#i really liked the idea of him having glasses

[tonycries]

Your (Super)Man - N.K.

Synopsis. He’s not a bird. He’s not a plane. He’s…just Nanami Kento from the journalism department. But you have a feeling that Nanami’s hiding a super big secret - and not just the one down there.

Pairing. Nanami Kento x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, Clark Kent! Nanami, SUPERMAN AU, aphrodísiacs, coworkers-to-Iovers, he is a GENTLEMAN, slight víoIence, Itadori cameo, saving people, píning, manhandIing, he is BIG, cervíx kíssing, making it fit, pússydrúnk Nanami, oraI (fem rec.), BRÉEDING, creampíes, cúmplay, spítting, Nanami’s POWERS, matíng presses, face-sítting, buIges, BREAKING THE BED, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 9.7k

A/N. CLARK KENT(O) NANAMI SAVE MEEEE

“There’s just something about him, Shoko.”

“Right…”

You’re flicking a quick roll of your eyes as your coworker continues stealing drowsy sips of her early morning coffee. Well, her fifth of the morning. Grumbling out, “I swear- There’s just something about him that feels so…” Eyes drifting - as they much seemed to do these days - to the man in question. “-different.”

And, listen, Shoko would whole-heartedly prefer the tittering office gossip with you over working on her weeks-late article any day of the week. 

But times like this, she really had no idea whether the two of you were staring - undoubtedly creepily - at the same Nanami Kento. 

That stoic, mild-mannered hire who’d just been freshly accepted into your journalism sector. Tall, seemingly powerful - yet, he acted anything but. A gentle giant with the suspicious patience of a saint even against the worst of editors - honestly, she’s musing, just who was this guy?

“Hm…” Fingers digging into her achy temples as if trying to will away the memory of her upcoming deadlines. And this. “Maybe you just need to get laid. A proper, genuine good f-”

“Shoko.”

And she’s cracking her first laugh of the day, ducking underneath her computer screen with a sigh as Yaga passes by dangerously close. “Well, you were thinking about it. Harlot.”

You’re sighing, too - though for a much different reason, she imagines. 

Gaze narrowing as you finally rip them away from the blond-haired man dwarfing the corporate cubicle opposite the two of you. Bumbling and fixing the glasses on his face for the nth time this hour. “W-well it doesn’t help that he’s hot.”

Shoko’s mere milliseconds away from opening her sharp mouth once more - and you’re mere milliseconds away from wincing at what was surely to fall from them. Before- 

A call of your name.

Ah, saved by the bell - or, your managing editor, more like. Though, you weren’t sure if you’d consider it “saving” when Yaga’s holding out a crisp stack of documents your way. Brows furrowed underneath his sunglasses, he gruffs out, “They finally cleared the pitch for your article on that flower. You’re good to go.”

“O-oh, that’s great. Thank you.” Plastering on a simpering smile on your face, you’re hastily clasping those papers. “I’ll get started on the interviews right away.”

Articles on flower shops weren’t quite the adrenaline-thumping journalism you’d expected to work on when you first joined this company. Initially concocting fantasies about interviewing your city’s nefarious villains or perhaps even…Superman .

But ah, those were just dreams. And it seems that someone here had to report on things like mysterious flower shipments to local florists - which just-so-happened to be you.

You’re pulled out of your pitiful little reverie by another echo of your name. Turning back to Yaga, brows raised. “Yes?”

“And take Nanami with you.”

Oh.

Oh. 

“Ah, sorry you’re paired up with me, Nanami.” You’d be chuckling much, much later when you’d gathered your files and your wits to be stuffed inside an elevator with your coworker. “I’d imagine something like this probably wouldn’t have been your ideal first taste of real journalism.”

Eyes straying anywhere but where you could spy the way the suit buttons over his chest looked like they were about to pop! Nanami was unfairly attractive, even when he was slouched and nervously struggling to meet your eyes with his honeypool ones.

Always known around the rest of the company to be so timid - but you get the feeling that he was being extra jumpy around you.

He’s shaking his head - golden strands of hair curtaining his handsome face. “Please don’t worry. I’m only grateful that you’re taking me with you, I-I promise to try my best not to be a burden, ma’am.”

“Aw, no need to call me that. We’re the same age, after all.” Subtly, you’re mashing the button for the ground floor a few more times. Suddenly reminded of how dizzyingly tiny this space was. How much of it he was occupying. “And I can’t promise that I won’t be a burden, either.”

You’d meant it as a joke - you really did. But after seeing the way that Nanami’s forehead crinkles with a furrow, you almost wish you could take back those words. 

“Anyone would be lucky to have you as a partner.” He’s mumbling - such earnestness dripping from his rich baritone that you can feel your eyes widening a fraction. And Nanami sees it, too. 

“Oh?”

“I mean-” Fingers fumbling to push up his thick-rimmed glasses, he’s tightening his yellow speckled tie almost as if he wished to choke away that burning flush creeping up from the back of his drooped neck and blossoming at the tips of his ears. “Just- just that you’re one of the most c-competent journalists in our company and I’m only honored to be learning from the best and- o-oh, it seems we’re here.” 

It’s a wonder that Nanami noticed - it’s a wonder that you noticed once those metallic doors parted like a curtain to reveal the bustling lobby. Finally here.

He’s holding out the curved end of one big, strong arm, bent at the elbow to show off the straining stretch of his flexing biceps. And you can’t help but ogle. “M-may I?”

It takes you copious seconds of staring at the thoroughly outlined bulge of his sculpted arm for you to finally snap to your senses. And a few more to finally realize what he was asking. 

Something warm and mushy pools in your stomach. Fuck.

Tentatively wrapping your hands around the rock-hard mounds of flesh so that Nanami - ever-the-gentleman - could tenderly escort you out, as if this was a ballroom and not your workplace. 

And you can’t help but think that perhaps you didn’t mind tedious interviews if it went anything like this. 

.

.

.

“So, there’s no sender address?”

“Nope.”

“No date?” 

“Nada.”

“And no postage?” 

“Tch, I wish!”

You’re tapping your trusty pen against the parchment of the notepad, gears wracking in your thoroughly overworked brain. “Mr. Itadori, is there a possibility that this might be a prank?”

Wasuke Itadori shakes his head with a grunt, weathered fingers brushing over the aggressively violet petals of a flower you think looked too bizarre to even be pulled out of your very dreams. He’s tapping the stiff flower once. Twice. 

And you’re gasping when a tiny puff of shimmering pink billows out like a heady cloud. Perfumed. Hypnotizing. A musky vanilla that makes you draw in further, and reminds you of- Eyes peeking over at an aloof Nanami…him. 

“See? Smells jus’ like my wife’s cheap citrus perfume. N’ unless she’s haunting me from beyond the grave as she said she would, it seems too elaborate of a prank ta me. It’s obviously livin’, but I can’t find any information on this flower for the life of me.” The older man crosses his arms, scowling, “Ya have no idea how many times I’ve had ta stop my stupid grandson from trying to eat this thing.”

Humming, you’re jotting down a few notes - fingers tremoring ever-so-slightly at Nanami’s burning gaze right beside you. “Have there been any strange effects on the other flora since you’ve acquired this special flower?”

“Nah, nothing at all- that’s the thing, s’like it’s alien or something. Just showed up at my door one day n’ I dunno what it is.” He’s grouching - and you have to agree. That is strange. 

You’d never heard of any other florist’s receiving this type of strange…gift? 

But you can’t voice anything more before a voice sounds from outside the see-through door, and the man before you clicks his tongue. “Ah! Dammit, that reminds me- my flower vendor’s here already. Excuse me while I step outside, you can throw the lil’ gremlin in with the marigolds if he bothers ya too much.”

You’re holding back a chuckle - honestly, this was nothing like you expected, you think you would have enjoyed this interview regardless. 

Wasuke was a doting grandpa - as much as he may deny it. And his tiny, pink-haired menace of a grandson was positively bouncing off the walls at having official journalists enter the cozy flower shop. Dangling midair off of a closely-observing Nanami’s shoulders with two chubby arms wrapped around the other’s neck.

Though, you certainly weren’t complaining at the sight.

“Hey- pretty lady- mister Nananamin-” Yuji’s squeaking into his ear. “Are you two married?” 

You’re sure that if Wasuke was within earshot he’d have grabbed the child by the scruff of his neck. But, alas, Nanami was beared with none of that mercy. 

Teasing, “Hmm, would you like to answer this, Nanami?”

“No- I mean yes! N-no, this lovely lady and I are not married.” He’s huffing out a low bout of laughter, massive palms barely even having to try to pick up Yuji’s wiggling body. And you can’t stop the way your heart lurches when he’s softly cradling the younger boy in one arm - fuck, you really need to get yourself together.

“Why not?”

And perhaps for the first time since you’ve known him, Nanami Kento looked truly and utterly stunned. Hazel eyes pleading your way, mouth opening and closing a few desperate times. “Well…”

But Yuji only plows on with the oblivious confidence that only comes with being freshly five. “Then, since you’re erm- what was that word Megumi said? Uh- d-divowced, can I marry her?”

Ah.

Giggling behind your palm, you’re almost on the verge of saving your poor coworker. Almost. 

That is, before it happens. 

CRASH!

You can’t hear anything, you can’t feel anything, you can’t see anything - other than a bright, blood red. Fuck- 

“N-Nanami? Yuji?” Your voice is shrill - cracking, and you’re unsure if the way you grimace is because of how utterly pathetic you sound or because of the complete devastation in front of you. “Wh-what…”

Shit. 

Heaps upon heaps of concrete and wrecked pieces of building pile upon what was once the Itadori family flower shop. Flowerpots knocked over, the ceiling crumbling, bright morning sunlight filtering from above to illuminate a thick blanket of swirling dust. 

As if a whirlwind had wrecked it through and caught up you right in the middle of it - purposefully. 

Shit shit shit-

Gasping, heaving to try and scramble your thoughts into one big coherent one - but then instantly regretting it when your entire body wracks with painful coughs. You’re so confused - head churning with exactly what’s happening right now - that you barely even register the large hand soothing over your back.

Your ears ring with a sharp keen, eyes bleary and tinging with black - it hurts. And you’re pressing a hand to your forehead with a hiss. Unbalanced voice on the edges of shattering into a zillion pieces, “What happened- wh-where-”

“Shhh shh shh, you’re going to be alright, darling.”

What? 

Your head snaps up - it’s then that you notice it.

Finally. 

Body tucked safely behind the overarching counter of the flower shop, far from where the sudden impact of something would have hit you. You’re crouched against all the wood and debris that dug uncomfortably into your legs. Your hands tremble - but not just with fear, no, with the tearful cries of a curled-up Yuji snuggling thankfully safely into your body.

All in the arms of…Nanami?

But, wait, no- it was as if it wasn’t him at all. 

Because gone were those heavy glasses framing his pretty face, and you’re blinking your lethargic lids urgently to drink in the stern, serious features they’d left behind. Brows furrowed, plump lips pulled tightly when he’s clenching his jaw, muscles flexing as he’s holding you two tighter - as if subconsciously. 

There was something different about him, something��magnetic, like a flip had just switched on. And you’re definitely blaming the way your head was swimming - but you can’t help but think he looked so hot.

Fuck - now’s not the time.

Soft locks of blond were windswept to slick back, that snug coat of his tattered onto the floor to display an emblazoned logo that you wouldn’t be able to mistake even if you tried. 

“You’re…” you breathe, and it’s a wonder that the syllables come out coherent at all. Jaw falling slack at the glimpses of that familiar skin-tight red and blue suit you’ve seen smeared across every magazine, every news column, and every show these days. “...Superman.”

And it takes a second. Two. 

Until Nanami’s long lashes flutter with a little pant of laughter, a singular thick finger straightening into a shush-ing gesture when he’s smiling down warmly at a sniffling Yuji, “This’ll be our little secret, right?”

“Y-yes!” The little boy hiccups, plump palms scrambling to cover his mouth. And you think you could spy a tiny smile rising through his short fingers. Though it wavers, “Mister Nananamin- I mean- Mister Superman, my grandpa is still outside…”

He’s nodding, “I’ll keep you all safe-” Before turning to you with eyes so scorching that you can feel yourself inch in closer against the stiff fabric of his supersuit. “-all of you.” 

“Ahhh~ touching touching. Didn’t think I’d run into dear ol’ Superman here.” A high, eerie voice rings over the thundering blood pumping to your head, and you’re burying even deeper into Nanami’s sculpted side. “But ah, not to worry, Man of Steel, m’jus’ here to pick up a little lost package of my friend’s so…”

Nanami’s stiffening underneath your touch, and with a slow nod he’s getting up from your little hiding place. 

And if looks could kill - which you knew Superman could do - then the greyish, patched man in front of you wouldn’t have been waltzing in through the utterly destroyed door already. As if he owned the place. Owned all of you. 

“Mahito, we’ve spoken before.” Nanami’s voice was hardened with a growl in a way you’ve never heard. Fuming. “Leave now and no one gets hurt.”

There’s a metallic click! resonating across what was left of the four walls of this shop, as if he was loading some type of gun. But not as you’ve ever known one. 

And Nanami’s eyes narrow with a thick coating of tension when Mahito’s fingers curl around that flower - the exact one you’d come here to interview about in the first place. Plucking it neatly from the vase before crushing the waxy petals between his fingers. 

“You sure ya wanna talk to me like that when you’ve got civilians here, Superman?” Voice airy, delighted. As if he wasn’t currently loading an opening in that specialized gun with the gooey insides of that flower. Before pointing it - right at the bullseye where you were scoured away. “Especially with sweetcheeks here? Don’t think I don’t know how soft ya are for-”

Nanami stretches into an attack-ready position. “So you’re after the innocents again.”

“Ah- no, actually.” Mahito snickers. Snickers. “I’m after you.”

BANG!

It all happens so fast that you’re not even sure if everything’s part of your imagination - whether this is all still a dream. 

Because in the bat of an eye, Mahito has the slightly-glowing barrel of the gun pointed your way. Bursting the counter into nothing but a few shockwaves and shards of plastic. 

And in the bat of much less, Nanami’s shielding you with his entire body, sculptured front glissading against your back, beefy arms curled snugly around your waist. Head tucked over yours to make sure every inch of you is protected, Yuji placed gently at his side. 

Your bleary vision clouds with a familiar fog of pink - dazzling and addictive with that same musky perfume. Was- wasn’t this what Wasuke had shown you earlier?

“Shit! Wh-what the fuck is this?!” You’re hearing off in the distance - or perhaps it was right beside you, you didn’t even know at this point. “That damn Hanami- this isn’t the poison-”

He’s letting off a shiver, before gritting out. One arm holding out to you just as it had in the elevator, the memory hits you with pang. “Y-you two need to get to safety. Now. May I?”

If it weren’t for the hours of droning meetings faced with Nanami, the weeks of trying to get him to speak with you - months of memorizing every syllable that dripped from his pretty lips, then you wouldn’t even have noticed. But you did. 

“W-wait-.” Your throat scratches and struggles to get the words out, matching the shakes in his own tone. “You’re hurt, aren’t you?”

But the only answer you get is a soft, mysterious smile. And the repeated hum - as if you weren’t wrangling yourself around to peek at where he was undoubtedly hit. “No need to worry about me, my love- ah. My first and foremost priority is you two-”

“But you’re hurt.” you’re crying out, gasping when Mahito’s eyes lock with yours. And he leers, knobbly fingers fussing to reset that weapon once more. 

“I know.” Stray tresses of golden flaxen stick to Nanami’s sweat-glimmered forehead like an impromptu crown, and you don’t know how he has it in himself to smile down at you. Cradling Yuji in one arm, and you in the other as if the two of you were easily weightless - you can only gape at the adorable dimple digging into the left corner of his mouth. “Now, hold on tight.”

You do - and you can only blink before your savior is flying. 

Now, you’d always marvelled at the sheer heights that Superman reached on those live newscasts. Wondering just how euphoric it must be to soar through the air, free from every care in the world - well, as much as you could be when the fate of the world rests on your shoulders, at least.

But this? This was heaven.

Wind whipping your face like an icy mask, Yuji’s high peels of laughter tinkling in your ears. You can’t do anything but watch and watch as the demolished flower shop grows smaller. A speck. 

“Oh- oh my god.” You’re whispering thorough scrunched eyes, nails clawing deeply into the mountainous curve of his well-defined deltoid.

And if it hurt, then Nanami didn’t give a single sign. Instead, he’s laughing - quiet, and as delicate at the cottony clouds passing you by. “S’alright, s’alright. Super- Ken’s here. N’ m’not gonna drop you.” You’re cutting through the air so fast - staggeringly - but right now, when Nanami’s boring his eyes into yours, it felt like time itself had stumbled to a stop. He’s pulling you even closer to his powerful body, “I’d never let ya go, darling.”

Yet, when the view of your cozy Metropolis apartment comes into view - you almost whine at the fact that he has to. 

“Don’t you worry about a thing now.” Nanami’s ruffling Yuji’s windblown mop of pink hair - even more tousled with the wind. “I’ll be going, and I’ll keep both you and your grandpa safe.”

And looking at him right now - velvety crimson cape flowing at the wind seeping in through your open window, one arm bulging with muscles as he leans readily against the frame - you wonder how you could’ve ever thought that anyone other than him could be Superman.

“Come back safe.” You’re choking out, hands clasped. “W-we’re still not done with our article…”

“Mhm, you better hold me to that, ma’am.” 

And with that, Superman - Nanami - was zipping through the air at a mach speed that made you realize he was intentionally slowing it down for both you and Yuji on your way here. 

Fingers quivering, it takes you what feels like practically forever to turn your television on - precisely onto a live newstream of how Superman had entered the site of a villain attack. Ready to save. To be a hero. 

Eyes locked mindlessly on the tiny blimp of red and blue onscreen, you cuddle a fidgety Yuji on the bouncy cushions of your sofa. For your jittery nerves just as much as his. “Your husband is so cool, lady- he’s Superman! Oh- whoops, shhhh! Tha’s a secret though…”

“Yeah…” you’re breathing out. “Yeah, he is cool, isn’t he?”

.

.

.

Forty-five saved, three buildings wrecked, and one injured. 

One injured - him.

Though, Nanami wouldn’t quite count himself with any civilians injured or…worse. He never quite does. 

But, oh, it was so hard not to when the first thing he’s peeling back that hazy layer of fatigue in his eyes is you - you, you, you. In all your glorious self, big, pearlescent tears spilling down your pretty cheeks and splattering in tiny puddles onto his bare chest. 

His bare, bandaged chest. 

And for a second, powers set aside, Nanami thinks he might just have died and reached heaven. How fitting that the angels looked like you. 

Voice hoarse as he’s muttering his first few words, “Are- are you alright?”

“-stupid. Asking about m-me when you’re the one hurt. Didn’t even-” Your sobs garble out into words, and you’re half-heartedly hitting your fist against the unbandaged part of Nanami’s skin. “Don’t you ever do that again- you had me- so worried.”

Ah, he’d won the fight - and he finally felt like it.

Silently, he makes quick work abandoning those delicate bandages of yours - a strange part of him almost hurt to unravel your work like this. To unravel nothing but silken, unblemished skin after hours of healing abilities.

Though, Nanami gives all the credit to your care, anyway.

Warm fingers cup your head to nuzzle your clammy face against the crook of his neck. Practically draped over your bed and onto his body now, and you could feel his burning skin, smell those musky pheromones of his. “Got it got it, I won’t be scaring you like that again.”

“Th-the neighbors were so worried when you just showed up all injured n’ half-fainting at my window, y’know? I had to bribe them to be quiet with a few of the flowers that Yuji’s grandpa left.” You’re muttering, more to fill the strangely thickening silence than anything. 

“Ah, tell- tell Mr. Itadori that I will have his shop reconstructed by the end of this week.” He’s whispering, voice so strained that you had to crane your head to hear him - close. “Was Yuji doing alright?”

“Mhm, never been better, apparently. He just left with his grandpa, and they invited us over for dinner before…” Brows furrowing, words withering away on your tongue at the agonized knit in his brow. There was something…different. “Are- are you really okay, Kento?”

Nanami doesn’t comment about that use of his first name - nor does he embarrassingly babble out how it might just be his new favorite song now. 

He can’t.

Because Nanami was panting - groaning. Pearly whites clenched so hard that you think you could hear them creak. 

There was a strange simmering flush creeping up his body, staining it such a delicious strawberry pink that made your mouth water- or maybe that was just the emanating clouds of vanilla musk saturating your lungs. Clinging onto Nanami’s body like a dripping second skin-

“I…” he’s gulping, half-lidded eyes shifting away from yours like he couldn’t even bear to look at you right now. Didn’t know what he would do. “-my apologies. But what that fucker- ah- excuse my language. What Mahito hit me with seems to not have been a poison, as I had thought. Rather, now that it’s finally spread through my body, I feel it’s something else entirely… ” 

“What is it- does it hurt?”

“It seems to be…” Gesturing wildly with his hands, careful not to jostle you. “-an aphrodisiac…of sorts.”

You’re letting your lips part, “Oh. Wait- ‘of sorts?’”

And ah, there was the timid Kento you knew. He could never lie to you. “It- itseemstoonlyaffectthoseinlove- B-but my healing abilities are working and-” Nanami’s sitting up faster than you could blink. Words running a mile-a-minute, “-and I shall leave in case you feel uncomfortable with me here-”

“Why would you leave?” It’s slipping between your lips before you can register. Still mulling over those previous words - they explained. A lot. 

Nanami stills, hands clasped around those creamy blankets he was flinging off, sure to disappear into the starry night. “P-pardon?”

Well, fuck. 

You’re steeling your gaze - you’ve waited this long. And if there was anything about Nanami’s afflicted aphrodisiac, it was that it was contagious.

Making you breathe in a heavy gulp of candied air, “Aphrodisiac, huh? I’ve read about those, and don’t you think that since you saved me-” Slowly - ever-so-slowly dragging your hands to rest on his smooth shoulders, faces inches away. “-it’s only fair that I help? Besides…I can smell it too.”

Oh, he gasps. A confession if any.

Fingers tangling through those damp locks. “But if- if you get tangled up with me- who knows what other villains will come after you. I might’ve taken down Mahito today, but Kenjaku is still out there. And I have to keep ya safe.”

“Well who’s going to keep you safe?” You scoff, refusing - rejecting - to relent.

“I don’t need to be safe if it means that I can keep that beautiful smile on your face everyday.” And maybe it was the aphrodisiac, maybe it was how close you were to him in this dimly heady lightning, but Nanami didn’t seem like he meant to say that out loud. Not at all. 

Basking in your spellbound silence. “My love…feel this?” He’s clasping one hand around your own, letting you rover a greedy grope of his plush pecs - his heartbeat. Thundering. Frighteningly so. “Th-this isn’t any old aphrodisiac, especially considering me.”

“And?”

“And that means, darling-” But he was, too, just as much. “That m’gonna want ya…need ya. So badly and fuck! M’gonna make ya forget what it feels like without me…” One rounded index trailing up, up, up to about halfway up your tummy. “-here.”

You’re shuddering, taking in deep gulps of that electric air. “...A-and?”

He’s jerking you forwards with a mere fraction of that superhuman strength to splay your body over his towering one. Face lolling into the cushiony valley of his pecs, legs straddling that slutty waist of his in a way that made you shy. Right on top of his drenched boxers. That needy spot between your legs heating up just as much as his condensing breath did on your skin. “I can’t promise that when I fuck you, I won’t break you.”

Fuck. Was this really the same, adorably feeble Nanami Kento from work? You weren’t sure, but you knew one way to find out…

“I’ll…hold you to that.”

But before he was Superman, he was Nanami Kento from the journalism department. And who was Nanami Kento against you?

“Such a stubborn girl.” You’re being surprised with a sudden implanting of his thick set of fingers leaving a sudden swat on your ass, voice teetering on what almost sounded like a growl. “But you’re mine, aren’tcha?”

Your fingers dapple along the sweat-dampened little curls of blond at the sexy edge of his undercut. And it seemed like the more the aphrodisiac boiled into his veins, the more and more he burned feverishly. 

Senses superhuman but already heightening with the coarse need glossing his brain - he could practically taste your arousal. 

Panting. Charming maw falling parted to mist you own with such rousing puffs of his scent, “Kiss me. Please- kiss me.”

And- fuck, Nanami kisses like he couldn’t get enough of you.

Was absolutely drunk with just a simple slide of his pursed mouth against your own, from a tender little peck until he only got greedier and greedier-

“Mmmm-” Rasping grunts curdle at the back of his throat, slurring into a low whine when he’s wrenching a splayed-out hand onto your scalp and dragging you away. Manhandling. Sultry sucks being left on the tenderest spots of your throat, sure to make the office talk tomorrow. “Can feel how fuckin’ wet ya are f’me already, darlin’. S’this the aphrodisiac or you?”

God, it was so embarrassing. 

That silky little puddle of your reflective slick was flooding from between your flimsy panties to press gluey little smooches against his manspread front. 

You’re mumbling, words stumbling over one another when your hips peek in to seat just above that swollen crown of his cock. Already rock-hard. “Y-you don’t have to say it out loud.”

You barely even realize how you’re slipping and sliding in needy little gyrations of your hips before Nanami’s putting a shuddering halt to it. One rude hand curling around that perfect curvature of your waist, he’s snickering at how you’re letting off a thoroughly disappointed whine. “My apologies, but s’hard f’me to act like a hah- gentleman when ya have such gorgeous lips…” He’s chuckling out - humorless, parking one big thumb against the corner of your mouth. “These ones, too.” 

He couldn’t even finish his sentence - couldn’t even finish his thought.

Not before bruising your lips with some of the filthiest little sucks on your lower lip - like he’d simply gone way too long without kissing you. Once. Twice. Again and again and-

“O-oh!”  Your hands scramble to find purchase up on his broad shoulders when he’s darting down one fat thumb to paint with all your silvery pussy slick. Drawing slow meshes of circles on your soppy slit up and down up and down up and- “N-Nanami-”

“Kento.” He’s cutting you off with a fracturing furrow of his brows, “We’re way past last names, don’tcha think, my love?”

Oh, that sweetly rugged tone stirred up something inside you that made you want Nanami now now now.

“Oh? S’that so?” Ravenous edges of his fingers pulling aside your sticky panties to the side to sidle in with one thick drag of his digits, they’re being lacquered with such a heavy layer of your sweet, sweet juices that Nanami can’t help but drag his fingerpads upwards to sniff. To suck one by one. Sweet. “You’re heh- babblin’ cute nonsense, but fuuuuck this cute cunt is talkin’ ta me even filthier.”

In such sappy awe at the way your puffy pussy flaps were sugarcoating him all the way down till Nanami was dripping at the wrist. Metallic wristwatch from work all shiny and ruined-

“Need you t-to touch me inside, Ken–” you’re huffing, circling lazy grinds across his roughened hands. “Please?”

“Anythin’ for my girl.”

And Nanami’s giving your ass another good thwack! of his palm, feeling the vibrato of delicious jiggles before hauling your entire body higher and higher. Letting his back hit the silken sheets of your bed within a fluid motion, before you even know it you’re hovering your clothed cunt over his swelteringly fevered mouth. 

Just one sudden move and you’d be riding his face - exactly what Nanami wanted right now. Yearned. 

“Oh- wait-” You’re startling, fingers fumbling with that tight pencil skirt you’d worn to work specifically for him to see. “Didn’t take this-”

“Not a problem.” He’s grunting, only looking up with droopy eyes at where you’re straddling his handsome face, decorated with tawny strands of hair when he’s grinning. Thick fingers clasping onto the hem at your waist, “Hold on tight n’ show me that pretty pussy.”

RIIIIIP–!

Your skirt is on the floor, torn through like butter - your blouse and bra soon to follow. Impatient. And it’s only once Nanami’s done savoring that sweet embarrassment wafting off of you, the way your drenched pussymound smells so sugary sweet - does he even consider freeing you of them.

He’s scrunching up the sodden wet fabric into a little treasure hidden underneath your pillow - something for him later…

And you’re even wetter than usual, that contagious spell of aphrodisiac making your eyes glaze with sheer need. 

“Aw, look at thaaaat.” Nanami’s breathing - enchanting. The curves of his lips lifting into a smirk at the way your dripping slit treacles a fresh coating of slick all down his tongue, letting it sliiiide a lazy trailway to hit the back of his scratchy tastebuds. “Atta girl, b-better be taking all of me if yer that eager, hm?”

And Nanami is so needy - he’s so desperate to have your clingy pussy make a mess all over his face as soon as possible. 

