned around to search for his tools, y/n sat there on the ground in the middle of this dark forest just outside the outskirts of the village and knew she could not go down like those before her. For 20 years she submitted to his every will but not now, not again. Weak coward is what she has been and now it was time to change that.

When he turned around, y/n was holding her only form of protection, her pocket knife that she would always hide under her clothes. When he was close enough, y/n gave a final prayer to the mother and attacked him with a sloppy move that would result in either her freedom or death.

"It is time to truly make you bound to me you bi-"

He did not get to finish his words as the knife he did not see in the dark, found its mark in his throat. Crimson red blood was everywhere as that monster choked on his own blood like a damn fool and finally, slumped to the ground.

The rest? Well, the rest became history as y/n left that night with his blood still soaking her own clothes and body and his fresh corpse laying on the ground. She would never let anyone ever dictate her life again. Never would she be weak again. And so, for the next 80 years of her life, y/n went from one place to another and taught herself how to fight and be like a warrior. Her name began spreading around like wildfire, as people started talking of the Illyrian female who not only managed to keep her wings but also killed her abuser.

She helped hundreds, by recruiting victims of different horrible events and teaching them how to fight and protect themselves. Y/n became a legend especially in the eyes of female Illyrians who tried to follow her lead. This was also the reason why y/n one day opened her door to see the High Lord of the Night Court waiting for her. The smile on Rhysands face was blinding as he praised y/n while also telling her about how it was a dream of his to get rid of the old Illyrian traditions and rules set against the females. It was on that eventful day that the High Lord also offered y/n to join his court and make a very impactful visit to Illyria after all these years to help him make those changes.

At the time, it was a huge step for y/n as she delegated her role as a trainer to her first-best student who was more than honored to continue y/n's job in the training academy. When she came to Velaris she was in awe of its beauty and comfort. The inner circle welcomed her with open arms and although y/n was a little distant at first, she soon got along well with everyone and especially Cassian as they trained daily together. It was also the time when the first seeds of her crush on Azriel were planted.

Therefore, by the age of 100, y/n was an official member of the night court, a legendary figure who started to make her changes during her visits to the Illyrian camps. This time, she went in not as a weakling, but as a feared and well-respected fighter, female and most of all, Illyrian. But even with all of the fierce titles that she got, y/n still felt like turning into a small, shy and meek girl whenever Azriel was around. Rhysand sending them together on constant missions did nothing to ease her increasing infatuations with the famed shadowsinger either.

Unfortunately, they got closer during the darkest of times when Rhysand sacrificed himself to protect his court and city from Amarantha. It was then that, Azriel and y/n shared their deepest, most raw and intimate moments with one another while also doing their best to protect the city in which they were locked in thanks to Rhysands wards. Those moments were what led y/n to confess her true feelings to the spymaster during the 4th year of what would be Amarantha's 50 year reign of terror. After that day, they truly became lovers in all aspects that mattered. Even though that unmistakable bond of a mate did not appear, y/n knew it was only a matter of time before they both felt it. There was no other way.

Today, sitting here on her lovers chair in his office, y/n felt proud of herself and her loved ones for overcoming so much. Rhysand and Feyre under the mountain, the war against Hybern, Nesta and Elain becoming high fae, and the attack on Velaris all left many scars both visible and invisible on everyone. Knowing that everyone has finally found some form of happiness and that her lover is safe with her should have made y/n happy, excited even. But as of late, she could not bring herself to feel anything because Azriel was not the male she once knew.

For a very long time now, the shadowsinger has been distancing himself from y/n in favor of spending more time with a specific redheaded priestess, Gwyneth. What was once called the hour of reading by y/n and Az in the comfort of their home, turned into reading with Az and Gwyn in the library. Even during training, Gwyn would respectfully decline y/n or anyone elses offers to train her and would instead ask Azriel to teach her. He would always happily oblige, leaving y/n alone as Cassian trained with Nesta. At first, y/n tried to understand and reason by thinking that since Azriel was the one to save the priestess from facing a terrible fate in the library of Sangravah, it was only fair that she felt safe around him. However, the other priestesses were also saved by Azriel, Cassian and Rhysand and yet, y/n never saw them be as clingy as Gwyn was towards Azriel.

The final nail in the coffin came when Azriel started coming home late and locking himself up in his office and leaving early in the morning. This meant that y/n never saw her lover, let alone kissed or made love to him. That is how it led to her finally coming to his office to wait for him and get some answers to her questions.

"Y/n? W-what are you doing here?"

That slightly nervous voice drew her back into reality as y/n looked back from the window showing the beautiful city, to see Azriel standing in the doorway with dishelved hair and a sort of scared look in his eyes, no matter how much he tried to not show it, y/n knew him like the back of her hand. Being together for 52 years does that to you. This was not a good sign then, for Azriel never showed such a shameful expression and his shadows were nowhere in sight.

