#i got a good grade in customer | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

anghimalaaynasapuso · 23 days ago

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PROSTHETIC ARM SIMON

sfw + nsfw. overstimulation & premature ejaculation (simon). his metal arm has a vibrator function. unprotected sex.

mr. riley is a new regular.

hulking, broad-shouldered, always hunched like he's trying to fold himself into something smaller. dirty blonde hair, hoodies that swallow his frame, gloves that never come off— not in winter, not when the air conditioning is broken, not when it’s so hot outside that the pavement wavers under the sun. you see him come in once during a heatwave, sweat beading at his temples, looking like he just came from hell itself. but the gloves stay.

always.

he’s quiet. doesn’t talk much unless he has to. keeps his answers clipped, never makes small talk, never lingers longe,ur than it takes to grab his order and leave. you might’ve found him intimidating if it weren’t for the fact that his dog, riley, was the exact opposite.

big, fluffy, and absurdly well-behaved. the kind that made strangers stop and coo when they passed by, all soft ears and wagging tail. an instant favorite among customers. an absolute menace to simon.

because the dog likes attention. loves it, actually. practically demands it. and, more specifically— he likes you.

so the moment simon steps up to the counter, riley is already perking up at your voice. tail wagging, eyes locked on you, waiting expectantly like he thinks you’re about to drop an entire steak into his mouth.

"oh! mr. riley! the usual today?"

simon grunts. closest thing to a yes you ever get.

"and a pup cup for little riley, i take it?"

the man sighs. “he’s gonna get fat.”

but he still swipes his card. no hesitation.

riley whines at the accusation, staring at him with something close to betrayal.

you slide simon’s order across the counter after a moment, the movements routine by now.

he reaches out. his right hand hovers over the cup. fingers stretching, hovering, like he’s trying to will it into his grasp.

nothing happens. his fingers twitch, but they won’t close.

you see it— the way his jaw tightens, the sharp curl of his lip like he’s biting down a curse. the tension in his shoulders. the exhale through his nose.

“mr. riley?” you ask carefully.

his scowl deepens. he tries again— too hard, too fast— his grip locks up, crushing the cup before he can stop himself. the lid pops off. coffee splatters over his hand, dripping onto the counter.

you yelp, stepping back on instinct. he doesn’t.

he just stares down at his hand. impassive. like he hasn't been baptized by scalding liquid.

“shit- hang on-” you scramble around the counter, heat rising up your throat, words spilling out in a rush. “jesus, are you- your hand-”

“s’fine,” he grunts.

his flesh hand flexes at his side, but the other— the one that had crushed the cup— stays frozen, unmoving.

you don’t believe him for a second. ignoring his protests, you reach for his wrist, peeling off the soaked glove before he can stop you.

you freeze.

metal. not sleek, new, high-tech metal. not the kind you see in sci-fi movies, gleaming and futuristic.

no. this is old. dull, scratched, worn— something that’s clearly been through hell and barely made it out. the joints look stiff, the plates dented in places, the wiring almost exposed near the wrist.

your mouth opens. closes. opens again. “… huh.”

his brow lifts slightly. “that all you got?”

you blink, tilting your head. “kinda thought there’d be… more wires. sparks. terminator shit.”

a beat. then, maybe, the smallest twitch at the corner of his lips.

“disappointed?”

“a little.”

you keep staring, the sight settling in your brain, cataloging every detail. not military-grade. not some brand-new prosthetic straight from a lab. something about it makes your chest tighten.

“has it… uh, been this iffy for a while?” you ask, glancing up.

simon shrugs with his good shoulder, the movement almost dismissive. “yeah. thing’s temperamental.”

“like you,” you mutter before you can stop yourself.

his brow arches slightly, but he doesn’t deny it.

you glance around the café, nerves twisting in your stomach. no customers. the clock ticks lazily, the smell of coffee and vanilla in the air. you bite your lip, thinking.

“so, uh- i’m an engineering student,” you start, fingers fidgeting with the hem of your apron. “and… i mean, if you wanted- i could take a look? maybe tweak it a bit?”

his gaze snaps to you. it makes your stomach flip, and you wonder if you’ve just crossed a line you hadn’t realized was there.

“… you want to mess with my arm?”

“not mess! i mean- help. like… it’s kind of what i do. circuits, mechanics- prosthetics aren’t that different. probably.” you wince. “unless you’re, like, secretly part robot with classified tech and i’m about to get black-bagged or something-”

“you talk a lot,” he deadpans.

“nerves,” you shoot back, cheeks warming. “so… yes? no? totally fine if it’s weird.”

he exhales through his nose, staring at you like he’s trying to figure you out. the silence stretches. then—

“… got tools?”

your face lights up. “back in my car!”

“figured.” he sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “fine. but if you break it worse-”

“i won’t,” you grin, already grabbing your keys. “trust me.”

“don’t say that,” he calls after you. “famous last words.”

…

simon would rather take a bullet than admit it, but you turn out to be a problem in his life.

because after that first fix— crammed into your car that rattled like it was held together with duct tape and prayer— he walks away with a hand that actually works for the first time in months.

no stiffness. no lag. no bullshit. he clenches his fist and releases, watching the fingers curl and straighten without a hint of resistance.

it feels foreign. unnatural. smooth in a way that it should be but hasn’t been for a long, long time.

so when he asks how much he owes, expecting a number, you just tilt your head and grin.

"tell me your full name. i don’t wanna keep calling you mr. riley."

simon stares at you like he’s weighing whether he can get away with walking out without answering. then, like it pains him— "simon."

you laugh. “you look like a simon.”

…

he doesn’t try to make it a habit, coming to you.

really. he doesn’t.

but prosthetic specialists are expensive, and he’s not exactly drowning in engineering contacts. the local mechanics won’t touch prosthetics (liability reasons, mate, can’t help ya), and he sure as hell isn’t stepping into a clinic unless he wants some lab rat poking and prodding at him like he’s a cutting-edge science project.

so when his arm starts acting up again, he does what he always does.

he ignores it. it’ll be fine. he can live with it.

it starts with a bit of stiffness. a missed grip here and there. nothing major.

then his fingers start locking up at random, the servos stalling, the whole limb feeling like it’s dragging behind the rest of him.

not ideal. not something he can use. three weeks in, and it’s a fucking liability.

he caves.

simon times it carefully. dead hour. mid-afternoon. when the café is empty and you’ll have a second to spare.

he walks in, orders a pup cup for riley, and waits. he doesn’t wait long.

the moment your eyes flicker to his gloved hand— how his fingers can't even curl anymore— your expression drops.

your shoulders tighten, brows knit together, mouth parting slightly like you’re about to scold him before you even know what’s wrong.

"simon," you say, voice sharp like he just admitted to a felony.

before he can so much as blink, you’re untying your apron.

"break," you toss over your shoulder.

your coworker barely looks up. just shrugs.

simon exhales through his nose. he should’ve just ripped the damn thing off himself.

your car is just as a mess as it was last time. empty water bottles on the floor. a crumpled hoodie in the backseat. textbooks piled in the passenger footwell, some open, some stuffed with loose papers. it smells faintly like vanilla air freshener and stress.

riley jumps in first, hopping into the backseat like he owns the place, and promptly curls up across the mess of loose papers and crumpled receipts.

simon says nothing. just lets himself into the passenger seat, shifts slightly to get comfortable in the too-small space, and watches as you slam the driver’s side door with a little more force than necessary.

you’re fuming.

he can feel it radiating off you like an overheating engine as you shove his sleeve up and strip the glove away.

he glances down. yeah. even he has to admit— it looks rough. the plates are slightly misaligned. the servos are dragging. the tension in the fingers is off, the whole mechanism resisting movement like it’s gummed up with sand and bad decisions.

"oh my god, how long has this been going on?"

his eyes flicking to the side. "three weeks."

you go still. "THREE WEEKS?!"

riley lifts his head from where he’s sprawled out in the backseat and whines at the sharpness of your voice. simon rubs at his temple with his good hand, sighing.

"three- jesus, simon, if your arm has a problem, you come to me right away!"

"didn’t wanna bother you."

you make a strangled sound, something between disbelief and frustration, already yanking open your toolkit with more force than necessary. "bother- oh my god, you idiot," you snap, flipping through your tools at lightning speed. "this is- unusable. how were you even functioning like this?"

"managed."

"you shouldn’t have to ‘manage.’ that’s the point of a prosthetic!"

simon huffs, shifting his arm slightly as you mutter curses under your breath and start unscrewing the external plating.

riley rests his chin on the back of simon’s seat, watching the whole thing unfold with his big brown eyes, tail thumping softly against the pile of forgotten assignments.

"can feel your judgment," simon mutters, breaking the silence.

"good. let it sink in."

riley lets out a low whine, nudging the back of simon’s neck with his nose.

simon sighs. "yeah, yeah. i know."

the dog lets out a single huff, like he agrees with you.

you pause long enough to glance at riley, expression unimpressed. "at least he gets it."

"gettin’ ganged up on," simon mutters.

riley whines. you don’t even look up.

"good.

his mouth twitches. he tells himself it’s a muscle spasm.

you don’t look at him when you actually get to work. simon notices.

he’s sitting there, arm bared, cables exposed, and you’re bent over the mess of wiring like he’s not even in the room. like he’s just another machine in need of fixing. your hands move with quick precision, fingers deft as you pluck out worn components and replace them with fresh ones. you mutter to yourself, little noises of satisfaction or frustration depending on what you find.

it’s unsettling. not you— no, you’re fine. better than fine. competent. but it’s been a long time since someone’s handled his arm without hesitation, without the kind of quiet reverence people get when they realize how much damage a man has to take before he needs one of these.

to you, it’s just broken. something that needs tuning.

he flexes his fingers the second you flip the switch.

his hand moves fast. smooth. no delay between thought and motion. he rolls his wrist. it hasn’t felt this natural in weeks.

"good?" you ask, still gathering your tools.

he moves his fingers again. watches them articulate, watches the precise shift of metal joints. "yeah," he mutters.

you nod, already packing up, already moving on.

he watches you.

then you say it, casual, like an afterthought. “don’t worry about it.”

simon doesn’t blink. he knew you were going to say that because apparently you're the next coming of the good fucking samaritan. it still pisses him off.

he glances at you. at the torn-up upholstery of your car, the loose wires under the dash, the check engine light that’s been on this entire time, the faint but definite smell of something burning.

he drums his fingers against his knee. “i’ll fix your car.”

you argue about it, of course. insist it’s fine, like you don’t hear the death rattle when you start the engine. simon doesn’t argue back. doesn’t need to. just asks— when’s the last time you had it looked at?— and watches you press your lips together.

thought so.

“two days, at least,” he tells you.

your horror is almost funny. “two days?”

“maybe three.”

you stare at him like he just told you your dog died.

he pats the dashboard. “i’ll do what i can to keep it alive.”

it takes one day. he calls while you’re still half-asleep. “your car’s a lost cause.”

you meet up later so he can walk you through the damage in person.

you listen. don’t talk much, don’t get defensive. just nod as he points things out, as he explains the alternator’s failing, the battery’s shot, the brake pads are gone— and yeah, he’s still pissed about that one. your transmission is a liability. the engine’s practically running on fumes.

you sigh, dragging a hand over your face.

“i need my car,” you grumble. “i have plates to pass. blueprints that cannot get wet, or my professor will deduct major points. and-”

“i’ll drive you.”

you stop. blink. “what?”

“i’ll drive you,” he repeats, like it’s obvious.

you look at him, wary. “don’t you have work?”

“on break.”

“friends?”

he shakes his head. “not really.”

“family?”

he actually laughs. there's no real humor in it.

something shifts in your face. simon sees it before you do, the flicker of discomfort, the way you adjust your stance like there’s something you want to say but don’t know how.

simon doesn’t let you say it.

“tell me your schedule.” he shuts the hood like the matter’s settled. “text me when you need a ride. i’ll be there.”

you cross your arms. “so i get a chauffeur for fixing one prosthetic?”

he flexes his fingers. “you underestimate how much these cost.”

you roll your eyes. “you act like i replaced the whole thing.”

“you might as well have,” he mutters. “damn thing actually works now.”

you sigh, shifting on your feet. “you really don’t have plans?”

“if you count drinking beer alone, then yeah, i have plenty.

so he starts picking you up.

at first, it’s straightforward. you text him when you need a ride, and he shows up, no questions asked. no complaints, either— just grunts a greeting, waits for you to get in, and drives. sometimes he has the radio on. other times, it’s just quiet, the steady hum of the engine and the occasional flick of a turn signal.

simon doesn’t mind detours. when you run late and beg him to swing by a drive-thru, he just sighs and pulls into the next available one. doesn’t even say anything when you apologize through a mouthful of food, just takes a sip of his own coffee and keeps driving.

but, one morning, when you rush out of your apartment, tripping over your own feet, already bracing for the inevitable “can we stop by-”

simon just reaches into the passenger seat, grabs a bag, and tosses it into your lap.

you blink down at it. warm, heavy. smells good.

“…what’s this?”

he puts the truck into drive. “breakfast.”

“thanks,” you mumble, glancing at riley whose got his head wedged between the two of you, tongue lolling out, eyes bright as he watches you unwrap your sandwich.

“does he want some?”

simon doesn’t even look. “he always wants some.”

you tear off a piece anyway, holding it out. riley inhales it like it personally offended him

simon snorts. “you’re gonna spoil him.”

“he’s cute. he deserves it.”

“he’s a liability.”

“you’re just jealous ‘cause i don’t feed you by hand.”

you look up, realizing what you just said.

simon’s looking back at you. slow blink. unreadable.

heat licks at your neck. “i- i didn’t mean-”

riley whines, nosing at your hand for more food, and you’ve never been more grateful for a dog’s terrible sense of timing.

he hums, turning back to the road. “thought so.”

…

this keeps going for months. a pattern. a rhythm. the two of you slot into each other’s lives like you’ve always been there.

you stop thanking him when he brings you food. he stops questioning it when you drag him to your workshop to tinker with his arm.

and then, one day. he picks you up, just like always.

but this time—

you slide into the passenger seat and don’t say anything.

no greeting. no complaints. no requests for coffee. just sit back, staring straight ahead, like you’re still processing something.

simon frowns. “…what?”

