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bookshelf-dust · 5 months ago

Text

the art of dancing in the kitchen

carmy berzatto x fem!hairdresser!reader

gif by @hotch-girl

word count: 3,479

warnings: literally nothing? this is pure fluff with slight swearing and little baby innuendos. i did make reader a hairdresser because i just love the idea and it makes so much sense for this.

synopsis: nothing brings you more joy than spending time with carmen…except maybe having him help you bake.

a/n: i swear to you, i think this might be my favorite fic that i’ve ever written. i love it so much and it made me so happy to write. i found myself smiling at the screen while typing, if that tells you anything. i think i’d definitely like to continue writing things in this universe, too! carmy is so fun for me to write and i love coming up with ways to make him feel tangible. (also shoutout to the first pic because if you know, you know.) i hope you enjoy this one and happy reading!! <33

————

Carmy never sees you run as fast as you do when you’re leaving work. In this case, it’s just so he can eat lunch with you, but you rush out of the salon door just as fast.

Your sundress catches the wind, the hem flying behind you as you jog up to the passenger side door. You catch a glimpse of Carmen through the dirty window. His curls are crushed underneath that worn blue cap, but today it’s turned the wrong way around on his head.

It makes him look boyish. The hand rubbing over his mouth in an effort to hide a grin doesn’t help his case.

If you’re honest, you’ve been giddy since six that morning, when you got up and remembered that Carmy was meeting you for lunch. And when you got to work and found it was much slower than expected, with no show after no show, you were so grateful for the blue eyed man waiting for you outside. In a loading zone, no less.

You hop into the car, pulling the door shut behind you distractedly. You’re too eager to see him, and before you can even say hello, how are you, how’s life—anything—you’re kissing him.

His lips feel a little chapped against yours, the skin slightly dry and cracked, but you don’t mind. It feels like he’s just shaved, his jaw all smooth, and he smells like cinnamon and dish soap and cigarettes, but you’d be a liar if you tried to claim that wasn’t the best smell in the world.

You pull away from his kiss, locking eyes with him, where his pupils are blown wide and his cheeks are flushed like he’s been pinched. “Hi, gorgeous,” you say.

Carmen laughs, that little shy one that’s more of a big puff of air than a chuckle. He shakes his head at you, still not used to someone being so excited about his presence, so…enamored by him.

“Hey, you,” Carmy answers, placing both of his hands on your cheeks. He stares at you for a moment. He’s trying to drink you in. He does this every chance he gets because he literally cannot believe you’re real. He’s not dissociating, he’s not daydreaming. This is his life.

Your already broad smile widens as you take the opportunity to stare back at him. Your eyes wander to his just-too-long sideburns. “I think it’s time for a trim again, Carm. Lookin’ a little grizzly there.” You ruffle his curls, which feel surprisingly clean.

Carmy watches you bite your thumbnail in an effort to conceal the laugh threatening to burst from your throat due to your own horrible joke.

“Ha, ha. So funny.”

He puts the car in drive and listens to you giggle to yourself as you fasten your seatbelt. Neither of you say much on the very short drive to the park across the street, knowing you’ll be able to vent as much as you please while you eat.

“Cross your fingers our bench is free?” you say, raising your hand up towards Carmen. You pull your bottom lip between your teeth as if that also counts as a way of manifesting your favorite seat. Carmy lifts his fingers in the air, the middle crossed over the index and gently knocks his hand against yours.

You pull into the parking lot, the sound of gravel crunching beneath tires filling your ears, and your gaze immediately flies to the bench underneath the biggest tree with the most shade and the best view for people watching. “Fuck, yeah!” you shout, a brilliant smile blooming on your face as you unbuckle.

Carmy laughs for real this time, the corners of his eyes going all soft and crinkly at your joy. “Run over there and claim it, yeah? I’ll grab everything.”

You push open the car door and stand quickly, smoothing the sweet ruffles of your dress. You wink, already starting to happily jog away. “Yes, chef!” Carm catches your salute just before he reaches in the backseat for the cooler and bag of food he brought with him from the restaurant.

On your bench, you prop your hand on your chin, tuck your foot under your thigh, and watch as Carmen walks up the short little incline to you. He looks gorgeous.

He’s wearing jeans, Levi’s that hug his ass and thighs just right. He has on an old “I heart New York” t-shirt that he only wears when he hasn’t caught up on laundry (and only bought for that same reason a few years ago).

His curls and necklace bounce almost in sync, and you can’t help but think that he just looks so pure and free.

And he’s got this glint in his eye that’s directed right on you.

“Ebra made your favorite. He heard I was meeting you for lunch and insisted he do it,” Carmy says, snapping you out of your how-could-this-man-get-any-more-sexy daze.

He places the tin foil wrapped sandwich in front of you, pretending not to notice the way you’re gawking at him. “I swear he’s never been so gentle with roast beef.”

You smile, pulling up the strap on your dress where it’s started to slip. Carmy leans over the table to press a kiss to your shoulder. It makes your stomach flip.

“Did he make yours for you?” you ask, mouth watering impatiently as you lift the still-warm bread up so you can take a messy bite.

Carmen hands you a napkin. “Put that over your chest—yeah, like that. So you don’t get your dress dirty.” He rips open a bag of chips for you to share. “But to answer your question, fuck no he didn’t.”

You toss your head back and laugh. “You’ll have to tell him I said thank you for making such a yummy lunch for me.” Your boyfriend watches as you suck a stream of au jus from your thumb.

Carmy scoffs playfully. You wink at him. “I did have the cutest delivery boy though.”

His brow raises, and the corners of his mouth quirk while he chews on the handful of potato chips he’s just shoved in his mouth. “Oh yeah?”

You hum. “Yep. Cute even with roast beef stuck in his teeth.”

Carmy falls for it, quickly taking a sip of his drink like he’s going to wash the beef free. But the twinkle in your eye tips him off. “You’re fuckin’ with me?”

You wipe your grinning mouth. “‘Course I am, Bear.”

Carmen raises up from his side of the picnic table just enough so that he’s leaning across to meet you halfway. He waves you closer with his hands. “Come on now, you owe me a kiss for bein’ a little shit.”

You brace your palms against the worn—and slightly damp from last night's rain shower—wood, quickly connecting your lips with Carmy’s.

You do this thing where you start smiling into the kiss and in turn it makes Carmen smile because your giddiness to have your mouth on his is insanely fucking contagious, and he’d be a damn fool not to join in.

When you pull apart you make sure to quickly kiss both of his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. “There’s your tip for being such a pretty delivery boy and bringin’ me lunch.”

The both of you settle into quiet conversation, catching up on whatever as you finish your sandwiches and drinks. Carmy reaches across the table to hold your hand, rubbing the pads of his fingers over your polished nails. He likes the way they feel.

As a surprise to end your lunch hour, he pulls out a little back holding two oversized oatmeal raisin cookies. One for each of you. And he knows those are your favorite. You do a happy little wiggle in your seat when you see them. It makes him laugh, makes his stomach flip.

“Marcus made a batch of these, just tryin’ out cookie recipes? We thought having them out front for people to grab on their way out would be smart.”

You take the cookie from him. “That is smart. And I already know it’s gonna be yummy.”

“Damn straight. I ate like, four of them as my breakfast and lunch yesterday. But that’s not important. How’s work so far?”

You’ll have to berate him about that later. The man cannot eat cookies and wash them down with Pepto Bismol and call it a day.

You demolish your cookie within seconds. “Work has been so fuckin’ slow today, Bear. We’ve had all these no shows, so I got set up and then they don’t come and now I’ll have to send them the files about the fee.”

“You want me to yell at ‘em for you? Tell them how they’re missin’ out on the world’s best haircut and color?”

You smack him playfully on the wrist. “I just love my job, y’know? So it sucks when I sit there playin’ on my phone instead of listening to all the gossip my customers bring me.”

Carmy downs the rest of his Coke and swipes the back of his hand across his mouth. “If it helps, I’ll let you give me that trim after service tonight.”

“At least I know you won’t cancel on me.”

Carmen watches you for a minute, losing himself in now fucking ethereal you are. He’s never imagined himself using the word, but that’s the only proper way to describe you. And he secretly loves you cutting his hair because your hands feel so good, especially when you wash it for him.

“I’ll tip you real good too, baby.” Carmy blushes at his own joke and it makes you laugh. Mid-laugh though, your eyes widen like you’ve just had an idea. It feels a little devious to him.

You pull out your phone. “Oh! When I was doomscrolling this morning, I found this video of blueberry muffins—dammit, of course I can’t find it now—but they had the…the…”

You lift your hand, wiggling your fingers in a sort of sprinkly motion like you’re try to demonstrate what you’d seen. “The crumbly shit, Carm! I don’t know what the fuck it’s called.”

You reach over and take both of his hands. “Point is, they looked really yummy and I wondered if you’d help me make them?”

Carmy starts chuckling. He definitely knew what you were talking about with your hand gesture, since you’re always making them and he’s got them memorized by now, but it’s so fucking fun to see your brain work.

He begins to gather up your trash and put it back in the bag he brought it in.

“Yeah, I think I have enough flour and shit. There’s some frozen blueberries in the back of the freezer. But do you want the crumbly shit, or streusel?”

“Carmen, sweet angel baby, I don’t know what streusel is.”

“It’s usually got cinnamon and nuts and shit, so that’s what we’ll do because I know how you like your nuts, love.”

You take his hand when he offers it to help you stand. You smack a big, wet kiss on his lip. You let your eyes drag up and down his form before you begin to walk back to the car.

“Sure do, Carmy.”

————

“You don’t need a recipe or anything?”

Carm presses a sweet kiss to your lips and passes you a few fresh blueberries to snack on. He’d grabbed some at the store on the way home because was he really going to teach his girlfriend how to make muffins with a questionable bag of frozen blueberries? Fuck no.