Breathing in like some pervert to take in your perfumed scent. Reaching up to smear a wet glissade of his lips down your own, and you think that it might just be the filthiest French snog that anyone has ever placed on you. The buttoned edge of his nose mushes against your peeked clit so harshly. 

He’s blazing, cock thumping for more- With a low, heated whistle, he’s nuzzling his sweat-glossed forehead up against your moistened inner thigh. Layers upon layers of your slick coveting his features and stinging delicate little ropes that connect his maw to your cunt.

“Mmm- fuckin’ sweet- fuckin’ hot–” Nanami keens out, pillowy palms spreading your legs so comfortably apart until you felt like he was cracking you open. “C’mon now, sit your f-full weight on me, my love.”

You’re sputtering, thighs all achy with fatigue. “B-but-”

“Darling…” Nanami’s smiling, eyes crinkling adorably at the corners. “Not to be conceited - forgive my tone - but I’m Superman. N’ if there was any way m’to die, then it would be right between these pretty legs of yours.”

And you didn’t know whether it was the fumes of vanilla aphrodisiac taking over his melty brain completely because Nanami was ruthless. 

Your dear, sweet coworker was kissing the very edges of your bloated cunt with one of his oversized fingers. Sifting through to draw numerous innocent hearts on your sensitive clit, before plunging down,down, down-

“Ah!” You’re yelping at the stinging stretch of his souring fingerpads, swirling in mushy little gyrations around and around your elastic entrance. Extra sensitive right now- damn that flower. “H-how is your finger already feeling so…”

“Good? Does my heh- good girl like this?” He’s cooing up at you, feeling your gloopy cunt with such copious inches of his long hands. 

And with such staggering fingers you could only imagine how big he’d be down there…

SWAT!

“Aww, don’t space out already. Wanna hear those p-pretty moans even longer-” The jutting pout of Nanami’s oh-so-cute lower lip smudges against your saturated clit. Tingling and hot when he tilts his head to bite. “‘Sides, how are ya gonna f-fit my cock if this is too big, hm?”

You’re holding back a wrecked whimper when he’s chancing another rummaging finger to part your pursed pussy lips. Ramming up and down to drag a sultry stripe across every nook and gummy ridge, to feel for- 

“F-fuck-” Head throwing back, your spine arches into a tight little bow that slops the entirety of your cunt down onto Nanami’s eagerly awaiting mouth. “There- there there there- don’ stop, Kentooo.”

He’s been waiting for this forever. And he was going to get his fill. 

And you could feel the way his mouth curled into a flirty smile, the back of his sharp chin slathered against the very back of where you needed him the most. 

“Mhm– Not gonna let ya go-” As if to prove his point, one free hand is all it takes for him to latch onto your waist and pin you to ride his face with reckless abandon. Exactly how he wanted it. “Wanna marry ya- be mine- please-” Because Nanami Kento didn’t want to move an inch - couldn’t bear parting with the exact sweet treat that’s haunted his most lecherous dreams since the day he fucking met you. “-never- ah- never after th-this.”

Such pretty, pretty melodies resonate out every time Nanami’s slobbering honeyed flurries of sucks and kisses onto your cunt - and not just from between your lips.

No, your teary pussymound was so loud with wiry sploshes of sap. And he simply can’t help himself from nodding his head with every waterlogged swash - as if he was having a full fucking conversation.

“S’right- m’wife’s always so right aren’tcha-” Nanami’s rawly drenched fingers pump outside - just for a split-second - to pap! pap! pap! his calloused pads on that syrupy little stud of your clit before curling his fingers into his mouth and sucking. Cleaning himself off. “Sh-should hear what yer gorgeous pussy’s been hah- sayin’- such a talkative girl, isn’t she?”

And those drunken chestnut eyes of his were just pleading - begging - for you to babble out, “Wh-what is she saying, Ken?”

“She’s sayin’- boasting, actually…” he’s drawling off, and with just how utterly fucked that Nanami looked right now, you wouldn’t be surprised if he’d lost his train of thought. Giggling - giggling out, “-that she can take three.”

He was determined to prove it to you.

To swell your adhesive walls open with three of his pulpy fingers until you felt like you were going to burst. Those thickset globular ends of his digits reaching for that precious little bullseye of your cunt - he’s caressing you lovingly from the inside.

Over and over back and forth in maddening crawls until you were halfway through sobbing. And a primal itch inside him purrs at the sight of those prettily glistening tears in your eyes.

Ah, you looked so gorgeous riding his face like this - and, really, it wasn’t Nanami’s fault that his mouth felt a little left out…was it?

“B-both?” You’re dawdling your limp arms precariously onto the mahogany headboard - something that lasts for a generous two seconds before he’s unlatching your hands to dig harshly into his prespired tug. Firm arm around your first nudging you to pull- “You’re seriously gonna t-try n’ fit both?”

Both being the way that Nanami’s overfilling your snug channel with the dual penetration of his long, extra-sensitive tongue. 

Hissing with a slightly feral snarl marring those features when your tight hole won’t give way, Nanami’s bumping his nose against your sensitive nub with shy pecks once. Twice. Thrice to bully his feverish muscle inside.

“H-hngh—” he’s groaning at the tugging squeeze of your rubbery cunt. Stray fingers scissoring open your gluey walls, “Need ya to m-milk my tongue- know you can- ah! Gonna take it like my good girl, aren’tcha?” 

And it happens all at once.

You don’t know what you’re more surprised at - the way that he’s somehow managing to wedge in that sugarcoated drive of his tongue, or the way that you’re cumming.

Your own high taking you by surprise - taking all but Nanami by surprise. 

And you’ve never felt anything like this before, eyes flashing with white-hot stars. 

They’re burning into your brain and rendering you absolutely stupid with every bludgeon of his fingers into your gooey depths. So fast and hard that you can feel the recoil from your bulging g-spot sprinting in cratering vibrations down your spine.

“Nana- Ken-ohhh fuck!” Your mouth drivels away mindlessly, the euphoria so good that you can feel pools of dribble spilling from the corners of your lips with every grind. Thighs quaking, somehow wanting more- shit, seems the aphrodisiac won’t be done after just one…“M’cumming- ngh- m’cumming m’c-cumming.”

“Mhmmm- already know.” Words sinking down into what almost sounds like whines, and Nanami almost feels like he could cum in his pants. “Come now- pull on m’hair n’ r-ride me through that pretty high.” Filthy. Depraved. He’s curling the deliciously gravely tastebuds on his tongue to lap up every one of your knotted waves of slick, letting viscous wad after wad hit the back of his throat with a lewd splat!. “H-hehhh. Chatty pussy- y’know what else she’s sayin’?”

Shit- the idea makes your fingers nimbly pull at Nanami’s soft strands until he’s wafting out a low atta giiirl. Mumbling through croaking moans that just won’t stop dropping from your lips, “Wh-ngh! what?”

“She’s hngh- saying…” Yeah, it wasn’t the aphrodisiac - it definitely wasn’t the aphrodisiac that had him losing his fucking mind like this. It was you. “-that yer gonna g-give me another biiiig one very soon.”

Oh.

That wasn’t a promise - Nanami didn’t have to promise that. 

Because he was so intoxicated by that caramel scent sticking to you. Increasing twofold when with a sodden swat! down your bawling slit, you’re being stretched out with three of his digits until you were wide agape. Embarrassingly, so.

But not for Nanami - with a tantalized loll of his head into the silk-covered pillows, he’s gifting your sloppy entrance with a thick wad of saliva. 

As if the need was infectious - that orbed mass of spit flooding the inside of your cozy pussy just before his tongue is. 

“Ngh- s-so hot- ya like that new lipstain, my love?” He’s gulping down the excess slushes of your slick with every thrust past your glutinous walls, hard. Sloppy. Making such a mess on purpose, because for all how straightlaced Nanami was - all that shattered when it came to you. “-s-so sweet. Ah- h-hold my hand if s’too much, darling.”

“Feels so s-sensitive but…” Your jaw drops into a soft oh! when his rugged tongue drags over the globed bruises of his fingertips inside. Fingers scrambling for his free ones in midair, “-but I want more, Kentooo-”

With the leverage on your hand, he’s helping your burning thighs manage out a few more soppy strokes up and down. 

Your head is so dizzy by now, and you can barely see straight. Barely stumble to match every sopping smooch being punished upon your overwhelmed pussy. “Look so pretty like this- So tight- so cute. Probably c-couldn’t even ngh- fit my tip this way.”

“S-so mean.”

“I’d be nice if ya- hngh- spit in my mouth.”

Gasping, “Like this?”  But you didn’t even have to ask - you knew the answer in Nanami’s eyes, in the way he was smearing your pussy lips thoroughly ajar. In the way his dilated pupils run all the way to the back of his lips when you do. 

Your greedy gaze dazes back down to take in that heavenly sight of him - and you almost wish that you still had your camera for the article today with you. Because this was a sight you wanted to remember forever and ever. 

He’s so pretty with his golden locks splayed out like an angelic halo on the pillowcase below, clammy skin flushed rose red, swollen lips coral pink and gumming over your gluey ones like it was his favorite candy. Sucking. Even harder at the sloshes of translucent sap that laminated his face down to his chin, his neck, and all the way up to his cheekbones. 

Thighs stuttering and sticking with every grind on top of his face, it’s all you can do to manage out a pitchy, “Think I might just- K-Ken–”

He’s swirling up a lazy few fingertips to your needy clit and pinching. “-cum all over m’face again, my girl.”

You do. You do like you can’t stop.

And he’s supping up every draining burble of your flooding slick like it was an antidote to this little ah…indisposition. 

He says so, too - gurgling out wet little scientific explanations into your cunt that make your high peak with orgasms upon orgasms. Your second, third, and forth meshing into one to make you practically convulse. Nanami’s forced to dig his fingers into the plush of your thighs to stop you from escaping. 

And the question about whether this was part of his powers is halfway out of your mouth before Nanami’s leaving off a final swat! again your drooling pussy.

Chuckling - crazed - at the wispy sprays of juices that makes you gush out. 

“C’mon now, do those legs s-still work?” Nanami can’t hide the way that his deep voice wobbles into what almost sounds like a laugh. High. 

You’re being ragdolled with a squelching pop! off of his heated mouth and easily lifted to take his third favorite seat of yours - his lap. The second being his mouth, and the first- well, it was sure to be his thoroughly achy, angry cock right about now. 

“Ken-”

Nanami couldn’t bear to hear his name in your sweet, whimpering tone - he just couldn’t. Shutting you up with a slow slide of a kiss, “Yeahhh, darlin’...kiss me- more. Lick it allll up.”

“D-didn’t think you’d be so dirty…” you’re gasping, when his tongue pries your slagging maw open to once more spit. Sweet. Caramelized. 

“Oh, my pretty girl…” Two of his soppingly wet fingers smush your cheeks into a pathetic pout, “You haven’t seen dirty just yet. Now- spit back in m-my mouth, why don’tcha?”

You do - splattering a messy mark right at that adorable dimple of his with your messy aim. But he loves it - it was so sweet. Darting out a tongue to extract back all those sugary remnants before giving you one, final French kiss. 

Begging in that growling way of his, “Whaddya- whaddya want from me- I’ll give ya anything- anything-” Both arms looping your waist to plaster your sweaty front into his Herculean one, you have to hold back a keen at how your hardened nipples massage against his pecs. 

But, most of all, what you could feel - what you so badly wanted to feel - was that long, thick outline that jerked once you glide away sweaty strands of Nanami’s hair. Desperate. 

“Wan’ your cock, Kento.” You were way past feeling any sort of embarrassment now. Winding your arms around his sculpted shoulders, “N-need you ngh- inside me. Now.”

Of course, whatever you wanted - Nanami Kento would give.

He’s tugging down on the elastic waistband of those too-tight boxers, and your ears burn with the saturated schwf! of soaked fabric on skin. And that superhero suit…did not do him justice. 

Nanami’s slouching back on one arm when you’re oh-so-impatiently helping him kick off that useless piece of fabric. Head tilting with an uncharacteristically cocky smirk, “Like what you ah- see, hm?”

Shit, did you ever. 

Because it’s always the quiet ones - always. 

And with your seat position right at the thick, globular mushroom tip of Nanami’s cock, you knew that he’d be packing a staggering few inches. The mere outline of it puckering up against your pussyflaps enough to get you to gulp with nervousness.

But this? This had your jaw dropping. 

Fingers trailing down that lightly fleeced copper happy trail of his in utter disbelief. Because not only was Nanami Kento big - he was big. 

Swollen, glistening near-nine inches that jerked at the vulgar size difference of your digits struggling to wrap around his ridiculous girth. Nestled against bulky breeder balls rounded and weighing heavily underneath his strawberry pink length. He seemed even harder than usual - and it was all for you.

Fuck, that aphrodisiac. This was all for his gorgeous (future) wife.

Lazily drooling out a thick few wads of pearly pre that butters over your fingerpads, and just a simple touch - just one drag of his sweltering hot length makes Nanami whimper-

“O-oh- yeahhh- brace yerself, my girl.” He’s letting his head tumble back with a groan, heavy-handed arms guiding to the fleshy mound of your waist. “Gonna be ah- ruinin’ this pretty cunt-”

Nanami’s making you mewl with a welcoming little thwack! of his plumply bloated cockhead against your puffed-up pussy lips. Making your creaky bedframe sing out a few protests. Stirring out a staccato of one - two - three before finally - finally - slipping right between that pursed pout. 

CRASH!

An overwhelmed hand of his grips your headboard the moment he’s pushing and pushing - only to have the strong mahogany break underneath his superstrength. Damn, these powers.

“Awww, look how much yer drooling-” Nanami’s hiccuping with every tiny clench of your gummy walls around that cylindrical intrusion. A mean few fingertips so ferally smearing over the rings upon rings of saturated sap your cunt was slobbering all over his hefty base. Drawing a foggy line with them over your tummy, “G-gonna be riiiight here…h-heh.”

And maybe it was best that your dear Nanami was talking to, well, her. Because just the simple stretch that came with his fattened tip was enough to render you spellbound. 

“Nana-”

Smack! “Mhm? M’here, m’here, your dear hngh! Kento is here.”

“Kento- oh my goood-” Nonsensical syllables drooling from your lips and readily available for Nanami to kiss away. Your head slags drunkenly into the crook of his neck with each sinking inch, “S-s’so big, dunno if it’ll even ah- fit.”

“Shhh, s’gonna fit. Deep breaths…deep breaths.” 

You’re echoing, trying to time your stumbling gasps to match his. Backfiring when you only obtain lungfuls of his masculine scent, ‘D-deep breaths?“

“Mhmm- deep-” Oh, but even he wasn’t immune to the cloggy clamp of your pussy that had Nanami rutting. “Whoops.” One of his powerful forearms showcase in front of your narrowed vision, ogling all the pumped veins and rippling muscles. “C’mon- bite.”

You’re listening without a second thought, teeth sinking into the smooth skin - gurgling back tiny sobs at the sheer stretch. It felt like you were being split apart. 

He’s rolling his tips upwards, glissading you in a cozy massage against the ridges of his sweat-shielded abs. “M’gonna make it- duh. Look at me-” Dextrous fingers curling around your throat to make your woozy gaze focus on him, “Yeah- yeah. Look riiiight at me wh-when I ah- ”

And it takes only the tiniest probe of his thumpingly peaked veins bludgeoning against your tender walls, fuming divot bawling out a few geysers of creamy precum that fill you up scorchingly.

It takes only that for you to cum with an unstable shudder, moans piling on top of moans. You’re digging your fingerpads into Nanami’s damp scalp and pulling when you cum for the nth time on his cock.

You didn’t even know how you were cumming again - why, but you had a feeling that the thickening perfume of vanilla and candy in the room had something to do with it…

“C-cummin’ from jus’ the ah- tip? Seriously?” Nanami’s breathing, chest heaving with awe. Pushing and pushing away the heavy strands of his blond hair just to see you. And the urgent motions only make your pussy slide down even more, spearheading his lusciously right-leaning curve up into your gooey placeholders. “Really are jus- ah- made f’me- really ah! So perfect. So, so perfect.”

You’re watching his huffs turn heated, “Mmm- wanted you to f-fuck me like this ever since I was- ngh at the office.”

“Ohhh what a coincidence.” He grins - grins. “I’ve wan’ed to fuck ya like ah- this, since I first s-saw ya. Woulda fucked ya right then n’ there in your pretty lil’ cubicle if I ah- could.”

Crying out, ���More- more more more-”

“Jus’ another inch-” Nose crinkling at the gripping resistance of your tight entrance, you were so slicked-up that you were practically flooding him with delirious puddles of resin. His fat thumb smears open your lips, “S-see? Juuuus a lil’ more-”

Oh…fuck.

He was finally- wait. No, this had to be a dream, right?

“Wait- shiiit- did you seriously-” He’s stuttering - stuttering exactly the way he used to back in the office. Back in his disguise. “Seriously…think ya deserve a little r-reward for that, right?”

Your reward just-so-happened to be another treacly wad of saliva being blasted onto your tongue. And by now you’re doing nothing but letting it easily be swallowed up with a cockdrunk smile. “God, m’feelin’ so hngh! full— c-can feel ya right- here-” 

Every jackhammer bullied up into your goopy orifice had Nanami wrecking you from the inside. His crowned, rotund tip prying open those stickily sweet walls of yours, barely even having to try to stir up a wet wipe against your poor cervix. 

“Feel me right-” One softened palm splays down across your tummy. Hard. Feeling for that tenderizing whack of his thickly tip into your most precious spots. “-here, huh? Yeahhh- f-feel that bump- touch it. Gonna c-carve out a fuckin’ ngh- cute lil’ bruise right here.” 

“P-please.”

And then, with a heady drawl of laughter, Nanami’s dredging out his tired tongue to lick over your rapid pulse like he wanted to bite. Palms still groping that orbed bulge, “Y-you wouldn’t believe what this- ngh- this is makin’ me think…”

Ever-so-curious, even when you’re being fucked stupid like this. “Wh-what?”

Earning you another few vicious ruts into your g-spot, a few thin lines of drool waterfall past his lips. Almost as if the very thought is enough to make him light-headed. 

“Jus’ thought a-about how yer always so ngh- pretty.” Muttering low and frantic with every bounce on his painfully hard cock, like he didn’t even want to admit this pussydrunk nonsense. But couldn’t stop. “So pretty when you were handlin’ Yuji today. Pretty when yer all ah- overstuffed with my cock b-but…you’d make an even prettier mama, though.”

Oh. 

A mama - Nanami Kento wanted to make you mama. 

And he was pressurizing you with pound after pound drilling into your melty depths until you were sure that you were molded around his shape. That mountainous curve of his crownhead striking every bullseyed sweet spot.

“Wan’ it-” Your legs wrangle around his slender waist, heels digging into the pretty dimples at the bottom of his spine. “Want you to f-fill me up so ngh- badly, Kento.”

“S-seriously?” Your words so distracting that it has his riotous cock drilling hard into that spot and skidding away in increasingly sappy thrashes against your battered and bruised cervix. Jaw clenching, “Really wan’ me fuckin’ this cute cunt hngh- p-pregnant, darling?”

Making you only nod and nod and nod-

“Yeahhh- anythin’ my girl ah- wants, huh?” He’s tittering at how adorably your hips were slurring out the tiniest of grinds. Up and down up and down - failing to meet his sloppy cadence, but angling your hips to use him. “N’ right now- all I wan’ is you all ah- round and fuuuuull.”

And it wasn’t just the aphrodisiac talking. 

You were beginning to overspill already, the flooded torrentials of his slushy precum seeping from the pouty ends of your slippery slit. You’re moping down his length with such humid tufts of juices, “Cum in me- please- need you to- now.”

“Mama didn’t teach ya ah- patience, my girl?” 

And despite his words, he’s falling back to lounge so sexily against the dampened sheets. Close - he could feel it in the snaking heat at the bottom of his stomach that he was so very close. 

Losing his faint grip on his power, Nanami’s clenching and balling his fists to stop from soiling permanent marks all over your body. Mind shattering. Your bedsprings bursting. Teeth gritting to stop him losing control-

Voice breaking into a few whimpers when he finally utters, “S-s’alright- greedy girl.” Before palming one hand onto the bloated budge of his length, the other swirling over your tearily overstimulated clit and tweaking. “-I can be th-the heh- strict parent.”

Oh, at this point, your orgasm is more a few heavenly tingles than anything else. 

Stimulating your most fragile of pummeled crevices, you’re feeling warm, thick goblets of Nanami’s cum swash in a sticky wave. And there’s so much of it - extra with his condition right now, spurting out ribbony ropes of sickly sweet cum with every squeeze of his bulky balls.

Those knotted wads of ivory are filling you up until your gummy walls were inflating, thunking out a little wet spot at your cervix. Something that he can’t help but keen over a few fat digits and push to make a splashing mess. “Gonna get ya pregnant- I will g-get ya pregnant.”

Nanami’s big, beefy arms are pinning you to the front of his chest like he never wanted to let go. Never would. 

Heaving to chase his breath - and, yet, still failing with every battering ram of his snaking cock. Fucking up the thickly viscous streams of cum up deeper and deeper-

“O-oh.” Nanami’s muttering, glassy wooden eyes straying somewhere beyond you and towards the end of the bed. The strangely…sagging bed. “We broke the- hah- we broke the bed.”

Shit. But you barely have the time to register his words before- THUD!

Your back is being brazenly splayed-out across the mahogany floors of your bedroom, Nanami’s arms underneath you shielding your body from every ounce of the stinging smack. Strong. Holding onto you tight. 

Still pumped inside, still carving out the free ounces with masses upon masses of his swollen cock. 

With your head drooping barely-lucidly to the side, you’re gasping at the blackened palm print that had burned itself onto the floor right beside your head.

The air around the two of you was candied, pheromones of candy and vanilla melding into what was probably your favorite scent now. Ahhhh…he didn’t even care if this was the cure anymore.

And despite being the strongest being in perhaps the entire universe, Nanami was melting into you. His abs adhesively plastered against your front, hips rolling in what can’t even be called grinds. Just simple, sappy gyrations of his still-twitchy cock. 

He’s whispering out a slurring mantra of words into your thoroughly wrenched open mouth - barely even able to talk coherently after that mind-shattering orgasm. “Lock- lock them- lock them please-”

“I-I caaaan’t.” You’re whimpering out, limp legs uselessly dangling like dead weight where Nanami was resting them on the cushiony home of his deltoids. 

But not to worry. Of course not to worry, your Nanami was here for you. 

Biceps bulging when one arm bends to pin your ankles behind his neck, he’s folding you down, down, down into such a filthy mating press. 

Moving you around as if it was nothing, as if you couldn’t hear your joint weakly popping. His healing powers being kicked involuntarily into overdrive…fuck.

Nanami can feel his cock jerk - barely softened for a few nanoseconds before thumping with every ounce of blood in his fully spent brain.

“Awww, t-too weak?” Planting a sodden peck against the corner of your ankles. And something in that tone told you that the two of you were far, far from over. That the slowly drunken fucking of Nanami’s hips was just the beginning. He’s squashing back a few remnant dredges of seed from just earlier, slipping out just enough to smear a messy white lipstick. “Well then…”

You’re jolting at the quick pap! pap! pap! of his ballooned tip popping out a few sloppily smushing strikes - before sinking deeply back in.

He’s fucking you again- and again and again and-

“Y-you know I h-haaaah- hate disrespectin’ my girl like- this-” He’s staring deeply into your eyes, gesturing languidly at the expanse of the floor. Ever-the-gentleman…usually. “-but if s’f-fer makin’ our daughter…then. Gotta make sure that I can be her Superdad.”

A/N. Hope you lovelies have the best week n’ happy new year in advance <3

Plagiarism not authorized.

[aliceinborderlandsquidgame]

One hell of a team | In-ho x Wife!Reader |

Summary: You will follow your husband anywhere.

Warnings: S2 Spoilers - Violence - Different back story for In-ho - Blood - Death - Use of (Y/N) - Reader gets called "love" -

The Frontman, the man with the most power within the island, to who the guards obey without question.

Was currently trembling under his wife poited look.

"You want to enter the games?" You asked him, your tone cold and almost jugdmental.

In-ho calmed himself down. It was an idea that stayed with him after the death of the Chairman and even mor with how player 456 had insisted the last two years in finding them. He had played before and won, he knew how terrible others could be, he had walked out like a new man, used the money for himself and you. Never really gave much thoguht on how life were lost.

But, for some reason he wanted to go again.

"Im going with you"

His glass of wisky fell onto the floor, the loud crash did nothing to bother you while you ate.

"No, thats not happening. I need you here to control the games and guards" In-ho started trying to get a valid reason to why you defenetly should not come.

"Oh, you need me to? Well I need you here. With me. With our family. How do you think I would do seeing you there ? I still remember how you got when you came back from these the first time"

"That was different" The Frontman said taking a deep breath "I wont be just one more player, it will be like when the Chairman went in"

"That still does not ease my mind" (Y/N) responded "Till death do us a part and follow you anywhere" you recited showing him your weeding ring. "Remember?"

In-ho felt his chest got thight at the sight and the memory of the small yet full of love weeding you two had back when life was more simple.

"Alright, you can come with me. Its not like you would wait for my approval" he responded smiling at the end "But no one must know that we are married, you understand that ?" He added now serious

"Of course, its what makes more sense, we will just casually meet there and see how it plays" You nodded to him "And please, better clean up that glass before someone steps on it"

"On it, love"

~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~

For the most part pretending not to know each other was easier than expected. While you knew the guards knew who you two were you were still a bit scared. Specially during the green and red light, since both of you had got separated and now you were froze in your spot.

"You need to move" In-ho said from behind his arm playing along "Follow me in the next sing, alright? Just take my hand"

"Im scared, im sorry" You said feeling guilty over wanting to be there with him and starting to fail on the first game no less.

"I know, I was too. But im here, just follow me"

~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~

You had to hide your smirk when he pressed the circle to go on with the games, you knew he would do it just to piss off Player 456 and make things more cahotic.

He went with the rest and stood besides you trying himself not to smile at you.

~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆

The first approach to Gi-huns team was tense to say the least. You two had voted circle and even worse In-ho had been the vote that ended the tie.

But with his own charisma and yours you two got to be on his good side.

Till In-ho decided to talk, really you sometimes forgot who sassy he could be.

"And some picked umbrella?" He asked faking suprise when he had seen it on first hand. "Most of them died I assume"

You could see the look on player 456 and decided to be more sensitive

"Hey, dont be like that. Im sure they went in blind and did not know what it was about" You said keeping a safe distance so no one would think you two were together or knew each other before the games.

In-ho was having too much fun.

~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆

That first night they both were in their respective beds. Still keeping their false relationship. However once (Y/N) was sure all were asleep she went towards In-ho who was awake like he knew she would be coming to him.

"Are you alright?" He asked in a whisper, worried that for her this would be too much.

"Im fine, I wanted to see if you were fine"

He nodded not saying a thing but taking her hand.

"Also, I saw you break that fight, really ? When did you even learn to do that ?" This made him smile and hold her hand thighter "Really! I only see you in your office all the time"

"You think I would come in here without knowing how to defend myself or you?"

She smiled at him, blushing in the dark. "No....I just thoguht all you did was be in your office and give orders"

In-ho rolled his eyes "Just wait till we are out of here, i will show you just how fit im"

~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆

The six legs game was both a chaos and funny. Honeslty you could not help yourself on hugging him and player 456 (who was slowly getting on your soft side) as you saw a team win.

However the shoots that came for these who did not survive were too much. You would swear In-ho gave the guards a cold stare because you would flinch sometimes.

"Hey, dont worry they wont shoot the ones who havent played" Player 456 reassured you with a calm tone

You nodded, knowing that even if you lost they wont shoot you or In-ho. It was still sweet to see him trying to calm you down.

~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆

"Not a word" He said during the night when you two were able to talk again.

"I was not going to say a thing, but you did in on purpose or were you really missing ?"

In-ho closed his eyes knowing you would later get the recording of him missing during the game and use it against him.

"It was all planned" he said trying to sound as convincing as he could.

"Whatever you say Honey"

~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆

The game of making pairs gave you nausea because of the carousel kept spinning around. And the rounds were stress again. The worse part was getting separated from In-ho who find you seeing how two players were dragging you so they could have the number they needed.

You havent see him get that angry in years, his protective self being on as he pulled one from the neck and punched the other one.

He kept punching almost forgetting there was a game you two were supposed to play.

"Leave him we still need two more" You urged only for a guard to shove two confused and scared players besides you and In-ho.