“…my project is on prosthetic arms.”

his head snaps toward you. he doesn’t say anything. doesn’t ask if it’s because of him. because that— that feels too dangerous.

your hands grip your sleeves. “can i design you a new prosthetic arm?”

he doesn’t answer right away. doesn’t move. his fingers flex against the wheel.

you don’t look at him, and he doesn’t look at you, and it’s the first time in a long time he really feels like he’s made of metal and wire and things that aren’t his own.

you exhale. glance at him out of the corner of your eye.

he looks down. his palm, cold and impersonal. not really his, not entirely.

and— “…yeah,” he mutters, tapping his fingers against his thigh.

a beat.

“…all right.”

…

simon steps inside your apartment, and the first thing he notices is that it smells like you. not perfume, not some scent in a bottle— just you. a mix of coffee, paper, and something warm and lived-in. his boots make the floor creak slightly as he shifts, taking it all in.

riley, in comparison,immediately takes off, nose to the ground, sniffing every single thing he can get to. he pushes his head into the couch cushions, sticks his snout into your laundry pile, and stands on his hind legs to peek at the half-eaten bag of chips on the coffee table.

simon watches you rush to pull snacks away before riley gets his paws on them, muttering something about “you’d think i don’t feed you.” riley wags his tail in betrayal.

the space is cluttered but cozy. the kind of messy that isn’t disorganized, just... busy. like your life is so packed with things to do that it spills over into your home. there are loose papers on the coffee table, your drafting table is buried under textbooks and sketches, and there’s a laundry basket in the corner that’s almost full but not quite.

and the lamps. so many damn lamps. simon counts sixteen before he even makes it past the entrance.

you explain your thesis, and simon listens. really listens. you talk with your hands, explaining concepts in bursts of energy, excitement bright in your eyes. you tell him about rare alloys, cutting-edge designs, how the neural link would function with smoother input signals.

his stomach twists a little when you say it—

“i want to make you a new arm with all of that.”

simon doesn’t answer immediately. just exhales through his nose. he know he should say no. tell you it’s unnecessary. that his arm is fine. that he’s fine.

but then you pull out the blueprints, show him the design, and it’s... it’s good.

it’s really fucking good.

and he knows how much this tech costs. he remembers sitting in a sterile office, watching a man in a lab coat list out the prices of different prosthetic models. he remembers running his fingers over a brochure, seeing the way the most advanced models— the ones that felt like real limbs— were laughably out of reach.

“it’s expensive,” he says, voice flat. It’s not a question.

you hesitate. shift your weight. “…the university gave me a budget.”

he watches you. waits. “…and is it enough to cover the costs?”

you don’t answer.

he sighs and pulls out his phone.

you blink. “what are you doing?”

“making a call.”

simon doesn’t ask for favors. he doesn’t like owing people. doesn’t like being in someone’s debt. But this— this isn’t only for him.

it’s for you too.

he doesn’t hesitate when he dials price’s number. the line barely rings twice before it picks up. “this better be good, ghost.”

it's the price standard. no greeting, no pleasantries.

“it is,” he says. “need a favor.”

a pause. not because price is surprised— simon doesn’t ask for favors often, but when he does, it’s never something small. It’s never something for him.

“go on.”

simon glances at you. you’re watching him, curiosity and just a little bit of suspicion. the old leather of his gloves creaking as he crosses his arms. “need a sponsor.”

another pause. then, dry as hell— “what, you starting a football team?”

he rolls his eyes. “no.”

“boxing, then?”

“price.”

the humor fades. a quiet sigh. “who’s it for?”

he hesitates. just for a second. not because he doesn’t know what to say— because he doesn’t know why he’s saying it. “she’s building a prosthetic,” he says finally. “one I need.”

one i want, he doesn't say.

“your arm acting up?”

“yeah.”

“so get it fixed.”

“this is better.”

price doesn’t say anything for a while and simon knows the old man is thinking, turning things over, considering.

then: “she good?”

siimon glances at you again. you’re shifting through your notes now. he exhales. “yeah.”

he hums, considering. “you trust her?”

that’s what it comes down to. trust.

simon has trusted exactly three people in his life:

1. his mother. until she was gone.

2. price. who never asked for it, never demanded it, but earned it anyway.

3. johnny. who trusts him back without question.

and now, there’s you. he wouldn’t be making this call if he didn’t. “…yeah,” he says.

and that’s all price needs to hear.

you protest the second simon shoves the phone into your hands. try to give it back, eyes wide like he just handed you a live grenade.

but he just crosses his arms, leans against the drafting table, and nods at the phone. “explain.”

you hesitate for way too long before reluctantly pressing it to your ear. “alright, kid. sell me on it.”

you freeze.

“oh my god, i hate you,” you whisper at simon before launching into a shaky but passionate explanation of your thesis to whoever the hell is on the other end of this call.

price listens. makes the occasional noise of interest. asks a few questions. and then— “alright. send me the details. i’ll see what i can do.”

you blink. “wait- so-?”

“i’ll sponsor the damn thing. might even endorse it a little.”

you stare at the phone like it's just grown legs.

“just make sure it works, yeah?”

you nod like he can see you, mumbling out a “thank you so much, sir,” before fumbling to hand the phone back to simon.

simon takes it, tucks it back into his pocket, and proceeds to act like this wasn’t a big deal at all.

you gape at him. “who even was that guy?”

“someone you don’t want to owe a favor.”

your eyes narrow. “and you do?”

simon shrugs. “already owed him one.”

and that’s true. priice has done more for simon than he can count. gave him a job when he didn’t deserve one, gave him a reason to live when he thought he’d run out.

if sponsoring you means putting another tally on that tab, then so be it.

…

you learn more about simon throughout the months.

he doesn’t like cucumbers. you find that out when he picks them out of his sandwich with the kind of silent disgust that makes it clear this is a habit, a ritual, a deeply ingrained practice that will not change no matter how many times you tell him he’s being dramatic.

he doesn’t sleep much. that’s another thing. you catch it in the way he moves, the way his eyes flick around a room too quickly, too sharp for someone who’s gotten a full night’s rest. sometimes, when he’s sitting at your table and riley is curled up by his feet, he just stares off like he’s somewhere else, mind miles away. you don’t ask where.

he doesn’t like sitting with his back to the door. ever. it doesn’t matter where you are— your apartment, a coffee shop, some hole-in-the-wall diner— he always angles himself so he can see the entrance. you test it once, sitting at a booth before he gets there, taking the seat facing the door. when he arrives, he stares at you for all of two seconds before just sighing and sliding in next to you instead of across. you don’t do it again.

he fixes things when he’s anxious. your loose cabinet hinge, the flickering kitchen light, the leaky faucet. he doesn’t say anything. just gets up, pulls out a tool, and starts working like it’s the most natural thing in the world. you find out that the calluses on his fingers aren’t just from weapons—he knows how to take things apart and put them back together, knows how to get grease under his nails, how to run his hands over a surface and understand exactly how it works.

he doesn’t like closed doors. doesn’t like feeling boxed in. when he’s at your place, he always leaves the door cracked, just a little. at first, you think it’s just a habit, but one night you’re in the kitchen and you see the way his shoulders ease when he glances up and sees the open space. you don’t say anything. you just stop closing the door all the way when he’s around.

one day, you’re working on fitting the prosthetic to his stump. it’s finally starting to look like an arm.

simon sits across from you, his forearm resting on the table as you carefully adjust the fit. he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t shift, doesn’t do anything except watch as you secure the straps and check the connection points.

“any discomfort?” you ask, frowning as you examine the joints.

he flexes his fingers, rolling his wrist. “no.”

you glance up. “are you sure?”

he snorts, a short breath of amusement. “you want me to make somethin’ up?”

“no, i want you to tell me if it hurts.”

his lips twitch, but he doesn’t argue. just shifts slightly, testing the range of motion. “feels good,” he says finally.

you nod, make a note. “good.”

rain starts somewhere in the background. a soft patter at first, then heavier, filling the quiet of your apartment. you barely notice at first, too focused on your work, but then you glance up and realize how late it’s gotten.

simon leans back slightly, rolling his shoulders. the room is dim now, the warm glow of your lamps casting long shadows across the walls. riley is curled up on the couch, one ear flicking at the sound of the rain.

you hesitate.

simon notices. lifts a brow.

“what?”

you swallow, shifting in your seat. “would you like to stay over?”

there’s a beat of silence.

simon blinks, slow. looks at you, then out the window, where the rain is coming down in thick, steady sheets.

“…you sure?”

you nod, maybe a little too fast. “yeah. it’s late. roads are bad.” you clear your throat. “and- i mean. it’s not like you sleep much anyway, right?”

he huffs out something that could be a laugh. drags a hand down his face. when he looks back at you, his expression is unreadable, something wry and considering.

“alright,” he says finally. “but i’m takin’ the couch.”

you roll your eyes. “obviously.”

he smirks. you get up to grab blankets. riley stretches on the couch, taking up as much space as possible, and simon mutters something about “bloody dog” but doesn’t move him.

the rain keeps falling. the room is warm.

simon stays.

…

months of refining, testing, and sleepless nights have led to this— the almost-final version of the prototype. the culmination of your work, a piece of engineering so advanced it almost breathes beneath your fingertips. simon sits before you, broad shoulders hunched slightly forward, his flesh-and-blood hand resting on his knee while the new prosthetic gleams under the workshop lights.

it’s a work of art, even if he’d never call it that. matte black plating, smooth but lined with faint ridges where the internal components shift and adjust to mimic the movement of muscle. beneath the casing, synthetic tendons coil and flex like real ones, powered by the delicate balance of neural signals and finely tuned actuators. when he moves his fingers, the transition is seamless, each digit reacting in perfect sync with his intent, no longer the slight delay of older models.

he watches as you adjust the final connection points, the alignment of the servos. the heat of his gaze is palpable, but he stays silent, letting you work.

then— a flicker in the system.

it's subtle at first, a low hum beneath the surface of the plating. then it builds. a vibration rolls through the arm, an erratic tremor that makes the fingers twitch. simon lifts it slightly, inspecting it with mild curiosity, flexing his hand.

“huh,” he muses, tone is as dry as ever. “well. could be a vibrator.”

your brain short-circuits. “what-” your fingers slip, almost dropping the tool in your hand. heat floods your face. “that’s- no. absolutely not.”

he tilts his head, studying you like he’s just found something interesting. “was this meant-”

“no!” you blurt, too quick, too loud.

simon is skeptical. “be honest.”

your throat tightens. you look at the circuitry, the faint whir of the servos, anywhere but his face. “…i just- i thought it’d be good-”

his brow arches. “good for what?”

“you look like someone who gets a lot of girls, alright?”

there’s a beat of silence.

simon leans back slightly, tapping his fingers against the metal plating. the low buzz of the malfunctioning motor is the only sound in the room. “is that so?”

before you can even think of a way to explain yourself, he moves.

his grip is swift, fingers curling around your wrist. there’s no real force behind it, no intention to hurt. just a casual show of strength, a reminder of just how easy it is for him to manhandle you. you barely have time to react before he pulls, tipping you off balance.

you land on his lap, breath stuttering out of you in a quiet gasp.

he settles you there like you belong, his flesh-and-blood hand pressing into the small of your back. you feel the heat of him beneath you, the solid mass of his thighs, the way his breath stays even while yours quickens.

the prosthetic hums again.

before your brain can catch up, he moves his arm, pressing the vibrating palm against the seam of your jeans, right between your thighs.

your spine straightens, legs twitching against the instinct to squeeze shut, but his knee is right there, keeping you open.

simon makes a considering noise, watching your reaction. his voice drops, low and lazy.

“since you built it,” he muses, letting the vibration roll against you, “might as well test its full range of function, yeah?”

his head tilts, gaze flicking down to your parted lips. you’re already shaking, already aching, slick and soaked through before he’s even put his hands on you properly.

his weight shifts, thighs bracketing yours, hands adjusting. the grip he has on you firms, fingers pressing deep into soft flesh, making sure you don’t slip away.

not that you would. not that you could.

his breath ghosts over your cheek and your head tips back automatically, a slow surrender, baring your throat. simon makes a low sound of approval, and then his fingers tighten, curling into the denim at your hips.

"si-"

"oh, sweetheart.” he slowly tugging your pants down. "you in a rush? thought you liked when i took my time."

simon's hand drags over your thigh, metal knuckles gliding over your skin. the pressure he uses is just enough to make you feel it, to make your breath hitch, thighs twitching as something hot sparks low in your belly.

"shakin’, love. that bad, huh?"

his fingers stroke over your panties, pressing into the slick beneath.

"fuck," simon laughs, dragging his palm over your thigh, fingers spreading, squeezing. "you're dripping. what, just from me takin’ off your jeans? christ, love, that’s pathetic. you really need it that bad?"

your hips jolt, desperate, chasing friction. instinct drives you— no thought, no shame, just the raw ache of needing him.

simon tsks, shaking his head like it’s funny, like he isn’t already rolling his hips against your leg, cock hard and twitching beneath denim. his fingers press against the soaked cotton between your thighs, rubbing slow circles over your clit.

"built this thing for me," he mutters, mostly to himself, watching his own fingers move, the thick, cool metal pressed flush against heat-swollen flesh. "and look at you. already makin’ a fuckin’ mess all over it."

his mouth twitches. not quite a smirk. something meaner, hungrier.

his gaze drags up, pinning you in place. sharp. knowing. "bet you thought about it, though," he says. "at least once. didn’t you?"

heat spikes through you, curling in your gut. shame prickles at the edges, but it doesn’t matter. not when he’s right. you had thought about it. had imagined this. had pictured his prosthetic between your legs, pressing down, making you beg, the hard edges of metal digging into soft, soaked flesh, the slow hum vibrating against your clit until you couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything but come apart on him.

your fingers clutch at his shoulders, grasping for something solid, but he doesn’t move. doesn’t acknowledge how you tremble beneath him. just watches. tracks.

you stare up at him, panting, barely able to focus, and— god, his face.

the sharp lines of his jaw, the slope of his cheekbones, the scar that cuts jagged through the scruff along his chin. his stubble is coarse, speckled with hints of gray, a little uneven along his jaw. coarse shadows frame his mouth, dust over his upper lip, the cut of his jaw. his nose has been broken before, maybe more than once, slightly crooked where it was never set right. the thin pink ridge of an old scar cuts through his left eyebrow, splitting it clean in half, a deeper line stretching down the side of his face, the tail end disappearing into the rough stubble at his jaw.

you don’t get long to stare.

his mouth crashes against yours, rough and urgent, teeth knocking against teeth, lips parting just enough to let him shove his tongue deep, curling against yours, licking into your mouth, taking, claiming.

his teeth sink into your bottom lip, sharp, hard enough to sting. you whimper, legs shaking, and he groans like he feels it everywhere, like he wants to eat you alive.

then— a hum. low. steady. vibrating against your cunt.

your whole body jolts, spine arching, hands flying to his arms, fingers twisting into the thick, corded muscle of his biceps.

you gasp into his mouth, try to pull back, try to breathe, but he doesn’t let you.

simon’s arm locks around your waist, dragging you closer, pressing you down against the hard, pulsing vibration between your legs.