“Nah, it’s all pretty simple. I’ll tell you everything to do, and I can write one out for you if you ever wanna make ‘em when I’m not home.”

You pinch his sides, raising up on your tippy toes to express your giddiness. “Really? Holy shit, I love that.”

He lets out a huff of a laugh. “Yeah?” Carmen cups your chin, tilting your mouth up to meet his because he wants a kiss.

You start to talk while his lips are still on yours. “It’s your handwriting. I have a thing for it.”

He bites your bottom lip playfully. “You’re insane,” he says, smiling through each syllable. He pulls back briefly. “That reminds me, I got you somethin’.”

Carmen walks to the living room and pulls something out of his work bag. “Does this have to do with my insanity?” you ask, jokingly.

He shakes his head. “Only with your insanely cute ass.” He holds up an apron. “It’s your honorary chef apron. Ta-da.”

It’s the same blue as his at work, except it has a ruffled hem and the logo for The Bear embroidered on the chest. Your brows shoot up.

“You got this today, Carm?” The alarm in your voice makes him smile.

Carmy walks up to you and starts tying it around your waist. “No, no, not today. I got it awhile back, but you bringing up muffins made me remember I’d ordered it. It came with the chef’s whites and shit.”

“You got it made for me?” Your voice pitches up a notch, causing Carmen to spin you around so you’re facing him.

“‘Course I did. Couldn’t leave my number one out. And yours is cuter than everyone else’s.”

Your eyes water, just slightly, and you start smothering Carmy’s face with kisses until he starts to giggle boyishly. “Okay, okay!” he fusses, “No tears, only muffins.” He grabs your hips and moves you in front of the counter where he’s laid out all the ingredients for you. “Let’s get movin’ now, yeah? This shit is making me hungry.”

————

“Why do they tell you to fold it in? I’m not doing fuckin’ laundry, Bear.”

Carmy is sitting on the counter next to you, watching you intensely. There are floury handprints on your apron and you have your tongue poking out in concentration. He keeps bringing a straw to your lips every few minutes to keep you hydrated, like this is a very important surgical operation.

“Probably ‘cause it looks like folds when you do that?” You smack him on the knee and continue to fold in all the ingredients, pretending like you don’t see exactly what he means.

Once you feel like it’s all combined you let go of the spatula and turn to Carmen.

“What now, Bear?”

“You gotta mix up the sugar and the flour and the cinnamon, and then you can add your little nut mixture and I’ll show you how to do the butter.”

You reach for the collection of small glass bowls Carmy set out for you. “So sassy,” you say, shaking your shoulder just a little.

He smiles at you and extends a socked foot out to lightly kick you on the butt. But you were expecting it, so you reach behind you and grab his ankle, tickling the bottom of his foot, which is where he’s most ticklish. It’s his Achilles heel.

Carmy releases a short bout of laughter before pulling away from you to catch his breath. “Fucker.”

You grin, leaning over the sink to wash your hands for the umpteenth time. “But I’m your fucker, angel boy.”

He hops off the counter, scooching in behind you to press a kiss to your clammy cheek. “Can’t argue with that,” he says.

Carm watches over your shoulder as you add a small mix of crushed almonds, granola, and pecans to your streusel topping. “Good job, baby. Now I need you to cut a few pats of butter and add ‘em in. Just do a few—yeah, just like that—and you can start mixing it up. You can use your hands if you need to since it gets so difficult to stir.”

The warmth of Carmy’s chest against your back should be unnerving, what with him observing your every move.

But it isn’t. Rather, it's comforting. When the butter combines with your little potion mix as much as it can, you use your hands to make sure nothing gets left behind.

“You’re very good at making sure the crumbly shit is crumbly, lovebug.”

You look over your shoulder at Carmen as you finally slide the finished tray into the oven. “I’m givin’ you a run for your money, aren’t I, Bear?”

He smiles at you, reaching around your waist to untie your apron and lift it over your head. He hangs it on the little rack meant for keys. “Might have to tell Marcus about this. Get you in there, helpin’ him decorate donuts and shit.”

You push up on your toes and wrap your arms around Carmy’s neck. His go around the small of your back like that’s the only job they’ve ever had.

“So you can throw them on the floor?” you quip, biting your lip to hold back a laugh. You know you’re being a little shit, but at least it’s a memory you can all laugh at now.

Carmy’s lips quirk up at the corners. His right hand lowers and squeezes at the fat of your ass, a little menacingly, but loving all the same. “Never gonna let me live that down, huh?”

You lower your forehead so that it’s resting on Carm’s chest. He feels your giggle against his skin. Feels the way your fingers play with his necklace where they rest at the back of his neck. It’s giving him goosebumps.

“Nope,” you say, that cute little teasing lilt to your voice.

Carmy tightens his grip around your waist and lifts you up into the air, spinning you around his small kitchen a few times. Just enough that you squeal out of surprise, out of pure, unadulterated joy because of this romantic ass gesture that feels straight out of a story book. You pop your feet up for good measure. You could never let Princess Mia down like that.

When he sets you down, you both stare at each other for a moment, catching your breath with these stupid happy smiles on your faces. And right there, you both feel that little bolt of electricity. The one that tells you this will never go away. This connection is everlasting.

It takes a minute for you to register that you’re both shuffling lightly across the floor, in gentle, sloppy circles.

You look down at Carmy’s socked feet and back up to meet his eyes. “Does this count as dancing?”

He scratches his nose. “Couldn’t tell you.”

You kiss the spot where he was self-consciously rubbing. “Maybe we should practice, you know, in case we need to dance someday.”

Carmen snorts. “Yeah, maybe, sweetheart.”

You play with the curls around his ears, remembering your promise to give him that trim. “Have you ever danced, Mr. Berzatto?”

He kisses you. “Only alone in my room.”

You kiss him. “That what you do when I’m not around?”

He kisses you a second time. “Yep. Busted. But Richie used to try and make us play Just Dance with him when he got drunk.” He grins at the little chuckle you let out. “What about you?” he starts. “Have a past dancing career?”

You shake your head, admiring every little freckle on his face. Every little dry patch of skin, every line.

“In high school, me and my girlfriends would usually just hold hands and spin around in a little dance circle since we were all single. It was very cool of us.”

“I would’ve paid to see that,” Carmy says, cupping your jaw. You grin up at him, eyes twinkling. You imagine you’ve got big ‘ol pink hearts fluttering back and forth at him.

You both melt into each other after that. Slowly shuffling around the kitchen, hips swaying to music that isn’t there. Usually Carmy would be on the verge of shitting his pants in a situation like this, but…it’s you. You’re safe.

Why wouldn’t he dance with you?

Carmen brings his lips to your ear. “Is there music in your head right now?”

“Rick Astley,” you whisper.

Carmy blinks.

And then he tosses his head back, laughing. “Seriously?”

“Nope. I just wanted to hear you laugh,” you say, and kiss the chuckle right off his lips. He kisses you back, pecking your lips three times in quick succession because one is just never enough. You tug on a curl. “We’re stupid in love, aren’t we?”

“We’re dancing, shuffling like old people really, in my shitty kitchen on a weeknight, and waiting on blueberry muffins that I’m pretty sure we’ll finish within the hour.”

“Oh my god, Bear.”

“Yeah, baby. We’re stupid in love.”

You are. And when you sit on the kitchen floor, your socked feet in his lap, eating warm muffins and getting butter all over your fingers and down your wrists, that only confirms it.

Those are the best damn muffins you’ve ever had. And Carmy’s lips taste like blueberries for the rest of the night.

————

please let me know if you liked this! feedback is always appreciated!! comments and reblogs mean more than you know. <33

note: none of the gifs or images i use are mine! i get most of my images from pinterest or here, and gifs from about the same. please let me know if i ever don’t credit someone properly!

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acid-ixx · 7 months ago

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I’m new, I just read your fic about neglect reader. I haven’t read through your blog yet but I am so excited after reading this fic. I am an emotional wreck right now and my curiosity is eating me alive with this question “Does reader know about Jason? Will they ever met? Ever have a platonic relationship together? Will Jason be more of a brother to reader?”

I’m sorry I speed through the fic and tears are in my eyes I couldn’t think straight BUT I notice that Jason is hardly there so I’m curious. Please this is such a brain rot, it’s way past midnight after I read this cause I keep stopping to cry.

major (?) spoilers below.

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

hello anon !! im so happy ppl are getting more exposed to the content i have written so far. anyways, i can't believe i also got others to cry bec i did too when i was writing 😭

anyways, to answer ur question: yes! the reader will meet jason and he would actually be the first sibling you would meet after you have left the manor. the way he would turn yandere for you is a different approach to how the others would be because in the prequel, it has been stated that you had your fair share of encounters with him.