"We got them" He assured getting your hand and going to one room.

~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆

"In-ho!! (Y/N)!!" The worried screams of Gi-hun filled the place as he looked for both of you.

Even if he had promised to try and dont get attached to new players and survive he could not help but feel a connection with both of you.

"Gi-hun!" In-ho's voice called making him look over and see him coming towards the rest with you by hand something that made him curious but decided not to ask.

"Im glad to see you two alright" Gi-hun said seeing just a few bruises on you, and noticing blood on In-ho knuckles.

You catched his eyes and went to explain "He saved me" you told the rest looking at them then at In-ho who was looking back at you "I would have not made it otherwise"

The look of love you two shared was so genuine, some wonder if you two were together but trying to be discrete to protect yourselfs.

~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆

"They will most likely attack us tonight" Gi-hun explained as he showed the fork the guards had left when the food was given.

The idea only assented itself when the men returned from the bathroom, with blood on them. 

"And what do you propuse us to do?" In-ho asked all of the Xs were in a circle trying to listen to what Gi-hun had to say.

Gi-hun told the others his plan, honestly you thoguht it was nusts, it wont work. They were far suprassed on numbers but you had to shut yourself up.

You could tell your husband was both amazed by it and even kind of respecting it. Or at least that what he showed to him. He needed Gi-hun's trust after all.

~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆

"Hide well" In-ho said besides you in a low tone "We can trust the guards but till they get here we cant trust the others"

You nodded knowing that very well since this was a typical phase of the game for years.

"We will be safe" You said holding his shoulder. "Do what you have to do, dont worry about me" You tried to make him feel at ease but he could not. The only thing that scared him more than anything were the other players trying to get to you.

"Just hang in there" He responded his forehead against yours.

~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆

The fight was on its hot spot. The players were killing each other without a second thought.

Nothing like living it, even if you have seen this type of thing multiple times. Its was unnerving to see them just going at each others troath. The screams and cries were too much for a moment, the dark did nothing to help.

Thats when you felt it. Someone had dragged you out from under the bed and was now on top of you. You saw the player move their left hand ready to Strike at you. You tried to punch and defend yourself but the person on top was too strong.

A cold scream left your mouth as the forker pierced your shoulder.

You could not help it, the adrenaline and anxiety was getting on you.

"In-ho! In-ho help me please" You screamed for him, your husband the love of your life.

"Shut up, the next one will be your neck" The person said and for a moment you saw it. Dying in here and leaving In-ho.

Till you felt the person being pushed and the screams of them. You blinked trying to make sense.

It was In-ho, he had taken the fork from the player and was now piercing the neck of the player, not even leaving a chance for them to survive.

"GO HIDE NOW!!" In-ho ordered, he being scared himself and angry. He saw red when you were dragged and it was for the brutal grip Gi-hun had on his arm that he did not move faster.

You did as told getting under another bed and making sure no one could reach you.

"You fucking scum! How dare you lay hands on my wife" In-ho almost screamed too angry to see that the player was now dead. All his face and hands where covered in blood.

"Stop it!! They are dead, we need to continue the plan, the lights will be back soon" Gi-hun said taking him and pulling him away from the dead player.

"Get (Y/N), and be ready" Gi-hun told him trying to keep himself calm even when he was close to jump over and save you and In-ho. He wondered if he had hear it right, you were his wife?

In-ho did not waste time, searching for you in the dark till he noticed you. He went quick, pulling yourself out from the bed telling you its was him.

"Shh shh its me, its over dont cry Love" He said trying to make you feel better.

"In-ho?" He nodded and you cried harder "In-ho I was so scared"

"I know love I know, just a bit more alright? It will be over soon. Listen once the guards come in and we follow Gi-huns plan do not come. Someone will come and get you"

"Im going with you, im not leaving you in a bullet fight!"

"You know nothings gonna happen to me, I want you here, safe, alright?"

Finally you accepted.

"I love you In-ho"

"I love you too Love"

~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆

As In-ho had said when the guards got back after the fight one took you, Player 120 tried to protest but was put back in her place by other guard.

"You are under suspect of have been part of the riot. You are now eliminated from the games"

The guard said playing his role, starting to get you out of the room while you screamed following the act.

~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~

"Apologies Madam, orders from the Front Man" The guard said bowing once you two were outside and out of reach from the others players.

Even if you were still breathing hard you nodded. "Dont worry, just take me to him". The guard nodded.

~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~

He knew he was needed in the control room but refused to let you alone like that. He went to your share room, his heart broke at your image, bruises and blood over you. A guard was checking your shoulder but left after he order them to.

Silence fell over both of you as he went to you and hugged you careful not to hurt your shoulder.

He removed his mask to look at you properly.

"Im sorry, I should have never let you come, I should have stopped this sooner" He said with pain in his voice

"Dont blame yourself, I told you I was going in with you. This was not your fault In-ho" You reassured him feeling sad and worried over him.

"I cant not blame myself" He gently passed his hand over your cheeck "You are the best thing in my life and I almost lost you because of my own desires, never again"

You two kissed softly grounding yourselfs. You two were safe and together nothing else matters from now. Only the love and devotion you two had for each other.

~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~

[joelmillerisapunk]

Strangers

Stripper!Javier Pena x f!reader // almost 9k

Time stands still and it's only us, what we feel started way before we ever touched... must be from a different life been here before and it just feels right

summary: you meet a sexy stripper at your bestie's bachelorette party and he tries his absolute hardest to get your number

warnings: mdni, 18+, javi is a stripper, he wears a man thong and gets pretty close to stripping it all off in public, there's cock and balls, unprotected p in v, f!oral receiving, lap dances for days, reader has breasts, a dress, and hair that can fall around her face and is internally conflicted about this man and his leopard thong, javi has a pov in this too

notes: i really don't remember what sparked this but here we are... it's been like a month or more of me working on this. I thought I was done and then I heard a single song and it pushed me to write even more. This was supposed to be just a smutty fic and then got some depth and I was like wtf. Anyway on to the thank yous, thank you to the 5000 people I have screamed to about this, and a massive thank you to @thundermartini for listening to me go on and on about this guy for a long time and then reading it for me love you baby! A special mention to @gothcsz for the thong idea, @evolnoomym, @milla-frenchy and @sawymredfox for being so supportive of this idea to @joelslegalwhre for reading and @syd-djarin for the moodboard

masterlist

The music thumped so loudly it seemed to shake the floor, the kind of bass-heavy track that rumbled through your chest. Your best friend’s bachelorette party was in full swing, and the rented penthouse buzzed with laughter, shrieks, and a significant amount of tequila-fueled chaos. The party planners had spared no expense, from the towering stacks of champagne glasses to the flashy male entertainment just about to take the stage.

And then, he walked in.

You couldn’t ignore the way the room seemed to shift when he entered. The man—Javier, as the MC introduced him—had an undeniable presence. Dressed in a tight police officer uniform complete with aviators, a fake badge, hat, and handcuffs, he adjusted his badge with a grin that screamed trouble. His dark eyes surveyed the room with the kind of confidence that could only come from knowing he was the main event. 

Every woman in the room, including you, took notice.

While your friends ogled and whispered not-so-subtle comments, you tried—and failed—to keep your eyes elsewhere. He was gorgeous, sure, but this wasn’t your scene. Loud parties weren’t really your thing. 

The first performance was for the bride-to-be, of course. When the lights dimmed and the music shifted to something playfully seductive, the room erupted into cheers and Javier made his way to the bachelorette. 

“Ladies,” he announced, his voice smooth and teasing as he pulled a pair of fake handcuffs from his belt. “I hear there's a bride-to-be here who’s guilty of breaking hearts. I’m afraid I’ll have to take her in.”

Your best friend shrieked with laughter as he arrested her, securing one cuff around her wrist and helping her onto a nearby chair. The room buzzed with excitement as he began to dance, every move deliberate and designed to tease. 

You watched the scene unfold, biting your lip to stifle your laughter. He was undeniably good at what he did. But you couldn’t focus on the theatrics as much as everyone else seemed to. Your attention had zeroed in on him—his broad shoulders, the way his shirt clung to his chest, and the effortless way he commanded every inch of the massive penthouse, the man was sex on legs. As he began to set up for the big finale, you couldn’t tear your eyes away.

Javier danced his way onto the makeshift stage in front of your bestie, spinning his hat off and tossing it with a flourish into the crowd. Almost causing a fight between a few of the women to break out.

His aviators followed, revealing deep, smoldering eyes that locked with yours for a moment too long. He’s just playing to the crowd, he has to look at all the women right?

The bassline shifted to a slower, dirtier rhythm, and he rolled his shoulders back, his body falling into perfect sync with the beat.

Then came the shirt.

He gripped the edges, peeling it off slowly, revealing inch by inch of sun-kissed skin stretched over a perfectly sculpted chest and arms. When he finally tossed the shirt aside, the room erupted in cheers and whistles.

And yet, all you could do was stare and clench your thighs together. Why was this affecting you so much? It’s just a party. It’s just a guy. Get a grip. But no amount of inner scolding could make you look away. Something about this man pulled you in.

His chest glistened under the soft glow of the light, each bead of sweat tracing a slow, tantalizing path over the chiseled contours of his body. Your breath hitched, captivated by the sheer allure of him—the way every ridge of muscle stood out, accentuated as his hand drifted slowly down his torso. He moved with deliberate ease, fully aware of the spell he was weaving, and the teasing smirk playing at the corner of his lips made it clear that he was savoring every second of all the attention he was receiving.

But it was when his fingers moved to rip off his belt that the real show began.

The collective energy in the room surged as Javier teasingly ran his hands down his sides, and in one swift, practiced motion, he reached for his waistband and yanked.

The rip-away pants came apart with a sharp, satisfying sound, sending the crowd into a frenzy. The noise, a mix of gasps, shrieks, and raucous laughter, echoed through the penthouse. But none of that registered as you stared at what had been revealed.

Javier stood unabashed and grinning in a leopard-print thong that left very little to the imagination. Every inch of his sculpted body was on display—toned legs, powerful thighs, and that tiny scrap of fabric barely holding itself together. The cut of the thong framed his hips perfectly, the deep lines of his V cutting down, drawing your eyes exactly where he wanted them to go. The thin fabric of the thong clung tightly to him, leaving the unmistakable outline of his cock on display, straining the limits of the material. Javier seemed completely unbothered by how much was on show.

Your face burned as your gaze dipped lower, catching a glimpse of something even more scandalous. The tiny scrap of leopard print couldn’t quite contain him—on the sides, the curve of his balls was slipping free. You swallowed hard, your pulse fluttering as he shifted his weight, the motion only emphasizing how precariously the thong was holding itself together.

The room exploded excitedly, women fanning themselves, throwing bills, and shouting over one another. But you could barely breathe.

And then, just when you thought the spectacle couldn’t get any more outrageous, Javier turned around with a deliberate, teasing spin, giving the room an uninterrupted view of his backside.

The thong was practically nonexistent, the thin fabric disappearing completely between the firm, sculpted curves of his ass. His glistening, muscular cheeks were on full display, round and perfectly defined, drawing another deafening eruption of cheers and whistles from the crowd.

Javier struck a pose, bracing his hands on his hips as he arched his back slightly, flexing for effect. He glanced over his shoulder with a devilish grin, clearly relishing in the chaos he was causing. The lights caught the sheen of sweat on his skin, highlighting every curve and line of muscle, leaving no question as to just how perfect he was from every single angle.

You couldn’t tear your eyes away. Your breath hitched and your pulse pounded so loudly in your ears it almost drowned out the music. Heat flushed through your body as your gaze lingered shamelessly on his backside, every inch of him a deliberate invitation.

After what felt like a torturous eternity, Javier turned back toward the crowd, a low chuckle rumbling from his chest as he surveyed everyone's reactions.

He strutted forward, running his hands up his torso and tossing a playful wink to the bride-to-be, who was practically falling out of her chair from laughter and shock. But his gaze kept flicking to you.

Your cheeks burned as he moved closer, spinning on his heel to give the audience another view. His movements were fluid and sensual, every roll of his hips and flex of his body perfectly in time with the music. When he leaned down to grab the bride’s hands to feel up his torso, his back arched in a way that emphasized the curve of his ass, and you bit your lip without thinking.

This man was a problem.

When he finally ended the dance with a flourish—dropping to his knees in front of the bride-to-be before flawlessly almost jumping back up to a standing position—the applause was deafening.

Javier laughed, his chest rising and falling as he caught his breath. He took a playful bow, blowing a kiss to the bride-to-be before gathering his discarded pants and shirt. His bare torso glistened under the soft glow of the party lights, and the lingering smirk on his lips suggested he knew he had the entire room wrapped around his finger.

The girls were still cheering and clapping, their voices a mix of exhilaration and tipsy enthusiasm. But while the others were caught up in the wild energy of the moment, you felt a strange tightness in your chest, like the room had closed in around you.

You weren’t used to reacting this way to someone, and it unnerved you. The heat creeping up your neck was impossible to ignore, and no amount of pretending to be distracted by your drink could hide the fact that your eyes kept darting back to him.

And he noticed—like a magnet—his eyes locked onto yours.

Your stomach flipped.

For a split second, everything else faded; the noise, the laughter, even your own internal protests to look away. It was just him, standing there, looking at you with that maddening confidence.

Then he moved.

Javier began to dance again, hips rolling in slow, hypnotic circles to the bass-heavy beat. The fabric of the thong strained with every motion, but he didn’t shy away. If anything, he seemed to lean into it—one hand trailing down his torso to brush along the waistband, teasing as if he might remove it completely.

Your pulse fluttered wildly as he worked the crowd, making his way closer, dancing toward you.

Your breath caught as you tried to focus on literally anything else—your drink, the flickering candles on the table, the way your best friend was still howling with laughter. But there was no escaping the fact that Javier was now standing right in front of you, every inch of him radiating heat and presence.

“Having fun?” he asked.

You blinked up at him, your mouth suddenly dry. “Uh… yeah. It’s been… something.” Your voice wavered, betraying how flustered you felt. Something? Really? That was the best you could come up with? You scrambled for words, your brain short-circuiting. “I mean—great. It’s been great.”

Smooth.

His smirk widened. “Just great?” He leaned in slightly, the scent of his cologne—something dark and woodsy—mingling with the musky sheen of sweat on his skin. “Because you’ve been staring like you’re enjoying yourself a little more than tha?t.”

You nearly choked on your drink. “I—I wasn’t—”

“Relax,” he teased, his grin softening into something warmer, more inviting. “I’m just messing with you. Now come on, sweetheart,” he encouraged. “Let me make your night.”

“I’m good, thanks,” you replied, though your cheeks burned with the effort of maintaining composure. You crossed your arms to emphasize your refusal, but Javier didn’t look the least bit discouraged.

“Oh, I don’t think you’re good. Not yet, anyway.” He leaned closer, his voice just for you now. “But I’m more than happy to change that.”

Despite your best efforts, the laughter bubbling up from your chest betrayed you. He grinned, clearly enjoying your reaction. But when you refused—again—he didn’t press. Instead, he winked, gave an exaggerated shrug, and moved on to another guest, leaving you strangely disappointed.

————

Later, after the performances ended and the room was quieter, you found yourself sitting on a chair in the back corner of the room scrolling idly on your phone, trying to drown out your lingering thoughts about him. A few drinks had loosened your resolve. You noticed a stack of glossy business cards on the table where he had tossed his hat earlier. Curiosity got the better of you, and you picked one up.

The card was sleek, black with gold lettering. At the top, in bold, elegant lettering, it read:

Elite Heat’s Javier Peña

To the left, there was a neatly organized list; a phone number, a Facebook link, which you immediately ignored, and a website address. But it was the bottom that made your breath hitch.

On top of a gold banner, the words Elite Heat: “The Best Sex Therapy” were printed in bold, confident lettering. 

To the right was a photo of Javier himself.

It wasn’t a professional headshot - far from it. It was one of those casual yet devastatingly attractive pictures that looked effortless but likely required perfect lighting and timing. He wore a grey long-sleeve shirt that framed his broad chest perfectly, the top buttons undone just enough to tease without giving away too much. His hand, however, made it impossible not to stare—casually slipping beneath the fabric, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of his defined abs. The way the light hit his skin added a subtle sheen, making the whole image feel like a deliberate invitation.

For a moment, you just stared at the card. The combination of professional polish and brazen confidence made your stomach twist in a way that annoyed you.

“The best sex therapy, huh?” you muttered to yourself, raising an eyebrow at the audacity.

Curiosity got the better of you. You grabbed your phone and typed “Javier Peña” into Instagram. After scrolling through a few accounts that clearly weren’t him, you found the right one.

The profile itself was… an experience.

Picture after picture of Javier dominated the feed—some in his infamous uniform, others in casual attire, and far too many shirtless to be accidental. Every post was a masterclass in confident allure, and his captions were just as bold.

The comments were what really got to you, though. Endless lines of hearts, fire emojis, and thirsty declarations filled each post.

“Find something you like?”

His voice startled you so much that you almost dropped your phone. You looked up to see Javier standing in front of you, his shirt slung casually over his shoulder and he was wearing his uniform pants again. How long had he been there?

“I was just…” You trailed off, trying to think of a plausible excuse for stalking him online. His smirk told you he wasn’t buying it.

“Don’t worry,” he said, leaning in closer than necessary. “You can follow me. Might even follow you back.”

“I’m not interested,” you replied, though the conviction in your voice wavered as he placed a hand on the back of your chair, caging you in.

“You sure about that?” he asked, his voice dropping just enough to send a shiver down your spine. Your heart raced as he leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear. “I’ll make you a deal sweetheart, one dance. If you hate it, I’ll leave you alone. But if you like it… well, you can give me your number when it’s over.”

You swallowed hard, your resolve crumbling faster than you wanted to admit. After all, what was the harm in one dance?

Javier’s confidence was infuriatingly contagious, and your curiosity was louder than the protests in your head. You nodded if only to prove to yourself that he wouldn’t get under your skin. A small, victorious smile curved his lips as he straightened, offering his hand. “Good choice.”

He didn’t give you much time to second-guess as he guided you to the makeshift dance floor in the middle of the penthouse. Some of your friends hooted and hollered, clearly thrilled to see you in the spotlight. You, however, were hyper-aware of every step as Javier led you to a chair he had conveniently placed in the center of the room.

“Sit,” he commanded, his voice smooth but firm. His dark eyes gleamed with mischief as he waited for you to comply. Against your better judgment, you did.

The music shifted to something slower and sultrier. Javier grabbed his shirt from his shoulder, tossing it onto the floor. The movement was casual, but there was nothing casual about the way his toned chest and large arms drew every pair of eyes in the room. Including yours.

He stalked closer, and suddenly it felt like the room had disappeared. Just you, the chair, and the dangerously attractive man who seemed to thrive on the tension hanging in the air.

“Relax,” he murmured as he noticed the way your hands gripped the edge of the chair. “I don’t bite.” He winked. “Not unless you ask nicely.”

Before you could reply, he began to move.

It wasn’t the kind of dance you expected. Yes, it was provocative—every roll of his hips and glide of his body was designed to tease—but there was something more deliberate about it. He kept his gaze locked on yours, watching every flicker of emotion on your face. His hands didn’t touch you—not yet. Instead, they skimmed close enough to make you ache for the contact, only for him to pull away at the last moment.

He straddled the chair, his thighs framing yours as he dipped low, his chest hovering just inches from your face. His scent filled your senses, and your pulse quickened as he leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “You’re even more beautiful up close,” he whispered.

Your breath hitched, and you hated how easily he could see the effect he had on you.

Javier straightened, his hands gripping the chair on either side of you as he moved his hips in a way that felt borderline illegal. He was close enough for you to feel the heat radiating off him, but he still didn’t touch. The lack of contact was maddening, and the glint in his eye told you he knew exactly what he was doing.

The song ended too quickly, and he stepped back, leaving you feeling both relieved and oddly bereft. Your friends erupted into cheers and applause, but you barely noticed. Your eyes were fixed on Javier as he extended a hand, helping you out of the chair.

“Enjoy yourself?” he asked.

You swallowed hard, refusing to let him see how much he’d gotten to you. “It was… okay.”

He laughed—a deep, rich sound that sent another shiver through you. “Just okay, huh? I’ll have to work on that.”

Before you could respond, he winked and disappeared back into the crowd.

——

An hour later, the party was winding down. The penthouse was quieter, and most of your friends had migrated to the couches or left altogether. You were nursing your last drink of the night when Javier appeared again, a shot glass in each hand.

“For you,” he said, offering one with an easy smile.

You eyed it suspiciously. “You didn’t put anything in this, did you?”

He looked genuinely offended, clutching his chest dramatically. “I’m hurt you’d even ask.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, fine,” he admitted, leaning in closer. “I did put something in it.”

You froze, and he smirked, finishing his sentence with a devilish twinkle in his eye. “It’s called tequila.”

Your laugh surprised even you. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously charming,” he corrected, clinking his glass against yours. “Now drink up.”

Against your better judgment, you downed the shot, the burn of the tequila grounding you for a moment.

“Good girl,” he said. “Now, how about that number?”

Javier’s smile didn’t waver as he set his empty shot glass on the table. “Still hesitant, huh?” he asked, watching you with an intensity that made your pulse quicken.

You shrugged, trying to appear unaffected. “I don’t make it a habit to give my number to strangers, especially ones who…” You gestured vaguely to his naked chest and the police hat perched crookedly on his head. “...do what you do.”

“Fair enough,” he said, the teasing edge in his voice softening. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, holding it out to you. “At least let me follow you on Instagram..”

You stared at the phone, then at him. The sincerity in his tone threw you off balance, and the way his dark eyes searched yours made it hard to hold onto your skepticism. Against your better judgment—again—you took the phone and followed your account.

“Here,” you said, handing it back after following him.

Javier glanced at the screen, a satisfied smile tugging at his lips. “I’ll make it worth your while,” he promised, slipping his phone into his pocket. “Sweet dreams, sweetheart.”

And just like that, he was gone, disappearing into the night with the same confidence that had drawn every eye in the room earlier.

Javi 

Javier leaned against the balcony railing outside the penthouse lighting a cigarette, the cool night air doing little to temper the heat still coursing through him. The party was still going inside, but his thoughts had drifted elsewhere—to you. He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head at himself. He’d performed for hundreds of women, charmed his way through countless parties, but tonight felt… different.  

You’d thrown him off balance in a way he wasn’t used to.  

Sure, you’d laughed at his jokes and taken the shot he offered, but there was something in your eyes—an intoxicating mix of curiosity and resistance—that had him hooked. He wasn’t sure what it was about you. Maybe it was the way you tried to keep your guard up even as he chipped away at it. Maybe it was the way you watched him when you thought he wasn’t looking, like you couldn’t quite help yourself.  

Or maybe it was the way he couldn’t stop replaying that moment on the dance floor in his head. The way your breath hitched when he leaned in. The way your lips parted, as though you were holding back words—or something else entirely.  

The music from the party shifted the song echoing in the distance. Javier’s mind wandered as the melody pulled him into his own thoughts. It wasn’t just lust that gnawed at him—though, hell, that was definitely part of it. No, this was something deeper, something that felt unsettlingly like longing.  

He ran a hand through his hair, the grin he’d worn all night slipping away. He’d never been one for complications, especially when it came to women. His job was to entertain, to tease, to flirt—but he’d never felt this kind of pull before. It was like a spark had ignited when he locked eyes with you, and now it wouldn’t go out.  

For the first time in a long while, Javier wasn’t sure if he was in control.  

The lyrics to the song playing in the penthouse hit him square in the chest.  

Must be from a different life, been here before, and it just feels right. No, this ain't the first time for you and I, we ain't strangers.

The words struck a chord, leaving him standing there, staring out at the city lights, wondering how a single dance, a single moment, could unravel him so completely.  

It's like it's driving me closer to you, every step back pulls me right back to you…

Maybe you wouldn’t give him your number. Maybe this would end here, tonight, like all the other nights before. But as he grabbed his phone from his pocket and opened Instagram, his thumb hovering over your profile, he couldn’t help but think—this didn’t feel like an ending.  

It felt like the beginning of something he wasn’t ready to let go of.  

———

Back in your hotel room, you flopped onto the plush bed with a groan. The events of the evening replayed in your mind, Javier’s smirk and the heat of his gaze lingering longer than you cared to admit.

“This is ridiculous,” you muttered to yourself, reaching for your phone. A quick check of Instagram confirmed what you suspected—he’d already followed and sent you a message.

Javier: See? Now we’re not strangers anymore.

You rolled your eyes, though a small smile tugged at your lips. His confidence was irritatingly endearing.

You: I don’t think Instagram follows count as a formal introduction.

His reply was almost instant.

Javier: What would count? Because I’m pretty sure that dance was more personal than most first dates.

You bit your lip, your fingers hovering over the keyboard. He wasn’t wrong, but you weren’t about to admit that.

You: Is this your usual routine? Flirt with everyone at the party, then slide into DMs?

Javier: Nope. Just you.

You stared at the screen, your stomach doing an annoying little flip at his words.

You: Why me?

The typing indicator blinked for a moment before his reply came through.

Javier: Because you didn’t throw yourself at me like everyone else. And because you’re cute when you’re pretending not to be interested.

Your cheeks burned as you read the message, but you couldn’t help smiling.

You: I’m not pretending.

Javier: So you are interested?

You: I didn’t say that.

Javier: But you didn’t deny it, either.

You sighed, realizing this conversation wasn’t going to end anytime soon.

You: Don’t you have better things to do than bother me?

Javier: Nope. Not tonight.

Before you could come up with a snarky reply, another message popped up.

Javier: You could come over, you know. Save us both the trouble of texting all night.

Your heart raced at the suggestion, and you hesitated, typing and deleting a dozen responses before settling on one.

You: Not happening.

Javier: Why not?

You: Because it’s late, and I’m not that kind of girl.

Javier: What kind of girl is that?

You: The kind that sneaks into a stranger’s room after one tequila shot and a few texts.

Javier: I’m not exactly a stranger anymore.

You stared at his message, your lips twitching at the boldness. Before you could type out another response, your phone buzzed with a notification. It was a photo. From Javier.

You hesitated, your thumb hovering over the image preview before finally opening it. The picture was simple yet devastatingly effective: Javier, shirtless, sprawled on a hotel bed, the faint light casting shadows that only emphasized his toned chest. His dark eyes smoldered into the camera, and his messy hair added to the whole “devil-may-care” aesthetic he wore so well.

Javier: Feeling really lonely over here. Could use some company.

Heat pooled low in your belly and you groaned, tossing your phone onto the bed as if distance could break the spell he seemed to have on you. But of course, curiosity won out, and you grabbed it again, typing out a response before you could second-guess yourself.

You: Flattery and thirst traps won’t work on me.

Javier: Who said it was flattery? Just being honest.

You: Still not happening.

Javier: Okay, how about a compromise?

You: What kind of compromise?

Javier: Drinks. Just the two of us. Down at the hotel bar. Public place, no pressure.

You bit your lip, weighing your options. Saying yes felt like walking into a trap, but a part of you was curious—and maybe, just maybe, a little tempted. The idea of sitting across from him, away from the crowd, felt… different. Safer. Almost.

You: Fine. One drink.

Javier: I’ll take it. Meet you there in ten?

You: Fifteen. I need to change.

Javier: You don’t have to change for me, sweetheart. You already look perfect.

You rolled your eyes, but a small smile tugged at your lips as you tossed your phone onto the bed and rifled through your suitcase. Fifteen minutes later, you stepped into the elevator, your heart pounding with anticipation and nerves as you descended to the hotel bar.

The bar was dimly lit, with warm amber hues reflecting off the polished surfaces. The low hum of conversation mingled with the clinking of glasses, creating an atmosphere both intimate and unassuming. You spotted Javier immediately.  

He sat at a corner table, leaning back in his chair. He’d changed into a simple black button-down that clung to his frame in a way that was almost unfair. His gaze locked onto you the moment you entered.  

“Right on time,” he said, standing as you reached the table. He pulled out a chair for you, a small but unexpected gesture that caught you off guard.  

“Don’t get used to it,” you replied, settling into the seat.  

“Noted.” His smile widened as he slid into the chair opposite you.  

The server appeared almost instantly, and Javier gestured for you to order first. You requested a simple cocktail, while he opted for whiskey on the rocks. As the server walked away, his attention returned to you and it wasn’t long before they returned with them.

“So,” he began, leaning forward slightly. “What convinced you to come down here?”  

You raised an eyebrow, feigning nonchalance. “Curiosity, I guess. Wanted to see if you were as charming one-on-one as you are with a crowd.”  