"fuckin’ christ," he groans, fingers slipping beneath soaked fabric, spreading you open. his breath stutters, mouth barely moving as he stares down at his own hand, at the thick, slick mess coating his fingers. "you’re soaked."

his cock throbs against your thigh, thick and heavy where it presses into the denim of his jeans, pulsing hot through the fabric.

his fingers stroke through slick, teasing, pressing against your clit, and the vibration amps up.

you cry out, body jolting, hips stuttering, but he catches them in both hands, grips them tight, holds you still.

"jumped like a scared little rabbit.” Simon's breath is warm against your jaw, lips dragging over your pulse.

his hand stills.

his fingers rest against your clit, pressing just enough to make you squirm, to keep you teetering, but he doesn’t move. doesn’t push you over. "should turn it up, yeah?"

your breath hitches, hips jolt, but his grip plants you right where he wants you.

"no runnin’," he breathes against your mouth. "you take what i fuckin’ give you."

pressure builds. tightens. burns through you a f through it all his eyes stay locked on yours.

the vibration shifts— harder, deeper. his fingers push inside, stretching, filling, pressing against every aching, sensitive spot.

your moan rips from your throat, raw and wrecked, nails sinking into the hard planes of his back. your legs twitch, thighs trembling where they clamp around his sides, but he doesn’t let up. doesn’t ease up.

simon grins, sharp and smug, lips curling against your temple. “atta girl,” he breathes, pushing you down, keeping you still.

his fingers press firm against the swollen bud beneath, dragging slow, torturous circles that make you jerk.

"swollen, love," his knuckles brush over your clit just enough to make your whole body twitch. "look at you-" his tongue drags over his bottom lip. "all fucked-out already, and i haven’t even started.”

a whimper spills from your throat. you twist beneath him, trying to get away— but there’s nowhere to go. simon is everywhere all at once.

simon’s head dips, breath warm as it ghosts over slick, swollen flesh. you’re open for him, spread wide, cunt glistening— slick dripping down the crease of your thigh, pooling beneath you.

he noses at you, the rough drag of his stubble scraping over sensitive skin, pressing lazy, open-mouthed kisses along the inside of your thigh.

"tastes sweet," he mutters, lips barely brushing where you need him. "dripping all over yourself, love. makin’ a fuckin’ mess just for me."

his tongue flicks out— soft, fleeting— not enough.

you cry out, hands flying to his hair, fingers twisting, trying to pull him in, trying to keep him there.

he smirks against your skin. "shh." another lick, just to watch you tremble. "poor thing. so sensitive."

you twitch, hips chasing his mouth, aching for more, needing him to stop teasing, needing him to eat you alive. but then—

he pulls away.

your eyes snap open, bleary, wild.

you barely register him moving, barely track the way he rises up, broad and so fucking smug.

you're about to ask where he's going when you you hear it.

the clink of his belt.

your breath hitches.

he drags it out, making you watch as his fingers work the buckle, making you listen to the quiet rasp of the zipper, the rustle of denim as he shoves his jeans down just enough—

his cock is flushed dark at the tip. pre-cum beads at the slit, smearing as he wraps his fingers around the base, giving it a slow, teasing stroke. the sheer girth of it stretches his grip wide, the veins running down the shaft prominent, pulsing, standing out beneath the taut skin. he’s obscenely long, thick enough that your thighs instinctively press together, anticipation twisting tight in your gut.

simon strokes himself again, dragging his fist up the thick length, thumb circling the swollen tip. his cock twitches in his grip, another bead of precum welling at the slit, spilling over, tracing a slick path down the ridges of a pulsing vein.

his fingers flex around the base, squeezing, drawing another lazy stroke up before dragging his thumb along the sensitive underside. a quiet exhale leaves him, sharp through his nose, body tensing at his own touch.

he taps the swollen head against your clit, watches the way you shudder, thighs trying to squeeze together even as they stay spread for him.

a whimper breaks from your throat.

simon smiles. "need it that bad, huh?"

you nod frantically, thighs trembling, nails biting into his skin.

he exhales through his nose, head shaking like he can’t believe you.

"fuckin’ insatiable," he mutters, pressing the head against your cunt. "guess i’ll just have to fuck it all out of you."

you sob beneath him, legs hooked around his waist, nails clawing at his shoulders.

"so tight," he grits out. "fuck- look at you, baby. takin’ me so good."

simon sinks an inch, just enough for the head to pop inside and his breath catches, body locking up, heat surging through his spine.

your cunt swallows him whole, warm and wet and too fucking tight, and instinct takes over—

his hips snap forward, bottoming out in one sharp stroke.

a broken noise rips from his throat, something between a groan and a whine, his body shuddering, his hands gripping your hips too tight as his cock jerks inside you, pulsing, spilling hot and thick before he can stop it.

his forehead drops to your shoulder, his whole body trembling, breath coming ragged, desperate.

"fuck-" his voice breaks. "oh, fuck."

your cunt throbs around him, squeezing, milking him even though he hasn’t even moved, and the overstimulation makes his body jolt, makes his jaw lock tight.

"oh my god.” your fingers claw at his back. "simon-!"

he groans into your skin, cock still twitching inside you.

"jesus christ..” he drags in a shaky breath, pulling back just enough to see your face— tear-streaked and glassy-eyed. "m'sorry- fuck, baby, i’m sorry, it’s been-" he chokes on his words, shaking his head, voice breaking. "god, it's been so long-"

he drags in another breath, body screaming, cock still throbbing with the aftershocks of his orgasm, but you’re still crying, still trembling beneath him, still so fucking needy.

and fuck, you deserve better than that.

he shakes his head, tries to will himself to stop, to apologize, to pull out— let you laugh at him if you want.

but your cunt is still squeezing him, soft and warm and perfect, and he can’t.

his hands slide down, gripping your thighs, spreading you open wider.

"fuck- i got you, baby," he pants, hips pulling back before snapping forward again. "fuckin’ hell.” his whole body shakes. "gonna make it up to you, promise. gonna give it to you like you need, yeah? gonna fuck you so good, baby, you’ll feel me for days."

you wail beneath him, thrashing, tears streaking hot down your cheeks, mouth open on a sob as he fucks into you, fast and hard, ignoring the way his cock aches, the way his whole body protests, pushing through it because you need this.

"simon- simon, please- oh my god- fuck!"

"shh, shh," he coos, a little breathless. "i know, baby, i know. takin’ it so good- fuck, squeezin’ me so tight."

you sob harder, clinging to him, and he groans, burying his face in your neck, pressing messy, open-mouthed kisses to your throat, sucking little bruises into your skin.

"fuck- oh fuck," his hips stutter, his own release rising again, too soon, too intense, but he doesn’t care, doesn’t give a fuck if it hurts.

"c’mon, love," he pants, "give me one more, yeah? cry all you want, baby, i love when you cry."

and when you finally do, when your body locks up around him and your walls squeeze tight, he groans loud and desperate, hips stuttering as he fucks you through it.

"there it is, fuck, there it is-"

he’s so proud, pressing wet, messy kisses to your cheeks, licking away the salt of your tears, whispering, "such a good girl, takin’ me so well, so fuckin’ perfect-"

"gonna cum again," simon tells you, almost pleading, "need to, sweetheart- need to cum deep in this perfect fucking cunt again-"

you wail, nodding, sobbing his name as your own orgasm crashes over you, squeezing down around him so tight it nearly knocks the air from his lungs.

simon groans, pressing his forehead to yours, gasping, desperate, hips snapping forward in rough, short little thrusts.

"good girl," he chokes out, "good fuckin’ girl-"

and then he's spilling into you again, sobbing into your skin, wrecked and shaking and completely fucking gone.

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gremlingottoosilly · 1 year ago

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Konig X Reader who works at an underground bar as a waitress wearing one of those iconic playboy bunny suits

(I got with a bit of mafia!konig because I am a mad woman) You hate your job. It's only natural that you do. No one would ever like working in a place like this - barely legal, filled with suspicious customers, only one grade above actual sex work. The payment isn't even that good, but you needed someone who would hire without a lot of questions and tips sometimes are better than your whole normal day job makes in two weeks. Meeting with the Vienna crime scene isn't something you wished for when you moved but, then again, at least it's Vienna's crime scene. Nothing too bad. Could be worse. Much worse. You hate this stupid dress, but at least your regular is here. Yes, this place is the worst one to have a regular in, but you're managing to find the best things out of a bad situation. You just...you need a bit of something nice in the pure shit of your current life. Konig provides just that. Yes, he is pulling you on his lap every time you come to him with a drink. Yes, he is fidgeting with the side of your fishnets and rips them away with the speed of light. Anxiously grips your hips and forces you to grind on his dick as you readjust and fire his cigarette. The corner of your dumb-standing bunny ears are poking at his mask, and you both giggle. You know that he has a gun and that the giant thing poking at your clothed pussy isn't it. You don't really care because the guy would respectfully grab your tits a few times, call you beautiful in three languages at once and then leave you a tip that would be enough to cover half of your month expenses. You know that this bar is a shitty place, an illegal place. It's no wonder it grows its own little crime cell - the place ought to be shot up at some point. You just hoped that the dumb suit would provide you with more opportunities to escape...alas, this is kinda impossible. You don't even think about getting out of here alive before you feel someone yanking you by your neck. Pressing you into a big, muscular chest with a familiar smell of expensive cologne, gun oil, and blood. In all of your days serving Konig as your regular customer, you never thought that he would be down bad enough to actually buy your hand in...well, not exactly marriage, but getting you out of the bar. And you didn't know that he liked the fucking suit so much that he bought you three copies and made you wear them around the house. His house. You are not allowed to leave, or else his good will make you into a rabbit stew. Well. At least Konig is still calling you his kleine Haschen.

#cod #konig x reader #konig #yandere konig #cod x reader #mafia!konig

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goggles-mcgee · 1 year ago

Text

Phantom Fudge

I love the fics of Danny settling into Gotham and having some sort of business and just absolutely confusing the Batfam with how flippant he is about the crime.

My take is, instead of a coffee shop or bookstore or occult shop, Danny opens a fudge shop!

His parents taught him, and he found he actually really loved it, and besides, his dream of being an astronaut was out of reach due to his unique medical readings. In this au, his parents learned about him being Phantom and took it well after a good period of spiraling because-Holy shit they shot their son. You may be asking, Goggles, didn't you just make a post that was all about Jack and Maddie not taking the news well? Yes. Yes, I did.

I go back and forth with wanting to salt them and not. I like both.

So anyways, Danny is the heir to the Ghost Throne, but he won't actually take up the official title until his time on Earth is naturally over. After everything got better with his parents and his regular ghost fighting buddies, he actually was able to raise his grades and graduate. Many teachers were amazed at the progress but really, Danny may not have been as smart as his parents and sister (he is an unreliable narrator and is actually very smart just not as conventional as his family) but before his accident he had done pretty good in school. The GIW was still a thing, but without the Fenton technology, they weren't doing as well as they previously did. His parents broke their contract after they rescued him from the GIW labs, it was a little after he told his parents about his halfa status and they came storming in to save him and all the other ghosts that were captured. After that, life got so much better. His parents listened to him, and he got to teach them all about his people. They started publishing more papers with actually accurate information and were doing their best to overturn the anti-ecto acts. They haven't accomplished it, but Danny was sure they would.

That's actually why he moved to Gotham. Tucker had the idea of contacting the Justice League to help with the anti-ecto laws, but their calls weren't being answered. Neither were the...strongly worded emails Sam sent in. So Danny did what he did best and jumped into something not entirely thought out but hoping for the best. He moved to Gotham so he could get close to Batman and ask for help. He got accepted into Gotham University on a scholarship. But he wanted to make some money on his own without his parents sending him some kind of allowance, and he didn't want to work at Bat Burger. He started selling fudge around winter at his school, and he got permission to do so.

From there, he got enough money to actually open a small fudge cart. Then he got enough for a small shop near his apartment which was rather close to Crim Alley so he hired some working girls to help with the shop and he employed any Alley Kids looking for some cash as delivery workers. (They only delivered in Crime Alley, though, but that was fine with Danny.) Danny loved his little fudge shop that he lovingly named Phantom Fudge, and the sign had a cute little ghost eating some fudge on it. When he was in school for classes, he left the shop in his friend Ginger's hands. She had been a working girl before, but before that, she had had experience working a small mom & pop kind of shop, so Danny felt good leaving her in charge. When Ellie visited, she helped out with the shop too.

Danny was thriving. Then he started getting customers of the ecto variety because, of course, he would. Apparently, he was something of an ecto filter for the shades and ghost of Gotham, so they would visit his shop to soak up some of the pure ectoplasm in the air. Then he experimented and made some ecto-fudge, which is what he gave to any ecto beings that entered his shop. Most couldn't pay, but they would give him a heads up if they saw anything shady happening around his shop.

Like a little heads up that some robberies were happening in the area, or some rogue was getting close. It was a nice little system they had. Though some ghosts came in just to tell him their unfinished business and like...he wasn’t King yet, but these were his people, so he tried to help them out as best they could.

One particular couple showed up a lot and would ask him to help warn their son of any danger they heard was brewing. They would ask him to leave messages for the son or any of his kids but also the butler if needed. Danby thought this guy had some great parents. They didn't cross over because they needed to make sure their son was safe and taken care of. It was most likely that they wouldn't cross until their son did by the sounds of it. He got permission to call them Grandma and Grandpa, which was weird, but he didn't question it.

Martha and Thomas were nice spirits, so he had no problem helping them out. But Danny is Danny and his well-intentioned help of course caught the eye of the whole batfam.

They had been receiving letters in the Manor that appeared mysteriously. The first one they had all thought was a prank from the many people there. It was a simple, 'Don’t go to the gala. Something bad will happen.' That started it all. They were all baffled but laughed it off, and those who went to the gala didn't know how to feel when the seeming wait staff took over the event and held the guests hostage.

A coincidence surely.

Then they got another note, 'Freeze is planning to do a B&E and snatch some equipment from a Wayne lab. Idk which one since you have so many.' And just like last time, the note was speaking the truth. It continued from there, and everyone tried to capture whoever or whatever was leaving the notes, but any cameras they had glitched out before returning to normal and showing a new note had showed uo somewhere in the Manor. Bruce was going crazy trying to figure out who or what their messenger was.