"will they ever have a platonic relationship with him/see him as a brother?" maybe, maybe not. because your meeting with him would all be a blur to you, and jason's obsession would stem from the trauma he had experienced, causing him to be more protective of you.

you're not in your best mindset and you're vulnerable walking through the streets of gotham and all alone? oh god, only a dumbass would do that— but once the red hood recognizes your face and the way you carry yourself so pitiably, he immediately tries to take you in his arms just as he should.

but the moment you push him away? tell him to fuck off despite your drunken state? the moment you cry and tell him you could deal with everything yourself without his help or anybody else's? you just remind him of himself and that triggers his first spiral into yandere-ism.

it's the way you share trauma, the way you both feel immense anger. he should've noticed sooner because you two would've been as close as peas in a pod. and yet he failed you by being a hypocrite. you were literally taken into the manor right after his death and discarded like you were mere trash. he should've taken you away when he had the opportunity to but he was too caught up in his feat of revenge.

yet the worst part was that he had taken notice of tim before he did you, and jason had momentarily hated you too because he thought bruce had replaced him. if he had looked through that veil of contempt that he had for you, and saw just how neglected and in need of attention you are, then he would've taken you under his wing.

but he didn't, and he had done the same thing to you as most did.

so take it as you will when i say you're more or less going to be closer (albeit unwillingly) to jason than anybody else because unlike his other siblings who are bound by their vigilante duties, your big brother jason wouldn't mind shooting any creeps who think they could touch his precious angel.

and he gets it, too, angel— you hate him, you hate them all and that's valid. but you can't just walk out in the streets alone and expect to be home in one piece; so leave it to him to scout your apartment alright? leave it to your big brother jason to intimidate the goons who try to stalk you when you're not looking. even if you don't want him near you, you'll always find warm food by your table and a note reminding you to take care of yourself more often.

it hurts when you rip the paper to shreds but it breaks his heart even more if you refuse to touch the meal he would leave for you, because that probably means you saw him as danger more than anything else. and he doesn't know it, but you're already planning to make a run for it now that you're under red hood's radar.

it's obvious that you have no experience when it comes to living by yourself, so please don't fucking push him away and let him protect you from any harm. your self destructive habits only causes him to become more protective of you and it only lets him stalk you more often to ensure nobody would touch his precious angel.

just like dick, you'll be treated more like a child than that of a young adult, but at least jason has the concept of personal space compared to your eldest brother. but still, jason wishes to hold you in his arms.

heaven forbid if the joker ever got his crummy fingers on you. jason would go berserk.

little does he know, little does your family know just how much they had lost the opportunity to keep you in wraps inside the manor.

they should've never let you out in the first place.

#🍨... yael's talking #🧁... yael's misc.#series: again & again #yandere dc #yandere batfam #yandere jason todd #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x gn reader #yandere x you #yandere x y/n #platonic yandere #forgive me my reply is such a mess 😭#ive been drowsy for the past for days it's hard to get to my bearings #like any thoughts that come into my mind comes poof #anyways if ur dick's baby bird then ur jason's precious angel because you are so vulnerable in his eyes #like bby why r u walking alone. u forgot to ask him to walk with you again didn't u?? don't worry he'll make sure the streets wouldn't smell #of blood next time

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ckret2 · 4 months ago

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@marsupials-of-mars submitted:

I was planning to do maybe a fic and more doodles of this but now I'm busy with school so I might as well show what I did do!

Based on how the goldilocks fic seems to posit that Bill at his best is a silly professor who loves to teach his own way

Introducing Professor Locke!

Things about this idea:

-post redemption, however that will go. I'm calling it an AU because I imagine it is not your plan for what happens after lol, but currently canon-compliant.

-Bill is at first not very on board with the idea of working in the higher education system. It's a scam and it's dumb that they tell adult people how to think.

-He's eventually convinced to bless Backupsmore with his tutelage, on the grounds that they're less stuck up there, they seem to care about giving their students opportunities despite their backgrounds, and the kids there care about learning rather than going to college just because their parents said they should.

-Ford uses his academic connections to vouch for Bill even though he is very mysterious and has no academic records. This is another reason why they picked Backupsmore: i's a little more lax when presented with a shockingly smart mystery professor. Bill gets an interview and charms the pants off the university president.

-He teaches "astrophysics" in theory (that's the job description) but he ends up teaching a little bit of everything.

-He's one of those professors you either adore or despise. He's very loud, often outright mean, and if you're too shy to speak up in class he does not give a SHIT about you. You gotta want it!

-However, his class is notoriously easy. He thinks homework and tests are facist, but he's required to have a curriculum, so his "quizzes" are like a few true or false questions and then a short answer where he asks something he thinks would be funny or wants to hear about, like "what's the dumbest thing another student has said in class since the last test and why was it dumb" or "fashion advice: what's the coolest thing I wore this last week? Extra credit: draw something cooler I SHOULD wear."

-as a result, students who have completely unrelated majors will take his class. If they end up being interested, he deems them worthy. If they're just there to be lazy, he will bully them into dropping out.

-Mabel buys him stickers to put on people's tests when they pass, or to just hand out when they something he likes. He gets along most with the college kids who know how to appreciate a classic gold star.

-He really wanted a big pretty lecture hall, where his voice would echo and he could point at a big chalkboard. But all Backupsmore could provide was a cinderblock and linoleum basement classroom. The lights buzz very loudly and it smells musty. They have stools and folding tables. Bill finds he enjoys the more intimate environment where he can walk between the tables and also sneak up on people.

-He's broken multiple folding tables by trying to do the cool professor thing where you hop up onto your desk and cross your legs and talk all casual. He is able to do this on his own desk thankfully. It's aluminum.

-Ford gets a bit nervous if he did the right thing when bill tells his school stories at the dinner table, so he finds an excuse to accompany Bill to a campus event where he can meet some of his students.

-His fears are quickly assuaged when he sees how beloved Bill is and how well he gets along with the kids. When he eventually joins in on one of these conversations, one of the students asks if he's Sixer. The students are excited by this. Bill tries to shut them up, to partial success.

OK I guess I just ended up writing the fic more or less so enjoy I guess lol.

Aww, this is adorable! Thank you! (And the fact that you're imagining a future for Bill makes me so happy.) He's absolutely be the weirdest professor in the school and he'd ADORE having a crowd full of trusting impressional minds whose parents are paying him to change the way they think. Talk about playing to his strengths.

Your idea is so wholesome, meanwhile the moment I saw "Professor Bill" I went,

#submission #marsupials of mars #fanart #bill goldilocks cipher #my art #(i call his aesthetic Dork Academia)

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eightball-chronicles · 1 month ago

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Cheering Up Daisuke!

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inspired by some absolutely delicious art by @al1en-invasi0n !!! check em out theyre so yummy :3

this MIGHT be my first time writing a tk fic (it is) so please don't bully me gangalang ,,, criticism is accepted just be nice to me [cry] also was writen on laptop so if the formats weird i apologize oops ...

lee!daisuke, ler!curly (NON SHIP !!!!!)

tw / cw : tks, starts off a wee bit sad, mention of jeopardy (j*mmy)

word count : 3151 under the cut

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"Get it through your goddamn skull! That vent is strictly off limits! Fully fuckin' collapsed inside!"

It was safe to say that Swansea was pissed. Daisuke, just released from the emergency foam he'd accidentally triggered, was awkwardly shuffling in place as he received yet another earful from his mentor. He messed up, sure, but really? His legs hurt already from being trapped not too long ago, he didn't want his head to follow suit.

"You looking to get impaled, electrocuted, and cooked?!" Swansea's usual scowl was far more intense than usual; it was obvious to Curly, at least. As captain, he knew he'd have to intervene soon. Before he could, however, Daisuke spoke out:

"Yeah, but like, you can't fit in there to fix it, right? So I can totally handle it."

An uncomfortable silence filled the utility room. the three men stood in as the younger's words marinated. Swansea's eye twitched, clearly agitated. Curly really needed to say something - if he doesn't, who knows what Swansea would-

"Captain."

He stiffened slightly, worried what the older man was planning. Swansea extended his hand out to the captain, demanding the axe. Curly saw Daisuke twiddling his fingers from the corner of his eye. Both their heads moved in unison with Swansea's arm. "Swansea," Curly started, handing the mechanic the axe, "this could've damaged the pods. You can't let something like this happen again."

"Yeah, yeah...I got it." Swansea took the axe and swung it to rest on his shoulder. "Loud and clear." Slightly less tense than before, Curly placed his hand on his hip. "Keep the axe until you've cleaned this all up, yeah?" Swansea nodded with a huff, shifting his attention to his intern. Who was still fidgeting his hands. He looked up shyly as he spoke: "It's ok to be big, boss! "My gramps was super huge! And he lived until, like, 60!"

Oh shit.

Curly nervously looked to Swansea, who had an unreadable expression on his face. Daisuke, unaware of the weight of his words, smiled softly. Curly's attention shifted when he noticed Jimmy standing by the utility room door. He saw it as a reason to excuse himself from the heavy tension between the two men before him. Taking advantage of the opportunity, Curly swiftly made his way towards his co-pilot. Daisuke, finally noticing Swansea's mood, silently cursed at his captain for abandoning him. And as soon as he did...

Swansea went off. Yelling all sorts of nonsense about safety and protocol that Daisuke didn't care to hear for the thirteenth time that week. Instead, trying to focus his attention on the conversation taking place behind his mentor. Unfortunately, he found it to be quite difficult. Something about being sane, psych evals, Anya - what was that about cartoon horses?

Just as the two men started to walk off, Swansea yelled louder, noticing his intern not listening. This brought a new wave of lecturing, and Daisuke was *not* having it. He didn't even care if Swansea said the winning lottery numbers, he just wanted him to shut up. Much to his dismay, that wouldn't be happening anytime soon...

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Curly just sent Jimmy away after receiving a letter from the higherups. He reread its contents again, confirming what it said as if he had somehow misread the whole thing. Pony Express is shutting down? How could this happen? How will he tell the crew? Although instructed to not break the news until later, Curly was unsure if he could do that. Sighing heavily, the captain decided to get some fresh air. Well, not exactly - just whatever was breathable outside the weighty air of the cockpit.

Ready to open the door at the end of the hallway, Curly was stopped by Swansea's presence behind it. He noticed something off immediately; his familiar frown replaced with a more concerned expression. Curly questioned it without a second thought, to which Swansea replied: "It's about Daisuke. After you left, I kind of went off. I...I think I went too hard on him. I've lectured him a bunch of times before, but he seemed more down this time."

"Oh? How so?" Curly asked, putting a hand to his chin. Swansea shifted his weight before continuing: "After I run my mouth to him, he usually puts on this dramatic act and pouts when I dismiss him to go somewhere else. This time seemed different. I don't know how to explain it, but I think I hurt the kid."