“And?” 

You took a deliberate sip of your drink before answering. “Jury’s still out.”  

He chuckled, “I’m not worried. I’m good under pressure.”  

The banter came easily, the conversation flowing in a way that surprised you. He was quick-witted, teasing without being overbearing, and as much as you hated to admit it, he was easy to talk to, it felt like knew him without knowing him. The more you spoke, the more you caught glimpses of the man behind the cocky facade—sharp, observant, and surprisingly thoughtful.  

Still, you made him work for it.  

Whenever his compliments grew too bold, you deflected with a teasing remark. When he leaned in a little too close, you leaned back, though you couldn’t ignore the thrill that ran through you each time he tested your resolve.  

“I like this game you’re playing,” he said after a while, his whiskey glass nearly empty.  

“What game?” you asked innocently.  

“The one where you pretend you’re not interested.” His gaze was unwavering, the heat in his eyes unmistakable.  

“I’m not pretending,” you replied, though the words sounded less convincing than you’d hoped.  

He tilted his head, a small, knowing smile tugging at his lips. “No? Then why are you still here?”  

You opened your mouth to respond, but the truth caught in your throat. Why were you still here?  

Before you could come up with an excuse, he reached across the table, his fingers brushing yours. The touch was light, almost hesitant, but it sent a jolt of electricity up your arm.  

“Listen,” he said, his voice softer now, the teasing edge gone. “If this isn’t what you want, just say the word, and I’ll back off. No hard feelings.”  

For the first time that night, you saw something unguarded in his expression—genuine sincerity that made your heart stutter.  You hesitated, your walls cracking under the weight of his words. Maybe it was the way he looked at you, or the way his thumb brushed against your knuckles, but something in you shifted.  

“Okay,” you said quietly.  

His brow lifted. “Okay, what?”  

“Okay… you’re not completely unbearable.”  

He laughed, the sound genuine and warm. “High praise.”  

“You know, I didn’t say I wasn’t interested,” you admitted finally, your voice quieter than you intended. “I just don’t know if this is a good idea.”

His smirk softened into something gentler, his fingers still lightly brushing yours on the table. “Not everything has to be a good idea to be worth it, sweetheart,” he said.

You couldn’t help but laugh at that. “Is that your life philosophy, or just your way of convincing women to give you their number?”

“Both,” he said with a shrug, his grin returning. “And it’s worked out pretty well so far.”

You rolled your eyes, but the tension between you eased slightly. The conversation shifted after that, the teasing banter giving way to something more genuine. He asked about your life, your work, your dreams—and for every question he asked, he shared something about himself, too. 

“I wasn’t always this guy,” he admitted at one point, swirling the remnants of his whiskey in his glass. “I used to be a cop. A real one. Back in Colombia.”

You blinked, surprised. “A cop? Really?”

He nodded. “Yeah. DEA, actually.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “Seriously? What made you leave?”

His expression darkened briefly, a shadow crossing his features. “Let’s just say… the job took its toll. And I realized I wanted something different. Something lighter.” He glanced at you then, a hint of humor returning to his voice. “Though I’m not sure stripping is what my father had in mind when I told him I was switching careers.”

The two of you laughed, and the conversation continued to flow. By the time your drinks were empty, you realized you were leaning forward, hanging onto his every word.

Javier glanced at the time on his phone and then back at you. “I hate to say it, but the bar’s closing soon.”

You nodded, a strange mix of disappointment and relief settling over you. “Guess I should head back to my room.”

“Yeah.” He hesitated, as if weighing his next words carefully. “Can I walk you to your door?”

Your pulse quickened at the question, but you nodded. “Okay.”

The two of you rode the elevator in silence, the charged tension between you filling the small space. When you reached your floor, he stepped out with you, his presence at your side was both comforting and exhilarating.

When you finally stopped outside your door, you turned to face him, your heart pounding in your chest. “Well… this is me.”

“Home sweet hotel,” he said, his tone light but his gaze intense.

You fiddled with your key card, unsure of what to say. He didn’t push, didn’t try to move closer. Instead, he simply smiled.

“I had a good time tonight,” he said, his voice low and sincere. “Thank you for giving me a chance.”

You swallowed hard, his words sending a warmth through you that had nothing to do with the tequila. “Me too.”

For a moment, neither of you moved. The air between you was thick with unspoken possibilities, each one more tempting than the last. Then, before you could talk yourself out of it, you leaned in and kissed him.

It was soft, hesitant at first—a test to see if this was really what you wanted. But the moment his lips moved against yours, everything else fell away. His hand cupped your cheek, his touch warm and steady as he deepened the kiss. 

When you finally pulled back, breathless, he rested his forehead against yours, his eyes searching yours for any sign of regret. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

“Guess you’ll have to stick around to find out,” you replied.

His smile was slow, almost lazy. “Careful, sweetheart. I just might take you up on that.” 

As Javier lingered, you found yourself hesitating. The way he kissed you had ignited something within you—something raw.

You opened your door but didn’t step inside, glancing back at him. "Well, you coming?”

He arched a brow, that teasing smirk returning. “You sure?”

You laughed softly. “I think I’ll take my chances.”

Javier followed you inside. The dim light of the room cast shadows across his face, softening the sharp lines of his features. He shut the door behind him, leaning against it for a moment as he studied you.

“So,” he drawled, his tone playful but low. “What exactly did you have in mind?”

You swallowed, heat rising to your cheeks. “I think you know Javier.”

He chuckled, shaking his head as he shrugged off his jacket, draping it over the back of a chair. “You’re something else, you know that?”

Before you could respond, he stepped closer, his fingers lightly grabbing your wrist. He guided you to sit on the edge of the bed and his voice dropped an octave. “If we’re doing this, I’m in control, ¿entiendes?”

You nodded, and it must have been obvious how nervous you were.

“Relax,” he murmured, his hands brushing your knees as he stepped between them. “This is supposed to be fun.”

You exhaled a shaky breath, your body responding to him in ways you couldn’t control. He leaned closer, his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear. “Do me a favor,” he whispered. “Touch yourself. Just a little.”

Your eyes widened, your pulse skyrocketing. “What?”

“You heard me,” he said. “I want to watch you.”

When you hesitated, his hand trailed up your thigh, his touch light but maddening. “Go on beautiful,” he urged. “Show me how you make yourself feel good.”

Your breath hitched, heat rushing to your cheeks and pooling low in your belly. Javier leaned back slightly, giving you space but never breaking eye contact. His gaze was dark, commanding, and utterly unapologetic. He wanted this. Wanted you vulnerable, open, and completely at his mercy. 

You hesitated, your heart pounding like a drum, but the way his fingers skimmed over your thigh made it impossible to think straight. “Don’t be shy,” he murmured, his voice coaxing yet dripping with authority. “I want to see every bit of you, mi amor.”

Your hand trembled as it moved to the hem of your dress. Slowly, you slid it higher, exposing more of your thighs to his burning gaze. He walked back and pulled up a chair, one arm draped lazily over the armrest, but his eyes never wavered from you. The way he looked at you—as if you were the only thing that mattered in the world—was both thrilling and terrifying.

“Good girl,” he said, his voice low and gravelly. The praise sent a shiver through your body. You could feel your arousal building, the tension crackling between you like a live wire.  

Your breath shuddered as your fingers brushed the fabric of your panties, the dampness betraying just how much his presence, his words, his command, had affected you. You glanced at him, unsure, but his gaze was steady, his jaw tight, his dark eyes fixed on you with an intensity that made your pulse race. 

Slowly, you slipped your hand beneath the fabric, the first tentative touch drawing a quiet gasp from your lips. Javier's expression darkened with hunger, his composure unraveling ever so slightly as he leaned forward. 

“That’s it,” he whispered. “Let me see how beautiful you are when you can’t hold back.”

Your fingers began to move in slow circles, your body responding to your touch almost instinctively. The heat between your thighs grew, and your hips shifted slightly, seeking more pressure. The room seemed to shrink, the air heavy with the sound of your breathing and the faint rustle of your movements. 

Javier's eyes never left you. His own restraint was evident in the way his fists clenched, the way his chest rose and fell a little too fast. “I want to hear you. Don’t hold back from me.”

You whimpered, your movements becoming more confident, more insistent as you lost yourself in the moment. Every sound you made, every twitch of your body, seemed to light a fire in him. His control was slipping, and it was intoxicating to know that you were the one unraveling him. 

“God, you’re perfect,” he muttered, his voice thick with desire. “Keep going, just like that.”

Javier’s gaze burned into you, the tension in his jaw betraying how tightly he was holding himself back. But then, he shifted, his hands moving to undo the buttons of his shirt, one by one, exposing the golden skin of his chest. His movements were slow, deliberate, as if daring you to keep watching even as your own hand continued its rhythm. 

“Don’t stop,” he murmured, his voice dark and commanding, the sound vibrating through you. His shirt slid off his shoulders, and he let it fall to the floor. Then, his hands moved to his belt, the metallic clink making your breath hitch. He undid it in a single, fluid motion, the sound of the zipper following shortly after. 

Your fingers faltered for a moment, your breath catching as your focus shifted entirely to him. He stood before you, stripped of all pretense, his movements deliberate and sure. When he pushed his pants and boxers down in one smooth motion, your gaze locked onto him, and your thoughts scattered.

He was breathtaking. The sharp angles of his hips, the sculpted planes of his abdomen, the sheer strength of his frame—it was as if he had been carved just for you. Heat coiled low in your belly, a visceral reaction to the undeniable evidence of his desire for you.

Your eyes traveled over him, lingering shamelessly, drinking in every inch of him. His dark eyes burned into yours, filled with a heat that left you both vulnerable and electrified.

You swallowed hard, suddenly feeling exposed under his gaze despite still being partially clothed. The way he looked at you—like you were the only thing he could see—made your pulse race and your chest tighten with need.

The air between you crackled with an unspoken hunger, and you couldn’t look away, couldn’t hide how deeply he affected you.

His hand wrapped around his shaft, a groan slipping from his lips as he began to stroke slowly, matching the rhythm you’d set for yourself. “Look at me,” he said. “Don’t hide from me, nena.”

The sight of him, so confident, so completely at ease with his own pleasure, made your own need intensify. Your movements quickened, your body arching slightly as the tension in your core built. His gaze flickered over you, drinking in every shiver, every gasp, every movement of your hand.

“Dios mío,” he murmured, his strokes becoming faster as he watched you. “You’re so beautiful like this. I could watch you forever.” 

Javier’s hand stilled suddenly, and you watched as he got up, his body exuding confidence and unrelenting command. He stepped closer, towering over you where you sat, his dark eyes still heavy with desire. He leaned down, his fingers brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, his voice a seductive rasp as he said, “Come here.”

You hesitated, your heart racing, unsure of what he was asking. But he took your hand, pulling you gently to your feet, and his lips brushed your ear. “I want you to dance for me. Just for me.”

“I—I don’t know if I can,” you stammered, your cheeks burning. The idea made your pulse race, the vulnerability and intimacy of it all was terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

His hands moved to your waist, steadying you. “Yes, you can, you’re perfect.”

His words wrapped around you, melting your hesitation. Slowly, you began to sway, your movements tentative at first, but his gaze never wavered, filled with encouragement and raw need. 

Your fingers found the hem of your dress, and you began to lift it, inch by inch, exposing your skin. His eyes tracked every motion, his breaths deep and heavy, fueling your confidence. The dress fell to the floor, leaving you in your underwear. You turned away from him, your fingers trembling as you unclasped your bra, letting it slide off your shoulders before finally slipping out of your panties. 

“Fuck, you are so beautfiul.”

You felt the power in his words, the way they stoked your courage and your desire. With each slow sway of your hips, you inched closer to him, the magnetic pull between you was impossible to resist. His heated gaze anchored you, igniting a fire that coursed through your veins.

You ran your hands down your body, over your curves, letting him watch as you closed the distance. His chest heaved as you straddled him and the tip of his cock brushed against your core, you froze, overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment. 

“You’re doing so good,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your collarbone. “Just like that. Take your time, baby. Feel every second of it.

“Javi,” you whispered, your voice shaky. “I don’t know if I—”

“Yes, you do,” he interrupted, his hands sliding up your thighs to rest on your hips. His touch was firm, guiding but never forcing. “You’ve got this, baby. Dance for me—on me. Take your time.”

The raw hunger in his voice undid you. He guided your movements as you began to grind against him, slow and sensual. Your body aligned with his as you slid against him, teasing him with every slow grind. His head fell back against the chair, his jaw clenched as he groaned your name. 

“Good girl,” he murmured, his hands tightening their grip, encouraging your movements. “Just like that. Feel me, nena. Let me feel all of you.”

Slowly, deliberately, you adjusted, letting your slick pussy tease the length of him. The anticipation was maddening, and you could feel him trembling beneath you, his restraint barely holding. Then, with a deep breath, you angled yourself just right and began to lower yourself onto his length.

The sensation stole your breath as you took him inch by inch, your body adjusting to his size. His growl of pleasure rumbled through you, his hands guiding you down until you were completely seated. The stretch, the fullness—it was overwhelming and it felt so good.

“Now move, baby,” he urged, his voice strained. “Show me how good you can make us feel.”

You began to roll your hips, your movements slow and deliberate as you rode him, your bodies perfectly in sync. The connection between you felt electric, every thrust and grind drawing you closer together. His hands explored your body, his lips tracing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your neck and collarbone as you moved, his murmured praises driving you to the brink.

Each undulation of your hips sent a new wave of pleasure crashing through you, and as you rode him, the world melted away, leaving only the two of you tangled in passion and ecstasy.

The sensation made you both gasp, his hands tightening on your hips as you began to move. “That’s it,” he groaned. “Ride me. Just like that.” 

The tension coiled tighter with every roll of your hips, the friction building to a fever pitch as Javier groaned your name like a prayer. His hands gripped your waist firmly, guiding your movements, his thumbs pressing bruising circles into your skin as if to anchor himself. The entire time his gaze stayed locked on yours, dark and intense, as if he wanted to memorize the way you looked in this moment—completely undone above him.

“That’s it, baby,” he rasped. “You feel so damn good.”

The words lit you up, your pace quickening as you chased the edge, that blinding release that teased just out of reach. Your breaths mingled with his, sharp and ragged, the room heavy with the sound of skin meeting skin and the delicious symphony of your pleasure.

“Javi,” you gasped.

“I know, baby,” he murmured, his hands sliding up your back to cradle your face. “Let go. I’ve got you.”

Something in his voice broke you, the sincerity laced with desire, the unshakable promise that he wouldn’t let you fall. Your body tensed, your movements stuttering as the first shockwaves of pleasure crashed through you, and you cried out his name as you shattered around him.

Javier didn’t falter. He held you steady, his grip firm as he ground his hips up to meet yours, pulling you through the aftershocks until you were trembling in his arms. The intensity of it left you breathless, and you slumped forward, resting your forehead against his as you tried to gather yourself.

“You okay?” he asked softly, his voice still thick with need, though his concern for you was evident.

You nodded, chest heaving as you caught your breath. “Yeah,” you whispered. 

“Your turn to relax. I’m not done with you yet.”

Before you could respond, he scooped you up effortlessly, cradling you against his chest as he stood. A soft squeak escaped you, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck as he carried you across the room.

“Javi, I can walk,” you protested weakly, though you made no effort to pull away.

“I know you can,” he teased, “but I like having you right where you are.”

The bed was cool against your back when he laid you down, but his body quickly chased away the chill. Javier followed you down, his weight settling between your thighs.

“Now,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from your face as his gaze softened. “Where were we?”

Javier’s lips captured yours in a kiss, his tongue sweeping into your mouth. He kissed you like he had all the time in the world, savoring every second, and you couldn’t help but melt into him.

His lips trailed down your neck, leaving a path of heat as he paused to suck and nip at the sensitive skin. His hands explored you, tracing the curve of your waist and the swell of your hips before sliding lower. Every touch sent shivers through you, and you couldn’t hold back the soft gasps escaping your lips.

“You’re incredible,” he murmured against your skin. “Every inch of you.”

Your fingers tangled in his hair as you arched into him, your body aching for more. “Javi, please,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

He chuckled softly. “Patience, sweetheart. You just taste so good.”

Your hands gripped his shoulders, your body arching involuntarily. “Javier, I need… I need you.”

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his dark eyes glinting with amusement. “You’re so beautiful like this. All mine.”

As his lips moved lower, he pressed kisses to the sensitive skin of your thighs, his hands spreading you gently. The anticipation made your body tremble, your legs parting instinctively as you felt him pause, his breath hot against your core.

“Perfect,” he whispered, almost to himself, before he leaned in.

The first touch of his tongue made you cry out, your fingers clutching at the sheets as he worked you with slow movements. Javier groaned softly, his grip firm on your thighs as he held you open, the sound vibrating through you and heightening the pleasure.

Your hips bucked against him, and you gasped, “Javi, please, I’m so close.”

He lifted his head slightly, his lips glistening as he smirked at you. “I love hearing you beg for me, come on let go, baby. I’ve got you.”

His tongue and suddenly his fingers moved together in perfect rhythm, lapping, sucking and moving just right. The tension in your belly coiled tighter until it snapped, pleasure crashing over you in waves that left you trembling. Javier didn’t stop until your body softened beneath his touch, his movements slowing as he kissed your thighs and worked his way back up your body.

By the time he reached your lips, you were breathless, your body buzzing with aftershocks. He kissed you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his lips.

“How was that beautiful?” he murmured, brushing his nose against yours.

“Incredible,” you whispered, your fingers tracing the strong lines of his jaw.

Javier groaned softly at your touch, his restraint visibly fraying. He kissed you harder, his body pressing into yours as his arousal became impossible to ignore. “You sure you’re ready for more?” 

You answered by rolling your hips against him, earning a sharp inhale as he gritted his teeth. “I need you, Javi. Please fuck me.”

That was all it took. He positioned himself, his gaze locked on yours as he pushed into you in one slow, steady motion. The stretch was intense, and you gasped, clinging to him as your body adjusted.

“Jesus,” he groaned, his head dropping to your shoulder. “You feel so fucking good, so damn tight.”

“Move..please,” you urged softly, your lips brushing his ear.

He obeyed, pulling back before thrusting in again, setting a rhythm that was slow but deep. Every movement drew you closer until you couldn’t tell where he ended and you began.

His hand slid between you, his thumb finding your most sensitive spot, teasing it in time with his thrusts. “You’re taking me so well.”

Your nails raked down his back, the pleasure building impossibly fast. “Javier,” you whimpered, your body tightening around him as the tension reached its breaking point.

“That’s it, baby,” he groaned, his pace quickening as he chased his own release. “Come for me, give me one more.”

His words were your undoing. You shattered around him, your cries filling the room as pleasure consumed you. Javier followed moments later, his movements faltering as he buried himself deep, a guttural groan escaping him as he found his release.

For a while, neither of you moved, the room quiet except for the sound of your ragged breaths. Eventually, Javier rolled to the side, pulling you close against his chest. He pressed a kiss to your temple, his lips soft and tender.

He chuckled, his chest rumbling beneath your cheek. “You’re gonna be the death of me, you know that?”

You laughed softly, tilting your head to meet his gaze. “You’re not so innocent yourself, Javier.”

His smirk returned. “Get some rest, baby,” he murmured, pulling the blanket over you both. “You’ll need it for round two.”

[luveline]

𝐰𝐲𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐝𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐥

part one | chapter list

new visitors in Jackson inspire strong feelings, in both you and Joel. 

cw: super protective joel, all cards on the table slow burn, complicated everything, eventual scary joel, more cw to be added later

જ⁀➴　

The Tipsy Bison is intimate in its capacity. It’s not unlikely to let yourself in and be able to greet each person inside with familiarity —there’s Jesse at the bar talking to Astrid; there’s Eugene at the back with a battered old book; there’s Joel Miller and his rambunctious, not-so-little charge sharing a sandwich. You’re used to it. You’ve come to expect to see your community and nobody else, even the vaguely less familiar. 

S’why tonight sucks. 

“Is this really… you know, is this a good idea?” 

Jesse is younger than you, but he’s nice enough. He can see you’re not comfortable in the crowd and he’s cordoned you off. “Apparently. Maria trusts him.” 

‘Him’ being Jonathan, a travelling tradesman from a small community of only twelve people. Five men, four women, three children. Maria knew the leader from a time before Jackson, and she trusts him enough to give him the secret of Jackson, which is a big deal. 

The idea of losing what you have here makes you feel nauseous. You have to trust Maria, is all, because she wouldn’t wanna lose it either. 

“Do we…” You squeeze your hands nervously without finishing Joel’s sentence. 

Jesse frowns at you. “Why don’t you go sit with Mr. Miller, if you’re so freaked?” 

Mr. Miller is his teasing. Somehow, someway, one of the kids (who don’t seem to be kids anymore) figured you out. It’s not a big deal, you’re not sure you’d even go so far as to call it a crush. It’s an appreciation. You like Joel. Like his nose, his brown eyes, his hands. You like how he stands against doorways and how sometimes, late at night, you’ll walk home and see him sitting on the porch with a candle at his feet. Ellie with him, alone, but always with a dinky acoustic guitar, strumming away quietly, picking at strings. He must learn by ear. You like the way he speaks to people. 

Don’t worry, he says, a smidge pissed. Or, genuine, Could you move, honey? 

That’s how you got caught. Joel called you ‘honey’ without meaning anything by it and you must’ve looked a shade too close to pleased. By the next day, Ellie herself was sidling up to you outside the stables to ask about your lil ole crush. “I can make myself scarce,” she’d said, rolling the words around in a way that hinted at their pre-rehearsal, even as she laughed. “Just tell me when.” 

You look down at your glass of gin. “What business do I have sitting with Joel Miller?” you ask lightly.

You’re not trying to convince Jesse —again, the kids know. You don’t care, so long as they keep it to themselves. Troubling Joel is the last thing you wanna do. He looks tired tonight. Long trip out with Tommy, maybe, or on pins like everybody else now that the bar is full of strangers. 

Said strangers give a raucous bubble of laughter. The electricity is a marvel, the booze a delight, and they sit entranced by the small roller TV, warmed by old malt whisky and the space heater under their table. A fire rips in the kitchen, crackling, and it’s enough to make you flinch. 

“I think I’m gonna head home,” you tell Jesse, not loving the sympathy lining his eyes and brows. 

“Don’t be a coward.” He’s joking, and he softens as he adds, “If that’ll make you feel better, sure. Go home.” 

“What’s that mean?” 

He shrugs. “Seriously. If you can’t handle it, don’t suffer.” 

It’s not your dream to spend the evening with the young ones, anyhow. You’d hoped Tommy would be sitting with Joel, ‘cos Tommy tries to set Joel up every now and then with the available ladies of the commune. And you, pretending it’s a joke you’re in on and not a real reason to sit, always laugh and sit and try your best to flirt, just a little. Joel was frosty to begin with, kinder now. Whenever he sees Tommy beckoning you over, you can’t help thinking that he’s relieved it’s you sitting down. His shoulders relax. 

You give him a last look, not longing but getting there. He’s nursing a dark glass sitting beside the sandy-haired man in charge of the laundromat. Keith, maybe. They’re not talking, frowning in sync as the table of tradesmen once again reaches a fever pitch. 

He turns to you, sensing your gaze. You offer an uneasy smile. Hadn’t meant to. The group of outsiders is making you feel sick. 

His frown stays in place, but his eyes change. They don’t soften, but they shift. His hand uncurls from his glass. 

“Hi.”

You feel your eyes move of their own accord as a man steps in front of your view. The lightbulb by the door flickers. You blink at this new stranger. 

He’s handsome, almost Clooney-like, Thin Red Line but gruff. He has a few strands of salt in his beard, but he’s not much older than you are, you’d wager. 

“Hey,” you say, a question mark suggested at the end. 

“I’m Jamie.” 

“Hi, Jamie.” 

He smiles lightly. “This is usually where you give your own name.” 

You think about turning then and there, a thread of you that knows you don’t have to go through anything that makes you uncomfortable, but just because you can do something doesn’t mean you should. You give him your name against your wants, and he asks if he can buy you a drink. 

“It’s a commune,” you say, not sure if he’s kidding. “Drinks are free, so long as you don’t jerk Seth around.” 

“Right, of course they are. It’s a shame, I wouldn’t have minded.” 

You know this is where you’re supposed to say something obligingly forgiving: It’s okay, do you wanna sit down? But you’d rather not. 

It’s not like he really likes you. Clean intimacy is hard to come by. 

“Have you lived here long?” he asks. 

“Uh, couple years. Great years.” Should you try to sell it? You could spin a lie. Jackson is the worst and nobody should ever want to raid it. “Living in a commune is the hard part, there’s not much time to rest.” 

“Seems alright now.” 

He’s right. The evening’s are often your own to do as you like. “Not too bad,” you agree quietly. 

Jamie has cloudy blue eyes, light in the light and dark in the dark. He turns his head and seems fiercer than you’d expected him to be. Your mind is playing childish tricks. You’re too old for monsters, but he seems off, then. 

“I’m going home now. Nice to meet you,” you say. 

He frowns. It’s nothing like Joel’s. “Okay, yeah. Have a good night, sweetheart.” 

You rush out of the double doors of the Bison and skirt around the wall until you’re hidden. Jackson’s hardly ever dark, but there are shadows to retreat to when you’re not feeling right. You press yourself into an alcove, feel the chill of the stone behind you seeping into your back like water, frozen air kissing your cheeks. The cold isn’t in the wind, it’s everywhere, and after half a minute your nose feels like it’s hurting. A couple seconds later and the door is whipping open. 

Joel cuts right down the path toward your shared street. 

You rush after him, your shoes packing snow, alerting him to another presence. 

“Oh,” he says, whipping his head to yours. “What’re you doing standing out here?” 

“Nothing– wanted some air. You going home?” You wipe your cheek. “Can I walk with you?” 

“Hey, are you okay?” 

You sniffle. The change in temperature does it to you every time. Any transition from warm to cold makes your nose run like a faucet. “I’m tired.” 

Joel’s eyes dart inside. “What did that jackass want?” 

“Nothing. Asking me for a drink or something, I don’t know. I told him Seth and Cory make them.” You sniffle again, self-conscious as you rub your wet nose. 

“He upset you?” 

“No, no, it’s real cold, that’s all,” you rush out, trekking a bump of snow to stand beside him, the reality of his face closer and finer. You can feel the scratch of his scruff under your fingers without touching it. He has a scar on the left side of his cheek still red with newness. “How’d you get that?” You point to your own. 

“Pulled a nail out of a doorframe, I was standing too close.” 

“Did it hurt?” 

“Did it hurt?” he asks.

“Yeah.” 

“No, it’s hardly a scratch. What about you? He hurt you?” 

“Jamie?” 

“I don’t know his name. Did he?” 

You shake your head. Joel’s like this. He doesn’t smile for nothing, but he’s the first one to offer you a hand if you fall on your ass. ”Didn’t so much as touch me.” 

“So why’re you crying?” he asks. 

You’re lost. 

“If he touched you, said something to you, anything, I’ll take care of it,” he says firmly. “They aren’t here to do whatever they want, nobody gets to upset you, not here.” 

You wipe your eyes again. The cold, you think, is making you glossy-eyed and sad. Joel must’ve caught you looking earlier and figured you were asking for help. “You came out here looking for me?” you ask.

“You didn’t look happy.” 

“I’m not. I don’t like new people. Don’t like what might happen if they won’t keep Jackson a secret.” 

“Nobody’s gonna get you in here, honey.” He ducks his head, his hand judging your arm. “Alright?” Less sure of himself, he clasps your elbow. “Alright?” he asks again. 

“I’m okay. It’s just cold.”

“Warm ya’ up,” he mumbles, letting his hand slide behind your back. “Head home and stoke a fire, that’s what we’re gonna do.” 

“You don’t have to, Joel. I’m really fine, I am, it’s the sniffles–”

“‘M gonna take you home,” he says surely. “I’ll feel better if I can keep an eye on you now, ‘til you’re feeling alright.” 

You don’t know what to say, so you don’t say anything at all as he leads you down the snow-packed road from the Tipsy Bison to the neighbourhood street. In five minutes you’re at his door, he’s pushing it open, shouting down into the garage to see if Ellie’s home. He’s taking off his coat and tossing it over the bannister, hands open, expecting you to do the same. 

You shrug out of it and pass it over. He puts it with a hell of a lot more care beside his own. 

“C’mon,” he says quietly, “this way.” 