Alfred once found a note that said, 'Tim has been awake and pushing himself too far. He is going to crash.' He took it to heart though and made Tim rest and take a break. He would not let the note happen. Tim had had far too many crashes the past couple of months.

The note that broke Bruce, though, was small in words, but it made him feel crazy. It was his parent's death anniversary, and when he went to visit the exact spot, he saw a sticky note on the floor. He shakily picked it up to see all it said was, 'It's okay.'

Now he is really worked up and determined to find the note messenger.

While that's going on, Danny also gets some local vigilantes visiting his shop, and he is so excited to see them and try and be their friend so he can ask for help. Plus they seem to be fans of his fudge and that just makes him happy.

The batkids thing the Phantom Fudge shop owner is suspicious, but hot damn did he make some bomb ass fudge.

#dpxdc #dc x dp #dc x dp crossover #dc x dp prompt #dc x dp au #dc x dp ficlet

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snooyaki · 1 year ago

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이찬연 — BARISTA BOY ☂︎ CH. I

a/n: my first ever written work on tmblr wooo 🥳 if this receives good feedback i’ll be willing to turn this into a series! hope you enjoy 💗

‘DONT CRY … DONT CRY.’ anton repeated to himself, feeling the lump forming in his throat as his eyes couldn’t help but begin to grow glossy. having a full mental breakdown in the middle of brewing up a coffee for a costumer was not an option for the boy. anton sniffled, a shaky exhale releasing from his trembling lips as he finished off his cappuccino with his signature leaf art. what a sad looking leaf it was. anton took a deep exhale, placing the coffee cup down as he pushed it forwards against the counter. ‘speak… you can do it..’

“o-order for minyoung?” anton’s delicate voice cracked.

the boy mentally cussed at himself, watching in fear as the scary woman he had encountered earlier stomped her way up to the counter, anton flinching with every clack of her heels. the woman’s sharp wrinkly eyes glared daggers at the anxious boy who couldn’t help but gulp at the sight.

“finally got my order right??” the woman’s icy tone spat, as anton quickly nodded his head. “y-yes maam… i apologize again for the inconvenience…” anton managed to speak despite his heart rate going off the charts.

anton was having a shitty day.

the boy had woken up that morning and not a thing was going his way. he had slept through his alarm and missed his bus on the way to work, resulting in being scolded by his manager. he had burned himself on one of the steamers, causing a mug to fall and shatter. not to mention the rude customers. anton did not know what was going on today, as it seemed that everyone was not having a good day. especially him.

anton was an emotional boy, one who got overwhelmed easily. today was taking a toll on him. it was mentally and physically draining to contain his tears and his thoughts. he just needed to make it through the day, he kept telling himself.

“excuse me,”

anton paused, eyes widening slightly in realization. he had been staring down at the cash register lost in his thoughts as a customer was patiently waiting for him to come back to his senses. god he was embarrassed. could this day get any worse? the boy lifted his head, ready to apologize to the customer before his words got stuck in his throat at the sight before him.

“… hi,” y/n smiled warmly, gazing up at anton with kind yet curious eyes. “you’re anton lee … right?” her soft voice rang out, a bright and comforting aura radiating off the girl.

anton stared at the girl in disbelief, the tips of his ears slowly beginning to turn a deep shade of red. out of all days his crush could have shown up at his work, it just had to be today? anton shook his head as he snapped back to his senses, a soft chuckle and forced smile came from the boy.

“yeah … yeah that’s me.” he spoke, rubbing the nape of his neck awkwardly, before meeting her gaze. “you’re y/n l/n … right?”

of course, anton knew who she was. everyone in their school knew who she was. y/n was a star student, known for her good grades, kind soul, and her beauty. it wasn’t a surprise that anton began crushing on y/n in the beginning of tenth grade after being in three out of the six classes a day for a whole year. it had all started the first day of school, when y/n had spoken to him for the first and the last time.

ೀ

“excuse me!” a hurried voice spoke, catching anton’s attention as the boy curiously turned around, his gaze instantly shooting down. there she was, in all her glory.

y/n gazed up at the boy with a kind smile, holding out a familiar navy-blue notebook in front of the boy. “here, your notebook. you left it in the classroom.” she hummed, as anton’s eyebrows rose in surprise.

“oh …” anton muttered, slowly taking the notebook from the girl, a small smile lifting on his lips.

anton could feel his heart beating out of his chest as he stared at her pretty smile. “thanks …” he had managed to speak, before the girl had nodded her head.

“of course,” y/n smiled, before retreating to her friends. anton watched as she walked down the hallway, laughing and giggling with her friends. he watched her until she had disappeared in the large crowd of students.

“anton…?” sohee spoke, not snapping the boy out of his daydreams.

“anton… why are you so red?!”

ೀ

although of course, anton had no intentions on pursuing her. y/n was way out of his league, or that’s what he believed. he was a silent admirer and planned on keeping it that way.

well, until today.

the girl nodded her head enthusiastically at anton’s question, delighted that he had remembered her name. “mhm! i didn’t know you worked here… this is quite a famous coffee shop.” y/n chuckled softly in attempts to make small conversation with the quiet boy.

anton felt his heart skip a few beats at the sound of her melodic giggle, nibbling his lip anxiously before nodding his head. “ive been working here for a few months now…” anton spoke, his eyes not being able to trail away from the girl’s face as she scanned the menu. anton couldn’t get his eyes off her. it was like he was stuck in a trance, analyzing every feature on her face. her beauty marks, her hair, the way her eyes sparkled excitedly while deciding what she was going to drink.

“make me your favourite order here. i want to try something new.” y/n eagerly spoke, taking anton for surprise. he had never had a customer ask for that before, but he was willing to do it. especially for her.

anton finally gathered the courage to show a little smile, nodding his head in approval at her request. “sure. i’ll make you something good.” anton stated, earning an excited smile from the other.

anton didn’t know what was with him in that moment. he felt a surge of confidence rise. ‘its now or never …��.

“it’s on me,” anton added, his eyes gazing down at his crush, watching as her expression quickly falter. anton rang it through the register before she was able to protest, chuckling at the sight of her shoulders falling in defeat.

“you didn’t have to do that anton…” y/n frowned, almost as if she was glaring at him in disappointment. anton looked down at the floor, a soft blush rising over his cheeks mentally preparing himself to meet her eyes again.

“but… i wanted to.” anton managed to say, his eyes searching for a reaction from the girl.

anton swore he saw her blush. he swore by it, but the self-doubt was convincing him otherwise. he couldn’t tell if he was imagining things. “it’ll be ready at the end of the counter.” anton then added, snapping y/n out of her thoughts.

the girl then showed off her signature smile, letting out a breath she hadn’t even realized she had been holding in. “thank you anton.” she hummed.

anton’s day was suddenly, not so shitty anymore. he couldn’t help but smile as he made her order the whole time, silently giggling to himself as he thought. he talked to you. he had finally talked to you again. something he had been meaning to do for two years. it finally happened.

anton gazed down at the cup, focusing hard on the heart he hadn’t even realized he made on your latte, resulting in a soft blush when he came to his senses. anton grabbed a lid, placing it over the cup as he let out a soft exhale in preparation before making his way towards the end of the counter.

“order for y/n!” he called out, catching her attention.

y/n gazed up from her phone, shutting it off as she stuffed it into her jacket pocket. the girl then made her way over to anton, grabbing the cup from the shy boy. she examined the way he had written her name. ‘y/n ᵕ̈ ‘ it read in his hand writing. she felt like she could stare at it for days, as a smile began slowly spreading over her face. y/n gazed up at the boy, letting out a soft chuckle. “thank you again anton.” she beamed, as anton gazed down at his feet, flustered.

“of course, y/n.”

the two shared a soft gaze, both in a comfortable silence unable to rip their gazes away, until you had spoken up. “i’ll see you at school…” y/n spoke, not breaking eye contact with anton once before slightly hesitating her next words. “dont be a stranger.” she stated, watching as anton shook his head at the girl. “i wont.” he stated back.

anton watched as the girl then began making her way out of the coffee shop. it saddened him a bit, to see her leave, her figure slipping past the door. but after his encounter with you, he couldn’t have been happier. anton stood there, smiling like an idiot. there were hearts practically surrounding the boy in love.

maybe today wasn’t so bad after all.

— nari ¨̮

#ˋ ୨୧ ˊTAGS !

#snooyaki ¨̮#anton lee #anton x reader #riize anton #riize x reader #anton lee x reader #riize #riize imagines #anton imagines #kpop #anton fluff #anton fic #anton scenarios #anton #anton x y/n

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metranart · 10 months ago

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My one and only wants you, so he’ll have you (Part 1)

ft. Sensei! Gojo Satoru, sensei! Suguru Geto, reader insert.

Gojo Satoru and Suguru Geto happily married, you, their lovely student and the cause of their ragging temptation. The problem: their son, Megumi, your best friend.

𖦹 Warning tags: Gojo x Reader x Geto, threesome, married couple, Suguru and Gojo happy married couple, polyamory, Teacher-Student Relationship, Under-Desk Blow Jobs, Anal Sex, oral sex, vaginal sex, breeding, obsessive behavior, horny sorcerers, idiots in love, being the willing pet of your senseis, best friend! Megumi, Jealous! Megumi, anal plug, Secret Relationship, Domestic Fluff, falling in love, Pregnancy Kink, Hurt/Comfort, smut, rough sex, shameless smut, creampie, explicit sexual consent, sexual tension, shameless flirting, scratching.

The yearning for him began the same day you were assigned under the tutelage of Satoru Gojo. You were just a teenager who innocently sat on her sensei’s lap when got the chance, you accepted the treats he shared with you, and you worshiped every word that came out of his mouth as if it were the pure gold.

You would never admit it out loud, but you had a huge, annoying crush on your sensei.

"-He's married you know?" Megumi said, his gaze lost at a point on the horizon, his tone hiding a feeling which you didn't recognize at the time.

"I do not know what you are talking about, Megumi-kun."

"Suguru-sensei is his husband, and he’s the jealous type." Megumi continued as if he hadn't heard you, still looking ahead. Your heavy sigh the only indicator that you acknowledged his words.

"I know they're both your parents-"

"No." This time his chaotic blue eyes did fall on you. "They're my guardians, that's all."

You nodded and let the topic go. Megumi always got uncomfortable when someone mentioned it, especially when you did. You didn't really understand, you would love to have Satoru and Suguru's attention all to yourself. Megumi was so lucky.

You still remember the exact day it happened, it was your last year at jujutsu high and you were about to become a first-grade sorcerer. Although you were already eighteen years old, you were still under Gojo's tutelage and care.

Guardianship which just at that moment you stepped on a whim. Maybe Satoru never expected you to dare, but you never expected him to encourage you to continue.

".... Ngh! Don’t stop, sweet girl." His purr almost got stuck in his dry throat, but you still heard him and obeyed him.

Riding that hard, erect cock still trapped behind the black fabric of his pants, while your warm asscheeks hugged it and pumped it in eager sways that started as an accident but were now deliberately obscene.

As was your custom, he allowed you to sit on his lap, as he had always done, but an accidental movement of your hips, a slippery moan from his tight lips, and the notorious wetness of your panties was the perfect combination to let himself go.

"You are treating sensei so good," he groaned, both big, strong hands guiding and smashing your hips harder against his bulge. "Sensei needs-" he choked, feeling the glorious shape of your pussy around him, "sensei needs to-"

"I know." You indeed knew, and even if this little slip on his part would become the only time you had him for your own, you’ll make it legendary. This magnificent man was going to come hard for you.

It didn't take you long to make his cock pulsate and spasm out those thick ropes of bittersweet cream inside his pants, the burst came with a euphoric scream, rich in curses and praises. You knew you had overstayed your welcome already, and being bold for a moment longer, you turned around, hunting for a just another souvenir to help you endure the cold nights on your own. Slowly leaning closer you placed a soft, warm kiss on his panting lips, just a taste for the rode. Your sensei's eyes lit up like a neon sign, full of surprise and shock.

"It's a shame that Suguru-san is so jealous." You complained goodheartedly, stealing another peck from those bright and delicious heaving lips, and got up with as much elegance as you could while having your panties glued to your wet cunt, fixed your skirt and left.

Months of silent familiarity and odd pretention passed before Gojo summoned you to his office after school. You expected a scolding, an expulsion, maybe that he was disappointed and alarmed by your slutty behavior, or at least embarrassed but what you didn’t expect what came out of his lips.

“Love is a curse,” he explained, a leg crossed in front of the other in the most carefree attitude, “…and I exorcise curses.” Those icy, blue eyes set firmly on yours. “Would you like sensei to exorcise your curse, (Y/N)?”

Your lower lip found its way to your teeth, being chewed while you nervously thought of an answer, you weren't sure what he meant and you were afraid to ask, you didn't want him to continue seeing you as a naive girl, as his student, his responsibility... so pretending you understood, you nodded.

"Are you sure?"

He asked, making sure you understood what he demanded. A white eyebrow rose on his forehead and when his lips were about to part to explain better as he usually did, you stopped him.

"I'm sure."

Gojo kept quiet for a moment, sighed a conspiratorial chuckle that almost seemed mischievous, and smiled up at you.

"If you are sure,” he stressed, “…. then come and kneel in front of your sensei, pet."

The first time Suguru Geto saw you, you were on your knees, your mouth full of his husband�� actually, to the brim with his husband’s fat cock, taking it deep in your trained throat, hiding at plain sight behind a school desk while being nested between Satoru Gojo’s spread, thick thighs as he fed you heaps of his prodigy milk -as he liked to call it.

If you could barely breathe then now you are actually choking, the shock of being discovered was making your heart beat violently against your ribcage.

Satoru raised his eyes, meeting his husband’s gaze directly, watching him lean calmly against the frame and leave the door wide open, as if he wanted someone besides him to see you as well, even though it was almost six in the afternoon and the classes were over.

“-My love, I told you not to wait up for me, I was going to be late.” Satoru Gojo purred easily to his one and only, making him grin back at him.

“Oh, I see you're working after hours again," Suguru mocked from his spot on the door.

Satoru Gojo endearingly ran his hand over your flushed face, your embarrassed, confused and shocked expression extremely ridiculous compared to your stretched, swollen lips around his girthy cock, pushing your head against his pubic hair even harder, as if he were reluctant to let go even when you were caught, but Suguru shook his head, indicating that everything was fine.

Satoru closed peeked down at you, and a mischievous smirk graced his playful features.