Swansea ended his explanation with a deep sigh as he lowered his head; he clearly felt guilty, and Curly understood as much. "Have you tried talking to him?"

"I'm not too sure how thrilled he'd be to see me right now. I don't wanna scare the poor thing any more than I already have. Plus, I don't know where he's at."

Curly nodded before Swansea spoke up again. "Do you think you can talk to him?" The captain thought for a brief moment before reaching out to the worried man, patting his shoulder. "Of course I can. I'll go look for him and cheer him up, promise! You can go rest if you'd like, just make sure the foam in utility gets cleared up later, yeah?"

To this, Swansea relaxed, wearing an uncommon smile. He nodded as he thanked Curly and walked off. The now determined captain headed off with a mission in mind; he was going to get Daisuke to smile, no matter the cost.

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If you disregard the sobs, the cargo room was quiet. The vast space left a slight echo on Daisuke's cries. He sat on the stairs, head between his knees and arms around his shins. His mind ran as fast as the ship he resided on. Why was Swansea so much angrier than usual? He was just trying to help; he was his intern after all. Then again, he practically called him fat and kinda sorta maybe implied he would die at 60...

Damn, why would he say that?

At this point, Daisuke's thoughts were racing a million miles a minute. The grip on his pants tightened as he cried. God, he's a screwup. No wonder his parents sent him away on this internship. He was annoying at home, and he's annoying in space. Will he ever learn to keep his mouth shut? He was so lost in his head that he didn't hear the door open behind him, or the footsteps that followed it.

"Daisuke?"

Said boy jumped a foot as he frantically wiped his eyes. He turned to face the source of the voice, trying to put on an act and forced a smile. But that smile shook, and Curly noticed. "Hey, captain! What's up?"

"I should be asking you that. Are you ok?"

Daisuke flinched slightly, his fake smile faltered as his shoulders began to tremble again. "I...I-I just...Swansea..." He didn't get anything else out after that, nothing that was intelligible, at least. He broke down again, turning around and placed his head back on his knees. Curly frowned as he made his way to Daisuke. He sat to his left on the stairs, rubbing the boy's back as he tried to soothe him. He let him cry it out until he was left only sniffling. Only then did he decide to speak out. "C'mon Daisuke, talk to me. Swansea found me earlier and said you were down. What's wrong?"

He let out a small whimper upon hearing his mentor's name. Shakily, he started: "I-I don't know, I should've just listened to him. I just wanted to help! B-but I screwed up...I-I could've gotten myself seriously hurt, o-or killed, or broken the pods! Those are like, s-super important! Even I know that, yet still acted c-carelessly. N-not only that, I totally offended S-Swansea! H-he probably hates m-me, I c-can't believe I said that...I'm a t-total f-failure, I-" He was getting more panicked as he spoke, voice as shaky as ever. Curly cut him off as he stopped rubbing his back and pulled the boy to him by his waist. Daisuke yelped slightly at the sudden change of contact, yet melted into the side hug.

"Kid," Curly started, "do you know why Swansea talked to me?" He felt a slight head shake on his shoulder. "Because he was worried for you, Daisuke. He told me he went too hard on you; that he feels bad he might have hurt you. I've never seen a more guilty face on him. And trust me when I say that means a lot. I've worked with him for I don't even know how long. He didn't mean to - Daisuke?"

His speech was cut when he heard small chortles from the boy in his arm. Curly glanced down, seeing his shoulders tremble once more, differently this time. "Did I...say something funny?" he asked, a confused smile on his face. Daisuke shook his head again, a hand over his mouth. "Nohoho, it's just - your hahand-" Curly's gaze shifted to where his hand resided on the intern's side; it had started subconsciously rubbing him there as it was on Daisuke's back. "What about my hand? Are you hurt here? Oh no, I'm so sor-"

"No! No, it's not that. I'm not hurt."

"Oh? Then what is it?"

Daisuke felt his face heat up. Thank god Curly couldn't see his face. He shifted slightly, unsure how to answer. "I just - it's not - you didn't - uh..." He peeked up to the captain as he trailed off, where he was met with a genuinely concerned face. "I'm afraid I don't follow, you know you can tell me anything, ri-"

"It just tickled is all..." He mumbled.

"Come again?"

With a whine, Daisuke buried his face further into his hand, leaning more onto Curly's shoulder. No matter how many times asked, he didn't say more. Curly, in attempt to get his attention, pinched the boy where his hand still laid; on his waist. What he didn't expect, however, was for Daisuke to chirp at the touch. Now it was Cury's turn to get his mind thinking. Which didn't last long, however, as Daisuke's squeaky voice spoke up:

"IT TICKLED ALRIGHT?!"

If he wasn't blushing before, he sure was now. Curly saw the back of Daisuke's neck turn bright pink. Realization struck him shortly after, where a mischievous grin appeared. To confirm the suspicion, Curly pinched his side again, earning another bird-like sound. Oh, he struck gold.

"Daisuke...are you-"

"Shut up!"

Daisuke's neck was now a deep red, his face buried deep in his palms while his fingers grabbed at his hair. His captain walked in on him crying, then he continued to cry *on* his captain, and now this?! Could this be any more embarrassing?! Well, yes, it could. Curly pinched his side for a fourth time. Daisuke whipped his head towards him only to be met with a grin covering half of the blonde's face. "Oh, Daisuke...that isn't a very nice way to speak to your captain now, is it?"

Fuck. He's cooked.

"W-w-wait, I-I didn't me-EEHEHEAA!"

Daisuke was interrupted by his own squeal as Curly opted for pinching at his waist repeatedly rather than in intervals. He instinctively curled in on himself; arms wrapped around his torso while he brought his knees to his chest. While trying to twist away from the offending hand, Daisuke unintentionally leaned into Curly, who went in with his other hand to pinch at the giggling boy's other side.

He squealed again from the tickly assault suddenly appearing elsewhere. Daisuke started jumping left and right, trying to escape from one hand only to be attacked by the other. Curly switched to poking before long, as this made the younger let out soft snorts as he weakly kicked his legs. The captain chuckled under Daisuke's evergrowing laughter, finding his reactions amusing. "I just cannot believe you told me to shut up. I'm wounded, Daisuke, and your words are the blade. How could you say such a thing?!"

Said boy could only whine in response, "I dihihidn't mehehean toooooo! C'mohohon cahaptahahahain!"

"Oh really? And how can I be sure of that, hm?"

"Plehehehease! I prohohomise! I'm sohohorry, I'm sorryyyyy!"

"Hmmmm...let me think." Curly pondered dramatically *way* longer than needed as he continued to poke at the intern's torso. Daisuke continued to squeak and giggle as he 'spaced out thinking.' Suddenly, the blonde perked up, "Alright, I've thought about it! I'm not stopping~" He then proceeded to move both his hands to Daisuke's hips, massaging the bone tenderly.

The reaction was instant. The brunette shot his arms down, body spasming on impact. Grabbing Curly's wrists, Daisuke cackled loudly, unable to control the volume of his voice. His legs now fully kicking out as he spoke, "AAAAAHAHAHA! SHIHIHIT! GOHOD DAMN IT CUHUHURLY STAHAHAHAP!" To this, he gasped loudly; he would've acted out clutching his pearls had his hands not been occupied. "And just who do you think you are?! Talking to me like this...you're awfully ballsy for someone in your position."

Daisuke could only answer in giggly babbles, unable to get any coherent words out as his hip bones got circles drilled into them. Curly only clicked his tongue in mock annoyance and grabbed Daisuke's left arm with his right, lifting it up. In once swift motion, he left the boy more vulnerable than ever. He gave him a break during this - he didn't want to kill the kid. Taking in big gulps of air, Daisuke had yet to notice the position of his arm. Only when he tried to rub his eyes did he glance up. He knew what was coming.

Panicked, he locked eyes with his captor, smile wide and bright as his face matched his complimentary floral shirt. "C'mohohon captain! Y-you knohow I didn't mean ihit right? Rihight! S-so let's juhuhust forget this ever happehened!" Daisuke tried to reason with him, but Curly was having none of it. On the contrary, he was having too much fun. "Nuh uh, kid. You've gotta learn how to speak to your superiors. Tsk, young ones these days thinking they're all that. Even though you crumble the second I do...*this*."

As he finished, his free hand quickly snaked behind Daisuke, going straight to his ribs. He pinched, squeezed, poked; anything to get the brunette to squeal. And squeal he did; his bubbly laughter echoed in the ample space of the cargo room. He tried to grab Curly's hand with his free one, but the captain kept dodging, scratching a new rib in the process. He chuckled as he felt weak tugging on the arm he held up. "

"Plehehehease, I'm sohorry! I sweahahahar! I-I mehehean it!"

"Oh, are you now? And how can I believe that?"

Daisuke groaned between giggles before he spoke, "I prohohomise! I promihihise I'm sohorry!"

Curly lifted an eyebrow at the intern, his bright smile showing off the gap between his front teeth. The sight brought his own smile to grow in size. "Okay, let's say I believe you then. You're forgiven, bud."

"Thehen why aren't yohohou stohohohoping?!"

He chuckled at the naivety shown before him, shifting so he faced the boy before he answered, "Did you forget why I came here in the first place?" Daisuke whined in response, brain short circuiting as he felt fingers drilling into his torso, letting out a scream at his uppermost rib was attacked. "Oh c'mohohohohOHAHAH - CURLY! Quit ihihit! That tickles!"

Curly shook his head slightly, seeing the intern's blush deepen upon saying the word. "Sorry, Daisuke. Swansea said you were being gloomy earlier. We can't have that now, can we?" Said boy threw his head back as Curly formed a vibrating claw against the space between his highest rib and armpit. He snorted loudly from the sensation, barely able to form coherent words. "OKAHAY, OKAY! I'LL CHEHEHEHER UHUP! PROMISE! I PROHOMIHIHISE!" Daisuke ended his plea with a wheeze, laughter getting more strained. Curly saw this as a sign to wrap things up, slowing his fingers until the tickling came to a full stop. He let go of the boy's hand, where it fell to his side as he curled into himself next to his captain.