He stokes the embers in the fireplace. Throws a couple of logs in when they start to glow. Adds some scrap paper, a conservative splash of fire starter. The heat starts to nip your fingers, like a painful pinging you can’t shake. 

“What?” he asks, narrowing his eyes at your shaking hands. 

“Just hurting.” 

“Your hands?” He takes your wrists into his hands and holds the bottoms of your hands to his chest. “You gotta be careful. Frostbite don’t take long to set in.” 

“I don’t have frostbite, it’s ’cos it’s warm now, it’s– it’s like getting in the bath too soon.” 

Joel’s hardened, sure. But there isn’t one person living in Jackson now who doesn’t have at least one good thing to say about him. Joel fixed my front door, found my bike a new tire, took my kid for an hour when I felt like I was gonna explode.Youve heard the bad with the good, whispers of what he did before he got to Jackson, and the rumour of what he did after. Thing is, you can see past it. You’ve done cruel shit too. 

He doesn’t feel cruel as he rubs your fingers back to life. “What do you mean? Getting in the bath too soon?” he asks quietly.

“When it’s cold, and it’s always cold here, and I get into the bathtub as soon as I get home from the stables, it makes my hands do what they’re doing now…” You shudder as he presses them flat to his chest and covers them. “You’re gonna make it worse,” you murmur, tepid teasing. 

“The quicker you warm up, the quicker it goes away,” he says. He’s smiling, and his voice is all full of something sweet, like it’s rolling around in his mouth before he uses it. 

“I really don’t like these new people.” 

“Yeah, me neither. They won’t be here long, couple more days.” 

“That Jamie guy… I don’t know, guess I wasn’t as nice to him as I should’ve been, he didn’t want anything. Well–”

“He wanted something.” 

“I know that, but– it’s not a crime, is it? Doesn’t everybody want that?” 

“He’d be blind if he didn’t want it with you, honey,” Joel says. 

There’s that word again, tacked at the end of an implication that makes you go white hot. 

For once, he notices your reaction. “Shit,” he says, “sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t mean it like that. You’re beautiful.” He shakes his head. “Shit,” he says under his breath. 

“…Thank you, Joel.” He’s holding you awfully tight, really, saying this stuff. You’re grown. You know what it means; can’t pretend it away, can’t will or while it into an insecure maybe. He can’t want me, I’m me. But Joel wouldn’t do this to you if he didn’t feel something for you, even if all that something is is just thinking you’re beautiful. “I think you’re handsome, too, you know.” 

He transfers both of your hands to one of his, the other coming up behind his neck in a show of bashfulness you aren’t sure is real or not. “Ellie mighta let something slip about that.” 

“What sort of something?” 

“Said you might like me. You know.” 

What were you thinking, back at the Bison? It’s not a crush, it’s worse, you’re totally fucked because he’s looking at you like he wants to lean in and kiss you, and he’s solid enough to do it, to take you by the shoulders and tip your head to the side with a nudge of his nicely shaped nose, he could kiss you sick. 

Joel Miller, you think, frowning at him softly, please don’t mess me up. 

“Took you long enough to find out,” you say. 

“You think I didn’t notice? I was waiting on you to come clean.” 

“And this has nothing to do with Jamie?” you ask, heart popping under your ribs in a panic that you might actually like feeling. 

“Of course it has to do with Jamie, j’s not all of it.” He ducks his gaze. “I don’t like seeing you like that, all antsy, and I really don’t like seeing you crying.” 

“I wasn’t crying,” you say with a soft laugh, sure you’re about to be kissed, “I was cold.” 

He lets go of your hand and begins rubbing twin lines up and down your arms. “Shit,” he says, potty mouth, “I was doing something about that. Let me get you a blanket. I got a huge one up in the bedroom, you stay here.” 

Leaving you blinking next to the crackling fire. Unkissed, and without an invitation. 

“You want a cup of coffee?” he calls from the stairs, looking down at you, wearing an expression you can’t decipher. “You go on and help yourself, honey.” 

You nod at him until he carries on upstairs. Coffee is the last thing on your mind, but you find your way into Joel’s shining kitchen and warm the coffee pot, pouring a brew in a ceramic mug, the scratch-owl drawn on its side bumpy to the touch.

You get to thinking. You’d wanted to be kissed, but what if Joel actually kisses you, big hands on your face, weight between your legs? He’s bringing down that big blanket to cover you up, both of you, ‘cos even with the fire it’s too cold to get undressed without one–

“You alright?” Joel asks when he returns, a throw blanket slung over his shoulder. “You look jittery.” 

You swallow roughly and wave a shy hand. Just the coffee, you explain. 

[cvnt4him]

Diaries of Spider-Man.

ch1

Dear diary; what was I thinking?!

synopsis; the disastrous "adventures" of a teenaged spiderman.

This is a WIP, please let me know your thoughts and if this is what you would like to see from me<3

“let's do this one.. last.. time...”

“my name is izuku midoriya, and for the past 3 years, I've been the one and only spiderman. Annnd, I'm pretty sure you know the rest..”

₊˚⊹

Izuku jots away in his notebook before taking a step back to read what little he's written. the groan that escaped his lips was quite audible. He was rather disappointed in what he's written.

When his therapist "prescribed" him to journaling or writing down his thoughts in a notebook which he didn't want to refer to as a diary, his initial thought was;

‘theres no way in hell writing things down would help me.’

However for the past three years, izuku found himself writing everything he could down in those measly little journals his therapist gave him. Each and every year the thick and huge diary journal she gave him would begin to get fuller and fuller of all of his little adventures or simple daily routines.

Izuku was nothing if not a stubborn little shit at times. Of course he would disagree heavily but facts don't lie. You can't tell this energetic know it all anything. He's really smart and well put together. Most of the time. Upon becoming spiderman he hasn't had a lot of time for much. His consistent tasks of being spiderman are always heavy and time consuming. He doesn't have time to study for his driver's test, his normal class tests which define if he passes the grade and gets into college, or even dinner half the time?!

To be frank; the poor thing has been through a lot the past years. Too much honestly. Izukus "power" awakening was an honest mistake. Like your typical movie spiderman, he was bitten by a radioactive spider whilst he was doing something he knew he had no business doing

₊˚⊹

To go back exactly three years 4 months and 17 days ago, you would find a 14/15 year old izuku breaking into an abandoned home with none other than his typical, usual, partners in crime.

Katsuki bakugou and y/n l/n.

Izuku knew it was a bad idea from the beginning, however he always followed the two of you into stupid situations that could eventually get you killed. In this case, it almost did. Izuku helped you get through the window the three of you had busted by letting you climb onto his shoulders, katsuki who had laid his jacket over the glass so none of you would cut yourselves, grabbed you by your arms and pulled you in, the both of you then helped izuku in with basically the same method.

“woah.. spooky.”

“ heh.. it reeks in here.”

You giggled at katsukis exclaim, making izuku pout slightly. He sighed to himself, not wanting to admit the blonde was correct.

“ you guys i- i really don't think we should— ”

“ hey check it out! there are spray paint cans in here!”

Katsuki yells running to the other room with numerous cans of spray paint. You followed him like a dumb lost puppy leaving izuku to groan and follow behind you both.

There were many graffiti stamps left behind from many different people, obviously they had left behind their spray paint for some odd reason, that's what really intrigued izuku.

“ tch, hey deku, get over here so we can sign our names!”

Izuku jogs closer to you two shivering to himself at all the spiderwebs covering the cans. It was dusty and quite eerie inside of this place. Izuku truthfully wanted no part. You and katsuki signed your names right next to each other with little quirky doodles next to them, izuku soon followed suit. He picked up the green can of paint and signed his name ‘izuku’

“ no no, put deku! ‘ts way better than ‘izuku’!”

The way katsuki could make izuku feel bad about his given name should've been studied. And they way you were quick to agree hurt the poor boy even more. He soon crossed out izuku and put ‘Deku’ big and boldly. It was all alone compared to how closely the two of your names were.

The two of you had long began to explore elsewhere, leaving izuku wondering where you two went off to.

“hey! Come in here izu- I mean deku!”

You yell out catching his attention, he follows the sound of your voice to find you two the small critter crawling up his back going completely unnoticed. Some time passed and it only got later and later, izuku was still hesitant about being there but the two of you just kept going deeper and deeper inside of the manor.

Izuku rushes inside of the next room, breaking contact with whatever artifacts caught his eye. He looked for the two of you calling out your names with no answer, he was confused and quite scared, where could the two of you have gone?

“ boo!”

Izuku jumped back falling down to the ground and scraping his little hands.

“ow..!”

Izuku winced at the sudden sting of not only his hands but the pinch of his skin itching and being very irritated next to his neck, he slapped it and the arachnid soon fell into his hands. With a shutter he threw the spider out of his hands feeling rather jittery after the encounter.

“ are you alright, izuku?!“

You were quick to rush over to him. It was simply supposed to be a little harmless joke, he wasn't supposed to get hurt. You helped him up and dusted him off as well heading katsuki suck his teeth in response.

“ yes, i- I'm fine. I've gotten bitten by a spider however.. one unlike any other I've ever seen.. we should head back so I can tell my mom.”

“ oh, oka-”

“ no.”

Katsuki was quick to shut down before you could get out your sentence. You both turned to look at him he seemed angry a bit as if something completely ruined his mood.

“ if you tell your mom we could get in trouble, she might tell my mom who might tell y/ns. you don't want us getting in trouble, do you deku.”

The way katsuki used the nickname against him made his stomach feel sick. He gulped down the rising bile in his throat and coughed lowly.

“ katsuki he got hurt, shouldn't he-”

“ no! I'm not getting in trouble because wimpy deku wanted to be an easy scare!”

“thats not fair katsuki!”

The two of you started bickering, leaving him out causing him to sigh. He felt a bit weird.. kind of dizzy and out of breath as if he'd been running. It was growing warm and he had began sweating, hyperventilating as if he needed to catch his breath.

The sounds of him caught your attention and suddenly the boy looked quite weak, frail of some sort.

“ izuku..? are you...alright?”

Katsuki sooner looked over to see izuku hardly keeping his balance, he wouldn't admit it but he was quite worried at the sight of him.

“ let's go.”

Was all katsuki said as he grabbed izuku by the hand and ran back towards the broken window the three of you came in.

The two of you got izuku home in one piece for the most part, he was dizzy and hardly standing up on his own, the running had him so our of breath it was almost like he was having an anxiety attack. He probably was to be honest, izuku was a very anxious boy. His anxiety levels were very high at all times, with the growing symptoms in his body and the bite from the spider he was so worried about what was happening to him he most likely started having a panic attack whilst running. Luckily he was home now, you and katsuki beat on his door as you heard him mom yelling she was coming.

She opens the door with a smile to see the three of you out of breath with a dead looking izuku, the sight startled his mother causing her to pick up her son and rush him to the hospital. Both yours and katsukis parents had been called and had quite a talk with inko who was worried sick about her son, yelling at your parents and explaining how she has no idea what happened.

You two didn't speak to each other once. Not even looking at each other. Both your parents had taken you and katsuki back home. After that night you'd never spoken to katsuki or izuku ever again..

Izuku was completely fine however. Those symptoms may have been bad but that was all it was. He was able to go home that same day and the doctors called it a simple panic/anxiety attack. His mother was worried sick for no reason.

From that moment forward things only began to get weirder for this normal teenaged boy.

₊˚⊹

Izuku sat at his desk reading his old journals of how he believes he got his powers, scoffing to himself at the memories. He had all his books all over his desk in a completely messy pile nose buried in his book as someone walked over and bumped his desk back into him, it lightly hit him in the stomach causing him to drop the journal in the desk and the desk of the books that were formerly there onto the floor.

He scoffed in annoyance looking up to see you with a shit eating grin on your face as you scowled down at him, not even apologizing as you walked out of the classroom.

Izuku seen as the classroom was completely empty, just him and his messy books all over the floor. He sighed and crouched down picking them up and shoving them into his backpack. His phone vibrated in his back pocket, he picked up up to see w text from his friends.

‘ hey! Meet us in the front?’

That singular text from ochako was all he needed for a small smile to form on his freckled cheeks. Just as he was about to put it away there was a pop up from the news channel he had downloaded on his phone, something about a criminal stealing from a jewelry shop.

He sighed to himself and texted her back explaining he wouldn't be able to meet them and that he'd just head home. However that wasn't the case. He ran out the back door of the school pushing through some students earning some angry and annoyed remarks spat at him; but he didnt have time to care. He ran behind some building and quickly slipped his suit on. He'd rather skip the embarrassing details..

Just as he was about to 'web away' he got a call from none other than katsuki bakugou. Izuku jumped and nearly dropped his phone at the sudden ringing, he quickly answers without thinking, lifting his mask over his mouth to speak,

“ oi nerd, y’heard about that criminal stealing that diamond or whatever?”

The normally volcanic boy has a soft tone still laced with a bit of redness and sass.

“ yes, kacchan, and before you called I was just about getting there so if y’dont mind!!!!”

The blond scoffs on the other side, chuckling as he snorts at his sass. Izuku groaned at the sound of him laughing and simply hung up swinging away as quickly as he could.

“ look up there! It's spiderman!!”

People squealed and yelled at the familiar colors of izukus suit, black along the sides and a deep green painting the front and back of his skin tight suit, and a big white spider over the chest. He'd made the suit when he was younger and had started working out he'd wanted to show it off but as of now he thinks it's quite unnecessary..

He swung through the crowds waving and smiling under the mask, as tiring as being spiderman was he was always thankful for the love he'd gotten. They truly made him feel valuable, izuku struggled with self confidence a lot, it's common in people like that to enjoy attention from all.

It wasn't that izuku needed to be humbled or anything but....izuku swung down an alley that reports seen the criminal go down, supposedly the diamond they had stolen was a very important artifact from ancient times or whatever, moral of the story was he needed to get it back to where it belonged! Izuku could do that!

He dropped in front of the criminal with a hero stance making him appear big n bad in front of them.

“ stop! give me that diamond, criminal!”

Izuku was obsessed with action movies when he was younger, his favorite actor was custom to working in them. He always imagined being a superhero and technically he is! However within these three years the fame and glory really went to his head ..

The criminal halted, izuku tried stepping closer to retrieve the diamond in a cool manner, speaking to the cloaked person in a soft voice trying to get them to come to their senses like some kind of......main character. To izukus surprise they pulled out a crossbow. He was stunned at the size of it,

“ how- how did that fit inside of your— ”

Before izuku could get the rest of his sentence out the criminal shot the arrow, it completely piercing izukus shoulder. He yelled out in pain nearly falling to his knees, that then made him realize that was no joke, this person being unlike any other petty thief hes gone up against.

As the criminal kicked izuku to the ground with a bare boot while he was holding his injured and punctured shoulder they quickly made haste and ran past him out of the alley, crowds soon coming up after the person ran away and seeing izuku clutching his shoulder run pain, all of them having different emotions on his face it would be an understatement to say he was embarrassed.

What had he thought that he was just invincible? Izuku struggled into his knees hearing whispers from the crowd and quickly tried his best to attempt swinging away with a singular arm, his left to be exact and that wasn't his maiden arm either. Izuku was fully right handed and did everything with it, with his right arm basically out of commission he did his best to swing with his left hand but...

He eventually wobbled and hit a sign, he was going at a high speed as well trying to hide his shame and find the person who did this to him, as his body came into full contract with the sign knocking every little bit of air out if his body the arrow got pushed deeper, making izuku groan in agony once more. Blood wetting his skin and suit as it dropped down, he didn't take the arrow out before because he thought about how it would cause him to bleed out and wouldn't be any good...now he wished he had.

He held onto the large sign and tried to swing away once more, he eventually got the hang of it for a little while managing to drop himself behind a building. He leaned against the wall of it and groaned, he wanted to take his suit off but it wouldn't be a good idea, anyone could've followed him or even tried to see who he was. It wasn't a good idea.

With every ounce of energy and strength in his body he pushed himself up from sliding to the ground and called who he knew he could.

“ yo?”

“ ka..kacchan... I need your...your help..”

₊˚⊹

AN: this is js a WIP lemme know what y'all think n if I should add or like yk leave out some things!!!!

[captain-hawks]

OVERRATED // matsukawa issei x f!reader

You’re convinced that getting fingered is overrated. Your roommate shows you otherwise, since you’ve clearly never been with someone who knows what they’re doing.

2.6k — 18+, roommates to lovers, fingering, mattsun and those goddamn hands

A woman sits in a dark booth in the back corner of a restaurant, lower lip tucked between her teeth, fingers digging into the edges of her seat as she tries not to make it obvious that the man beside her has his hand up her skirt. 

“There’s no way it feels that good for her,” you scoff, arms crossed, eyes narrowed as you stare judgmentally at the television screen. 

Matsukawa looks from you, to the movie, and back again. “Getting fingered?”

Your eyes flit over to where your roommate’s sitting on the opposite end of the couch, one brow raised as he lifts a can of soda to his lips.

The woman on the television screen moans.

(This isn’t porn, for the record.)

“Yeah? I mean this is like, false advertising.”

Matsukawa blinks. “I literally do not think I’ve ever met a girl who doesn’t enjoy being fingered.”

A sudden surge of heat licks at the back of your neck at his words, and you force your attention back to the screen. “And just how many girls have you—actually, you know what. Nevermind. Don’t answer that.”

He lets out a quiet huff of a laugh, and the two of you are silent for another five minutes or so before he speaks up again.

“So you’ve never had an orgasm just from being fingered then.”

Matsukawa says it bluntly, plainly, like he’s completely unbothered by the prospect of casually discussing sex with you on your couch on a Friday night. 

“Nope,” you shake your head, popping the ‘P’ for emphasis.

He’s not looking at you when he replies, “That’s a shame.”

—

Your phone lights up with a notification for a text message from Matsukawa on Sunday morning while you’re still in bed. You’re pretty sure he left the apartment early to get breakfast with Hanamaki, and he’s yet to return.

Mattsun: can you text makki and tell him you think getting fingered is overrated Mattsun: he doesn’t believe me >>: …. >>: so like >>: sometimes makki can just maybe not know things Mattsun: you spent twenty minutes last week telling both of us about your last date who couldn’t get it up Mattsun: in detail Mattsun: with a donut and >>: OKAY YEAH YEAH Mattsun: :)

Collapsing back against your pillows, you groan before opening your text thread with Hanamaki.

>>: getting fingered is overrated, makki Hanamaki: wow he wasn’t kidding  Hanamaki: wild >>: now can you make sure he brings me home a coffee Hanamaki: k Hanamaki: u act like he would ever forget something u asked for >>: what’s that supposed to mean Hanamaki: also though Hanamaki: when are u guys going to fuck

You drop your phone on the mattress, looking around the room as if Hanamaki himself is sitting in the corner snickering at you. 

>>: i’m sorry what >>: who >>: how did we get here Hanamaki: at least ask HIM to finger u  Hanamaki: because this shit is DEpressing >>: i’m blocking your number Hanamaki: u’ve seen his hands right >>: bye Hanamaki: cool i’ll email u xo

Groaning, you bury your face under the covers. 

—

“I had an idea. A really dumb idea, actually. It’s kind of Makki’s fault, but—“

Matsukawa looks up from where he’s pouring a glass of water, brows furrowing. 

“—and honestly just feel free to say no and forget this ever happened—“

He blinks, putting down the cup and leaning against the counter, crossing his arms as he waits for you to fumble through this never ending lead up to a question that’s been eating at the back of your mind all week. 

“Can you uh…could you maybe…”

Matsukawa moves a little closer to you, leaning in, as if his proximity is going to help encourage you to drag the rest of the words from where they’re clinging to the backs of your teeth. 

“CouldyoufingermeinaplatonicwaysoIcanfigureoutifI’mjustbrokenorsomething.”

You say it all in a single breath. 

Matsukawa chokes. 

“You think you’re the problem?” he asks, taken aback. 

“I mean, yeah? If it’s supposed to feel good, and it doesn’t for me, then maybe I—“

“Go put on something that makes you feel sexy,” he interrupts you calmly.

Your heart lurches in your chest. “What? Right now!?” you squeak. 

Matsukawa walks over to the kitchen sink, glancing back at you over his shoulder as he slowly presses down the pump on the foaming soap and thoroughly washes his hands. 

You’re not sure how or why that sight alone already leaves your throat dry. 

He nods. “Put on whatever makes you feel good. It doesn’t matter what it looks like. We’re not going anywhere. And then go in my bedroom, lay down in my bed, and text me when you’re ready.”

Fifteen minutes later, you find yourself on your stomach in Matsukawa’s bed, legs idly kicking in the air to expel the nervous energy simmering in your gut. 

And while it was borderline mortifying trying to pick out something “sexy” to wear before tiptoeing into his bedroom, you realize why he said it now as you hit send on a message that simply reads “Ready.”

Because now that you’re lying here in a short, pleated skirt that’s lived in the back of your closet for years, thigh high socks, a delicate, lacy bralette that you’ve yet to find a reason to wear, and a thong with a little pink bow nestled just above your ass—

Now that you’re wrapped up in the familiar scent of Matsukawa’s body wash in a way that’s far more intimate than stealing his clothes or falling asleep on his shoulder on the couch—

Now that you know he’s seconds away from seeing you like this in his bed, from slipping his fingers beneath your skirt—

Well, you can already feel it—the slick, sticky arousal soaking its way into your panties. 

“Wow,” Matsukawa murmurs as he walks in, striding over to the foot of the bed. “Nice socks.”

You go to roll over, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious, and he shakes his head. “No, stay like that.”

Turning back onto your stomach, you push your phone aside, hugging one of his pillows to your face—though you almost regret it when you subsequently end up burying your nose in the warm and admittedly dizzying scent of him once more. Meanwhile, you feel the mattress dip as he climbs atop it. 

“If at any point you want me to stop, let me know, okay?”

You nod, and he slowly starts to run his hands up the backs of your thighs, stopping just shy of the hem of your skirt. 

“Didn’t you wear this to that costume party at Oikawa’s a few years ago?”

The first and only time you wore it, given how its meager length leaves almost nothing to the imagination. 

“Yeah,” you laugh, though it’s a little weak, given the way he’s now rubbing soothing circles with his thumbs against the inside of your thighs. 

Unintentionally, you spread your legs somewhat for him at the sensation, toes curling. He chuckles quietly. 

Matsukawa’s fingers finally slide up your skirt, his large hands resting on either of your ass cheeks. You try to fight the sudden urge to arch your spine into his touch. 

“Is this still okay?”

You nod, and he squeezes. 

A moan slips out past your lips before you can stop it. 

“Oh,” you breathe out, fingers grasping his silky dark green sheets for purchase as he begins to massage the globes of your ass. 

“Does that feel good?” he asks. 

He squeezes a little harder, and there’s a euphoric release of tension that seeps through your muscles.

“So good,” you mumble, face pressed sideways against his pillow. Which you may or may not have drooled on. 

Cool air licks and settles against your backside as Matsukawa grasps your skirt and pushes it out of the way. Your thong tightens against your skin with tension for a moment, snapping back lightly once he lets it go.

Sliding his palm down the center of your ass, he brings his hand back to your thighs and stretches his fingers outward, effectively spreading your legs further. You inhale, toes pressing down into the mattress at the foot of the bed. 

“Oh, do you want me to take these off?” he pauses, idly toying with the string of your thong. 

And while it would certainly be easier, there’s something about the evidence of your arousal soaking into the material, something about the way the lace tugs against your skin—

You shake your head. 

“Good, the bow is cute.”

He runs a finger over the delicate piece of ribbon, and you’re thankful he can’t see the embarrassing way you swallow in response. 

“Is flattery a part of the process?” you ask. 

You can almost hear the grin on his face as he slowly feathers a finger against the wet spot on your panties and replies, “Is it not working?”

“You’re terrible,” you laugh, despite the shiver that runs through you. 

“Save your breath.”

You turn slightly to look back at him, brows furrowed. “For wha—“

Your words are cut off by the moan that crawls up your throat without warning as the pad of Matsukawa’s middle finger suddenly slides down the length of your creamy slit. 

It catches you off guard, how good that little bit of contact feels. How sensitive you are for him. How—

“Jesus fucking Christ, you’re wet,” he murmurs, one digit now circling around the rim of your puffy, fluttering entrance while another long finger draws through your folds once more. 

He’s hardly doing anything, and it already sounds obscene. 

Your chest burns, and your heart thunders in your chest as you find yourself arching your ass up off of the bed. The skirt flops back down over your backside in the process, and Matsukawa’s quick to push it back out of the way, his large hand pressing into the small of your back. 

The pillow case grows more damp against your cheek as you quietly pant against it. 

“Matsukawa,” you whine, hips pressing backward again as he ghosts a finger over your swollen clit before dragging two digits back through your folds. Your cunt aches. 

“You have to tell me if you don’t like how it feels, okay?”

He runs his thumb across your dripping hole. 

“Matsukawa,” you gasp again, one hand tightly grasping the top edge of the mattress. 

“Just tell me to stop, and I will,” he promises, slipping the tip of a finger into your entrance. Barely past the fingernail. 

“Issei, please,” you nearly sob, spreading your legs even further for him. “Don’t—don’t stop.”

He lets out a noisy, rough exhale. One that’s a stark contrast to his easy, syrupy tone. 

But you can hardly hear it as he slides his finger into your cunt, not stopping until he’s at the last knuckle. 

You can hardly hear it over the desperate, needy moan that he drags out of you on one finger alone. 

Matsukawa takes his time exploring your tight inner walls, alternating between pumping his finger in and out while you keen for him and keeping it lodged inside as he curls and strokes your wet channel. 

It’s never felt like this. 

Not with anyone. 

Not even with your own fingers. 

But this—

It feels like you’re burning from the inside out, like your nerves are on the verge of going up in flames. 

It’s just one long, deft finger sliding in and out of the eager, needy grip of your pussy. Your tight, soaking wet pussy that’s nowhere near full enough yet still pulsing and dripping with pleasure all the same. 

It’s just a single finger, and yet your voice is going hoarse from the moans tumbling from your lips, the repeated whimpers of Matsukawa’s name as your sticky arousal slides down the palm of his hand. 

“You’re so fucking wet,” he rasps, voice a little rougher than it was before. 

“I’m probably making a mess all over your bed,” you mutter against the pillow. 

“Good,” you swear you hear him breathe out before he asks, “Still overrated?” His free hand slides beneath the waistband of your thong,  wrapping around your hip bone. 

“It’s never, I’ve never—“ you gasp. 

“Because you sleep with guys who do it for themselves, who see it as a necessity to getting their dick inside of you,” Matsukawa replies in a calm tone that’s a stark contrast to the way you’re unravelling beneath him. “I just want you to feel good. This isn’t about me.”

And you’ve also never been fingered like this—face down, prone. With your pebbled nipples rubbing against your lace bralette and a too-short skirt rucked up around your waist. In a sopping wet thong that keeps rubbing against your clit every time Matsukawa nudges it out of the way, with thigh high socks that continue to slip down lower and lower as you writhe in pleasure against the mattress. 

You’ve never been fingered by Matsukawa Issei. Your roommate and your best friend who’s a little too handsome for his own good. Who you’ve had more wet dreams about than you can count. 

Matsukawa Issei and his stupidly long, dexterous fingers. Two of which are now stuffed in your tight hole, massaging your inner walls while you drool on his pillow like it’s his cock that’s stuffed inside of you instead. 

Matsukawa Issei, who’s somehow on the verge of making you forget every dick you’ve ever had inside of you by fucking you with his fingers and his fingers alone. 

“Don’t flatter me that much yet, not till I make you come,” he murmurs, stroking your throbbing clit. 

And oh—you fucking said that last bit out loud. 

Not that you can bring yourself to care when the coil of heat in your gut is wrapped so tight you can hardly breathe. Every muscle in your body tenses under the liquid pleasure that sears its way down your spine with a bite that has you trembling, sheets slipping beneath the feeble grasp of your shaking hands. 

You end up pushing yourself onto your knees as Matsukawa purposely slows his pace, like he’s not ready for you to come yet. Like he wants to edge you until the whole goddamn mattress is soaked.

“Issei,” you whimper in a small, breathless voice that you can hardly believe is your own. 

And suddenly you find yourself being tugged backwards into his lap, your legs spread, your back to his chest. You barely have time to marvel over the feeling of his hard cock pressing into your ass through his pants, not when his lips ghost against the shell of your ear before he rests his chin against your shoulder. 

Matsukawa slides his fingers back inside of you, and you moan at the angle, at the way his mouth ends up tucked into the crook of your neck when you roll your hips into his touch. His lips are hot against your skin as he traces the column of your neck, cunt squelching wetly while your pussy greedily takes in the stretch of his digits over and over. 