As y/n got up from the chair and started walking towards him, her mind and soul clinged onto that last thread of hope that the male whom she loved was not unfaithful to her, that he would explain everything and she would see that she was making silly little assumptions out of nothing.

Unfortunately, all that hope came crashing down as y/n got close enough to him and smelled that scent of another female, that scent that belonged to...Gwyn. And if the small dark marks that were peeking above the spymasters shirt were any indicator, they did more than just read together.

Y/n felt like she was drowning, like a huge mountain just crashed down on her and she was left under all that rubble to suffocate and die. She was frozen in her spot, unfeeling and unmoving as she felt her body shut down completely. Clearly, this only meant that she would shatter soon enough but not here, not in front of him. Never would she ever be weak infront of any male. And so, with a voice that conveyed no emotion, she asked, "How long?"

"Y/n ple-"

"How long, Azriel."

Azriel sighed as he looked anywhere but at her when he said, "Since the first time Nesta brought her to train with us."

"But that was 2 years ago."

After seeing him nod very slightly, she reigned in her tears that were burning the backs of her eyes, and asked one simple question,

"Why?"

Now it was the shadowsingers turn to look as emotionless as he could while saying, "Because she is my mate y/n."

Mate, mate, mate ofcourse he would have a mate, no matter how many years they were together, neither of them ever felt that bond snap. Foolish, so foolish to think, to hope that they were destined to be, that their bond would snap any moment. But how cruel can one be to hide the truth for 2 years, To go behind her back, even if Gwyn is his mate, and be unfaithful? To not admit the truth as if y/n wouldn't understand. And Gwyn? how could she never once mention it to y/n during all those moments spent together? How, how how..

As if that pain was not enough, Azriel confessed, "I am sorry y/n but truly, did you think we were fated to be? I always knew what we had was temporary, that we were never going to have a happy end as the cauldron would give us both our own mates. My love for you has always only been platonic...have you not noticed that I never once said 'I love you'? I saw you as a friend, a companion in whom I could loose myself for a while as I waited for my mate to come. Truly, you were good, so good to me, kind and caring and yet, so foolish. You imagined and expected too much of us y/n...for you I was a male whom you desperately loved but for me, you were simply someone who I could spend my time with until my mate arrived. I love Gwyn, I have taken her to the house of wind multiple times and made love to her there, I have spent my time understanding and creating as many memories as possible with her. From the moment I saw her 2 years ago when Nesta brought her, I felt this pull towards her and now...now I could never get enough. I do not say this to hurt you, but to make you see the truths that we were never what you wanted us to be."

Y/n took a deep inhale, the only indicator of her emotions at the moment while still processing his words and asked her final question while still staring at the wall behind him, "Who knew?"

Azriel was confused for a minute because after all that he had just confessed, she only asked that? Not to mention how much it was killing him to not understand her current emotions and expressions as y/n stayed completely unflinching, staring at the wall and expecting an answer from him. So, with a shameful sigh, the spymaster replied, "Everyone knew."

At that moment, y/n knew 2 things with clarity. First, never should you trust someone, no matter how close you are with them. Never should you give your heart to someone because in the end, they shall shatter it anyway. In this life, you are always on your own. Y/n has always been alone even after joining Rhys, y/n walked her own lonely road. Second, her "family" were traitorous liars. For the past 2 years as y/n descended back into her depressive moments, as she got flashbacks of those horrible times from her youth spent in the Illyrian village, as her panic attacks and insecurities started to resurface, the inner circle did nothing to pull her out of it. But what else would you expect from them? of course they would protect Azriel and his actions, no matter how disgusti-

"Y/n? please talk to me, I am going mad here with your lack of words and emotions. Please sweetheart." as Azriel's hand made contact with y/n's wrist, it was as if an electric shock brought her back to life.

Y/n slapped him right across the face as she said her next words in a tone so cruel and unfeeling, her enemies did not even hear that tone before meeting their death's at her hands, "If you touch me again, my knife shall find it's mark between your eyes, so unless you do not want to leave your precious mate a widow so soon, I suggest you get the fuck out of my sight, shadowsinger."

"Y/n ple-"

"Oh and, since you are such a loyal dog to him, do tell your rotten high lord that I am leaving his rotten court. I shall be gone by sunrise."

As she turned to leave his office throught he backdoor, Azriel did something that Y/n had never known him capable of doing. He fell on his knees as tears threatened to spill from his eyes and begged in a voice so shaky, y/n could only think whether he was even real.

"Y/n I beg you, let us talk properly, Gwyn kept telling me how I must let you know. That she hates being a secret but I was such a coward I-I..plea-"

"I do not care what Gwyn has to say. Save your tears and pleas for someone who cares Azriel, you are right, you are a coward and perhaps you always were one for playing with my feelings in such a cruel way. Do not come after me or I swear I won't hesitate to end you with my bare hands."

With that, y/n turned her back on the male for whom she would once move the mountains for, for whom she would sacrifice herself for. The male whom she loved so much and yet, this whole time he toyed with her, he saw her as a placeholder. What a blind fool have you been y/n.