Curly once again rubbed the younger's back, hoping he didn't go too far as he giggled between gasps of air. Daisuke held his sides, still feeling the tingly sensation on his body. Once his breathing calmed down a bit, Curly decided to speak up, "Are you alright? I didn't do too much, right?" He received a head shake in return; the redness on the boy's neck showed he was too flustered to speak.

"You really shouldn't be too hard on yourself, you know? Swansea cares for you. He doesn't show it much, but he really does. Sure, he gets mad sometimes, but that's just who he is. Like I said earlier, he's the one who came to me about you; he was worried sick!" Daisuke glanced up at Curly's speech, eyes widened slightly with curiosity. "To tell you the truth," the blonde continued, "his own kids moved out a while ago. I think he misses them; not like he'd ever admit that, though. I have a suspicion that you remind him of them. Gets his dad-gears turning. His fatherly instincts probably kicked in earlier when you set off the foam. Do you get what I'm trying to say?"

Daisuke nodded his head, a tiny nervous smile on his face as he took in the confession. Did Swansea really feel that way? "Do you really think that's true?" Curly's gaze met his, flashing him a proud grin; "I know it's true! Don't tell him I said anything, though. He'd deny it to the moon and back." To this Daisuke breathed a sigh of relief, letting a small chuckle slip. He sat up from his ball-like position to fully face Curly, returning the smile. "Thanks, captain!"

The captain felt his heart slightly melt at the sight of the joyous boy. Wrapping his arm around him for another side hug, rustling his hair with his other hand. "No worries! I'll always be here. As long as you keep that attitude at bay. Don't think I won't put you in check, young man." Curly poked his side as he finished, earning one last squeak from the previously giggly intern. Daisuke jumped out of the captain's arms before he could try anything again, dramatically taking a defensive stance. He winked in his silly pose. "No promises~" he sang as he walked backwards to the door. It automatically opened, causing him to turn around and jump slightly. Curly stifled a laugh as Daisuke turned around, face slightly dusted pink. He stormed off, grumbling as he left the cargo room for good. Curly giggled to himself, still sat on the stairs, reflecting on his crew and each of their colorful personalities.

Yup, he was glad to be captain.

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hai guys ^-^ i hope yall enjoyed !!! i love daisuke sm hes my gf i love my gf ♡

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#august writes #august fics #mouthwashing #mouthwashing tickle #mouthwashing tickles #lee!daisuke #ler!curly #tickle fic

163 notes · View notes

froggiewrites · 4 months ago

Note

Hi! I’ve been thinking about your Doflamingo fic nonstop since you posted it! Saw your requests were open and thought I’d throw mine into the mix.

If you’re interested in writing something else for Doffy, maybe f!reader teasing and edging him.. or she tries and he reminds her who’s in charge?

If that’s too much, feel free to ignore >.< I love your work, keep it up!

Anon, I need you to know this has been HAUNTING me since you sent it. Genuinely I was going to work on another request first and I couldn't because I couldn't stop thinking of Doffy in cuffs. Thank you so much for sending this in, I had a LOT of fun with it, it even turned out like double the length I was originally intending.

Coup D'état

Pairing: Doflamingo x Reader

NSFW

Summary: You try to tie Doflamingo down and take charge for once. As much as he seems to enjoy himself, his pride won't let you take control from him, and he decides he has to put you in your place. Warnings: Smut, Bondage, Edging, Overstimulation, Slight Praise Kink (Doflamingo receving), Switch Doflamingo Word Count: 3.8k

You have fun with Doflamingo. You enjoy your arrangement, where you have made yourself available and he takes his pleasure freely, really, you do. But the cocky smirks, the demanding hands, the smug laugh while he keeps you at his mercy…they grate at you.

The idea begins as an innocent little fantasy. You imagine your roles reversed, with him at your mercy for once. You imagine him pinned beneath you, moaning sweetly, crying out your name. You imagine his rough wandering hands at first pinned behind his back, then tied, then handcuffed to the bed. You imagine him, legs spread, cock twitching and red, absolutely puddy in your hands. You imagine pushing him closer and closer to the edge, never quite letting him reach it, as he screams and cries and begs for you to grant him the pleasure he usually takes so easily. You imagine him a hundred different ways, his voice ragged and wanting, and you imagine it frequently. But fantasies are just that: fantasy. It’s harmless.

Until you find yourself admiring a set of handcuffs.

They’re sea prism stone, of course. Used by the Doflamingo Family on their prisoners, kept far far away from Doffy himself. The chain is extra long, presumably to allow them to attach to a table or hang from the ceiling. They’re a tool of imprisonment, of torture, and they belong nowhere near your dear king.

They’re cold beneath your fingers. You rub your thumb lightly against the material, and you wonder if they’d take too much of his stamina. Surely they aren’t pure sea prism stone, not for simple prisoners. Surely they’d just be hard to break, and stop him from using his strings to force you to open them. He’d simply have to ask you nicely. And really, would that be so bad? For the high and mighty Doflamingo to simply ask for once?

You pocket the cuffs.

You still convince yourself this is all theoretical, simply an idea, even as you begin to plan how you would get him into the cuffs. Not when he’s sleeping, that’d be too big of an invasion. You don’t want to break his trust like that, or risk him waking up in such a vulnerable position after one of his nightmares. And you know he would never simply agree to put them on if you asked. He would tease you relentlessly for even thinking of it, pin you down and take you until you cried, until you agreed with him about what a silly idea it all was in the first place. So you needed to find an opportunity.

You try not to carry the handcuffs with you everywhere, both because that would get you caught and because it would make you look patently insane. Instead you hide them in Doflamingo’s room, like a slightly less insane person. If you find a moment to use them, you can, and if you don’t, no harm no foul!

Opportunity comes quicker than expected. Doflamingo calls on you, as he always does. He’s stressed, shoulders tensed, jaw clenched, vein popping on his forehead. He needs relief. You can provide that, you know. And what a relief would it be for him to allow himself to lose control for once? To let you take care of him? When was the last time someone took care of him willingly, with an open heart, and not simply because he demanded it? It certainly hadn’t happened in the time you’ve known him.

He’s laying back on the bed, already half dressed, splayed out and ready for you. He gestures for you to climb on top of him, get to work, and you do so gladly. The kiss is messy, all tongues and teeth as he works off his rage from the day. He readies himself to grab you, grope you as he always does, and is surprised to hear the soft click and feel the cold against his wrist.

“What…what is this?” In a rare moment of control, he doesn’t immediately throw you off of him in rage. He doesn’t even seem angry, really, just confused.

“They’re handcuffs, dear.” While he’s distracted staring at his contained wrist, you manage to capture his other one, the chain of the cuffs looped a few times around one of the wooden slats of the headboard to restrict his movement. He can still move his hands, but he can’t reach you when you’re below his chest. A precaution to ensure he doesn’t just grab your head and force you to work at his pace anyway.

“Sea prism stone handcuffs?”

“Yes.”

His eye twitches slightly as he gives a familiar irritated grin. “And why, exactly, am I wearing these?”

You consider your words carefully. “I want…to be able to give you what I’m willing. When I want to give it. Instead of you just taking it.” He doesn’t answer you for a moment as his brow furrows in what you fear is rage. “I can take them off, of course. I have the key, I can–”

His booming laugh cuts you off. “So you think you can handle being in control, little bird? Really?” He chuckles again, the sound deeply condescending, as everything about him is. “Be my guest, Try to see if you can handle power. Once you realize how out of your depth you are, you can unchain me and I’ll show you what happens to those who aim too high above their station.” There’s a challenge burning in his eyes, one he expects you to back down from, and it makes you bristle.

“I’m going to make you lose your mind, Doffy.” You slide down as you say this, hands dragging down his abdomen as you make your way to his clothed crotch. He just chuckles again, condescending smirk still firmly in place. Instead of touching him, however, you start to slowly strip, exposing your skin to his watchful eyes. He looks pleased until you hear the soft jangle of metal, and his expression sours as he realizes he can’t reach you.

“Get over here.” His voice leaves no room for argument. Unfortunately for him, you’re more than willing to make some.

“Hm, I don’t think so.” You throw your shirt somewhere off into the distance, starting to slowly work off your pants.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m not going to do that, darling. I’m perfectly fine down here.” You hear a thunk as he tries to pull his arms forward again, and you can’t help but laugh, the light airy sound doing nothing but pissing him off.

“Move. Now.”

“Hm…no.” You give him a gentle smile, trying to keep the obvious smugness to a minimum. The rage in his eyes indicates you’ve failed. Once your pants are off, you see his eyes linger, waiting for you to fully expose yourself to him simply because he wants it, and so you still your hands.

“Wha–You’re stopping there?” His voice is filled with a baffled frustration. He’s shifting in his restraints, legs kicking out slightly in protest. You softly pin his legs down with your hands, no force behind the gesture, and surprisingly, he doesn’t fight you.

“I’ll let you see more when you’ve earned it.”

“I have to earn it?”

“What, you think you deserve it just because?” Your tone is slightly too mocking, and you can see him pull his hands forward harder as the headboard creaks slightly. Uh oh. You need to mollify him a bit, so you try to coo sweetly instead. “If you’re good, and I know you will be, you’ll see everything you want soon. Will you be good for me?”

He scoffs, but he can’t hide the red in his cheeks or the tent in his pants. “Get to work,” he mutters, no real anger behind it.

“Of course, darling.” You pop the button on his shorts, relieving some of the pressure, and he lets out a quiet sigh. You slide them down quickly, as well as his boxers, freeing him entirely. He’s possibly harder than you’ve ever seen him, already twitching and ready, precum leaking from his tip. He’s clearly enjoying this more than he’s letting on.