“I don't know who told you that Suguru was jealous,” he wondered out loud holding your confused stare, “are you jealous, baby?”

Suguru Geto shrugged his broad shoulders equally playful. “Only if you don't share.”

You choked on the meat nested inside your throat and pulling you out for you to gulp some air, you coughed a little, droll and precum sliding down your chin when suddenly Gojo pushed you back to him, helping you suck him awkwardly. Using your mouth as his cocksleeve until he felt himself getting close to his price.

“Is my dutiful husband close to cream this lovely sorceress esophagus in thick milk?”

Satoru smirked, chucking lowly while still ramming your face to meet his pubic bone over and over again, and once felt he was close opened his eyes to watch as Suguru crossed his arms calmly, waiting for you to probe your worth.

“Don’t let it spill, (Y/N).” Suguru- sensei commanded, “In my family, wasting food is a sin.”

Suguru Geto teased with a wide grin but didn't move from his spot until after Satoru finished with a blast, until your face was covered in his husband’s musky cum since you couldn’t swallow such a massive load. The panting of your damaged voice was nothing more than clear evidence of a well-fucked throat. Satoru watched Suguru close the door behind him, latch it, step closer to the two of you and lean down to shamelessly, place a gentle kiss on your sweaty temple as you struggled to get your breathing even.

“You said her throat was like a fleshlight,” Suguru said to his panting husband, “and that she could swallow gallons without spill.”

“Having you here made my load heavier than usual,” Satoru defended, passing a hand through his disheveled mop of hair, “wasn’t my star student’s fault.”

Was your supposed secret affair with your sensei a regular topic for them? Isn't Suguru Geto angry with you? You couldn't look at his face, not even after he kissed your forehead so confusedly sweet, it was all too confusing... should you leave, apologize and leave? maybe it was the best...

“(Y/N),” Satoru said then, pulling out of your thoughts and lifting your chin up so he could get a good look at your pretty, flushed face, a wicked smirk spreading across his handsome face as his lips spelled. “Could you do sensei a favor?”

“A favor…?” you asked between ragged breaths, and he curled those shiny lips amused, Suguru Geto openly chuckled at your pathetic stamina. No doubt the metaphorical leash that Satoru was putting around your neck was still a work in progress, a good, faithful pet would have said yes immediately.

Your face was red, feverish, the blush extending to the edges of your eyes and also your ears. You were focused on the white-haired man you call sensei, desperate to know what he was going to ask of you, even when you wanted to, you couldn’t deny the exciting stirring inside your tummy that his mischievous requests always brought. He, being the only man in your eighteen-year-old existence to make your loins knot with something wild and feral.

You waited, cocking your head to the side, and Satoru grinned again, dragging his thumb over the bridge of your nose, collecting the white gobs of his own cum on the pads and putting it into his mouth, still warm and incredibly wet, eagerly closing around his thumb almost immediately, to then moan hoarsely.

“(Y/N),” he repeated after having tasted himself mix with your sweat. Satoru’s calm breathing against your sweaty forehead tickled you. He ran his thumb again but this time across your cheek, playing with his own mess, his intense blue eyes steady on your eyes, watching and recording inside his mind how you reacted to his perverted way of cleaning you, and the tremor that ran through your body looked almost like a convulsion, forcing you to fall over your calves tiredly. Satoru chuckled at the pleasant power play, proud of having so much effect over you, and without hesitation, ended up his request.

"I want you to sit on my husband’s cock and warm him up for a while, okay?"

You knacked and lay there over your calves, immobile.

"Do you need time to get hard again, Satoru?" Suguru scoffed, plainly ignoring your statue-like posture in order to kiss your sweaty face again, this time your cleaned cheek.

Satoru laughed, cocking his head in his direction, the blue of his eyes always more surprisingly bright and clear up close than it was from afar.

“I just thought you'd like to fuck her.”

“Am I so transparent?” that raven-haired hunk wondered with a thin brow raised.

“To me you are, baby.” His husband hurried to brag.

They both continued talking as if you weren't there or as if you were there, but it didn't matter that you heard them, given your lack of words. Suguru squatted next to you, gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear before asking.

“You don’t find me attractive, (Y/N)?”

Your cheeks burned like the sunset that filtered through the window, your mouth dry and lack of answers.

"As I said before, I don't mind if I'm also part of it..." he explained to you, "...I'm a special grade sorcerer after all, between the two of us we can destroy your curse better," he offered, his harsh and long fingers sliding sinfully across the soft skin of your neck.

"Suguru-san...." you mewled at his cynic touch. Being watched with morbid attention by the white-haired.

"How many times have I saved you on missions, how many times have I caught you watching me when you think I'm distracted..." your pupils dilated at the revelation, "how many times haven't I masturbated using your school photo?"

Your head whipped around to face him, astonished as he merely smirked.

"Oh, yes. I have, so many times," he admitted without shame, "...so, would you let me help you as well?"

Your breathing was a mess, when he had gotten so close? His face was centimeters away, you just needed to lean in, and his lips would be tattooed on yours.

"Don't think about it so much dearest, just do it." Your current sensei's breath caressed your ear out of the sudden and his hands on your shoulders gave you the last push you needed.

Your lips merged with Suguru Geto's in a heated kiss, his kisses were different, more patient, better thought out, his tongue licked your lips, and you opened your mouth to let him explore at his leisure, each moan torn from your tired throat sounded each time more needed.

"So that's a, yes?" Satoru asked and between kisses, you said as best you could. "Y-Yes, yes, yes, yes, yeees...."

Something inside you flared and tumbled while accepting their sinful proposition, of becoming Suguru Geto's cocksleeve as well. You nodded your head manically, embarrassingly eager, as if it were the only thing you could do, too stupid and desperate on your own excitement to think coherently.

“Our favorite student, ain’t that right, Sugu?”

The white-haired prodigy praised before standing up and abruptly breaking the kiss to take you with him, pulling you by the arm to get you up, your shaking legs almost letting you fall again when Satoru decided to eat your mouth instead.

You could easily hear Suguru Geto growl low as he huskily replied. “Damn right.”

This glorious man and his husband fucked you there, on the desk of the classroom, taking turns between your ass, your pussy, and your mouth until they were both sure their cocks would fall off. Until your holes weren't squeezing at all and none of the three were sure who the cum leaking out of you belonged to, your voice so worn out that anyone would realize how well your throat had been fucked.

By then it was so late that when you mumbled a weak. "I don't think I can walk," Satoru was quick to offer you a ride and Suguru eagerly agreed, saying things like: we need to take care of our girl, she’s so precious to us. Your beautiful eyes and reddened face littered with patches of cum, lighting up like an advertisement the moment both freely offered you their whole attention as you always dreamed for.

Satoru gently put you on his back, carrying you to the parking lot and then dumping you playfully unceremonious in the back seat, kissing you the entire time while Suguru drove to the address you told him, explaining it between gasps, moaning the words as if your ex-sensei were tearing them out of you one by one.

“Right-…no, I mean left-…” Your adorable, moaned babbling driving both males euphoric.

“Give her a sec, babe-… I need to know if turn right or left-”

“Right.” Satoru replied with such conviction both, you and Suguru’s eyebrows rose questioningly. “I know her address by heart-… after all, she still a pup under my watch.”

Satoru Gojo revealed to your utter annoyance and his husband’s amusement. A thin smirk gracing the raven-haired lip’s indicating he wasn’t even a little surprised.

“I’m not a pup anymore,” you complained between smooches, “I'm about to turn nineteen and become a first-grade sorceress…. I'm a full-fledged adult-”

“Na-ah!” your sensei chuckled, “you’re a brat, still my pup-”

“Our pup.” Suguru cut in from the driver’s seat, and Satoru agreed, “Right.”

"We'll come pick you up at 7 tomorrow," your sensei half ordered, half commented between heated kisses, his greedy lips devouring every patch of skin that his husband hadn't gifted with saliva and bites. "ya heard me, pup?" He stressed snickering, and you remained silent.

"-I'm no longer a little girl you can spoil without anyone suspecting, Gojo-san."

"Gojo-sensei," Satoru clarified, "you have to call me Gojo-sensei, pup."

You shook your head at his notorious control tricks, and slowly crept down from under him until you could open the car door.

"Thank you for the ride, Suguru-san."

Your body lurched to leave the safety of the car when three strong hands held you, two wrapping tightly around your waist and one around your forearm.

Satoru and Suguru teaming up to not let you go made you feel equally flattered as flustered.

"Tomorrow at seven, now we pick you up.” Gojo repeated more seriously and looking in the rearview mirror at Suguru's for some kind of support, his stern gaze forced you to nod.

"Right ...see you tomorrow-" you made a meaningful pause just to prolong their sole attention on you a little longer and aiming for one last playful punch under the belt, you dropped the bomb, "-Senseis."

Their blood boiled like water boils in a gazer before exploding.

"Don't let her go, Satoru." You heard Suguru say before his hand let go of your forearm and in one swift movement, he got out of the car to join you in the back seat.

Too late you realized your mistake.

Your pussy almost screamed when Suguru tried to slip inside. “Too sensitive, pup?”

You nodded weakly and he sighed, showing a little mercy.

“Good thing our girl is gifted with more than one tight hole.” Satoru reminded him, and his husband smirked, smugly.

“Good thing.” He replied before his thick cock stretched your asshole impossibly wide, your hands were held under his big paws against the back of the seat, Satoru slid to the side to have a better view. He loved when his husband got like this. You wanted to act and tease like an adult, they would fuck you like one.

Suguru's violent thrusts were taking the wind out of you with each meeting of flesh, your ass almost raw from so much pounding, your bundle of nerves being stalked with delicious and lazy circular movements by your actual sensei and this man’s husband.

"He’s gonna fill this disobedient student in cum, and this disobedient student is going to eagerly keep it inside, yes?" Satoru ordered and you could only meow inconsolably.

Each thrust of Suguru's hips was harder, more precise, deeper, more meat that you could take filling your pitiful quivering hole. You were close to fainting, your eyes half-closed and breathing labored, dehydrated from sweating so much, tired from squeezing yourself around such a large and long piece of raw cock.

"Su-Suguru-san..."

"Suguru sensei." Satoru corrected.

"Suguru-sensei,” you obeyed.

“Very good,” Gojo praised.

“P-Please come-come… already, ple-please."

Suguru's dark laugh broke through the peaceful night, too amused in teaching you a lesson.

"I'll come only if you promise, you'll put on this lovely plug all night long." From thin air Suguru appeared a pink plug in his sweaty palm, a pretty, shiny thing with a pink diamond adorning the base.

"A plug-.... why?"

"So that, my one and only’s cum stays inside you till morning, of course." It was difficult to hear your sensei over the lewd sound of clapping flesh. “We will take it out tomorrow when we pick you up, pup.”

You couldn't take it anymore, you wanted Suguru sensei to come right away since you couldn’t do it anymore, you were drained, pleasantly exhausted and tired. You wanted to rest, sleep soundly…no! You wanted faint till the sun raised again.

"Y-Yes, I will, I promise!" you heard yourself yelp.

"Good pet." Suguru rasped. He almost sounded elated, but it didn't stop him from shoving himself completely inside of you, over and over and over again, slamming against your gummy walls in one last savage thrust. The breath was knocked out of you and there was when you felt him overflowing you in his warm, thick cum.

"That's it, baby, fill her tummy good, so much milk, so yummy." Satoru encouraged with perverted pride. "So full." The white-haired noted when his palm met the bump in your belly.

Suguru chuckled through his moans, massaging your hips with his thumbs while giving a couple of lazy thrusts before finally slip out. the spasming ring of your ass was a fucking mess, swollen and shiny and brimming in cum. Fuck! they loved the sight.

“Don’t let it slip out-” Suguru rushed to say.

“Go it.” Satoru hurried to plug in the device, your pretty asshole now prettier with a diamond adorning it.

"Just like I've dreamed you for more than three years, (Y/N)." Suddenly Satoru revealed, praising you like an excited child, and Suguru grinned approvingly, passing a thick thumb over the diamond making you jolt a little at how sensitive you were. “Three years is a lot to be blue balled, you really made us wait a lot, pretty girl.” He joined his husband, dreamily.

Maybe you weren’t hearing correctly. No, it couldn't be that they also wanted you as much as you wanted them. It was a mistake, you were really tired and exhausted, that's what.

Hand in hand, they peppered your face in sweet kisses teaming up against you again until there was a big smile on your sweaty face.

“Tomorrow at seven o clock, sharp, (Y/N). Don’t make us wait.”

They didn’t leave until you entered through the doorframe and the door close behind you. The inside of their car reek of spit and sex and cum, and Satoru buried his face in the backseat to breathe in the remaining of your essence and his husband.

“I’m so damn happy, Sugu.” He beamed hugging the backseat like an obsessed lovebird.

Suguru laughed at his antics. “Same.” He admitted more sobered, “I had already lost hope of having her, Toru-”

“I know,” he sniffed plenty, “they are months away from graduating and go to make their lives without our guidance... I was seriously considering kidnapping her-”

“Don’t joke with that, idiot.” Suguru scolded, pulling his husband off the backseat and closing the door, caging the whitehaired fool he loved under his thick, muscular frame and the car door.

"All of those plans will never be mentioned again," Suguru explained, "we must keep this as secret as possible; no one must know."

"Why?" Satoru asked bewildered, "If we had done it years ago while she was a minor, I would agree but she is already an adult-"

"Barely," Suguru interrupted and ran a heavy hand through his straight hair, "besides that's not what I mean." He stated more seriously.

"So?"

"Megumi." Was all he said, and Satoru understood.

"Megumi." the white-haired man repeated, burdensomely.

"Right, so not a word, no teasing or anything." Satoru's eyes betrayed how worried he was.

"Hey, Toru," he tipped his chin up gently, "...everything's gonna be fine, we'll figure it out, don't sweat it, babe." He pampered his man in sweet caresses, his lips pecking his lips with soft, reassuring kisses until his husband smiled again.

"There we go," Suguru praised, "Now on our way since tomorrow we have an early wake up."

They both left but neither of them could sleep, since were utterly excited about what this polyamorous relationship had in store for them.

PART 2

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tropes-and-tales · 1 month ago

Text

Damsel in Distress

(Jake Seresin x F!Reader)

CW: Angst (sexual harassment); a bit of fluff.

Word Count: 1808

AN: A little interlude for the Jake girls.

AN2: This has not been edited in any way, shape, or form!

It’s a burden sometimes, being so handsome.

Jake knows he’d sound like a complete asshole if he ever said such a statement out loud.