The second y/n made sure that Azriel left the house, she broke down in tears. For the first time in a very long time, y/n cried unstoppable tears. But that moment came to an abrupt end as she heard a voice. Whether it was within her mind or from somewhere else she did not know and did not care because even though the voice sounded so far away, she got this immediate urge within her soul to go find it.

Deep down, y/n knew she should let it be, that she is possibly imagining things and that she should start packing now but that urge within her tightened as if wanting her to go find the source of the voice. So, with a final wipe of her tears, y/n stood and leapt through her window, spreading her wings and following that string to reach the distant voice.

As y/n began nearing the source of the sound, she realized that it is coming from the house of wind. She should have turned around and left at that second because seeing this house now only brought back Azriels words about how he spent his time here with Gwyn. Atleast that is what the y/n who was not possesed by an urge would do. But alas, this thread only grew stronger within her, leaving her no other choice.

As she began walking down the halls of the house, y/n looked back on all her memories with the inner circle here. Once, those memories would have made her smile fondly but now, they only make her feel anger and disgust. They knew this whole time...such liars, such tra-

No...this could not be it. The urge within her must have been playing a foolish trick because no way was the voice coming from this room. But that urge within her had died down as if finally only the double doors in front of y/n were stopping her from getting to the voice. But this room wasn't just any room. It was the warded room containing all 3 objects of the Trove AND the Book of Breathings.

From here, she could clearly hear the ugly, hissing voice of the book saying, "Welcome, The Terror."

"Why are you hesitating? Open the door child, open it."

As if on cue, the wards around the room disappeared and the doors opened for her. Y/n could only be confused for a second before an unknown power forced her to walk into the area. And there it was, that book sitting on the circular table in the middle of the room, beckoning for her to come closer.

"The Iron Phoenix, you finally came to learn your destiny."

Y/n scoffed as she looked at the silly book from a distance and said, "Did you truly waste my time by making me come to you so that you could spit your nonsense at me? I have enough to deal with already, I do not need another headache from you."

As she turned around to leave, the book hissed loudly, "Do not mock me you fool, I know your deepest secret Winged Fury, a secret so precious not even your once beloved lover knows."

At that, y/n turned around with a shocked expression all over her face and asked, "How? How do you know of it?"

"You can not know more than me, Valkyrie, I am the one who knows it all."

It seems today was the day when y/n had to find out just how little she knows about everything. She had enough, and this stupid book will be the unfortunate one to be the outlet of her emotions. Furious, she took quick strides to reach it as she began, "How dare you?! you call me here to spit nothing of value at me while I just went through the wo-"

A sudden wave of power hit her as y/n felt like she was stuck in one place right in front of the book. Her walls, her mental walls they...they were being melted down as she felt her mind fall into some hypnotic spells.

With a voice so beautiful and eerily soothing, the book says, "Open me, open me Braveheart and see your true destiny."

Somewhere, the last sane part of her was telling y/n that this was wrong, that whatever will happen once she opens the book won't be good. Unfortunately, y/n seemed unable to follow that voice as her fingers made contact with the cover of the ancient book and flipped it open.

The book started flipping its own pages until it landed on the one with language so old, y/n knew that it was not remembered within the past history. Her mouth began moving against her will as she began saying the words on the book in such an experienced manner, it felt as if the ancient object had posessed her.

At some point, y/n could hear distant voices...was that Rhys? Az? Cas? or no, no maybe that is Nesta or another female who is screaming? Y/n could not move, could not think, as if her sole purpose was to finish the spell. She could distantly feel her body loosing its physicality. Was she disappearing? Was she becoming a ghost?

As she was saying the final words of the book, y/n turned around to find everyone from the inner circle in the room trying to get closer to her. Despair was all over their faces but it was Azriels tear striken face that y/n saw for the last time before darkness welcomed her.

"You are home now, Stormbreaker, you are home."

"Now, you shall unfold your true destiny."

With a jolt, y/n shot her eyes open and got up from...was this a grassy hill? as she turned to look behind her, there was a small lake with a white...is that a deer? What is this place? Where was she?

But y/n did not get to explore anything else as she felt the cool edge of a knife press into her throat from behind as a male voice said to her, "You move, you die."

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A/n: Damn this was fun to write! What secret does y/n have? I did leave a very tiny clue on that for anyone who might find it;) Anyway, I know most of you were maybe expecting Az to cheat with Elain but i am a Gwynriel shipper through and through and just could not think of Elain being such a homwrecker. Of course I am pretty sure Gwyn isn't one either butttt just for the sake of plot ya know. This won't be the last time we see the acotar characters as they will appear hopefully in the later chapters. But for now, sit back and watch y/n's new journey in this new world.

#books #fantasy #fanfics #sarah j. maas #throne of glass #acotar #azriel #fenrys moonbeam #Azriel x reader #bookish #a court of thorns and roses #fiction #fenrys x reader #togxacotar

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