You lean forward, giving him a good view of your tits, before running your fingers along his abdomen, your tongue following the same path. He lets out a quiet, shaky moan, the sweetest noise you’ve ever heard, before he quickly swallows the noise. You wish you could bite his neck, mark him enough that everyone would see your handiwork, but you know if you get within reach of his hands he’s going to do everything he can to force you to give him what he wants. You settle for leaning down and nipping at his hip bone, which causes him to yelp. You didn’t even know he was capable of making such a vulnerable sound. You look up from hooded lashes to see his cheeks flushed a delicious pink, his eyes watching your movements with rapturous attention. You bite again, harder this time, and he once again fails to suppress his cry. You kiss the spot, the action almost (but not quite) an apology, before moving further down, moving your attention between his legs.

Your hands run lightly over his thighs, feeling the way they tense and jump as he tries and fails to predict your next movement. They’re firm beneath your fingers, as strong as every part of him is. You lean down, nose brushing so very close to where he wants you, before you press a soft kiss to the inside of his thigh. His breath shudders, a shiver racking his body.

“Y–you’re really taking your time, aren’t you?”

You’re kind enough not to comment on the stutter, on the loss of composure he so desperately wants to hide from you. “Just taking time to appreciate the beauty in front of me, dear. You don’t normally let me worship you quite so thoroughly. This seemed like too good of an opportunity to pass up.”

“I—hah!—” he grits his teeth as a nip against his inner thigh makes him groan, “I thought you worshiped me quite thoroughly last time.” He’s referring to a few days ago, when he fucked your mouth, hips snapping harshly enough that you could barely talk for an entire day after. You had certainly spent enough time on your knees then, though your hands had been clasped around his thighs instead of in prayer.

“I suppose that’s true. Things are a little different today though, wouldn’t you agree?” With that, you finally give him a taste of what he wants, gently taking his cock in your hands. For a moment you just hold him, feeling the way his body reacts to the smallest touch, then you allow yourself to slowly start pumping. His hips jerk, trying to get more stimulation, and you take your hands away, tutting lightly. “Given, not taken, Doffy.”

You start again, and though his hips still twitch, you can tell he is making an active effort to sit still. Good behavior like that should be rewarded. You lean forward, giving the smallest of licks to his tip, and he gives you a beautiful, wanton cry in return. You slowly open your lips, engulfing him in the soft, wet heat of your mouth as one of your hands continues to work him. The other has a strong grip on his thigh to keep yourself steady, your fingernails digging into his skin. You had always been on the receiving end of such marks, never the giver, and now you finally understand his obsession with them. The small half crescents tell anyone else, I was here. He was mine. You can’t help but smile at the thought.

You slowly descend deeper, taking as much of him as you can without gagging, as he tries desperately not to buck his hips into you. You glance up at his face, finding his eyes closed, head thrown back, hands gripping onto the chain of the cuffs in an attempt to ground himself. His expression is pure bliss, nothing in his pretty little head but the feeling of you wrapped around him. You can’t see a trace of his earlier frustration, his furious need for control. You very gently scrape your teeth against him, and he nearly sobs. You continue to work his cock with your mouth and hand, every once in a while releasing his thigh to free up your other hand to play with his balls, working him closer and closer to his edge.

You can feel it coming, feel the electricity begin to run through him, and right before he releases, fully embraces the pleasure he has allowed you to bestow upon him, you stop.

You remove your mouth and hands, backing up, watching him hit a wall instead of his orgasm.

“Huh?” He makes a pathetic little sound of confusion, eyes shooting open to look at you sitting between his legs, blinking innocently. He looks bleary, unsure, still a little lost in the pleasure you so abruptly took away. “Why’d you stop?” He whines.

“I decided you’d been good enough to see what you wanted to earlier,” you purr, reaching for the clasp of your bra. You allow your tits to bounce freely as you throw the fabric to the floor, and his pupils grow as he watches their motion, nearly forgetting what you’d done in his arousal. You slowly slide off your panties as well, making sure he can see the notable wet spot from where they were pressed against your core. His eyes follow the spot until they’re also discarded on the ground, leaving you finally fully exposed to him, dripping and ready to take him. “Well, was it worth the wait?”

“Please,” he rasps, “Finish what you started.” You press your thighs together, instantly warm from the sound of his begging. How many people have had a king beg at their feet like this? How many people has he allowed to bring him to heel, defanged and downright docile? You may be the only one who ever has. You may be the only one who ever will.

“Who am I to deny you, dear, when you’re doing so very well?” You keep your voice sweet and kind, and you can see his cock twitch at the praise as he whimpers. You align yourself over him, slowly and deliberately sinking down onto him. He watches as you engulf him, easily taking him with how wet you are from his submission. Once your hips fully meet, you sit still for only a moment, allowing yourself time to adjust, and you once again hear the cuffs clink as he tries to reach for you. “Just one second, my love. You’re doing so well.”

After fully adjusting, you start to ride him recklessly and without abandon. You watch his face, taking in his fiery expression as he focuses on the bouncing of your breasts as you work. You allow yourself to glance down a moment, seeing the way his cock disappears into you and you fall into him, and moan at the sight. He’s beautiful, and he fills you so well. You pray that this won’t be the only time, pray that you’ll be able to tie him down and take him to your content as much as you’d like. You can see the ecstasy on his face, feel how relaxed he is beneath you. He’s enjoying this just as much as you are, if not more.

Your thighs continue to work, starting to burn as you continue to bounce on him, but you don’t stop, don’t falter, until his moans begin to reach a familiar pitch and you know he’s about to release, then you stop again, pulling yourself off a him, and sitting back again. He nearly sobs.

“Ah, not quite time, Do–”

Snap.

You briefly see splintered wood flying through the air before you’re pinned on your stomach, cold metal wrapping around your midsection and pinning your arms. Doflamingo is behind you now, rough hands grabbing your hips and digging in. You feel his nails leaving their mark as he leans in to growl in your ear.

“I was gracious enough to let you think you were in control, and this is how you repay me? Teasing me, degrading me, keeping the pleasure that is rightfully mine? I think you have a lesson to learn.” The chains dig into your skin as his hands slowly begin to move, roughly grabbing at any bit of skin he can. Breasts, thighs, ass. Anything within reach is his, as it always is and always should be. “You should be grateful I’m kind enough to teach it, little bird. Look at me, showing you grace. Pay close attention.”

He pulls the chain tighter and you cry out, a sound that makes his furious grin grow even wider. He pinches your nipples, and you can feel his warmth breath against your ear as he whispers to you. “Did you really think you could do whatever you wanted?”

You whine as he tugs again. “Was it just what I wanted? You seemed like you enjoyed it a lot.”

You can’t see his face, but you can feel the heat it radiates, hear the way he swallows to compose himself. “You’re delusional. One little gift to you and you think you can do whatever you want.”

“I—ah!—I would never do anything you didn’t want, Doffy. I did it because you enjoyed it, that’s all.”

“Lies,” he huffs out, but you know the reason he buries his head in your neck is embarrassment, plain and simple. Even as he bites down, nearly hard enough to draw blood, you know in your heart he’s just desperately trying to regain the control he gave you, make you forget the power you had over him. His hands begin to shift lower as he presses his back further into you, ensuring you can feel every inch of him. He aligns himself with your entrance, plunging in in a single smooth stroke. He doesn’t give you a moment of rest, pounding into you without mercy immediately, using the chains and his strong hands to maneuver you into whatever position he desires.

He presses your face into the mattress, balls slapping against your ass as he continues to take and take and take. You’re breathless, making soft whimpers and whines as you feel him fill you, taking you deeper and deeper, hitting spots you couldn’t have dreamed of hitting yourself. His fingers dig into your hips as he pulls you impossibly closer towards him, hard enough that you know he’ll leave bruises.

“Who’s in charge here, little bird? Do you remember yet?”

“You, Doflamingo!”

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I couldn’t hear you. Who’s in charge?”

“You, Doflamingo! You’re in charge!”

“There we go. Was that so hard?” He grants you a bit of mercy in the finger he brings to your clit, but in return he pulls the chains tighter, watching as they push into your skin. “See what happens when you know your place, dear?”

You can only moan in response, growing closer and closer to your edge, and you expect him to pull away, take your pleasure away just like you did his. You’re pleasantly surprised when he allows you to fall over the edge of your orgasm, and even more so when he continues to work you through it, extending and intensifying your pleasure. It’s only once you come down from your high and feel his rough fingers push even hard into your oversensitive clit that you realize what’s happening.

You cry out, trying to pull your hips away, but he continues to thrust into you, not slowing for even a moment. “What, you wish to deny me even now? I guess you haven’t learned your lesson quite yet.”

You let out weak moans as he continues to work you, again and again, never granting you a moment’s respite. His hands continue to wander as he leaves his marks on you: bites on your neck, your shoulders, your back, and fingerprints on your breasts, stomach, and hips. Every inch of you is covered in him, as it should be, as he wanted, and you’re left sobbing beneath him, entirely overwhelmed. He doesn’t stop at your first orgasm, or your second, or your third. It is only as your fourth orgasm approaches, heat rising again in your stomach, that he finally slams into you one final time, shooting his cum deep into you, filling you fully as you clench once again around him, your body trying to pull him ever closer even now.

He collapses on top of you, pinning you to the bed, his heavy breaths the only thing you can hear over the blood rushing in your ears. He wraps you in his arms, forehead pressing into your shoulder blades. He only speaks after composing himself, once again crushing any vulnerability he showed earlier. “Do you understand now?”

“Yes, Doffy.” Your voice is weak from crying out, but you ensure he hears you, even as you’re muffled in the bedsheets. A silence follows, like he’s waiting for something else, but you cannot grasp it, your brain entirely mush after the marathon you’ve just had.