Still, it can be a burden.

He wasn’t always handsome. Jake Seresin hardly even qualified as cute when he was a kid. Certain parts of his body seemed to grow out of sync with the rest of him, so he was fairly awkward for many of his pre-teen years. Ears that stood out from his head. Cornsilk hair too fine to do much other than lay flat on his scalp. Lopsided smile due to a crooked incisor.

But he evened out eventually. He grew into his ears. His hair darkened a bit and grew thicker. Pricey orthodontics fixed his wonky tooth. He shot up in height, put on muscle working at his uncle’s ranch, and the rest was history. He learned to wear his good looks like armor, and he learned that even just a bit of charm got him further than other men might get.

Still, it can be a burden.

For example, when he’s had a rough day at Top Gun and just wants to enjoy a beer at the Hard Deck without needing to be on. He gets tired sometimes of always being on, of being the guy with the megawatt smile and easy charisma, of being the guy to dazzle the single women on the prowl at the bar, of having all the innuendos and quips always at the ready. He gets tired of being Hangman, tired of being the impressive pilot in the perfectly tailored uniform. He gets tired of being the lieutenant, of being Seresin. Sometimes he just wants to be an anonymous man, and barring that, he just wants to be Jake. Sometimes he just wants someone to look at him—really see him—and just call him Jake.

“Get you another one?”

The voice breaks his reverie, and Jake looks up to see the bartender standing across from him. You are related to Penny somehow, some first cousin twice removed deal, and you take shifts at the Hard Deck when she’s short-handed.

The megawatt smile comes on automatically. “Sure thing,” he replies and slides his empty glass over the bar top to you, but you don’t simper at his grin. You only nod and pour him a beer in a fresh glass, set it down in front of him on a fresh napkin.

You never seem to be impressed by him, but you never seem to be impressed by any of the men (or women) who call the Hard Deck home. You’re all business; you’re polite to the customers, quick on a pour, a champ at tallying tabs in your head. You have a freakish ability to balance a laden tray of drinks, and you’re not afraid to step in when someone has partied too much. You’ve frog-marched more than one drunken flyboy out of the bar and waited until a sober friend came to bear them away.

Not that Jake wants to impress you today. He just wants to be alone. He just wants to sit at the bar, tucked away in the far corner, and sulk a little. Top Gun has been exhausting, and he’s not syncing with the back-seater they want him to fly with. He’s been nursing a low-grade headache for the past few days, and he could go home, but his apartment is sterile and depressing—

He feels the woman before he sees her. He feels her first because she leans against him, her tits blatantly pressed against his arm. It’s not a casual brush-by or an accidental stumble; she’s purposely pushing her chest against him, and Jake shifts and turns at the same time.

The megawatt smile comes on automatically. “Careful there, ma’am,” he says. He keeps the admonishment light by laying on his Texas accent. He takes in the woman as she pouts, then fixes him with a look that might aspire to coy if not for how drunk she is.

“Ma’am?” she asks, incredulous. Jake catches a whiff of her breath, and the alcohol fumes could peel paint off his plane. “Ma’am?”

“Now, I—”

“Do I look like a ma’am?”

He keeps the smile plastered on his face. “Miss, then. Apologies.”

The pout disappears, and she grins back at him. And she moves closer, presses the length of her body against him. “S’okay. Make it up to me. Buy me a drink.”

Jake chuckles, and he shifts away again. The woman is sweaty, and this close, he can see how drunk she is. Her makeup is smeared, and her eyes can’t quite focus on him. Her blinking is slow, but she compensates by widening her eyes, making her look owlish.

“I think you’ve had plenty of fun already,” he replies. He gets a leg braced on the floor and does an awkward scoot on his stool to gain a few inches away from her, but it lasts for all of a second.

“Not enough fun.” Another pout, but she’s on him again, stuck to him again, and Jake feels the tiniest tendril of panic. He hates being touched like this, hates when pushy women do this. He just wants a damned drink alone, and this woman reeks of booze—her breath, the sweat seeping from her pores—and she pressed against him, the slick grease of her sweat sliding against his bare forearm.

“We could have more fun,” she adds.

And then, a moment later, her hand finds him. Gropes at him blindly, her palm catching him high up on his thigh before she moves inward, and Jake grimaces, reaches to catch her wrist and stop her before—

She is jerked away, and Jake blinks at how fast you move. Faster than he ever saw you move before, but you’re right there. He didn’t even see you moving from behind the bar.

He blinks, turns on his stool to see the scene play out.

“You’ve had enough, and I believe the Lieutenant is not interested,” you tell the woman. You have one of her arms folded behind her back—the one that had been fumbling at Jake—and when the woman flails at you with her free hand, you catch her easily around her wrist and fold it behind her back too. It plays out like a cop perp-walking a criminal, and you start to maneuver her towards the exit.

“Fucking bitch!” the woman shrieks. “I’m a customer!”

“Not anymore,” you say, calm, but when you glance over at Jake, you tip him a nod and offer him a smile.

*****

It goes down with minimal drama. Penny finds the woman’s friends, also wasted, and a taxi is called. For ten, fifteen minutes, you stand by the Hard Deck’s entrance, arms crossed and glare fixed on the woman as she rants, fumbles for her vape, drops her vape, then rants some more.

Then the taxi arrives, and you’re back at the bar like nothing happened. You pour a fresh pitcher for Coyote and Fanboy, and then you turn back to Jake.

He plasters on that bright, perfect smile of his when he sees you. “Sorry about that,” he says.

You tilt your head. “Why are you apologizing?”

The smile stays set on his face. “Didn’t mean to make a scene.”

“You didn’t make a scene.”

The smile falters around its edges as he says, “I could’ve handled it.”

You take shifts at the Hard Deck to help your cousin out, and the money doesn’t hurt either. But a not-small part of you likes to people-watch; you like watching life play out in front of you. You learn a lot about people that way—the relationships that flourish and die at the bar, the petty grievances, the friendships. You notice everyone, take it all in.

You’ve noticed Jake Seresin, of course.

There’s something fragile to him that you wonder if anyone else sees. Something insecure. He hides it behind his good looks, his easy smile, his charisma. He has confidence in spades, sure, but he also seems to house a small, self-doubting part too.

Like that smile of his. He has more than one. He’s got a real, genuine smile that comes out easy enough. When he and his teammates are joking around, when they are circled around the piano and belting out some old standard as Rooster bangs on the keys.

He’s got a softer, smaller smile, and that’s usually reserved for Penny when she gently teases him about something.

He also has this smile that is pure artifice, the one on his face right now. It’s a brittle sort of armor, like a deflector shield that goes up automatically when that small, self-doubting part of him is in play. That smile is just a fraction too wide, a bit too stiff and fake.

“Why should you have to handle it?” you ask, and the smile falters a bit more at your question.

“She was just drunk…” He trails off, and there’s an edge of uncertainty in his voice. He must hear it too, because his eyes dart around to see who else might be hearing him. Like his patented Jake Seresin schtick, his uber-confident and cocky persona might be at risk of being found a fraud.

You lean against the bar, rock onto your toes to get closer to him. You stare at him until he turns and stares back at you, caught in the force of your gaze.

“If she were a guy and you were a woman, would you be so quick to shrug it off?” you ask.

“I don’t—”

“You don’t deserve to be groped.”

“That’s—”

“Even if you’re this tough airplane pilot, you know?”

That finally breaks the hold of that fake smile of his. It slides off his face and is replaced by a more natural, teasing one.

“Airplane pilot makes me sound like I fly a regional route for Delta,” he jokes.

“Probably better snacks than in a fighter jet though, right? Or does the military supply Sun Chips in their planes?”

He chuckles, and his smile shifts again. Now it’s softer, gentler. He shakes his head, and he looks down at the top of the bar where his hands are folded together. You think that this right here is probably the real Jake Seresin, the truest version of all the different facets of him, and probably the one few people get to see.

You knock the bar lightly in front of him until he lifts his gaze and looks at you again. You offer him a smile in return.

“Let me get you another beer, Jake. On me.”

And something makes his smile shift yet again: still soft, but broader, like you’ve said something incredible, though all you’ve done is offer him a free beer…and said his name.

#jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin imagine #top gun maverick #tropes and tales

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bloodlineslut · 2 months ago

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The Law of Obsession (Ch. 1) | Roman Reigns

Plot: Roman Reigns seems to be everything Laila never knew she needed. He's handsome, charming, confident, and very protective. As a criminal defense attorney, Roman is used to bending the laws to his will, to his control. When he meets Laila, a 21 year old student who just transferred from her hometown college, he sees a young woman who needs his protection. He sees someone who only needs him.

Laila believes she's found the perfect man. But perfection always comes at a price.

Pairings: Roman Reigns x black! OC

Warnings: OC is a virgin! (for now…), slow burn romance, they’re just talking to each other in this chapter

Summary: For the past week, a mysterious man has been watching Laila at the cozy little café she goes to after class, where he finally decides to “introduce” himself.

Word Count: 1.7k

A/N: CHAPTER 1 AHHHH! This was more of an intro chapter so it's a little shorter. I’m gonna do a slow burn to build up the suspense, romance, and everything in between. It will have everybody from the original bloodline, so Roman, Paul, Jimmy, Jey, Solo, and even Sami!! Yall please comment if you like it so far! And if you want to be tagged let me know

Laila usually kept to herself. It’s not that it was on purpose, though. After moving halfway across the country to Florida to finish college, she was still adjusting to the new environment.

After graduating high school, her parents encouraged her to enroll at the community college, just for maybe 2 years or so. She did everything to make her mom and dad happy, but she couldn't help but think she was missing out on the full college experience.

She talked to her parents about possibly transferring, although she never said where. They reluctantly agreed, and 2 weeks later, she found out that she got accepted into the University of Miami just in time for the fall semester.

It took a lot of convincing her parents, especially her mom, to let her go. But once Laila mentioned that she received a scholarship, that convincing became a whole lot easier.

All her mom and dad wanted her to do was to continue to make good grades and get her Bachelor of Science degree in Accounting. Also, with her being the only child, she had to do well.

She was a tad bit sheltered in the romance department, too.

She had her first kiss at 17 on the night of homecoming with this boy, Trey, who she had a big crush on since freshman year.

That was like the highlight of her life, to be honest.

But ever since then, it’s just been school, school, and more school.

She just wishes she knew at least one person here in her new home for the next 2 years.

“Order for Laila!” She was snapped out of her thoughts, forgetting that she was supposed to be listening for her coffee that she ordered a couple minutes ago.

Quickly standing up from the little corner table she found, she walks up to the counter where the barista is holding the drink out for her.

“Thank you so much!” She takes the drink—an iced cappuccino with hazelnut shots and sweet cream cold foam on top—and walks back to her table.

Setting the coffee next to her laptop, she opens it, going to her calendar to see if there were any assignments due tonight.

“Oh, thank goodness.” She quietly breathed out as the front door bell rang, signaling a new customer had just entered.

Naturally, she glanced up at the person and unintentionally did a double take.

Oh, this man was handsome.

Not wanting him to catch her looking at him, she quickly averted her eyes back to her laptop. His back was now to her, waiting in line at the counter to put in his order.

She trailed her eyes from her laptop screen to his back, taking in his very tall stature. He also had on a black suit that he definitely got tailored, because it fit every inch of him perfectly.

The guys back home surely don’t look like that.

Trailing her eyes up his back, to his head, she sees that he has a nice man bun.

And then she hears his voice.

“Yea. I want a large black coffee with cream and sugar on the side. Thank you.”

Laila notices how he says, “I want…”. Her mom always told her that the way a person orders food or a drink tells a lot about their personality.

She was always the type of person to say, “Could I please get…”

Clearly, this guy knew what he wanted.

She didn’t realize she was still staring at the back of him, until he turned around and softly smirked at her. Her eyes widened in embarrassment, and she looked down at her phone in shame.

Needing a distraction, she just decided to mindlessly read over her class’s syllabus. Her brain only registered something about a research paper due at the end of the semester, when she suddenly felt a large presence standing in front of her table.

She damn near looked like a deer in headlights.

“So, UMiami huh?” The deep, velvet-smooth voice spoke out.

Laila slowly turned her head upwards to meet the face of this sexy, mysterious man, and she had to catch her jaw from going slack at his beauty.

“…How do you know that?” She asks, confused.

The man just chuckles and points to the back of her laptop. “The sticker that says ‘UMiami.’”

Laila reaches to close her laptop just enough to see the sticker that he’s talking about. “Oh, right! I forgot I put that sticker there.” She laughs, showcasing a beautiful smile and two deep dimples that lit up her whole face.

Her smile made Roman smile, his dimples catching her eye, a sharp but adorable contrast to his manly features.

With his large coffee in one hand, he uses his other to point to the chair in front of her. “You mind if I sit?” It was a bit more of a statement than a question.

Laila, not knowing how to say no to people, nods before she can catch herself.

Every move this man makes is with purpose, never rushing or hesitating. Every move is with intention. He sets his coffee down, his fingers briefly brushing against the rim of the cup before he smoothly pulls out the chair.

A quiet confidence that’s controlled and deliberate.

She watches as he sits across from her, his broad shoulders relaxed but his presence heavy. There’s something about the way he looks at her—like he already knows something she doesn’t.

Laila clears her throat, in an attempt to calm her nerves. It’s not that he was creepy or anything. His stare was just so intense that it made her suddenly so hyper-aware of herself.

He finally speaks up. “I’m Roman.” He says, slowly outstretching his hand over her now-closed laptop.

Laila hesitates for just a second, but ultimately moves her hand toward his. He gives her a flirty gentleman’s handshake, her delicate fingers between his thumb and fingers. He smirks at her, giving her soft hand the slightest, respectful squeeze.

Roman holds her gaze, steady and calm, his eyes holding an underlying intensity that Laila is oblivious to.

“My name is Laila.” She shakes her head and speaks up, forgetting that he just introduced himself to her.

“It’s very nice to meet you. Laila.” He tests out her name on his tongue and it seemed to just roll right off of his tongue.

She was the first to gently pull away from his hand, smiling nervously and fiddling with her hair.

Roman brings his coffee to his lips, taking a sip of it now that it had a chance to cool off a bit.

“You come here often?” That voice was so attractive to Laila.

“Huh? Oh, yeah! I like to do my homework here instead of the library a lot of the time.” Now it was her turn to take a sip of her iced coffee.

"What are you studying?"

"Accounting, I'm in my junior year." She says nodding, proud of how far she's come.

"Good with numbers huh?" He teases and smirks at her, knowing she's probably heard it a hundred times.