And then he presses a hot, open-mouthed kiss to your pulse point, biting and sucking at the sensitive spot while your cunt throbs, as you shake with a full-body shiver, as the damn of pleasure inside of you snaps and overflows with an orgasm that leaves tears in your eyes as you sob his name. 

Matsukawa tilts your chin and finds your mouth with his, claiming your lips in a messy, spit-soaked kiss as you ride out your climax. 

It’s only once you stop shuddering in pleasure that you remember how hard he felt beneath you, and you go to slip a hand between your bodies—

“It’s okay,” he exhales, sounding just as out of breath as you feel.

“You don’t want me to—“ You try not to sound as disappointed as you feel over his sudden rejection.

His eyes go a little wide. “No, no. No, it’s that. I just…uh…I already…”

You blink at him. “I didn’t think that was actually a thing that happens.”

Did he really just come in his—

Matsukawa rubs the back of his neck, biting his bottom lip. “It’s never happened to me before, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Oh?”

For some reason, you feel more than a little smug at these words.

“First time for everything I guess,” he grins.

“Overrated?” you ask coyly, warmth swelling in your chest.

Matsukawa shakes his head, lips brushing against yours when he leans in and murmurs against your mouth, “Definitely not.”

[goaskangel]

dad's bestfriend!nanami x reader

a/n...had really good ideas 4 this and it kinda WORKED OUT??? i fu want more lmk!! im a sucker for older dudes (and ONLy them) nanami will save us all EEK. also i see hiromi as y/n's father, that's what i had in mind writing this!!! THIS HAS SLIGHT CORRUPTION STUFF, LIL GUILT STUFF, LOTS OF KISSIINGGG

you usually paid no mind to the people your father brought over. mostly colleagues or just a few friends to drink and converse with in your shared apartment. one friend he’d seem to bring over a lot had caught your eye. as if his ever-changing ties and snug khakis weren’t enough to make you grin, his mannerism was much too attractive. greeting you respectfully, listening and chuckling to your rare comments and jokes to their discussion over drinks in the kitchen. getting comfortable to just speak to you while your dad’s out or busy with something, always listening with intent. 

it’s so sexy, you think, your hands up to your face as you lay to your side in bed. dreaming conscious thoughts of what his big hands would feel like on you, or the same breath he smokes out against your neck. your guilt no longer dragging you down after all this time. 

once, you sit close to him, smiling and trying to make your staring of his ringless finger unnoticeable. he wonders, aloud, how don’t you have a boyfriend? you shrug, “jus’ not very interested.” you smile when he chuckles, most likely at your thought process. part of you hopes he doesn’t ask what you're looking for because you’d go straight to overworked suited-men. skip over the blonde and big traits just to seem more vague. of course you were interested, you were interested the moment he mentioned he had no family. no wife, no kids. just focused on his work and drinks, a few cigars and baked goods. the absence of your father to run a quick errand wasn’t helping, your eyes zigzagged down his undone tie and exposed blue button-up, his blazer down beside him. you’d thought about taking the garment or increasing the loft’s heater just to see him get all worked up and hot but being this close to him gave you the same thrill. the topic of marriage came up.

“you shouldn’t wait too long, i waited too long.” he says with sincerity. 

“hehe. with all truth, mister, i think you’re doing it on purpose. you are handsome.”

he sits up at the title, a confused smile at his face, “yeah? i could say the same thing about you, pretty.”

god, if you were any worse, the first time he’d use that petname you would’ve pounced on him sooner. “dad says guys my age are after one thing and i agree. you wouldn’t disagree with my dad, would you?” your head tilts and waits for a response to your bratty remark. “well, i suppose your father knows a thing or two.” he nods, crossing his arms. your eyes trail again, watching the toned muscle flex casually against his rolled sleeve. you swallow the pool of spit in your mouth. 

“he’s strict, though. haven’t you noticed?” you get up from your seat and walk to pour yourself another glass of water, “doesn’t ever let me have anybody over.” 

“uh-huh.” his brown eyes stare at you intently to understand your point. 

“it gets lonely, mister.” instead of sitting back down, you stand right in front of him. placing your glass on the glass table. his arms now rest out on the table as he traces delicate circles on the rim of his half empty cup of whiskey. “i obviously can’t tell my dad that so i’m telling you and i just know you’d understand.” your hand rests atop his and slowly curls under his big palm.

he clears his throat of the sudden nervousness, “well, yes. i know that feeling all too well.” you hum a response when he turns his body to face you better. you mumble gently, “my dad won’t be home.” your hand squeezes him tighter. you notice how his brows furrow just the slightest bit as he lowers his head down, letting out a small sigh. but he doesn’t oppose it. doesn’t move when you lead his hand down to your hip, the tips of his fingers riding up your shirt. so pliable, his other resting hand now being guided up, up, up your shirt. his warm palm against your much softer skin. “won’t tell anyone, nanami.” 

his breathing is shaky and his eyes seem to have gotten heavier, but he scoots almost off the seat, to get closer. his vision glued onto the bump of where his hand is underneath your shirt, beneath the wire of your bra. 

“i’ll let you do anything you want to me.” fucking hell, you made this so fucking hard. 

“you’re damn irresistible.” he slurs through his teeth, swearing to himself that his mouth dried when you gripped his hand to squeeze the fat beneath your breasts. you feel dizzy, so good that he’s not resisting, that he can’t resist. he kneads and gropes the side of your hips and thighs, getting closer to your ass. impatiently, he stands and manhandles you closer to his bigger frame. you hear how his breathing’s stabilized but heavier, his expensive cologne finally hitting you when you lean up against his neck. he damn near groans when he gets his hands on you properly. dragging his hands on your back, pushing your body right against his much warmer one. your knees grow weak, if his grasp was any looser, you could’ve collapsed right on him. you take your arms and wrap them firmly against his broad shoulders and thick neck, moaning quietly against the veins under his ear. he feels his khakis getting tighter with every breath you take. a smile grows against your cheeks when you feel the slight stubble at his jaw, you kiss at it. 

still moaning between kitten licks against his mature skin, he turns to press his lips to yours. quick little pecks between breaths, he savors each one and quickly returns for more. the sour taste of his bitter whiskey intoxicating you from his much sweeter mouth.

“been..wanting..this..nana–mi..!” you can’t contain your grown obsession to which he shushes you. nodding slowly against your mouth while he keeps your head in place. when you pull away, you take his hands and lead him into your open bedroom. the idea of your father coming home slowly fading the closer you got what you wanted. you got so eager when he sat you on the edge of your bed, standing between your hanging legs. your hands wanting to hold onto his belt, to slowly unbuckle it but he caught them beforehand, kissing and sucking on your soft wrists and forearms. his lips find their way to your neck and ear where he whispers. 

“it's wrong, i know. so, so wrong, but my god…” he holds onto your neck and carefully grinds himself into your clothed cunt, making you arch your back and buck your hips into him, whining. you could cry from all the teasing he’s doing. “shouldn’t be doing this, sweetheart…dad can’t know, okay?” he keeps his now firm bulge against you. you moan another cry and kiss him again a bunch, nodding, rubbing tongues and messing up the gel in his blonde hair. the very open door reveals the sound of clinking keys and chains, doors opening and closing. too dizzy and much too dazed to even frown, you just stare into his soft brown eyes. they get farther away as he gently lets you go, kissing your temple for good measure before heading to the bathroom, leaving you with shaking legs. hopefully his plans of staying over stays the case.

masterlist

[01zfan]

big shot | j. sc

accountant!sungchan x escort!reader | 4.5k words

a little christmas holidays themed fic for you guys heh.

contains: reader is an escort, semi-public (in an office after hours), unprotected sex, a little head (fem. receiving), sungchan is a little pathetic

He was in his office. Looking at papers that were already signed off and submitted and gone through earlier in the day. He made sure to look busy, even if he was the only one here. He put on a show for himself, pushing up his glasses that sit pretty on his face even though he was already wearing his contacts. 

Sungchan knew what was coming, but he was still scared. Like he was easy prey, he waited in a room where he couldn’t hide. He sat in his chair, feet and his restless legs dancing on the carpet as he pretended to focus on anything besides straining his ears to hear what was going on beyond the closed door to his office.

Sungchan only heard your heels outside before it was too late. Determined red bottoms clearing the hallway, passing by empty offices to lead straight to his. Everyone was occupying the lobby, drinking spiked eggnog and singing terrible karaoke. Sungchan did enjoy the festivities, then the rum started giving him an idea on how to really enjoy the night.

Then enters enjoyment. You don’t bother knocking, only pushing the door open with all your might. Sungchan is surprised seeing the heavy wooden door swing the way it did, almost hitting the wall as you stomped through. The fear through his body reached a peak, then turned to excitement as he made eye contact with you. He nearly bit a hole in his lip watching you silently clear his office, stomping so loud and heavy he felt the vibrations. 

He watched you round the corner of his desk and watched your manicured nails grip the edge of his chair. You used all your strength again to pull him out from under the desk. Sungchan pushed with your effort until his legs were completely out from under the desk. He’s looking at door close and then he’s turned quickly, looking right at your stomach. The wine red dress you have on is so pretty, matching the tie hanging from his dress shirt. 

He tries getting up from his seat just for your hands to move fast to push him down. He blinks up at you, parted lips opposite of yours pressed into a straight line. His long coat still hangs off your shoulders and drags on the ground as you lean closer to him. Sungchan sinks into his seat the closer you get, pushing it back as you loom over him.

“What the fuck was that?” You seethe.

He’s never felt this excited his whole life. He wants to try getting up from his seat again just for you to push him down abruptly again. He shrinks underneath you, his long legs coming close together until his knees touch. He slouches in his chair, his large frame somehow smaller than yours. When he looks down your hand clutches his face, fingers digging into his cheeks as you force eye contact. 

“Do you think you’re funny?” You ask.

Sungchan a brat by definition, there’s no doubt about it. Sungchan does things to purposefully piss you off, like dedicating All I Want For Christmas is You at his staff holiday party and calling you his girlfriend despite him paying for your company. He’s a brat because he acts out purposefully, just to see you keep up the cute and calm demeanor knowing you’re going to act like this when you’re alone with him.

But when you’re a gentle giant and you’re so kind like Sungchan is, you don’t get called a brat. Brat is something reserved for people who only give when it’s taken. People who are spoiled as opposed to Sungchan, who insists on doing the spoiling. Him being a natural giver was always something he’s been extremely proud of. The word brat resonates with him, but it’s inaccurate. It doesn’t roll off the tongue well enough and when he’s called it, he looks over his shoulder to try and find the real brat. His mouth goes dry, he darts his tongue out to run over his plump lips as you continue looking down at him.

“Are you a fucking idiot?” You ask.

That’s more fitting. Unlike a brat he wants what he wants to be taken, he wants to be berated. Idiots fall in love with escorts and call them their girlfriend and truly believe it. Idiots repeat the same thing over and over again, and live for the feeling of being called as such. Idiots purposefully poke the bear with a short fuse just to see the fall out.

So like the idiot he is, Sungchan nods his head without being guided by the tight grip you still have on his face. He keeps eye contact with you, already feeling tears begin at his overactive waterline. His glasses are pushed further up his face the tighter your grip gets. You let go of him and Sungchan sinks back into his office chair.

“It was a rhetorical question, dumbass.”

Sungchan can’t stop himself from shivering when you let his coat fall from your shoulders. His eyes stay where it pools at his feet, forming a pile that touches your ankles. You look so good in heels. All of it is wishful thinking and Sungchan denying reality, but when you stand a little higher it’s like your his height. All he needed to notice was that distance he looks up to you is a little greater and he was sold. 

The shoulders of his dress shirt as still folded from when you pushed him down. He gets up on uneven footing again, not raising himself more than an inch just for your hands to go right back where they went the first time. The second time around is even better, this time the momentum from your push causes his chair to tilt back. For a moment Sungchan imagines him and the chair tipping over completely. The embarrassment of falling onto the ground in the office where he makes more money to give to you, the loud sound he’d make. Looking up from the ground and seeing that smirk on your face. The humiliation that would run through his veins, making his face hot and his eyes dot with tears.

He lets out a deep breath at the thought, blunt nails digging into his knee to try and relieve the feeling of his brain expanding in his skull. His jacket falls forward when you lift up your foot and press the flat part of your heel to his knee. Sungchan doesn’t bother moving his hand as he keeps eye contact with you. 

He has to pick his next words carefully. He scans your face, your hands on your hip. He waits to see the tiniest smirk break across your face as you press your heel further into his knee, applying painful force to his hand that’s caught between. You press deeper.

“Do you like pissing me off?” You ask.

Sungchan is smart enough to not answer that question.

“I could cancel and go home, you know. Since you broke a stipulation on the contract.” You say.

That snaps him out of it. He grabs your ankle desperately with the hand you’re not crushing. He engulfs your leg too easily, he instinctually rubs the soft skin of your leg that he grazes.

“I’m sorry.” He holds your leg in place, he even adds extra force behind it. “I drank tonight and Eunseok talked me into it.” He blurts out.

“You had one drink.” You say.

When you try to pull your leg away Sungchan keeps it in place, even when it hurts his other hand.

“You know I’m a lightweight.” He says quickly.

“You embarrassed the fuck out of me.” Sungchan nods. “You’re embarrassing.” You specify.

Sungchan nods again. He has to blink the tears away when you pull your leg from his grasp. You are liable to leave; you’ve done it before. Back when you didn’t know Sungchan liked the chase you left him high and dry, with swollen lips and a painful boner as you got up from the couch just a few feet away from where you two were now. He almost chased after you down the hallway with his pants around his ankles, but he half expected you to come back. He was sitting on the couch for thirty minutes before he reached out to you, just to find out you were already half way home.

He found out too much about himself that night. He liked the humiliation, the way it was so easy for you to leave like it was nothing. He liked that you brought up the reason why you left the next time you saw him, whispering in his ear just about how pathetic he was. He remembered how he made it up to you then, and he knows you remember too by the way you perch on the edge of his desk.

Your dress rides up your legs. You spread yourself wide, hands going behind you to prop yourself up on the desk. Sungchan’s body melts from his office chair, until he’s on his knees in front of you.

“Lets see if you can get me to forgive you.” You say playfully.

Sungchan nods, already focusing on your clothed cunt. His hands work up your legs slowly, pushing your dress further and further up your legs. He follows all the way up your thigh-highs, kissing the first part of your skin that’s exposed. You smack his hand lightly, and he remembers he hasn’t gotten permission to kiss you there yet. Mistletoe lines the hallways and he has a wreath and Christmas lights everywhere, but you’re still not giving. He waits for you to start pushing his head to where you want him, he purposefully takes his time rubbing his face along your legs. Right on cue, he hears your hand leave the desk as you grab a handful of his hair.

“Stop trying to piss me off, Sungchan.” You say.

You smell so sweet, and you’re pretty even when you’re being so mean. He loves the pain and the airy tilt to your voice as you slowly shuffle closer to the edge of the desk. He loves the grip you have on his hair, and he loves that he doesn’t need to he guided any further before he’s face deep in your heat. 

He inhales against your panties. You shiver and he can hear his pencil holder fall over. He’s impatiently lapping and sucking on your cunt, whining without a care in the world when your panties get in the way. He hasn’t earned the right to take them off yet. The desire to have you with nothing in the way makes him want it more, until you pull him away from you by a handle of his hair. More things fall over as you lean back to let Sungchan guide your panties down your legs. For a moment you’re propped up on your elbows to account for how he pulls at you.

Sungchan tries to tuck your panties away by crumbling them in his fist, but you go back to your hands to beckon for your clothes back.

“Give it back.” You say, palm outstretched.

Sungchan still takes in a deep breath of you, admitting defeat by putting your balled underwear in your hand. He guides your thighs to rest on his shoulders. He can hear you clattering things on the desk, bumping into his monitor and his office phone. He holds you in place by your thighs, still inhaling you before he takes a taste.

“You smell so good, baby.” He says.

He feels another pull at his hair, and he knows it’s more about bringing him to where you need him rather than him saying the wrong thing.

“I’m not your baby.” You correct.

Sungchan nods, even if he knows you’re less bothered by the pet names than you pretend to be. He could also be making things up because you are very much not his baby, no matter how much he wants it to be true. Still, Sungchan hums in acknowledgment before nosing your heat, and sticking out his tongue to get a taste.

Your warm thighs close around his head. Sungchan already feels himself getting harder in his pants, until he starts rubbing against the material of his slacks. If this was a perfect world you’d be in his chair and he’d be pathetically rutting against your leg and you’d be calling him even more names. But Sungchan is grateful for the view between your legs and the feeling of your thighs caging him in. 

“I’m starting to think this is the only thing you’re good for.” You say. 

Your hands take more of Sungchan’s hair and you pull. The pain makes him whine against you, working his tongue deeper and deeper like the remedy is between your legs. In this office where he makes more money than everyone else on this floor, he’s on his knees for you.

“Are you touching yourself?” You ask.

Sungchan shakes his head quickly. After being in this position too many times he found a loophole. He’s able to lie and not get punished, but still feel the sick thrill of not being completely honest. He didn’t touch himself, the seam of his pants did and the cotton fabric of his briefs did. He likes your scrutinizing glare, like you’re trying to find out what he’s so smug about. He watches it quickly banish to the back of your mind as you fully take your panties off, motioning for Sungchan to stand up.

“Take your pants off.” You say simply.

Sungchan’s slacks pool at his ankles almost immediately. He stands in front of you, messing with the bottom trim of his shirt as his dick bobs in the air. It’s cold in his office, your unamused stare is even worse. He can feel heat all over, from the tension and the fact that he’s so embarrassed. There’s nothing worse than this and he wouldn’t have it any other way. He’s endowed in every facet of his life, it’s only right that he feels shame about it. He tells himself it makes him work harder in the daytime. Something about proving himself and your company is not cheap.

When you finally beckon to him, Sungchan is humiliated. His dress pants and underwear are caught at his ankles, forcing him to shuffle to you instead of taking normal steps. His shirt is suddenly too tight on his body, but before he can undo the buttons you reach forward and pull at his tie. Like he’s a dog acting out of line you tug once, then twice until he comes forward. 

The only time he’s exerted strength this whole night is to bring your body closer to the edge of his desk, but it leaves him all again when you tug at his tie. The cherry red fabric is wrapped around your fist like a brass knuckle, forcing him to lose his posture to bend closer to you. 

He’s too high strung to even guide himself inside of you. The first feeling of him flicking his hips upwards turns into him helplessly grinding against your folds as his head tilts from one side to the other. When he feels you coat him all over his head tilts back with the remaining slack on his tie. His Adam’s apple bobs as he basks in the wet and warm feeling of you, how he’s depriving himself of feeling it all around him. Another strained whimper escapes his lips. He’s humiliated even more that this is more than enough for him. He could cum just like this, grinding pathetically against your cunt while you look at him unamused.

“Time is money, Jinsu.” You say, completely even.

Sungchan nods, knowing but too preoccupied to heed your warning. Like a Cinderella-for-hire, the clock struck midnight on your watch and now he’s paying extra for keeping you past your scheduled time. Despite him seeing the person in charge of his finances already telling him you are an unneeded expense, he wouldn’t have it any other way. 

He knows he could have any girl he wants, so it’s only logical he pays for time from a girl that doesn’t want him. He makes sure his money is well spent when he draws his hips back, perfectly aligning his tip so it prods your entrance. He breathes to himself first before looking to you, then slowly moves forward. Just the feeling of you squeezing around him has Sungchan freezing, breathing to himself again. He is unfortunately all for releasing ridiculously early, but he wants to make the most of your first Christmas party together. 

“You feel so good.” He whispers.

He’s barely halfway in, head hung forward as he tries to collect himself. His head lowers when you pull the tie down further, wrapping it again around your knuckles.

“Yeah, no shit.” You reply.

He sees himself pulse when your words finally register. He strains against the pull of his tie to get a glimpse at your lip caught between your teeth. You refuse to tell him how big he is even when you visibly struggle to take him and you refuse to give in even when you squeeze around him helplessly. He is constantly fighting the urge to beg you for praise and to piss you off even more as he sinks further in. He feels you relax and then seize around him again, and he clenches his fists so hard veins protrude from his fists to his elbow. 

His sweaty forehead is pressed against yours as you both look down together. He’s completely inside of you, all the way up to that spot right below your belly button. If he had a free hand he’s press into your lower stomach and marvel at how he’s that deep just so you could tell him that’s not how anatomy works. He pulls his hips back and works against the waist of his pants around his ankles to spread his legs further. He pulls out silently, and when he pushes back in he pulls a sigh from both your throats.

His dick disappearing inside of you comes out the second time wetter than before. The lewd sound of Sungchan sliding back in echoes in the space between your bodies. He readjusts himself and brings you with him, causing your back to straighten. He clenches his hands as he holds your legs upright, and they uselessly dangle from the force of him driving his hips forward.

His belt buckle clashes with his ankle each time he moves forward. It’s a sharp pain he could easily avoid just by moving forward, but he doesn’t want to. He likes the feeling and the heat and the way he desperately grabs at you while you keep a steady grip on his tie.

“I like you.” He huffs.

Sungchan looks up from where he fucks you to look you in your eyes. With your foreheads still pressed together he sees you at an angle where he can see the pleasure in your eyes clearly. You had been biting your lip to keep back the noise because you both know silence makes him work harder, and you pull at his tie again to make him lose the careful rhythm he’s set.

“I know.” You say back.

Sungchan is in love. He is in love with the person he pays to come see him and humiliate him in his big office, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. He would let you drain him dry, a marriage full of paying you overtime if he could feel this every night. You’re gentle when you want to be. He knows you’re a sweetheart, naturally cute when you look at him with big thankful eyes after he spoils you for no reason. Every gift is outside of your agreement and you make sure to tell him that, and he always makes sure to tell you it’s no problem. He’s been courting you for half a year, being let down gently by you each time he tries to advance it further. 

“Do you like me?” Sungchan asks.

Your hand that doesn’t grip his tie lets go of the edge of the desk. Instead of answering him you push three fingers past his lips, stuffing them into his mouth. Even when you press on his tongue in an effort to get him to gag, Sungchan closes his mouth around your fingers and sucks on your digits.

“You talk too much.” You say.

He’s not any less hard because he’s been rejected. In fact he feels more sensitive, the feeling of you without any protection—that he had to beg and pay extra for, because he was having you all to himself—made Sungchan so hard it was almost painful. He is also wound up from how uncharacteristically nice you are each time you have to deflect his advances. You’re nice when you want to be, and you are so good at making him work extra hard just for a sliver of praise.

Sungchan continues sucking on your fingers, letting drool seep past his lips and down his chin. The party is still happening downstairs, and he wonders if people have noticed your absence. He wants people to ask you about you two disappearing during the party. He needs to be associated with you in some way, he needs people to know that you’re together in some sense of the word. Keeping quiet about fucking you in his office can only satiate him for so long. You are wearing matching colors for godsake, how can people not assume you’re together? 

Sungchan lets one of your legs fall back to the desk, giving him a new angle. He grips your thigh hard with his free hand, looking at your skin dimple underneath his fingertips. You’re here for him, even if he’s paying overtime for it you’re here, wrapped around him and underneath him.

The realization of it all makes him pull your hand out of his mouth. Your wrist is limp in his hand as the string of spit connects the two, and then the line is broken when he brings you in quickly. That feeling that you might be the love of his life occupies everything, and the thought of you giving in just a little more tonight makes his body become tense. His belt buckle makes a ridiculous sound now, clanking against the metal hardware and the bony part of his ankle. He kisses you like he means it and you kiss back like it’s about more than the money when he murmurs against your lips.

“I’m gonna cum.” He whimpers.

He gets greedy when you nod with him. His hips speed up when he sees your fingers go to your clit, rubbing tight and precise circles that you restricted Sungchan from doing a long time ago. How fast he went then doesn’t matter to him now. He whimpers and pouts looking down at your hand, flexing his own and mimicking your movements to show you he’s ready. He whines again when you shake your head. Your fake pout mocks his.

“Last time you nearly gave me a friction burn.” You say.

How you can be giggling at a time like this is beyond him. Sungchan is fighting against the pain of his metal belt buckle hitting his ankle and the burn in his thighs and you’re laughing. Your amusement only makes him work harder. He thinks it’d be some sort of badge of honor, making an escort cum is like advising an investment banker. A feat Sungchan still has to achieve, one he’s sure he’ll get to eventually. Tonight he lets you touch himself because that rum really is kicking his ass, and he wants you to feel good too. 

You never tell him when you’re cumming. He has to feel your walls clench around him, and your hand lets go of his tie to grab his shoulder. You pull him close, another thing Sungchan is deprived of so he’ll work harder. One day he’ll see your eyes close in pure bliss and your lips part so moans can fall out. But hearing them quietly in his ear always does the trick, and sometimes you’ll even call him Channie in a really weak voice. He always cums quickly afterwards. Pulling you even closer, moaning even louder. Everything about him is so loud, the complete opposite of you. Your tendency to cave in and his tendency to expand outwards makes him think you’re perfect for eachother.

“I love you.” Sungchan heaves into your ear.

You only hum in acknowledgment, your hand threading through his hair. You don’t pull, because when he’s cumming you’re always so nice. You comb out his hair and massage his scalp, and Sungchan feels like he can’t stop. He overstimulates himself when he feels your wet hand reach for his. He’s panting into your neck still inside of you, leaning his large body against yours. His weight makes you lean back on the desk, further and further until you bump into his plaques and you push back. 

“You’re heavy.” You say.

“Sorry.” Sungchan apologies.

He reluctantly lifts his weight off your tilting body. Your dress made it halfway up your waist, except for the part that covers where he’s inside of you. Sungchan lifts your dress to uncover the sense and shivers. His cum is leaking out around his dick, and you’re so wet he can physically see it. 

“I’m getting hard again.” He says.

He only looks away when you laugh. You’re already collected from your orgasm, the complete opposite of him. He’s embarrassed again, and he knows for a fact he’s working up to a semi inside of you. Your hand that was clutching at his shoulder is pushing him away, and Sungchan shuffles backwards. He catches on the lack of give on his slacks and loses his balance, stumbling down into his office chair. The momentum causes his chair to tilt and turn, and you’re laughing at him while you work your panties back up your leg.

“You’re a mess.” You laugh.

You slide off of his desk and fix yourself in the reflection of the large windows surrounding his office. Sungchan watches you with his pants still at his ankles. You’re ready for the party again, the flush is gone from your skin and your hair is fixed. Sungchan didn’t even get the chance to ruin your makeup. You look as untouched as you did when you came in and the aggravated crease in your forehead is gone now too. You shimmy in your dress one last time, making sure it’s sitting on your body just right. 

Only then do you look away from your reflection back at him, eyes flitting down to him ruining his white shirt and office chair.

“I’m leaving.” Sungchan opens his mouth. “Back to my place.” You clarify.

Sungchan looks to the clock on his desk. Barely thirty minutes had passed since he took the elevator up to the offices. 

“They haven’t even done the New Year toast yet.” Sungchan says.

“Should’ve booked me longer.” You respond.

Sungchan watches you lean in close, and for a second he thinks you’re going to pull at his tie again. He’s frozen in his chair in an instant, but then you lean forward to kiss him right on the apple of his cheek. That’s more shocking than anything he’s seen tonight, more than Eunseok flirting with the accountant in the cubicle beside his and you letting him keep you past your scheduled time. He’s still surprised even when you pull away, a smile on your lips as see the visible shock.

“I’ll see you later though, right?” You ask.

Sungchan nods silently as you put his coat back on your shoulders and leave his office, much quieter than the way you came in.

[yinemw]

𝐜𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

context: celebrating bf Toji’s bday and also new years 🎇 (female reader)

warning: swearing, mentioned sex

character: Toji Fushiguro from JJK

m.list

“I wonder, how did your mother feel like when she gave birth to you and heard fireworks outside the hospital” you think out loud as you lick your fork, swallowing the rest of the chocolate cake you had made for Toji. Half of it already eaten by the birthday boy, well, birthday man.

“You’re an odd woman” Toji snickers as he cuts himself another piece of cake. A golden birthday hat sitting on his messy black hair as some confetti was still stuck to his clothes. This year it was just you and Toji celebrating his birthday and New Years. So you had surprised him when he came home from work, opening the confetti right in his face as he stepped into your shared apartment.