“You’re forgetting something, little bird.” He sighs into your back. “What else do you have to say to me?”

You cannot for the life of you figure out what he wants, so you go for the only sentiment you can manage to hold in your thoughts for more than a second. “I love you?”

He barks a laugh, voice filled with amusement. “Appreciated, but not quite right. Try again.”

You think back to his beautiful whimpers, the look of bliss on his face. Then you recall the way he hid from you after. “I’m..sorry?”

“There we go.” His touch is as gentle as he is capable of as he caresses your thigh. “Now, where is the key to these things?”

“In the pocket of my pants.”

His warmth leaves you, and you make a soft noise of discontent against your will, one that makes him laugh at you again. He carefully removes the chain from you, eyeing the angry red marks it left behind. He leans down, and you can hear the telltale click of the cuffs opening. You half expect him to throw them somewhere, either out the window or out the door, anywhere to ensure they’re far far away from him. Instead you’re surprised to see him tuck them into the gap between the mattress and the bed frame, along with the key. Keeping them close and available. Interesting.

He lays down again, grabbing you and easily maneuvering you into his side as he allows himself to relax again.

“So…you liked the cuffs?”

“No.”

“But you–”

“Don’t try my patience anymore than you already have, little bird. Just be grateful I’m letting you sleep here after the stunt you pulled.” Even with his harsh words, he pulls you closer, burying himself into your warmth. You can’t help but smile.

“Of course, dear.”

Tag List: @pandora-writes-one-piece

#doflamingo x reader #donquixote doflamingo x reader #doflamingo x you #donquixote doflamingo #one piece x reader #x reader #doflamingo x y/n

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denwritesandcries · 1 year ago

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YJS HCs – body types

Pairings: Yellowjackets x fem!reader

Summary: Okay so, I was thinking about body types so I could add details to my Shauna fic, really small things like skin marks and other stuff and that made me think about the other yjs too. I'm not used to writing headcanons, but here are a few that I couldn't get out of my head.

Word count: 1,9k.

Content: my personal headcanons, cursing, suggestive, fluff, insecurities, hurt/comfort, recent pop culture references so i guess modern!AU??

Note: This is so random and specific I don't think anyone will read it but I wanted to write it so badly.

English is not my first language.

shauna shipman

- I think Shauna is the most athletic of the girls, since in the first episode it’s said that she is the fastest on the team. Not necessarily thin; she is solid. Solid and warm. A warm wall seeking your touch all the time.

- She would always try to keep one hand on you and every time she touched you, her skin would be scalding hot, as if she barely needed gloves in the winter and only wore them because you told her to.

- Big spoon! She likes to wrap her arms around you and let her body wrap you completely when you cuddle or sleep together, her weight relaxing against you.

- Shauna is strong, like really strong and she knows it, her arms and legs are toned from training and she takes advantage of this to tease you at any opportunity, carrying things for you willingly (your backpack, shopping, whatever, she would be exactly like the *aggressively moves all groceries to one hand to hold yours* meme), rolling up the sleeves of her flannels ‘cause the muscles stand out, pressing you against walls/counters or simply carrying you during makeout sessions and nothing you do will take away the smug smile on her lips – well, barely nothing.

- She would also wear tank tops and shorts frequently just to make you nervous and receive compliments. It's ridiculous ‘cause she really thinks she's being subtle (she isn't).

“Shaunie, you sure you don’t want a jacket?”

“No, I’m good like that.” She's not, but she won't admit it.

“It’s raining.” You insist.

“The cold doesn't bother me anyway.” She shrugs, but leans back against you, placing her chin on your shoulder.

You snort, “Sure thing then, Elsa.”

- Shauna has a happy trail! Little baby hairs going up to her navel where she melts into a puddle when you caress her, goosebumps covering her skin in the same second.

van palmer

- I believe Van has rough hands from her goalie gloves! They're always warm even if the rest of her body isn't ‘cause of the constant movement – she expresses herself a lot with her hands too. She likes to run them down your sides just to see how your skin crawls, sometimes she does it out of nowhere just to scare you because she thinks it's funny.

- I think her skin is very sensitive, the kind that's full of moles and burns easily in the sun – you're constantly reminding her to put on sunscreen, but it's no use – she loves it when you trace patterns on her spots before bed or when you're bored somewhere.

- Her skin being so sensitive also means that hickeys and scratches are really hard to hide on her. She doesn't mind, in fact she seems to enjoy it a lot, you catch her a lot of times watching the marks spread across her shoulders and neck as they take days to disappear. That doesn't stop her from teasing you tho.

“It's been a week and there's still a purple mark on my neck. What are you, a damn vampire?” She mocks.

“Nah, you act like you wouldn't love me to be your Edward Cullen.”

She lifts her chin at you, “A leech then.”

"Van!"

- She has a belly and is very proud of it! She says it's the best for defending the goal and that it makes her fall to catch the ball less painful; She'll flex her muscles like a gym athlete when she's changing playfully just to seduce you (it works every time). She loves it when she lies in your arms after a bad day and you squish her tightly, it helps her calm down.

- She also has a happy trail, but she is too ticklish, like really ticklish. Many of your makeout sessions end up interrupted by her giggling when you drag your hands too softly under her shirt, she prefers firm touches.

- Van definitely has lots of small scars spread across her body from accidents over the years, that little weirdo (affectionate).

nat scatorccio

- Nat is as pale as a ghost, it would be impossible not to notice when you made her blush for any reason. She would try to distract you so you don't pay attention to it, but it wouldn't put off anything.

- The dark circles under her eyes are extremely pronounced, both due to her paleness and the heavy makeup she wears, so you always know when she's had a bad day or simply hasn't slept enough. She will complain incessantly about you making her stop and rest, but she will always do what you ask.

- I truly believe that she has lots and lots of moles all over her body, especially on her back.

- Some are bigger than others, large spots on the skin and she pretends that her heart doesn't warm with the fascination you have for them, but the prominent red face says everything you need to know.

“They look like small constellations, Nat," you sigh dreamily, hands soft on her naked skin, “Man, I wish I knew a single shit about stars so I could name them.”

“I’m shirtless in front of you and that’s what you’re thinking about?”

- I think she would have a lot of acne, especially on her face from sleeping and forgetting to take off her cheap makeup often, you would have to do a skin care routine together for her to really start taking care of it.

- She definitely has a tattoo scar that she got from one of those shady professionals before she was eighteen and didn't take care of it properly. You almost freaked out when she showed it to you out of fear that it would get infected. In the end she ended up with a weird drawing and a skin failure, but for Nat it was totally worth it, she says it makes her look like a badass (it's definitely not just because you kiss the mark every time you see it).

lottie matthews

- Alright then, let me tell you, this girl is FREEZING from head to toe. No matter how well she dresses up, her whole body will remain strangely cold, which worries you at a certain point, so what better way to keep her warm than to have her glued to you like a koala all day?

- She would place her cold hands on your neck just to bother you and then smile innocently when you took them in yours to rub them and blow warm air on them. That smartass.

- Lottie is tall (at least a lot taller than me) and I think she would have a lot of growth marks, you don't grow like that as a teenager without some.

- Light streaks on the back, hips, legs and thighs that would vary in tone over time. I think she would have the habit of hiding them so that people wouldn't comment, wearing long stockings with her skirts at school parties.

- She would be so flustreaded if you showed that you liked them by running your hands up her inner thighs, scratching her back gently to feel the smooth texture of the taut skin. It makes her feel so loved.

- She has sun spots on her face, around her eyes and cheeks. You think it's so beautiful that you could admire it for hours, anywhere, but you usually do it in bed in the morning.

“Are you watching me sleep, dear?” Lottie mumbles as she wakes to find you giving her a love gauze.

“Hm-hm,” you deny quietly, “‘Not watching you sleep. I’m watching you.”

“Oh.”

jackie taylor

- Now, Jackie would have stretch marks and be completely insecure about them. The girl needs constant validation about everything that concerns her and you better give it to her, she just wants to feel loved.

- Marks on her hips and chest that most of the time wouldn't even be visible, but she would still remember they were there. You run your hands down her sides as gently as possible and she will have tears in her eyes as you snuggle, heart warm.

- Your support helps her feel more comfortable with her own body over time, but she still wants compliments every day and will give you hints ‘til you comply with her requests.

- Jackie has freckles! This is actually one of the things she likes most about her face, the trail of dots around her nose and eyes. She’ll melt into a puddle on the floor if you start to kiss them one by one, but will lose patience if you decide to count them and stop the act of leaving wet kisses on them. She's not very good at waiting.

“Babe!” She whimpers.

“Just a second, sweetie, I’m almost finishing.” You continue, a look of pure concentration on your face, muttering “35, 36, 37…”

“No.” She says, hand grabbing the collar of your t-shirt and pulling you against her, “Come back now.”

- Jackie isn't necessarily icy, but she gets cold very easily and isn't shy about asking for your coat or jacket when you're together. Your girlfriend is a princess, better treat her like one. She'll squeeze her body against yours in bed and steal the blankets to stay warm.

- She has spots on her arms! Hundreds of light spots on the outside of the wrists to the shoulders, it's almost imperceptible, but so cute. Make sure to always let her know how beautiful she is.

misty quigley

- I think Misty has acne scars on her shoulders and cheeks, little red dots spreaded. She don't mind it most of time, but can be very insecure about it.

- She would be really suspicious if you just showered her with compliments out of nowhere just ‘cause you think she’s upset, so acting is better. Actions speak more to her.

- Place soft kisses on her shoulders, gently bite her cheek so she rolls her eyes in that nervous way she does. Make her feel beautiful as she is – because she is.