She playfully rolls her eyes and tucks her hair behind her ear. "Ugh, if I had a dime for every time somebody said that. But, I just like this coffee place because it's so cute."

Roman nods in understanding. “I get it. I like to come here after work every day before I drive home.”

This piqued her interest. “Oh, what do you do?” Curiosity filled her voice.

His fingers grazed the top of his cup before meeting her big brown eyes again. “I’m a criminal defense lawyer.” He says with confidence. He took his job very seriously, as it entailed some things that had to be kept under wraps.

Laila’s eyes lit up at this new information. “Oh wow! Wait, so you get the bad guys off?” She giggles.

A ghost of a smile appeared on his face at her question. “Yea somethin’ like that.”

Laila smiled at looked down at her lap, still so nervous and in shock that a man that looks like this is even sitting down, talking to her.

“Well, if I ever get in any trouble, I’ll know who to call!” She adds to the fire.

“Nah. You’re not the type to get into trouble. Just stay with the right crowd, you’ll be okay.” Laila couldn’t tell if he was joking or not.

“I don’t even have a crowd to stay with…I don’t know anyone here.” She shyly admits, shrugging her shoulders.

“You know me.” His tongue peeks out of his mouth to lick his lips while he brings a large hand to his tie, tugging it down a little.

Laila’s heart had to be going a million miles a minute, at this point.

It was like everything he did was sexy. He just oozed sex.

‘Girl you’re a virgin, you don’t know what sex even feels like.’ That voice inside her head yells at her.

She was trying to think of what to say next, but he spoke up before she could.

Roman reached two of his thick fingers into the pocket inside his black suit jacket, pulling out a stiff little white card with writing on it.

“If you ever ‘get into some trouble’ ,” he said, his voice low, “give me a call.”

Laila gently took it from his fingers and read the words on it.

Reigns, Heyman, & Associates

“Justice served. By any means necessary.”

Seeing the law firm’s motto made her blink back her surprise. “Oh, wow…you uh, really get down to business,” she glances up at him, to find him already looking at her.

“We do. Let me know if I can do anything for you. Get you out of a parking ticket, beat up somebody for you, talk to a professor…”

This made Laila laugh, but little did she know, Roman really was NOT joking.

He chuckled and admired how beautiful she was when she laughed. Those beautiful dimples would make him so weak.

A text message from his phone broke him out of his admiration as he looked down at it. It was Heyman.

Paul Heyman: Chief, we have a new client. This one got busted for drugs, but he was one of the contributors in our plan to take over Rollins’ firm.

Roman: Say no more. I’ll be there in 15 minutes.

After texting Heyman back, he put his phone in his pants pocket. “Laila, I actually gotta get goin’, sweetheart.” He says, standing up and grabbing his half-drunken coffee that was now cold.

He reached his hand out for what Laila thought would be a good-bye handshake, but he brought her hand up to his lips and placed a soft kiss on her knuckles.

“Be safe okay?” His hypnotizing voice coaxed an immediate response out of her.

“Okay.”

They parted ways, with Roman leaving to handle business, and Laila being left with her thoughts and her heart that didn’t seem to stop racing ever since she met this man.

#roman reigns x black oc #roman reigns x oc #roman reigns imagine #wwe fanfiction #wwe imagine #the bloodline #the tribal chief #roman reigns #roman reigns fanfiction #roman reigns x original character #roman reigns x black original character #paul heyman #solo sikoa #jey uso #jimmy uso #wwe fic #the law of obsession

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rainylana · 11 months ago

Text

“I’m not always bad.”

Eddie Munson x female reader

summary: eddie finds you crying. why does he care?

warnings: bully eddie, bad boy, awkward and meanie eddie, language, crying, upset reader, talk of cancer, readers dad has cancer. a potential series if you want it, let me know!

gif is not mine!

update! part two has been posted and is located on my masterlist!

He supposed maybe over time it wouldn’t be absolutely crazy to have some sort of care for you, after all, he had known you since the both of you were in diapers in preschool together, and ever since, he’d treated you like dirt beneath his leather boots.

He was an absolute prick to you, and you couldn’t remember one memory of him being nice to you. Maybe it was because you came from a ‘white picket fence’ home, had good grades, an honor student, actually. Maybe it was because you were pretty? Maybe he liked you? No. You had long since disregarded that idea many years ago. He wouldn’t be this mean.

You walked as quickly as you could to the gymnasium, pink heels clicking with every step and turn. Your eyes blurred with tears and you hiccuped a breath. You pushed open the door, relieved no one was in there, at least, not to your knowledge, and plopped down on the closet set of bleachers to your right. You put your head in your hands and cried like a baby pathetically.

Eddie was closing up a deal when you’d come busting in dramatically. He quickly hid his stash, thinking it was a teacher as his customer quickly left the scene, muttering a thank you as he did so. When he say it was you, he cursed under his breath and put away his things.

He adjusted his jacket, putting away his weed and wallet as he watched you. He squinted his eyes. Were you crying? He’d seen you cry before, that wasn’t anything new, but you looked upset. He walked across the gym floor, adjusting his junk like a typical male specimen.

“Why the long face, L/n?” His demeaning voice boomed and echoed.

You jumped, revealing your tear stricken face. You groaned. “Fuck! I- I didn’t know anyone was in here. Sorry.” You went up to leave.

“Woah, woah,” He held up his hands. “You’re on my turf, L/n. Crying and trespassing on my property are not to go unpunished.” He tried to ignore the fact you were visibly upset, thinking maybe you got a bad grade or tripped over your own feet and embarrassed yourself. That’s usually what it was, anyways.

Today, however, you couldn’t deal with his dramatics. Your face crumbled into tears and you sobbed, slowly sinking back down to your seat and hunched back over. Eddie, despite his antics, couldn’t help but furrow his brow. He watched you for a moment, looking to see if anyone else was around he could pass you off to. He looked back at you, and when you pushed out a particular harsh sob, he knew that this time was different. Something was wrong.

Unbeknownst to him, he frowned, pursing his lips and climbed up to bleachers to sit beside you. He looked at you like you were from another planet, eyes wide and alert like you were playing a joke on him. He didn’t like this said joke.

“Hey, uh,” He cleared his throat, looking for the quickest way out. “Stop crying.” Way to cheer her up, buddy.

“I can’t.” You sobbed into your hands. “My life’s falling apart!”

That broke him out of his shocked state and he rolled his eyes at your dramatics, leaning back into his seat. “What happened now?”

“Just leave me alone, Eddie!” You snapped angrily, jerking your head toward him so hard he thought it was fly clean off and roll onto the floor with the rest of the disregarded basketballs. “Do you have to be such a jerk everyday of my life? Can’t you let me cry in peace just for once?” You stared at Eddie, who was startled and wide eyed, looking at you like you’d gone made.

He sighed heavily, a mask of irritation and annoyance falling over his hooded eyes. “Fine.”

He got up to leave, obeying your wish for once. You watched him get up and leave, and for some odd reason, your heart seemed to sink even further. Once again, you sank back into yourself, listening as his footsteps got further and further away.

He cursed when he got to the gymnasium door, turning back to look at your weeping figure. “Fuck.” He clenched his fist and brought it up to his teeth angrily. Why? Why did he suddenly seem to care about your distress?

He was back beside you, sighing loudly like he didn’t care. “Alright, L/n, what’s going on?”

You gave him a sharp glare, shooting him daggers. “Why do you care?”

“I don’t.” He fired back. “But I don’t need you busting in during my deals, so you might as well get whatever it is off your chest and wipe your damn tears.” He lifted himself off the seat briefly, reaching back and grabbing his black bandana and handing it to you. You didn’t grab it, so he placed it on your lap with a huff.

It was your turn to look him strangely, like he was from another planet, a strange land you’d yet to be aware of. “You’re being weird.”

“Shut up.” He retorted. “You’ve got snot all over your face.”

You purposely rubbed your nose with his bandana, making sure to clean your face of mucus and tears. He recoiled, grossed out at the action. “Yeah, you can keep that.” He said.

He gave you a minute. Nobody said anything as you calmed down, sniffling to yourself here and there. His concern grew when he noticed the shaking of your hands. “Hey,” He said, voice deep and gruff. “What’s the matter with you?”

You looked at him sadly, shaking your head. “My dad has cancer.”

He couldn’t help it then. His whole face dropped. His jaw fell slack and his eyes widened.

“I just found out yesterday.” Your voice was full and thick with tears. “I was in math class and just had to get out before I had a public fucking breaking down like I’m doing now!” You said, angry with yourself.

“It doesn’t even make sense!” You continued. “My dad is a good man! He’s done nothing to deserve this! I don’t understand!” You cried, rambling to him at this point. He didn’t mind, he didn’t know what to say anyways.

“My whole family is just…numb. Dad’s pretending he’s not bothered by it. He’s doing everything he normally does. Mowing the grass, helping mom with the flower bed.”

You kept talking and Eddie listened, and in that moment, he felt pure sorrow and remorse, compassion and empathy for you. He listened to your words and felt his stomach sink. And you were beautiful, a random thought jostled in the middle somewhere between sorrow and empathy.

You cried to him for almost an hour. You talked about your family falling apart, but continuing on despite the downfall. The number of months the doctors had given your father to live. You talked about not being walked by him down the aisle, him not seeing his grandchildren. It was all here and there, but Eddie listened and said nothing, and after awhile, you forgot he was there and that it was Eddie.

When two o’clock rolled around, you breathed heavily and looked at your watch, then him. “You didn’t need to stay.” You were completely exhausted, mentally and physically.

“It’s alright.” It was the first thing he’d said in an entire hour. “You needed someone to talk to. I’m just being a good samaritan.”

“Still,” Your eyes were red and raw. “Why?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “I’m not always bad.”

You managed to smile. He didn’t.

“Well, thanks.” You said softly. “My friends don’t know yet. Nobody does. Please don’t tell?” You looked at him with round eyes that were always so full of innocence.

“I won’t say anything.” He shook his head.

You sniffled once more and nodding, standing up and fixing your white skirt. “Well, I better get back to class. Thanks for listening.”

He let you walk all the way across the room and to the door before he spoke. “I’m sorry.”

You didn’t look at him and he didn’t look at you, but both of your hearts seemed to lighten. The door clicked open loudly and shut, leaving him to himself.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #bully eddie #stranger things #stranger things season four #joseph quinn #eddie munson imagines #eddie munson headcanons #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson x female character

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incorrectbatfam · 1 year ago

Note

Do the batfamily members ever get too into their undercover work? (Undercover in an office and theyre worried about spreadsheets, working in a warehouse and coming home complaining about missing parts)

Bruce: Status updates on your undercover missions. Dick, you first. What have you got down at the docks?

Dick: I haven't confirmed the Killer Croc sightings yet, but more importantly, our catch hasn't been measuring up to last year's. Tuna we're doing okay on, but the salmon population seems to be on the low end. I've contacted the Department of Wildlife and Fisheries but it'll be another 3-5 business days before they can come down and check it out.

Bruce: At least you're doing something to help. Jason?

Jason: Class was okay. I think the kids are warming up to me as their substitute while Mrs. Maloney is out on maternity leave. The average on the last vocabulary quiz was 83.53% so either I'm doing my job right or they need to be challenged. I'm worried about Tristan Lancy, though. He's normally a good student but his grades have been dropping recently and his parents don't seem like safe people to tell. I'll talk to him tomorrow and try to pair him up with a peer tutor if he needs it.

Bruce: Also see if he has any alternate contacts besides his parents. Tim, any updates at the chemical plant?

Tim: If by updates you mean OSHA violations, I could go on all week. We got a batch of new recruits today and they were just thrown into the work—no PPE, no safety training, nothing. This is what happens when you place production over employee well-being. I'm gonna file a complaint after this meeting. Also, I think the union will have something to say about the manager cutting people's lunch breaks short.

Bruce: I see. Damian? Please tell me you found something volunteering at the zoo.

Damian: Depends on how you define "found." While I have not obtained evidence of a mutant larvae black market, I did help some of the animals at the sanctuary make progress with their recovery. Bobo the monkey is healing from his broken arms and we're gradually getting him re-acclimated to climbing higher surfaces. Suzie the black bear was born a little prematurely but seems to be catching up to her peers in terms of growth. Lastly, we got a grant for additional wildcat research and enrichment. As an aside, we are having an educational seminar on European mountain goats this Friday at 3:30 and I expect all of you to be there.

Bruce: I'll put that on our calendars. Steph?

Steph: It's not really undercover work for me, just work. Anyway, yes the newest Batburger location is being used for money laundering. But I really need to vent about the customers for a sec. We don't open until 10 and at 9:30 this morning some moron was banging on our door demanding Jokerized cheese fries. Then right in the middle of the lunch rush, Janie got sick so I had to fill in as the cashier and it was hell. After that, I had to step in between a fight at the drive-thru because the customer claimed we only gave him nine pieces of his ten-piece Robin nuggets and tried to beat up the kid who took his order. And to top it all off, an entire high school hockey team came in five minutes before closing.

Bruce: Cass?

Cass, blowing balloons: Can't talk. Arranging bat mitzvah.

Bruce: Duke, you're my last hope.

Duke: Margie's bringing a peanut butter chocolate cake to the bake sale. I swiped her recipe and we can easily beat her. Her ganache is way too watery and just runs off the top of the cake, which isn't even leveled. She's also trying to do something with a raspberry filling that isn't working at all. It's like she couldn't decide on what to bring. The bake sale committee also asked if we can bring some apple pies because the original baker has to go out of town for a family emergency. I think we'll win if we bring them with some ice cream and a touch of caramel, even though this isn't a contest.

Bruce: Thank you. At least our most critical case has been taken care of.

Barbara: ...I'll save my book launch for later.

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shalomniscient · 6 months ago

Note

I don't know why Feixiao gives me himbo energy (i know she doesn't complete the trifecta bc she's smart) i think it's the wholesome jock vibes idk.