Letting out a soft giggle, you wrap your hands around his bicep and lean your head on his shoulder. “Remind me again why we’re not going to Shiu’s New Year’s party? It’s been fun every year”

Toji shrugged, taking another bite from his piece of cake. Humming when the velvety chocolate taste melted on his tongue, he always loved your baking. “I’m getting older, jumping around with a bunch of drunk adults isn’t really how I feel like spending the night. Besides, you’ve been talking about how you wanna go to the roof of the apartment complex and see the view. I bet we’ll see the fireworks even better from up there” he explains, seeming genuine for once.

Nodding along, you place a kiss to his jaw before pulling away. “Whatever my man wants on his birthday, as long as I get to kiss you at the countdown”

“You always do, brat”

A few hours went by, Toji and you enjoying your evening together. He was right, it certainly was cozier and quieter spending new years just the two of you.

A glass of wine rested between your fingers, your third glass that night, Toji’s fourth glass, yet he remained sober. Though his kisses did start to taste like red wine and chocolate.

“Always someone who has to start early” Toji grumbles as you hear fireworks go off outside. “Still 20 minutes till midnight”

“20 minutes goes by fast” you get up from his embrace on the couch, placing the wineglass on the table before hurrying to the kitchen. Hearing Toji groan from the living room as he follows after you. “We’ll need champagne, also I bought sparklers, and we can’t forget to put on jackets and scarf because it’ll be cold—”

“I stayed home so we wouldn’t need to stress, woman” your boyfriend snickers, pulling you by your hips right back into his chest. “Sparklers? Really?”

“Oh come on, if not for new years, at least let’s light them up for your birthday” you look up at him, batting your eyelashes as your hands sneak up his chest and neck.

“Fuck, you’d think it’s your birthday with the way I’m agreeing to your stupid ideas”

The two of you get dressed, Toji reluctantly having to wear a scarf after you wrapped it around him. He said he doesn’t need it, but he knows you won’t leave the apartment without him fully clothed.

“Whoa, how come we’ve never been up here before?” your eyes practically sparkle as you enter the rooftop. It was fairly high up, giving an amazing view of the city and starry sky. “We’re lucky, no one else is here”

“Fucking snow”

Turning around, you see Toji grumble annoyed as he steps through the snow.

“Told you to put on boots, yet you didn’t listen. I on the other hand have dry socks and no snow in my shoes”

“Whatever smart-ass”

Standing close to the railing, you take in a deep breath of the chilly winter air. It truly was a beautiful view from up here, and with Toji standing next to you, holding a bottle of champagne in his gloved hands, you can’t help but agree with him. This would be a much better new years.

“Hey Toji”

“Hm?”

“Happy birthday”

The older man let out a scoff, a slight smile on his lips as he kicks some snow. “Yeah whatever, thanks pretty”

Before you could say anything else, the sky gets lit up by fireworks. Flinching at the first few, you quickly get used to the loud sound as the various colors paint the night sky. “Shit, did we miss the countdown?!”

Toji looks at his phone, the time showing 00:00. “Yup”

“Told you 20 minutes goes by fast!” Wasting no further time, you wrap your arms around Toji’s shoulders and lean up to his face. Kissing his lips quickly, you continue to hear the fireworks around you as Toji pulls you closer. Not shying away from the kiss, Toji made sure that the first kiss of the year would be one you wouldn’t forget until next year.

Pulling away from his lips, and pushing Toji away slightly before he could go in for another smooch, you take the champagne bottle from him. “Quick quick, we’re already behind”

Toji watches you struggle to open it, letting out a chuckle as he admires the way the colors of the fireworks reflect off your face. “Gimme that, chicken arms”

“Chicken arms? Oh I see how it is, grandpa”

“It’s a new year, and the first insult you give me is grandpa—”

Finally, you manage to open the champagne, the cap going flying somewhere off the roof. “Uhm…”

Toji bursts out laughing, actually wholeheartedly laughing. It wasn’t often you saw him like this, but seeing him happy and carefree warmed your heart. Letting out a few giggles too, you pour two glasses of champagne and clink them together.

“Happy new years Toji”

“Happy new years brat”

“Would it kill you to be sweet for a second?!”

After chugging his champagne, Toji took out a lighter and the sparklers you had bought. “There, happy now?”

Smiling, you can’t help but nod your head. Taking out two sparklers and lighting them up. Twirling yours around, seeing the patterns it created. Even Toji seemed to be fascinated, following your lead and twirling it around, the light illuminating his face and making his eyes sparkle.

“What a pretty man I have”

Toji can’t help but smile, turning his head to look at you. Though he teased and made annoying comments, he was happy, more than happy. He felt content and whole.

“Seems like it’s a good thing we didn’t go to Shiu’s party”

“Oh yeah? Why?”

Toji lifts his phone for you to see. Shiu’s panicked messages of how chaotic his party was going and asking for Toji to come over and help.

“Poor Shiu…oh well, anyways, new years sex?”

“You read my mind”

[supercap2319]

What the hell is this?”

Stefan had a long night of doing stupid tasks for Klaus until the asshole hybrid returned to Mystic Falls. After he was forced to turn off his humanity, Stefan traded in his hero hair and brooding for blood lust and aggression. Things were starting to get boring in this town, and Stefan was sick of waiting around like a fucking lap dog.

He was looking forward to chilling in his room for the night. Blasts some Bon Jovi music. Maybe swipe a couple of Damon's blood bags. The sound of his bathroom shower running caught Stefan's attention when he entered his room. He walks towards the bathroom, half expecting to find Damon taking a shower in there. Again. But to Stefan's surprise, it was someone else entirely.

Standing behind Stefan's glass door shower was Grayson Gilbert. The steam from the hot water had fogged up the glass, but Stefan could make out the image of Grayson washing his hair with Stefan's imported Italian soap and shampoo. Watched the soapy suds run down the witch's back before Stefan looked back up, and asked his question.

Grayson turns to him with an innocent smile. A smile that had gotten Grayson his way on more than one occasion, but without his humanity, Stefan wasn't fazed by it anymore. “Oh, hey. Welcome home. Hope you don't mind.”

“What the hell are you doing in my shower, Grayson?”

“Isn't it obvious? Having a shower, and between you and me, this is a lot safer than Damon's bathtub. I'm pretty sure it's covered in STD germs.” Grayson jokes. Stefan was not amused, even if it could possibly be true about Damon's bathtub conquests.

“Look, Grayson. I've had a really shitty day, and you're only adding to the misery, so if you could try to get my humanity back another time and leave, that would be greatly appreciated. Or I break your arm.” Stefan said.

Grayson turns off the water and steps outside, not bothering to cover himself up. It's not like Stefan hasn't seen it all before. “Wow. I thought that Ripper Stefan was supposed to be the life of the party. What's wrong? Klaus ground you?”

Stefan rolled his eyes. “If you're trying to provoke me or something, it's probably not a good idea to do it to a humanity-less vampire. Especially one with no self-control. I could drain you dry like a juice box before you even get a word out.”

“So dramatic. Look, all I'm saying is that if you really are the same Stefan, who was the life of the party in your journals. The one who impressed Klaus and Rebekah, I wanna party with that guy.” Grayson said, walking past Stefan and into the bedroom. Stefan watched Grayson go through his drawers and closet, arms across his chest. “What are you doing?”

“I left some of my clothes here. It should still be here from all those times we…” Grayson let that sentence hang in the air as he put on a pair of black briefs (Stefan's by the way) and then went for some pants. Pretty soon he was dressed in Stefan's old purple Bon Jovi shirt, and a worn-out leather jacket.

“That's all my stuff.” Stefan noted.

“I'm just borrowing it. I'll return it after the party.”

“What party are you talking about?”

Grayson smirks. “My friend, Kuba invited me to a rave tonight. Apparently he and some Gypsies are going to be there. It's a couple of towns over. Let's go.”

Stefan's eyebrows were raised. “And why would I do that?”

“Because you're the fun brother now, right? I told you. I want to party with the Ripper, so let's party.” Grayson said. “You know I'm just gonna steal your car if you don't come.”

“Fine. But if I kill anyone, it's on you.” Stefan said, following Grayson out of the room.

[smelliemelly]

Things JJK characters find attractive!

Gojo - Gojo absolutely loves confidence<3 Walk with confidence, talk with confidence, so on so forth. He finds it super attractive.

Geto - Geto would love someone who is caring, humble, and can agree with his morals. Someone who looks out for him, and also supports him at the same time.

Fushiguro - Intelligence. He finds this very attractive. He can't help but be flustered if you're able to teach him about something he had no idea of even though he'll pretend like he doesn't care. Being smart will catch his attention.

Itadori - Optimistic people! If you keep a good chunk of hope, and have that "half glass full" mindset, he finds it cute and attractive. He really likes when someone is able to look on the bright side! Bonus points if you're able to look on the bright side and also keep a realistic mindset at the same time

Nobara - Strength 🫶 Physical strength 🫶 Determination 🫶 Independence 🫶 All of those make you strong and she's all here for it. Also slight sarcasm. She loves it 🫶

Nanami - Kind and super sweet like a marshmallow. I mean SWEEEETTTT. Sweet enough to give you cavities. He loves gentle people, it catches his eyes, and honestly as much as it captures his heart he'll pretend not to care. Like that bakery girl?

Mahito(😿) - ... I don't like Mahito ☹️ but I'll still write for him 🫶 I feel like Mahito would like someone who can sometimes match his energy but in a unique way.. does that make sense? Like match his craziness but keep him on his toes. Make it so he cannot predict you. It'll attract him like crazy.

Choso - Family oriented people. Surprise surprise. Oh Also loyalty!!! It's so important to him. He loves a true person, honest, loyal, family oriented. Very very important and attractive.

Sukuna - .. Honestly? I feel like someone who is able to be strong and also being able to keep up with him all while being respectful towards him. Loyalty too, very important to him.

Toji - Erm tbh Idk. I feel like he'd totally find the body more attractive than anything but if it really came down to him seeing a personality that he loves more than the body would probably be someone who can be kind and sweet but also knows how to stand up for themself. Like a person who is nice and all but if you show them a bad side they'll show you an even worse bad side. It's someone he could probably get along with and have fun with a lot and by having fun I mean teasing you to get a reaction .

Uraume (I use they/them for Uraume) - They'd love someone who is sweet, kind, gentle, and humble. Of course they'd also want someone who can respect Sukuna as well, but honestly? Out of all of those traits being humble would totally make Uraume fall head over heels for someone. It's just so attractive to them.

Dude Choso is so cutesy <33

[digonthis]

Catered Audience- Pt. 1

Spencer Agnew x f!Reader

2.2k words

( ᴅᴍ ᴏʀ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴇɴᴛ ғᴏʀ ᴛᴀɢ :] ᴛʜɪs ɪs ᴍʏ ғɪʀsᴛ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ sᴍɴ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛʜɪs sᴏ ɪғ ʏᴏᴜ ʟɪᴋᴇ ɪᴛ ʟᴍᴋ ɪʟʟ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ɪғ ɴᴏᴛ ɪʟʟ ᴊᴜsᴛ ᴜsᴇ ᴛʜɪs ᴀᴄᴄ ᴛᴏ sʜɪᴛᴘᴏsᴛ ɪɢ? ɪᴅᴋ )

slow burn-ish, fluff, mutual pining, all that shit

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧♡‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

You smile as you sit at the bar and a glass of your favourite drink is immediately placed in front of you. This dump had been your go-to spot for the last forever. Your name, order, and horrible singing on karaoke night was well-known by all the bartenders and plenty of the other patrons, one of which who sat in the stool next to you a few minutes later.

Josh pushed his glasses up his face, pinching the bridge of his nose with a sigh. As he takes a sip of his beer, you place your chin in your hand, leaning down onto the bar a little. “Long day?”

He nods slightly, tongue poking out to lick the froth from his upper lip. “Work’s been a lot lately, been on overtime filming… I love food but the idea of cooking anything after work is too much, and so beer dinner was born.”

This makes you laugh and nod as he chugs the remains of the beer down, leaving only traces of foam in the glass. You think of your own work, a self-run catering business, and let out a short sigh. “At least you’ve got work to do, I seem to be the only person I cook for at all.” 

“I’d buy dinner offa ya, i’d buy dinner for the whole mythical crew if it’d mean I don’t have to make it myself…” Josh admits as he starts on another beer. The idea makes you chuckle a little, but as your eyes meet his you don’t see any humour, only exhaustion. “I mean… if you’ve got a work party or somethin’ you know i’m always free…” You offer carefully, not wanting to sound too desperate. 

A few weeks later, you push the door to the Mythical studio open with your back, arms plentifully filled with huge trays filled with piping hot food. Josh trails behind you, carrying even more, shouting out directions and greetings to his coworkers as you pass them by, all captured and excited by the smell of the food you’re bringing in.

The first of many orders went over well, to the point that everyone on Mythical knew your name. Parties, events, and even just long filming days kept you busy with plentiful orders and generous tips, but Rhett and Link knowing your name and personally greeting you the last few times you’d come in had been what really made the gig. Hanging around after deliveries became natural, making friends, chatting, and blushing at everyone’s compliments on your cooking and hard work. Mythical became like a second home, you could never imagine any other job or quitting this one.

You almost quit the day Josh asked you to be in a video. Just at the end- a part of a taste test compilation of people trying his latest kitchen experiment for a Mythical Kitchen video, but he didn’t push the idea after he saw how wide your eyes got and how your hands started to shake a little before you shoved them deep in your pockets. The idea of being on camera in front of potential millions… it was not for you. 

Josh had that air about him. Confident, genuine, unbothered. The kind of person who could look a lens in the face and convince anyone that he was all that and more, even if he didn’t know who exactly was behind there.

You jolt back to life as an eggshell falls into your mixer as you crack in an egg, snapping back to the present after your little brain spiral. You fish it out with a spoon before tossing it into the sink, grabbing a glass of water to hopefully clear your head up as you finish your latest order. The giant cake Josh had requested had you curious, you knew from memory that it was far too many servings even for everyone at mythical, almost double that. Nonetheless, when you double and triple checked Josh was confidently sure he got the order right. 

The delivery spot for this one was a big banquet hall, nowhere near the studio. A little out of the usual, but nothing crazy. Josh, as usual, helped you bring in all the cake layers, and very unhelpfully watched as you stacked them all, gasping and jolting as you placed each, stressing you out to the point you made him put the last few on himself.

“What do you even need such a big cake for, it’s so unnecessary for the size of the company…” You ask as he puts the top layer on delicately, whispering his response as he focuses on the task. “We bought another company, this is a celebration kinda welcome party thing…” He breathes out. You relax your tensed-up jaw as you see the last layer goes on smoothly, gathering up all the boxes and placing the serving knives on the table.

“You’ll at least stay for a few drinks, right?” Josh asks as he backs away from the cake, admiring your work. “The bosses went all out on this party and I'm sure they’d be happy if you stuck around… and I hear there’s a prosecco fountain.” He adds, knowing exactly what to say to tempt you. It almost works, but your tired body and even sleepier mind win out over the idea of unlimited free drinks and partying. Josh protests all the way to your car, flipping you off as you drive away back to your apartment- and more importantly your bed.

As you snored and drooled all over your pillow, shitty Nickelback blasting from your phone, the same song played at the welcome party when one of the new editors got a hold of aux. A few groaned and many laughed at the song, dancing, mingling, and celebrating the purchasing of Smosh. The cake was a hit, Josh was sure to hype up his catering contact to anyone lingering by the table including the new company employees who hadn’t been acquainted with your cooking yet.

That time next week, you were buying Josh’s beer at the bar as a thank you. He’d secured you a catering gig with the new subsidiary, a channel called Smosh with just as large and rambunctious a crew as Mythical with far more on-camera personalities to get to know. You had only seen a few videos in passing but liked what you found, general comedy, fun, and games. With Smosh and Mythical both committed and regular customers, you were stretched thin with all the catering work, but extremely happy and grateful for it. Working a little harder was all worth it for the regular praise, thanks, and pretty penny you’d been making as of late.

Between hanging around the Mythical studios and Smosh, you were barely home anymore unless you were cooking something to bring right back there. Selina, who’s job you just considered to be the mom of Smosh, was a friendly face you could always count on to greet you. Chatting about the weather and sneaky food requests soon turned into office gossip and personal drama retellings, you could always count on her for a good chit chat whenever you were pulling up with food for the office.

You let out a huff as you lifted a particularly hefty tray onto a higher counter, Selina nearby idly relaying all the events of this particularly busy filming week. Long shoots, long days, and an exhausted cast and crew meant plenty of funny, juicy, and sometimes scandalous events to recap. As the door hinge squeaks open, you don’t have time to look to see who is walking in as you’re busy getting all the food set up. Selina pauses for a minute before continuing her little rant, and you hear the other person laugh and chime in on the story. You turn your head to meet smiling eyes, one of the crew members. Kiana was eager to join in on the gossip, and you caught yourself lingering behind even as cast and crew alike filed into the room to grab some dinner.

The three of you sat off to the side joking and laughing, but you found that they had much more to contribute gossip-wise than you did. Working all alone meant no employee conflicts, so a juicy story was just double the excitement to you. Your work could be lonely at times, so soaking up the positive energy from all the new people at Smosh had definitely done you some good.

The next time Smosh had a tough filming week, you were a little more prepared. Huge orders like that meant plenty of gossip so you’d cleared your evening for the hell of it, and the smile Selina threw at you as you carted in a heavy ass trolley of food told you it’d be a feat worth the reward. You were surprised to find Angela, an energetic and spunky cast member you hadn’t really met formally, rooting through the fridge. She smiled when she saw you, and that grin only grew wider at the sight of the food you’d brought with you. “Hell yes! Did you bring dessert again?” She asked excitedly, closing the door with a drink in her hand. You smiled at this, nodding. 

“Tres leches cake and sugar cookies~” You tease, placing the dessert trays onto the counter first and gesturing to them with a welcoming grin. “The corners of the cake are always the best, in my opinion. I’d go dessert first today if I were you.”

Soon later, Angela and Selina were both sitting at the table with generous slices of cake, telling a wild story of some employee crossovers and trading between Mythical and Smosh. While you were engrossed in the story, you couldn’t help but wonder where everyone else was. Usually by the time you were done setting up, you had a few hungry people hovering around or at least heads peeking into the room, but the building seemed like a bit of a ghost town.

“You keep looking around for people, but I think everyone without something to do right now is sitting in on the shoot.” Selina says, a keen eye reading your thoughts. Mention of said shoot made Angela giggle though a mouthful of cake. She brought up one of the editors, a super funny guy who hadn’t been on camera all that much but could have everyone in tears laughing whenever he did get the chance. Word had spread that he was doing a character for a video today, and was outshining all the regular cast members in the shoot with his jokes.

In a minute Angela had finished her cake and tossed the paper plate, linking arms with you. “Have you seen a shoot yet? I gotta get an eye on this but I don’t want you running away yet…” She says with a devious grin as you shake your head no. It had always been a curiosity of course, seeing the behind-the-scenes of everything, but you’d never been keen on intruding on something important like that. Angela’s mind seemed void of anything like that as she cheerily led you to a set, the sounds of laughing and cheers guiding the pair of you two.

Your hesitation melted away as you heard… Limp Bizkit lyrics. Why were you hearing this? Was that guy supposed to be Fred Durst? Darts? Why are there fake birds??? The absurdity of it all quickly overtook your anxiety of intruding on this shoot, Angela leading you to an area off to the side where familiar faces sat and laughed at the entertainment. A few people recognized you with smiles and waves, some others were too engrossed in the jokes. You had to force your eyes away from the set to look over the crew and tech of it all, huge cameras and elaborate microphones, smiling faces behind the workings of it all. You knew you’d kick yourself later for not really taking it all in, but you couldn’t tear your focus away from the cast and their shenanigans, specifically the horrible fred durst impersonator. You knew this must have been the editor Angela was talking about, but you almost couldn’t believe someone this funny and lively isn’t a full-time actor.

You snapped yourself out of the daze of laughing and enjoying the shoot when you caught a glimpse of the time on your watch. You squeezed Angela’s knee appreciatively before slipping out of the room, having lost track of time. You found Selina at her desk again and couldn’t help a quick stop to gush about how funny this guy was. Spencer, who’s name she provided, was apparently one of the coolest guys around the office. You couldn’t help but show Selina the little Limp Bizkit pin on your bag, giggling with her about it before you leave for the night, far behind schedule.

You threw on your old Bizkit vinyl for the hell of it when you finally got home, humming along and fighting a smile any time the stupid bit came to your mind. It was obviously meant to appeal to a niche audience, one you definitely fall into. You spend the rest of the evening on a new order requested from Smosh, one that definitely had you excited. Mumbling along lyrics you were surprised you could still remember, you got started on a long night of work.

[oddsconvert]

August trying to make Christmas cookies or a ginger bread house. He is very bad at it. He checks the recipe every ten seconds, and still gets something wrong.

cw / recovery whump, fluff, vampire caretaker, bloodbag whumpee (recovering), reference to previous torture/captivity, wholesome asf baking

Huge TY to @dragonqueenslayer6 for the prompt!!! ❤️

August glared at the recipe card like it might bite him. As far as he was concerned, it was written in some ancient, lost language. He couldn’t decipher it to save his life. His plan? To throw everything in a bowl and hope for some miracle - pray that his cookies would be at the very least, edible.

“Alright, okay, let’s see…” August mumbled to himself, reading over the recipe for what felt like the gazillionth time, tracing each line with his finger. He gawked at his chaotic array of ingredients sprawled across the counters. Flour, butter, eggs, chocolate chips, vanilla extract, baking powder, icing sugar, sprinkles - each one looked more alien than the last. 

He couldn’t help but marvel at how complicated human food was. Compared to the simplicity of blood, this whole process felt like a science experiment. One that was destined to end in smoke and flames. It was all completely foreign to him. He’d never had to worry about meals—Lucas was self-sufficient enough. The only thing August ever had to handle was the shopping list. 

But he really wanted to do this. He wanted to bake the two most important people in his life a sweet treat, a small promise that all their Christmases from now on would be as magical and joyous as this one. His chest tightened at the thought of his friends - how much they had both suffered in their short lives. Marked by so much pain and anguish, so many Christmases spent in loneliness and hardship. Lucas with his years sleeping rough on the streets, alone and afraid. Declan, at the mercy of Vince’s whims, his mind and body twisted beyond his control. 

He couldn’t let them down now.

August’s mind momentarily blanked. “Sugar. Sugar, sugar…where would Lucas keep the sugar?” 

It felt bizarre, scavenging through his own kitchen as if he were a stranger in his own home. August rifled through the cupboards, pulling out a small glass container. He shook it gently, watching the white granules spill out, and without much thought, assumed it was the sugar he was looking for. The recipe had called for one cup of sugar.

“What are you doing, August?”

August whipped around, startled. Declan stood in the doorway, leaning on his cane, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. He wore a loose-knit, sage-green jumper and faded, ripped jeans, a far cry from the broken shell of a man August had rescued from the depths of hell. Declan had gained weight, strength, and a quiet confidence, but August still saw the faint scars on his body—and the ones that lingered in his eyes.

“Uh, nothing-” August stammered, quickly ducking in front of the mixing bowl to hide the incriminating evidence. Declan raised his eyebrow, a knowing smirk on his face urging him to confess. August sighed, resigning and stepping aside, “I was, um…about to make cookies… for you.”

The warmth in Declan’s gaze was unmistakable as he took a delicate step closer, his voice low and touched with appreciation. “For me?” he asked, as if the idea of someone doing something so kind for him was still too much to believe. His eyes flickered to the salt shaker.

“How much salt were you putting in there?”

August blinked down to the white granules, pointing to them with an accusatory finger, “No, that’s sugar-”

Declan chuckled, “Let me help you.” He limped closer, gently guiding August away from the counter with a hand on his shoulder. Reaching for the salt shaker, he swapped it with the sugar container, his smile never fading. “Sugar is in these pots, by the sink,” he explained, “Next to the coffee and tea bags.”

“I have never seen those in my life.”

Declan shook his head, exhaling a soft laugh through his nostrils. August watched as Declan moved along the counter, his movements slow and careful, as if still measuring every step. He felt a rush of admiration - despite everything, Declan had come so far. It was hard to believe this was the same man who lay zombified and catatonic in that bed upstairs.

“Alright, what’s next?” Declan asked, taking charge. August fumbled with the recipe card, scanning the first step.

“‘Beat butter and sugar in a large bowl until creamy’...” August’s voice faltered, his face scrunching in confusion. “'Beat butter'? Like... do I just punch it? What did the butter ever do to deserve that?”

“No,” Declan giggled, “It’s just a term. ‘Beating’ means like, mix it really well. Getting it smooth, so it holds the sugar better when you mix it together.”

“But how do you ‘beat’ butter without... actual beating?” August questioned, still dubious.

“Use a spoon. You have to put a little muscle into it, though” Declan explained, holding the butter up to August. 

August blinked at the stick of butter in Declan’s hand, his eyes narrowing. “That seems... unnecessarily complicated for something so simple.”

“Bakings like that sometimes,” Declan replied, smiling. “It’s about making things come together. It’s a little messy, but it works. You just have to trust the process.”

August grabbed the bowl, hesitating for a moment before he started. The eggs and sugar splashed together, but soon enough the mixture began to smooth out. He watched with a sense of triumph as it lightened, the sugar blending in. He stopped, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow, and stared at the fluffy mixture.

“That’s looking good! See, you can do it!” Declan cheered. He peeked at the recipe card on the counter, “Now it wants us to add the egg and vanilla.”

August’s face drained of colour, his stomach sinking. The egg. He stared at it, feeling as though it had suddenly become his arch nemesis. There was no way in hell he was going to crack it without getting bits of shell everywhere. These cookies were definitely going to have some extra crunch.

Taking a deep breath, he grabbed the egg, holding it over the bowl. He tapped it against the edge, and the shell cracked wide open—too wide. A shower of small fragments dropped into the mixture. He froze, eyes widening. Declan stepped in, effortlessly scooping out the pieces of shell with practiced ease. “It’s okay,” he reassured. “It happens.”

August let out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding, feeling both relieved and embarrassed. “Thank you, Declan. I dread to think how these would have turned out without your help.”

“Hey, it’s you doing all the work! I’m just…keeping you on track,” he winked, fishing out a particularly large chunk of shell from the mixture. 

Declan always had a way of making the impossible possible, of taking something hopeless and finding the light through. It reminded August of when he first found Declan - on the brink of death, locked in his own mind, and August had fought to bring him back against all odds. And now here Declan was, steady and strong, helping him with something as simple as baking. 

August’s thoughts were interrupted when Declan glanced at the recipe card again. “Next up… we need to add the flour and baking powder.”

August nodded, grabbing the containers. He didn’t think twice, just tipping them both into the bowl in one swift motion. The moment the powder hit the batter, it was like a bomb went off. A massive cloud of flour erupted from the bowl, enveloping them both in a thick, white haze. August froze, blinking as the smoke swirled around him, coating his hair and clothes in a fine dust. The kitchen was suddenly a disaster zone, and Declan couldn’t help but let out a stunned gasp. 

“Well, that’s one way to do it. Declan chuckled, brushing flour from his eyes. 

"Well, that was a bit of a disaster."

Declan shrugged, a teasing glint in his eyes. “At least it’ll be a delicious disaster.”

August chuckled, shaking his head. “If these cookies turn out half as good as this mess, we’ll be lucky.”

“One things for sure,” Declan chirped, “they’ll definitely be unforgettable.”

I luffs them, your honour 👩‍⚖️ I love cheeky, lighthearted Declan SO MUCH. He deserves all the happiness after all the horror he's endured <3333

dividers by @/bernardsbendystraws

[thezombieprostitute]

Tech Tuesday: Ransom Drysdale

A/N: Written for @the-slumberparty's December Daze Challenge.

Prompt: can i put my cold hands up your sweater for warmth?

Word Count: ~1.3k

Warnings: Alcohol consumption. Please let me know if I missed any!

Previous

The bar isn't as crowded as you'd feared. Usually you spend New Year's Eve in the comfort of your own home where no one can judge you for going to sleep at a decent time. But Ransom had insisted that going to a random bar full of strangers was his New Year's Eve tradition. You probably would have fought him a bit harder but you were still recovering from Christmas.

Ransom knew you were trying to reach out to your family again. That you'd hoped to make progress with them over Christmas. When you came back to the office the day after he saw through your fake smile. He's not pushing for details, part of being a good friend, right? But he can at least hang around so there's someone you can talk to if needed. He'd hoped that going to a bar and picking out potential kissers would be a good distraction for you.

At least until you confessed you'd never had a New Year's Eve kiss before.