Which reminds me, I feel like Feixiao would go full on Gomez Addams on her S/O if given the chance. Absolutely shameless about her affection.

ur so right about everything u mentioned anon. wholesome jock feixiao is SO real like she's the embodiment of buff gf who helps you lift your furniture when you wanna redecorate or move out. also hdsfjhskdfj feixiao in a varsity jacket over a big hoodie in loose jeans........... the sleeper build boyfriend(gn) fit of all time........... head in hands i need to be her pretty academia girlfriend SO BADDD

while we're on the topic though, college!au feixiao got in on a sports scholarship and does sport science as her major. she's president of the taekwondo club and the college's star tk athlete. you can usually find her training with moze, another member of the tk club, while their friend jiaoqiu, who's doing his phd in nutrition, sits nearby and studies. despite spending almost an unhealthy amount of time in the gym she's still incredibly smart, and gets pretty good grades in her academics. she's your PT if you hit the gym with her, and she makes the BEST workout plans i just know it!!! reassures you the whole time as you start out and is super excited when you can move on to bigger weights. for her, she loves using YOU as her weights. she has you sit nice and pretty on her hips while she does hip thrusts OR has you sit on her back while she does push-ups. gets a little cheeky when it comes to sit-ups, because she'll make you hold her feet down and then surprise you with a kiss when she comes up.

she lets you borrow her varsity jackets because she LOVES the way you drown in them, how they're so big they hang off your shoulders and how your fingertips are barely visible by the end of the sleeves. if you're both taking a break from studying she'll drive you out (secondhand supra, white and teal coating, custom tuned ECU on top of a whole lot of other mods she managed to weasel in by interning at her uncle huaiyan's shop back in high school) for a late night tea run. she prefers fruit teas, and maybe you'll both get an ice cream to share. and if you fall asleep in the car on the way back, she'll drape her jacket over you and maybe secretly snap a picture that you'll later find set as her phone wallpaper.

#sev.responses #maybe...............#college au #feixiao x reader #feixiao #also anon im SO sorry but i went on such a tangent it's embarassing #but i agree w/ the shameless about affection part SO MUCH #college au feifei WOULD kiss you after every win at her tk comps #and if u grab her by the collar and pull her in............. SHES SO GONE #also fei with a supra....................... hrngnsmgnsmng

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hueningstar · 3 months ago

Text

Beneath the Thorny Vines

Summary : You and Yeonjun go from bickering rivals to sharing charged, intimate moments during a late-night study session, where unspoken tension turns into undeniable attraction.

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A/N : Let me know what you think or if you have any suggestions. Your support means the world ! <3 Alsoo,requests are open🙃 And about my 2 reqs that I got..school is starting and I really need to do my hw and study but I promise that in a few days you WILL get them☺️

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Pairing : Yeonjun × reader

Genre : Enemies-to-Lovers, Slow Burn, College AU

Warnings : nipple play, unprotected sex (wrap it b4 u tap it)

MDNI

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The first time you met Choi Yeonjun, he was leaning casually against the doorframe of your lecture hall, a smug smirk plastered on his face like he owned the place. And maybe he did, judging by the way everyone’s eyes flitted to him as though he were a magnet pulling their attention.

You hated him instantly.

“Hey,” he called out, his voice dripping with confidence. “Looks like you’re in my spot.”

Your brows furrowed as you looked up from your notebook. The lecture hall wasn’t even half full, yet he had the audacity to claim ownership of the seat you’d chosen near the window.

“I don’t see your name on it.” you shot back, folding your arms.

Instead of being deterred, he chuckled—a sound that irritated you more than it should have. “Well, I usually sit here. But if you want to fight about it, we can flip a coin.”

Rolling your eyes, you grabbed your things and moved a few seats down, muttering under your breath about entitlement. You thought that would be the end of it, just another annoying encounter in a sea of college chaos.

You were wrong.

From that day forward, Yeonjun seemed to make it his mission to get under your skin. Whether it was cutting you off in class discussions, conveniently signing up for the same group projects, or flashing that infuriating grin every time he passed you in the halls, he was always there.

“Do you ever take anything seriously?” you snapped one afternoon after he’d turned in another half-hearted attempt at a group project. You’d spent hours perfecting your section, only for him to barely skim the surface of his.

He shrugged, leaning back in his chair. “Relax, it’s not like it’s the final grade. Besides, I figured you’d overachieve enough for the both of us.”

Your jaw clenched. “Unbelievable.”

“You say that a lot,” he teased, his voice light. “I’m starting to think you actually enjoy arguing with me.”

You didn’t dignify that with a response.

As the semester dragged on, your interactions with Yeonjun became a strange routine. He’d rile you up, you’d bite back, and somewhere in between the tension, there were moments where his charm almost—almost—made you forget how infuriating he was.

Like the time he caught you struggling to carry a stack of library books and, without a word, took half of them from your arms.

“Don’t get used to this,” he said, smirking as he walked beside you.

“I wasn’t planning to,” you replied, though your tone lacked its usual bite.

Or the time he stayed behind after class to help you clean up spilled coffee, his fingers brushing against yours as he handed you a paper towel. For a split second, you saw something softer in his eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared.

The turning point came during a campus fundraiser. You’d been assigned to work the same booth as Yeonjun—selling homemade baked goods to raise money for the art department.

“Try not to scare off the customers.” you said, eyeing him as he lounged lazily behind the table.

“And miss out on the chance to charm everyone who walks by?” He grinned, picking up a cookie and taking a bite.

“You’re supposed to sell those, not eat them.” you scolded, swatting at his hand.

“What, you think people won’t buy them if one’s missing? Watch and learn.”

To your surprise (and mild annoyance), Yeonjun’s charm worked wonders. Within an hour, he’d managed to sell more cookies than you thought possible, effortlessly chatting up every passerby.

“See? I’m not completely useless,” he said, leaning closer with a playful glint in his eyes.

You hated the way your heart skipped a beat.

As the weeks turned into months, the sharp edges of your rivalry began to blur. You still bickered—some things never changed—but there was a new undercurrent to your interactions, a warmth that neither of you acknowledged but both felt.

One evening, as you sat alone, frantically typing away at an essay due the next day, Yeonjun appeared out of nowhere and slid into the seat across from you.

“Need help?” he asked, his tone uncharacteristically genuine.

You blinked, caught off guard. “Why would you offer to help me?”

He shrugged, a small smile playing on his lips. “Maybe I don’t hate you as much as you think.”

For the first time, you allowed yourself to smile back.

And maybe—just maybe—you didn’t hate him as much as you thought, either.

Yeonjun leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest as he watched you with that ever-present smirk. For once, though, it didn’t feel condescending—it felt… softer.

“Fine,” you relented with a sigh, sliding your laptop toward him. “But if you mess this up, I’m holding you accountable.”

“Deal.” He rolled up the sleeves of his hoodie, revealing forearms that were unfairly distracting. Settling in, he scanned the notes on your screen, his brow furrowed in concentration.

You tried to focus on anything but him: the sound of the clock ticking, the faint hum of the air conditioner, the scratch of your pen on paper. But your eyes kept drifting back to Yeonjun, to the way his lips pressed together as he read, to the faint strand of hair falling into his face.

“Your formatting’s all wrong,” he said suddenly, breaking the silence.

“Excuse me?”

He grinned, tapping at your keyboard. “Relax, I fixed it. See?”

You leaned closer, your shoulder brushing against his as you followed his gesture. He smelled faintly of something clean and woodsy, and you were suddenly hyperaware of how close the two of you were.

“Uh, thanks.” you mumbled, your voice quieter than intended.

“Don’t mention it.” he replied, but his tone had shifted, too. When you glanced up, you found him looking at you—really looking.

The smirk was gone, replaced by something deeper, something that made the air between you feel heavier.

“Why do you do that?” you asked softly, your heart pounding.

“Do what?” His voice was just as quiet, his gaze locked on yours.

“Act like you don’t care about anything.”

He tilted his head, a small, humorless laugh escaping him. “And why do you act like you care about everything?”

The question caught you off guard, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to respond. But before you could think of something, Yeonjun leaned in just slightly, his voice dropping to a near whisper.

“Maybe we’re not so different, after all.”

The tension crackled like static electricity. Your breath hitched as his fingers brushed yours, lingering for a moment too long. His eyes flicked down to your lips, then back up, as if he were testing the waters.

“Yeonjun…” you started, your voice wavering.

“Shh,” he murmured, a teasing edge returning to his tone. “I’m just helping you with your essay, remember?”

But the way his hand lingered on yours said otherwise.

As Yeonjun's fingers intertwined with yours, he slowly pulled you closer. His other hand reached up to cup your face gently, tilting it up to meet his gaze. He looked at your lips, then back into your eyes, asking a silent question.

His thumb caressed your bottom lip, sending shivers down your spine. "You're so..." he murmured, seemingly at a loss for words. His eyes searched yours, filled with a mix of confusion, desire, and something deeper. "...annoying. And frustrating. And..."

He paused, his forehead resting against yours now. "And so infuriatingly kissable." he finally whispered, his warm breath fanning across your face. His hand on your face tightened, pulling you into a gentle, tentative kiss. His lips were soft, questioning, almost unsure.

His kiss was gentle but demanding, contradictory in the best way. One hand remained on your face while the other moved to the small of your back, pulling you closer. When he deepened the kiss, his tongue tracing your bottom lip, you couldn't help but melt against him. "Mmm..."

A soft groan rumbled in his chest as you parted your lips, inviting him in. His kiss turned more urgent, more passionate. He explored your mouth like he was trying to memorize the taste and feel of you. His hand on your back slid down to grip your hip, pressing you flush against him.

The kiss went on for what felt like an eternity, stealing your breath and your thoughts. When Yeonjun finally broke the kiss, you were both left panting, your hearts racing in sync. He rested his forehead against yours once more, his eyes closed as if savoring the moment.

His eyelids fluttered open, revealing eyes dark with desire. A slow, almost lazy smirk spread across his face as he took in your flushed cheeks and kiss-swollen lips.

Without warning, he lifted you up and placed you on the desk, pushing the books and papers to the side with a careless swipe of his arm. He stepped between your legs, forcing them apart to make room for him.

He leaned in to claim your lips again, more forceful this time. One hand slid up your thigh while the other tangled in your hair, angling your head to deepen the kiss. You could feel his growing hardness pressing against your center as he moved closer.

His fingers deftly unbuttoned your shirt, exposing your lacy bra underneath. He paused, admiring the view, before hooking a finger under the strap and pulling it down, baring more skin.

"Fucking hell." he breathed against your neck, his lips and teeth tracing a path down to your collarbone. His hand snaked around to unhook your bra, freeing your breasts.

He took a moment to appreciate the sight before lowering his head, capturing one of your nipples in his mouth. He sucked and swirled his tongue around it, eliciting a gasp from you. His free hand kneaded your other breast, rolling the nipple between his fingers.

His mouth moved back to yours in a searing kiss, swallowing your moans as his hands made quick work of your pants and underwear, pushing them down your legs. He stepped back just enough to remove his own shirt, revealing his toned chest.

He reached for his belt, unbuckling it and lowering his zipper. You watched, mesmerized, as he pulled out his hard, throbbing cock. He stroked it a few times, spreading pre-cum along the length before reaching for your legs and spreading them wider.

"I'm going to fuck you now," he growled, positioning himself at your entrance. He looked at you, his eyes filled with a heady mix of desire and affection. "And I'm not going to be gentle."

He thrust into you suddenly, filling you completely in one brutal stroke. You cried out, feeling like you might be split in two as he buried himself inside you. He wrapped your legs around his waist, angling you for even deeper penetration. "You're so tight."

He hissed through gritted teeth, his arms trembling as he held you up. He pounded into you, over and over, each thrust hitting deeper than the last. You were screaming, but he muffled the sound with his mouth, kissing you brutally as he took you.

Just when you thought he couldn't get any harder or faster, he reached between your bodies and rubbed at your clit, sending sparks flying through your entire being. You came with a scream, your inner walls clamping down on his cock as he continued to fuck you through your orgasm.

He followed soon after, pulsing deep inside you with a fierce 'fuck' against your neck. His entire body shook as he emptied himself, then suddenly pulled out, spinning you around and bending you over the desk. His hand came down hard on your ass, making you jump.

He didn't give you a moment to catch your breath before slamming back into you, his hips cracking against your cheeks with each brutal thrust. You were crying now, your face buried in the papers on the desk as he used you like a fucking animal. His balls slapped against your thighs with each stroke.

He snatched a handful of your hair, yanking your head back as he hissed in your ear, "This is what you needed, wasn't it?" His other hand found your clit again, pinching and rubbing mercilessly as he continued his relentless assault on your ass.

A shudder ran through your body as his dirty talk mixed with the brutal stimulation, pushing you swiftly towards another orgasm. Your fingers clenched the edges of the desk, knuckles white from gripping so tightly. "Yes!" you cried out, your voice raw and desperate, "Fuck me harder!"

He snarled in response, his hips moving like a piston as he fucked you with all his might. The desk creaked and shook beneath you, papers flying everywhere. His hand tightened in your hair, pulling so hard it stung, but only adding to the intense pleasure coursing through you.

Just as your orgasm hit, he released your hair, instead wrapping his arm around your waist to lift and turn you to face him. Kneeling, his mouth found yours in a fierce, dominating kiss. His tongue claimed your mouth as thoroughly as his cock had claimed your pussy.

He wrapped his arms around you tightly, pulling you flush against his chest as he thrust up into you with increasing urgency. The sound of their bodies slapping together filled the room, a primal rhythm that drove him closer and closer to the edge. "Fuck, I'm gonna cum in you."

With a final, powerful thrust, he buried himself to the hilt inside you and held you in place as his cock pulsed and spasmed, filling your pussy with his hot, thick cum. You could feel it overflowing, coating your inner thighs as he emptied himself completely inside you.

He nuzzled into your neck, his breathing slowly returning to normal. "Damn, you always make me forget everything else," he murmured contentedly. His hands roamed over your sides possessively. "I need to get back to work, though. Can you..."

He gently shifted you off him, watching as cum dripped from your still-sensitive pussy. "Dirty girl," he whispered appreciatively, pulling his tie to clean you up slightly. "Be a good girl and clean my desk while I'm gone. And maybe then I'll consider bending you over it again later."

You nodded obediently, still trembling from the intensity of your climax. He winked at you before striding out, leaving you sprawled naked on the couch, his cum leaking from you and a trail of papers scattered across the hardwood. Slowly, you pushed yourself up, glancing at the messy desk.

You spent the next hour meticulously cleaning his desk, organizing the scattered papers and dusting the surface. As you worked, you couldn't help but replay the intense encounter in your head, your body still tingling from his touch. Just as you finished, you heard the door open behind you.

He stepped back into the room, his eyes scanning the neatly organized desk. He looked at you, standing there naked and covered in a thin sheen of sweat from the cleaning, a predatory smile spreading across his face. "Good girl." he murmured, locking the door behind him.

Moving swiftly towards you, he pinned you against the freshly cleaned desk, his strong hands gripping your hips. "I suppose only one thing is left to do now," he growled playfully, his eyes gleaming with mischief and lust.

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