"I've told you my parents were...fundamentalists," you griped. "There are some aspects of it that I'm not sure I'll ever be able to shake. Like kissing some random guy being a bad idea."

"Well, what if you get to know the guy first?" Ransom thinks. "Just don't lead with 'never had a New Year's Kiss'. That'll just bring out the weirdos."

That makes you half smile. "Yeah, definitely wouldn't want my first kiss to be with a stranger."

Ransom's brow furrows in confusion, "you mean first New Year's Eve kiss, right?"

"That too," you casually confess before taking a long sip of your Pretty In Pink cocktail.

Ransom gives you a look you can't decipher before saying, "maybe this was a mistake."

"No! It's a new year, it can be a new experience, another aspect of the old me that I let go."

"Only if you're certain now, before you've had too much to drink."

"Aren't you supposed to get drunk first? Liquid courage and all that?"

Ransom hesitates. It wasn't that long ago he'd be the first to encourage you to kiss whatever creep came along, just to spite your parents. Encourage you to be more like him, playing life like a game without consequences. But he's not that guy anymore. Right? At the very least, you're too good a person to be mimicking his behaviors.

He lets out an exasperated sigh, "no. You're telling me now, while you're sober and thinking relatively straight, if you really want to do this. Before you take another sip of that drink."

You give Ransom your best pout and you see him bristling. "I just wanna have some fun, Ran," you pout.

"Maybe this was a mistake," he shakes his head.

"No! You participated in my Friendsgiving tradition, I want to participate in one of your traditions! You said this is something you do every year and I want to participate!"

"We can spend the evening here, but we're gonna both forgo the kissing part," Ransom concedes. "We'll just get drunk and raise a toast at midnight, okay?"

You pout for real this time. "Why is it such a big deal? It's just a first kiss. Aren't women today supposed to be empowered to kiss whoever they want?"

Ransom considers his words. "You're right that you don't need permission to kiss anyone you want. I just...Something I've been trying to work on is reducing my family-induced cynicism. I know from experience that if you treat kisses like they're nothing, they can lose their meaning. I...I want better for you. Better for my friend."

Knowing how difficult it is for Ransom to talk about these things you stop pouting. "Okay," you nod. "Just a toast to bring in the new year."

"Thank you," he sighs, looking a bit more relaxed.

"How about we start the evening with a toast?" you offer, raising your glass. "A toast to friendship and new beginnings?"

Ransom raises his beer bottle, "and to not letting our past dictate our future."

You clink your drinks together and take a sip.

A couple hours and several drinks later you're feeling a little woozy. Ransom offers to go get the refills but you're adamant that it's your turn to do so. He's a bit tipsy himself, you've never seen him smile so much, and he agrees to let you go.

You give your order to the bartender and hold onto the bar to steady yourself when you feel a presence to your left. A tall man in a blue suit leans on the bar next to you. He's pretty handsome, even with the stubble. It actually works with his short hair. He turns to you and you struggle not to gasp at how pretty blue his eyes are.

"Oh, sorry if I'm crowding you," he smiles.

"No, not at all," you giggle.

"You here with your boyfriend?" he asks, gesturing to Ransom.

"Friend," you tell him.

His smile widens, "I'm Nick."

You give him your name as heat rushes to your face. This handsome man is talking with you!

"Got any plans for midnight? It's coming up in just an hour or so," Nick asks.

"A toast!" you say a little too loudly.

He gives you a mock frown, "no kiss?"

"No kisses! Just a toast. Ransom's idea."

"Ransom your friend?"

"Yup! And he's great! Once you get to know him."

"Yeah? Would you be up for introducing me? Letting me get to know him?"

"Sure! He could use more friends and you seem the friendly type!"

"That I am," he smirks.

The bartender brings you your drinks and you pay for them before making your way back to Ransom. Nick is very helpful at keeping you steady on your feet.

Back at the table you beam at Ransom, "I made a new friend! His name is Nick."

Nick holds out his hand to Ransom and says, "nice to meet you Hugh."

Ransom's smile is gone and whatever buzz he'd been feeling is greatly diminished. He grabs your hand, "we're going. Now."

"What? Why?" you pout. But Ransom gives you a look that pierces your drunken haze enough that you're grabbing your coat to go with him.

Ransom's jaw is clenched and he's practically dragging you out of the bar. Risking a glance back at Nick you see him smiling smugly, making you feel even more confused.

Once outside Ransom takes a breath of the cold air to steady himself. The plan was to walk back to your place since it was so close to the bar but now he's not sure. What if that asshole follows and makes things worse for you?

"C'mon," he tells you, taking your arm. "We're going to catch a cab back to my place."

"I don't like your place," you drunkenly confess. "It's so bare."

"Well then I'll make sure to get some interior decorating advice from you while we're there tonight, okay?"

You giggle at the thought but then you shiver, "Ransom, it's cold out here and I don't have my gloves."

"We're going to get a cab soon enough," he promises as he walks down the sidewalk, pulling you along with him.

"What's gotten into you? Oh, why did Nick call you Hugh? Is that what set you off?"

"Sort of," he grunts, looking everywhere for a cab. He doesn't want to use a Lyft or Uber in case this Nick character decides to share in on it.

"My hands are cold," you whine. "Can i put my cold hands up your sweater for warmth?"

"When we get into the cab, sure."

You giggle, "I'm gonna hold you to that."

Ransom's barely gotten you into the back of the cab before you shove your hands underneath his sweater, making him yipe.

"Mmm, so warm. You gently squeeze his belly and snuggle close. "Even better than a plushie," you murmur as you start to fall asleep.

Ransom half carries you into his apartment and you give a little squeal when you see the Sweater Pusheen you'd gotten him sitting in a chair.

"You kept it?"

"Of course I did," Ransom admits. "Makes for good company."

You start to tear up, "I thought you hated it because I never saw it after I gave it to you."

"It's a nice gift and I like to have it around. Kept me from getting too lonely at Christmas."

You wrap your arms around Ransom with such force he falls back onto the couch. He tries to unclasp your arms from around him but you're holding tight so he waits for a few moments, letting you get the hug out of your system. Normally you ask permission but he's not going to begrudge you being a happy drunk.

He chuckles and rolls his eyes when he hears your soft snoring and resigns himself to a night on the couch. He looks at you softly and kisses the top of your head. There are worse ways to bring in the new year, he figures.

Next

Tech Tuesdays Masterlist

Tagging: @alicedopey; @delicatebarness; @ellethespaceunicorn; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory;

@late-to-the-party-81; @lokislady82; @ozwriterchick; @ronearoundblindly; @lokislady82

@thiquefunlover63

[sccrim]

JEALOUSY !

warnings ( really nothing. )

you and rafe were broken up but you couldn’t stand the idea of him with someone else so you try to see who this so call new girl is.

you grabbed a glass of champagne and went to find your friends. you kept looking around to find rafe or at least this girl everyone was speaking about. "have you—"

"seen her? nope." john b looked around once more. "what if i say i found out already, what do i get in return." jj smiled. "one of my dad’s cigars." you stated causing him to hype himself up.

"inside at the bar with rafe, topper, and ruthie."

"relax guys, i'm classy." kiara disagreed with sarah but the boys laughed knowing action was about to go down.

"fifty she starts something."

"sixty, her mom yells at her."

"bet."

the boys all shook on it. you walked inside to see them standing at the bar. you couldn't see her face but she looked about your height, short light brown hair. her dress was short and pink. "pretty dress." you whispered to yourself.

"also you should definitely watch out for y/n." ruthie laughed warning the girl. "who's y/n?" the girl questioned. "rafe, you haven't told her about her? classic." topper air cheered his beer. "i was going too but you just told her so thank you." rafe rolled his eyes. "rafe— who's y/n?" before he could answer you showed up.

"hey rafe, topper, ruthie, and who's this?" you questioned. "fuck." ruthie whispered. "y/n this is sofia, sofia this is y/n." rafe looked around in awkwardness.

"hi."

"rafe you didn't tell me sofia is a cute girl."

"didn't think i had to tell you."

"you didn't but would have been kind to know who you were bringing to my fathers country club." you smiled. "wait youre mr. l/n daughter?"

"mhm."

"this place is very cool. was thinking of signing up for tennis." y/n looked at her up and down then back at rafe. "hope to see you at games."

"rafe can i speak to you." thing about you that everyone knows already is you usually dont ask. it’s more so you tell them and rafe knew that. that's the one thing he loved about you.

"go with topper and ruthie, i'll find you in a bit." sofia smiled and waved bye at you

"i swear to god y/n, you better not start shit." rafe grabbed you by the arm into the locker rooms. "why didnt you tell me? you seen me mostly every night and you couldn't tell me you were interested in someone."

"i didn't tell you because i know how you are. you broke up with me remember."

"you broke up with me too y'know. what happened to mutual break up?"

"just don't start anything." rafe looked at you with this angry look. "does she know you were with me most nights?" rafe just looked at her in silences. "of course she doesn't. you think she'll leave you?" you laughed in his face. "not a bad thing if she left you."

"she doesn't know y/n."

"and why's that?"

"hard to tell someone my ex is a bitch."

"ouch. and to think you weren't a bitch neither."

"oh and by the way, she has one thing coming if she thinks she's with you for a long run." you placed your hand on his chest. "you know damn well if this was reversed you would have beat the shit out of him. just because you have a new girl doesn't mean you aren't the same rafe i dealt with for two years."

"oh and don't forget to tell her before she sees that tattoo you have." she winked and walked out the locker room. having rafe punch the locker.

you saw sofia eye you walking out the room so you smiled— fixing your hair and dress acting like something happened in the locker room causing her to go look for rafe.

sofia had one thing to be careful of and it wasn't rafes anger issues. it was you making sure everyone knew what was yours.

 sccrim — all rights reserved. please do not modify, repost , translate , or plagiarise my content.

[serperioranimations]

BUCKLE UP KIDS, ITS TATER TED TALK TIME

I can definitely be on board with this. I am a disabled artist myself, (neurodivergent/ADHD), and I have a range of characters with physical and mental disabilities, and this also includes Red leader Tord. As well as Tom. And Matt. I’ll put my thoughts and response down below.

I also agree with the scarring points, how in film, evil characters have scars to look more “scary”. There is three examples off the top of my head that literally have the word “scar” in their name. However, I won’t really be discussing that here.

I wouldn’t say MY version of red leader is a bad guy(at least not to Edd, Matt and Tom), he’s moreso just a guy who went about things the wrong way while trying to get his friends recruited. Whole thing. He made up with them eventually. And while he has the ability to come off as intimidating, it’s moreso about the level of power he holds in a room rather than his “scary” appearance.

My portrayals of disability, at least with with red leader tord, mostly focus on the mental effects of his disability. Sure, the physical stress is a lot, but the mental stress of having to worry about your perception and how you are viewed as a disabled person makes a lot of disabilities ten times worse.

He fears that he could get into another accident and lose more of his body and therefore his humanity. Sometimes he has to take his arm off because he hates that he now has to have machinery as his arm. He has nightmares where he’ll be full robot and it freaks him the hell out.

Obviously, there are things that affect him physically too. In the crash, he lost some of his teeth and his cornea had a piece of glass stuck in it and it was damaged. His depth perception is greatly impacted because he’s now blind in his right eye, and he has to wear dentures. He had to change parts of his lifestyle in order to keep them in tact, such as quitting smoking. He also quit because he was scared of getting robot/synthetic lungs and further losing his humanity.

Not to mention, he has to do a lot of work to make sure he can actually LIFT his arm, as it has a lot of machinery in it and that can get quite heavy. He has a lot of frustration surrounding that as well. My version of tord is a tinkerer and always is trying to find new ways to improve something. So his arm is never quite finished. It’s more of an extension to his character than it is a replacement for his arm.

My portrayal of future Tom also has this concept, in the fact that he is blind. His visor does do a lot of things for him, and Tord spent a very long time even trying to get it to work AT ALL.

In a comic I made, it’s implied he had to go through several versions and tests over multiple months to even get him to see ANYTHING. And that comic also implied that it was only a START.

And even if it allows him to see, he still needs to take care of it, he has a backup incase something happens, he has to charge it, all this stuff. And also, it cannot help him see all the time. Like when he turns into a monster.

It can’t help him see when he turns to the size of a building. In fact, when he feels himself turning, he often tries to get the visor off of him as to avoid breaking it because he knows how hard Tord worked on it. But without it, He’s just a giant blind monster who has no idea what’s going on or where he is. And that is a recipe for disaster, my friends.

I will say my representations of technology are not exactly “realistic” and I’ll fully admit that. However, I think it’s important to take into account that sometimes, people just wanna design cool robot stuff that can do cool things. It’s the whole reason people love the idea of flying cars. Yes it’s unrealistic, and we have so many other vehicles that would be way more efficient, but come on- the idea of a flying car is very entertaining. And most of the time, that is what I focus on. If it’s entertaining or interesting.

Plus I’m just like “you know what, I like you- here’s some cool shit you can do cool things with.” That’s how I see the technology in WTFuture. Or at least that’s how I go about it.

In a more realistic and grounded universe outside of Eddsworld, such as my own original story “The Bad Hunters”, I would obviously go about this differently.

But in a world where people can turn into vampires, superhero’s, giant monsters, and just overall break most rules of physics and real life, I think it’s understandable why people in the fandom often default to “because it looks cool” when it comes to designs. After all, I think Edd Gould himself shared this sentiment. 90% of the decisions or jokes he made in his show, I guarantee he made “because it’s funny” or “because it’s cool”.

Like, for example, I have this joke that Tom during meetings will play minesweeper in his headset, because 1- it’s in character that he wouldn’t pay attention to meetings, and 2- it’s funny as hell. And let’s be real- if you’ve been on a zoom meeting that was boring, you’ve probably pulled up minesweeper or solitaire. Is that something realistically that a blind person would be able to do if they had a headset that allowed them to see? Absolutely not. But is it funny? Yes.

Future Matt also has a pretty big disability- that being he has some memory loss related to a brain injury. He got shot in the head and his eye was replaced with a metal one. He also had to get his jaw fixed. He often struggles with remembering what people just told him, and sometimes he forgets where Edd is and that he left. It also, much like Tom and tord and their disabilities, took some getting used to.

He’s also got a mini super computer in his eye that allows him to calculate bullet trajectory and allow him to dodge bullets matrix style. Because fuck it- future Matt is cool, he deserves cool shit. Also because tord was like “aight bro what if I made sure you never got shot in the face again”. Again- is it realistic? No. But is it cool? Yes.

Overall, as an author with disabilities myself, the portrayals of disability I enjoy the most are the ones that acknowledge “this shit sucks” but also are ones that allow for some levity and lightheartedness. This applies to both mental and physical disabilities.

Like toph from ATLA. Yes, she can’t see through the earth and she’s insanely powerful, but also, girlie can’t swim. Obviously, her drowning is no laughing matter, and they don’t make fun of that. But her confidently putting a poster on a wall the wrong way because she can’t see is hilarious.

Or like in arcane, when sevika gets a sick new arm made by jinx, only for it to turn out to be an unpredictable hunk of junk that will do random shit like blast music or shoot fireworks, and sevika is just like “bro are you fucking kidding me”. That may be the most realistic portrayal of a disability aid/tool I’ve ever seen. Sometimes it works great, but sometimes it’s a fucking piece of shit. It also helps that Sevikas arm links to her gambling addiction, hence the slot machine. Sure, it’s not the most “realistic” portrayal, but it does further her character and I think that is also a valid way to write it.

Overall, what I’d say is that I definitely agree with all of what was said above me! These are all valid points and the portrayal of scarring being used the characterize “evil”, or make them look scary, as well as just treating prosthetics as perfect replacements definitely don’t always sit right.

But also I would say that with portraying disability, don’t go the easy way out and basically get rid of their disability by giving them a perfect replacement with no issues that would realistically go along with this. Not just because it’s harmful and disability erasure, but also because it’s boring as shit.

Challenge yourself. Do some research. And most importantly, HAVE FUN.

-your friendly neighborhood tater

The Problem With the Eddsworld Fandom's Depictions of Red Leader/Future Tord, A Disabled Perspective

Disability is a contentious concept for most of society, with most either treating us with disgust, confusion, refusing to treat us as human, or to see our struggles as what they are. Ableism affects all people in many different ways, but as someone who focuses a lot of my energy in fandom spaces, the pervasiveness of ableism with how media and their fans interpet and react to disabled characters is a very personal situation for me. While many may argue that an ignorance to these topics in fiction has little bearing on real life, the prevalance of these tropes have echoed and led to feelings of othering for many disabled people, and oftentimes support the same notions that lead to the day-to-day ableism in our own personal lives.

In recent years, I have experienced this most often with the prevalance of negative disability tropes perpetrated by fanfiction surrounding the character of Tord, also known under the alias of Red Leader in some fanworks. It is a problem not just common in the Eddsworld fandom. A more recent, and much larger fandom in Mouthwashing also shares a common trend of repeated ableism in fan depictions and interpretarions of disabled characters. Most fan creators are unaware of these tropes and the harm that they cause, but as a disabled person, I am unable to ignore it.

For context on myself, you can call me Fish. Get it? Or"fish"eus? I like to think I'm funny. I am a mentally ill, disabled, and neurodivergent creative who has niche interests in representation in media and the intersection of intersectionality and fandom spaces. I experience chronic pain due to a multitude of conditions, all of which are invisible disabilities. I am NOT an amputee or have a facial difference, like the character I am analyzing. I can only speak based on my own research in my attempts to portray him positively, but I want to mainly focus on the ableist tropes I see and the real life effects they have. That is something I CAN focus on, because I've been dealing with it for years from conditions that came onset later in my life. I will be speaking from that perspective, but will be doing my best to try to educate on what I do know from my research to help authors, artists, and creatives create a better portrayal of him in fanworks.

The most common tropes I see with him are what I will call "The Disabled Villain", "The Innacurate Disability", and "The Ignored Disability". There are a few tropes in each, but for ease of organization (and the sake of your (and my) time), I will be talking about them together in these sections. There are also overlaps in many, but I will define the main issues with them.

The Disabled Villain

James Bond, Wonder Woman, The Witches. You name it. You have most likely seen this trope at work in cinema. A malicious evil-doer is revealed to have a "horrid" face symbolic of the true evil within their soul, while the beautiful, able-bodied hero is meant to stop them. It's a trope as old as time, one that goes back to even Plato. Tropes are tropes, people subvert them, so a few cases down the line may be excusable. But that has not been the case For many years, the most prevalent form of representation for disabled people was in these villains. Imagine if the only representation you had for yourself was narratives surrounding how the way you look or what your disability is and have it only be equated to evil people. It leads to a villainization of disabled people. People react to facial differences with disgust, because they are "shown" that it is "evil", or "ugly", or equal to being a horrible person. As stated by The Nora Project, "According to the book Disabilities: Insights from Across Fields and Around the World, disabled students are two to three times more likely to be bullied in comparison to their nondisabled classmates. The disabled villain trope contributes to this phenomenon in overt and subtle ways. For example, the trope implicitly encourages fear of disability and difference, while validating, and even elevating, those who fight against the evil, Disabled Villain. Bullying based on fear and disdain is almost a natural consequence of the trope when viewed in this light". Another big issue is that disabled characters have not been given space to exist outside of villainy. There are not many complex narratives surrounding them. This leads to our disabilities being downplayed, us being dehumanised, and we are seen more like props in real life, or simply tools to achieve a message in a narrative.

Tord's disability is never explicitly shown in the show. It is something more prevalent in Fanon, specifically in fanworks that focus on the "Future" era of the show's timeline, where the narrative and outside discussions on the show implies a high tech society, potentially dystopian, potentially a consequence of his actions. These ideas have taken a life of their own in the fandom, with many creators fully expressing these ideas. The problem arises when Red Leader falls in line with this trope. In many works, he is the sole disabled character, a figure of pure evil, or given little nuance in the narrative. Artists illustrate his scars as bright red, crimson, or, in TBATF, green. For some reason. In this way, they attempt to highlight the villainy by equating him with common symbols of evil: facial differences and disabilities. Unfortunately, these are not just symbols. These are conditions and scars that real people have, which the fandom tends to ignore in favor of dramatization.

This was a trope I most commonly saw explored in fanfiction when I first joined in 2016/17. The show, unfortunately, subtly and accidentally perpetrated it by having the only character visibly and irreparably "damaged" by the giant robot fight be Tord, despite the fact that Tom, who had a whole missile directed at him and got buried under a house, was fine with at most a leg injury and a cut on his arm. Luckily, we have grown past the need for ableist tropes, and the faults of the show can be left in the past!

... Not.

Disability tropes have simply evolved in how the fandom treats Tord. Even if it is now done with more consciousness and sympathy towards his character, ignorance still prevails. Let's talk about common pitfalls people fall into when writing him.

The Inaccurate Disability

In fanon perception, Red Leader is an amputee with a high tech prosthesis and a facial difference resulting from burn scars. Like many disabled characters, he suffers from a collective fandom lack of research. But never fret! That is what I have subjected myself to for the past four years, so your friendly neighborhood disabled Fish can tell you how to right your fandom wrongs! Just kidding! Take this as a pointer, and do your own research.

As is common with fictional prosthetics, his arm prosthetic is treated as a perfect fix for his amputation. It acts just like, if not better than an actual arm. The issue with this is that is isn't realistic. Yes, I know, I'm criticising Eddsworld fanfiction for not being realistic. STAY WITH ME HERE. Once again, if it was one instance, or a few, that explored prosthetics being incredibly functional in science-fiction, then it could be a cool concept. But when every sci-fi work has it, then that is no longer a concept. That is a misconception. And I have interacted with people who believed that prosthetics were 100% functional! The thing is, like all disability aids, it does not suddenly make us able-bodied. For example, I have ear defenders that I wear when I experience pain within my ears. But that does not mean my hearing will now become normal, and I will no longer experience pain from the sound I'm hearing. What WILL happen is that I will straight up not hear you. Like, literally. Can you repeat that? I had my ear defenders on. Oh, you're saying that my ear defenders aren't prosthetics and are not a fair comparison? Well, that's fair, but take this as an illustration of a disability aid and how they differ from able-bodied experiences. Also, many prosthetic users do many things without their prostheses, and some even prefer NOT to wear them. Blogs that explicitly cover disabled representation, such as @/cripplecharacters, have posts that cover WHY many amputees are not fans of this trope. The problem comes with that it erases disability, and yet also treats us like we are given a space at the table of representation. It's just another way that authors avoid actually doing research.

Other things that people tend to ignore are how burn scars, or any scars, would not only appear on a character, but also affect them. I have seen, aside from skin tones that looked like they were picked out of a crayon box instead of what would appear on a person, teeth exposed, wounds that look as if they are fresh from the explosion YEARS after they occurred, and what I like to call "paper shredder" scars. Because instead of them looking like burn or shrapnel scars, it appears as if his skin was put through a shredder. Once again, another consequence of the show's at most-30 second scene with questionable decisions that made massive ripples in the fandom. With the injuries Tord received, it is most likely that he would have two kinds of injuries: a burn on 18% of his body (minimum, based on rule of 9s), and/or shrapnel scars from debris. While shrapnel scars would manifest as darker scars, the burn scar would likely be a hypertrophic scar, as "70% of patients develop hypertrophic scars following burns" (Finnerty et. al). The scars, when healed, are warm toned on the boundaries of their areas and cool in between. When on a pale skintone, they are not too dissimilar, and would therefore not have such a drastic color difference as seen on skin. They would also not go down to the bone or skin, as that would be a completely different kind of injury, and are also commonly done to make him look "scarier", which then aids the Disabled Villain trope. It also treats these scars and injuries more like a work of fiction, rather than something that many real people have experienced, adding to continuous misinterpretations of real life disabilities and facial differences.

For writers wanting to include consequences of burns, what would be more likely to be affected are his hearing, vision, and nerves on the right side of his face, as burn scars can go as deep as nerve endings. Also, burn scars, especially third degree burns, require treatments, such as burn-specific skincare. Scars, especially burn scars, can affect you and become disabling. For artists, the main thing I don't see artists do is draw him with damaged hair follicles. Burn scars damage the scalp and eyebrows, preventing hair growth. I am sorry, but he would not still have fluffy, luscious hair. Do not kill me. He just wouldn't. And if you are saying that he had it in the show, I can't hear you because my ear defenders are on, but I hope you heard me, as we've gone over that the show is inaccurate and we should do our own research.

Even well intentioned authors and artists ignore many aspects of the disabilities he would likely have!

Which brings us to the last trope...

The Ignored Disability

Many well meaning people intend to give him nuance by trying to avoid the Disabled Villain trope. Accidentally, however, they end up completely ignoring his disabilities instead.

Just like the high-tech prosthetic, the real disabling aspects of having a disability are at best rarely mentioned. I have seen, in some fanworks, that he goes straight from amputation to having a prosthetic. And that is where his disability ends. Because the prosthetic ends up being a fix-all situation. Authors refuse, or forget, to include aspects of amputation, such as the healing process, stump or phantom pain. Artists will cover up his scars with a helmet or a mask, another trope that undermines his disabilities and attempts to brush it under the rug. I understand that there is a discomfort for able-bodied authors in thoroughly exploring how a character feels about their disability. That is something I think we should. Avoid. If you're not familiar with the experience of being that minority, you do not need to add commentary on it. And if you do, and it just falls into more negative tropes, I will send a salmon cannon at you (/j). However, I do not agree with brushing every disabling aspect of his life under the rug.

People can assume it's not a problem, like it isn't something blatantly apparent. But, if you assume that disability and being disabled is not a "big thing", you end up where your medication is denied because your insurance refuses to see your common procedure as not a necessary medical intervention because you're "too young". And that is not fiction. That is what inspired me to write this essay, because the day that I got that news was the same day I sat down and told myself that I needed to share my perspective on the perception of disabled characters by honing in on one of my favorite characters and how the fandom treated him.

Disabled characters deserve to be included in media, disability and all, with care given to how their life would operate as a result and what they would experience with their specific disability. That's why many people recommend sensitivity readers who can give proper insight upon that disability and can advise people to properly portray it.

But if you cannot afford or access that resource, what can you do?

Fish's Non-Cohesive List of Ways I Tried to Write Tord as a Non-Amputee Without a Facial Difference

Do research!! The more you are to try to understand what you are writing about, the less you are to misinterpret or misrepresent it.

Look into resources that focus on portraying disabled characters, especially with those you wish to write about. Read blogs, research tropes that are common in disabled characters, and hell, read medical journals. They can provide great insight (<< nerd who likes reading medical journals)

Include more disabled characters. Make the other boys be disabled! Want to be canon compliant? Create OCs who have disabilities! I have a bunch! It's 2024! Be cringe and be free! The character's disability would go against the traditional narrative form of "usefulness"? I'm an animator who can't wear headphones and a theatre performer who can't physically handle the volume of a band. And yet, we find ways to persist, to exist. We will always find our way to live in the way we want to, in whatever way we can.

Look into disability activism. Learn the difference between the Medical Model and Social Model of disability. Know what an invisible disability is. Listen to us when we say that we don't want to be treated as special or an inspiration for simply living (inspiration porn). The more you are aware of what we struggle in real life, the more aware you will be to not repeat those mistakes in your fiction.

Write what you can. Highlight little talked about aspects of having a burn scar or being an amputee, such as the recovery, or treatment for the chronic pain, or how different he would be in battle due to decreased depth perception. As a disabled author, I have personally touched on the experience of gaining a disability later in life, and how he copes with it. Now, not all of y'all can do that. But that is a personal experience I do have, and it is something I have highlighted in my own work. So, while I couldn't tell you the ins and outs of having a burn scar or a prosthetic arm, I could describe the shock and frustration that comes with suddenly experiencing difficulties, or even being unable to do what you had done before.

I ask that, if you are willing to do better, or to start on the right foot, you take what I have written, reflect on it, and treat disabled characters, and in turn, disabled people, better from here on out.

Fiction is not reality, but the way we deal with it is reflective of who we are and what we believe. The boundary for our own personal being does not suddenly stop within fiction. When we interact and interpret it and create for it, it is integral that we remain conscious that bigotry runs rampant, albeit often as an unseen force, within fandom spaces, and do our best to counteract that.

I have doubts that the new eddisode will treat this topic with the same respect. I hope you can all go forward with what you have read in this WAY LONGER than I expected essay, and do what those grown British men cannot. Even if they erase it, retconn it, or do not treat it with respect, let's all go forward and do better!

As for always, you can discuss more in the tags or my inbox!

I hope you have a wonderful life,

Fish