- She would be so pleased with you spoiling her that she would pretend to be sad about it a lot of times just to get your attention, she is an evil little genius. It’s captivating.

- She has freckles too! Little dots on her face so lightly that you only see them when she takes off her glasses, but they are there.

“I kiss you everyday, how did I never notice your freckles before?”

“Oh, I don't know.” She shrugs innocently, “Maybe you should take a closer look, baby.”

- She thinks she's so smooth but in reality she's a mess, the girl can't pick up social cues to save her life.

tai turner

- Okay so, Tai is the type who takes the football really seriously and works hard to win and to do that she would try to stay in shape as much as possible. I can easily imagine her doing extra training sessions and her friends teasing her about it, ‘cause Tai, it's a high school team.

- Because of this, I think she would have stretch marks on her back and calves, light fine lines that stand out against her dark skin. These are marks of her effort, so she shows them with great pride.

- She gets very smug and her skin crawls when you run your nails over the marks on her back.

- Tai is strong, strong enough to break someones leg on the field (sorry not sorry allie) and will show off for it whenever she gets the chance. She likes to wrap her arms around you from behind and lift you off the ground when she's passing by.

- She has sun spots on her face and arms! You think it's so cute, but if you say something silly and cheesy about it she'll roll her eyes and tell you to stop embarrassing her.

You sigh, “You are so, so pretty, Tai.”

“And you are so, so lame.” She echos, “...Come here, let me kiss you.”

- Happy wife, happy life. Always make her feel appreciated, she deserves it.

#yellowjackets x reader #lottie matthews x reader #nat scatorccio x reader #natalie scatorccio x reader #van palmer x reader #misty quigley x reader #taissa turner x reader #shauna shipman x reader #jackie taylor x reader #yellowjackets #yjs #yjs headcanons #denwrites

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copper-16 · 10 months ago

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You Didn't Let Me Finish

Ingrid had a rule that she had held onto ever since she started working as a stripper: she doesn't sleep with clients.

Usually.

Ingrid doesn't usually sleep with clients. Exceptions must be made for most rules anyways though, right?

(a/n: Yes it's a stripper fic. I mean absolutely no disrespect to anyone, this is just a silly little idea I had in my head and decided to write on a whim. Feel free to skip if it's not your thing! Also I didn't proofread it, so ignore any mistake lmao)

Sometimes, Ingrid wasn’t exactly sure how she had ended up here.

The Norwegian had done a semester abroad in Spain when she was in university, and found that she absolutely loved the city. So when the opportunity to move to Barcelona presented itself after graduation, she jumped at the chance to go. Her study abroad had been in Madrid, but it was still Spain, right?

And the Norwegian actually preferred Barcelona to Madrid, the longer she lived here. She enjoyed the energy of the city, how posh and lively it was, how wonderfully kind the people were. The job she was offered was modest, and despite the fact that she got by, Ingrid wasn’t all that comfortable with living from paycheck to paycheck if she didn’t have to.

Which was exactly how she had found herself at Dollhouse. It was the most exclusive strip club in Barcelona, catering only to those clients who could pay for the supreme services, and they only accepted the best when it came to their girls.

The owner had taken one look at Ingrid, roving his eyes up and down the dark haired woman with interest before he was nodding, clearly pleased with what he was seeing. Her ability to speak both English and some Spanish came in handy, and she became a regular for many of the international clients.

Ingrid was paid well, only worked three nights a week, and it helped her to nearly double her salary with the tips she was given. She gave lap dances, some pole work, did a few shows on the main stage, served customers when asked. It was an easy gig, and she couldn’t help but feel appreciated given the reaction that she could stir up in most men. It was addicting, really. She felt powerful and in control, her confidence only rising the longer she worked there.

It wasn’t sex. People often got that mixed up, that being a stripper meant sex. It could mean sex, if that was what the girls wanted, but Ingrid had little interest in the older men who came into her rooms. She was as gay as they came, and it was very rare for them to receive a female client, and Ingrid had never had the pleasure of having one, not personally.

But she wasn’t entirely opposed to the idea, if the right person came along.

It’s just, nobody had.

But perhaps that would change.

—

It was a Sunday night, which meant that the Dollhouse was relatively calm. Ingrid was in the back room with a few of the other girls, getting ready for her show in around thirty minutes when Miguel came back.

“Ingrid, Misa!” He called, and both women turned to look at him, one eyebrow raised. They stood, setting their makeup down to walk over to their boss, who was in charge of the scheduling.

Miguel was gruff but kind, and he always made sure the girls were comfortable and not exploited. He could be a bit rough around the edges but he never failed to make the girls feel cared for as people and not just objects, and in return they did their best to make his life as painless as possible. It was a good gig, they all knew that, compared to the nasty bastards at some of the other places around town.

“We have two clients in separate private rooms. Footballers, booked after winning something big I think, I want the two of you to take them,” Miguel explained, and he looked between Misa and Ingrid with a critical eye, clearly trying to decide who to send where.

Despite the fact that Ingrid was Norwegian and Misa was Spanish, the two actually looked quite similar. Ingrid was paler, taller, and less tattooed than Misa was, but in terms of build and physical appearance, they were rather alike.

“Misa, I want you in Room One and Ingrid in Room Two, Misa your Spanish is better than Ingrid’s. The girls will cover your sets for the night so don’t worry about that. They’ve booked for the rest of the night so make sure to give them their money's worth but you’re free to leave when you are done, alright?” Miguel decided, and Ingrid and Misa both nodded.

“Oh and–”

“If they do anything creepy we will come find you,” Ingrid and Misa rattled off in perfect unison, and Miguel scowled at his predictability before he shooed them away to go get changed, the two women smiling at the action.

Ingrid and Misa walked back to the changing room, each of them looking through the different lingerie sets they could wear.

“What are you thinking?” Misa asked as she pulled out a purple lace set before shaking her head, shoving it back in her closet.

“Well if they paid for the whole night then clearly they have money, probably want something expensive and distinguished. Footballers can be assholes and handsy, and they think too much with their dicks and not enough with their heads,” Ingrid scoffs lightly, and Misa snorts as she looks over at the dark haired woman’s closet.

“Hmm…you’re going to wear this,” Misa decides, pulling out a hunter green piece of lace, and Ingrid raises her brow before nodding her agreement, looking over at the Spaniard’s closet.

“And you’re going to do this, I’ve seen you in it before and your chest looks amazing in it,” Ingrid says with an air of finality, and Misa smirks at the outfit before they both went into their changing rooms to slip their clothes off and put the lace on. They don’t bother with robes, the hallway to the private rooms is secluded from the rest of the club anyways, so the two women make their way back together, chatting lightly about their day jobs, what their weeks look like.

By the time they make it to Room One and Room Two, the women are both relaxed and ready to do their job. Neither of them really has any idea what lies beyond the door besides a footballer, so with one final goodbye they both enter the passcodes to the room before stepping in.

Ingrid closes the door behind her before turning around, and she can’t help the way that her eyebrows jump in surprise when she sees who it is sitting at the table.

The room is set up with a bed, a couch and two loveseats, as well as a table with four dining room chairs. Lap dances are usually given in the chairs at the table or the loveseats, but the rest of the room can be utilized however the girls may choose to.

The thing that surprises Ingrid though, is the fact that the person sitting at the table is a woman, and not a man.

The woman stands, the chair rustling against the floor as she pushes it back before she steps forward to examine Ingrid. Her gaze is curious but not sharp, her entire body language relaxed. She’s clearly a footballer, her body muscled and well built.

She can’t be more than a few years older than Ingrid, and she’s just an inch or two shorter than her with light, sandy blonde hair that is straightened just past her shoulder. Her hazel eyes take Ingrid in, the light lace that covers her body, and she nods appreciatively for a moment before cocking her head.

“Hello,” she offers, and Ingrid is quick to respond, the woman’s gaze making her feel a little bit hot.

“Hi,” Ingrid responds, not entirely sure what to say. The woman was speaking to her in English, so clearly she recognized that the Norwegian was a foreigner, though she wasn’t exactly sure how she noticed that before she had even spoken.

“Why did they send you in here to me?” The woman asked curiously, her hazel eyes still boring into Ingrid. The question is surprising, considering the fact that they were at a strip club. They sent her in here to do her job, but the Norwegian gets the sense that isn’t what this woman means, so she answers with more candor.

“My coworkers' Spanish is better than mine. Presumably your friend only speaks Spanish, but you clearly can speak English well, so here I am,” Ingrid supposes, and the woman nods slowly before her lips quirk up in a smirk.

“My friend can speak enough English for tonight, I promise. I think you should switch rooms…I insist actually. I think she’ll be quite charmed by…” the woman looks down at Ingrid once more before her gaze returns to the dark haired woman’s eyes, “...you.”

Ingrid’s eyebrows raise in surprise before she nods in agreement, never one to say no to a client request unless it really was something she couldn’t do.

“If that’s what you wish…” Ingrid trails off, still unsure of the woman’s name.

“Alexia. And my friend's name in the other room is María,” she supplies, and Ingrid regards her for another minute before slipping out of the room, Alexia turning back to sit down in the chair she had been in originally.

The Norwegian walks over to Room One briskly, rapping on the door three times before she steps back, waiting for Misa to come out. It only takes a few seconds for the Spaniard to slide out of the room, her eyebrows furrowed in clear confusion.

“We need to switch, the other woman requested it,” Ingrid explains, and Misa nods for a second before she looks back at the room.

“Can you believe it’s women? And god, if the second one is as hot as this one…” Misa trails off, practically drooling, and Ingrid can’t help but laugh lightly, because really she quite agrees. Misa is the only other gay woman at Dollhouse, and Ingrid finds solace in the fact that she isn’t alone, calmed by the Spaniards presence.

“I don’t think you’ll be disappointed. Her name is Alexia,” Ingrid adds before the younger woman can leave, and Misa nods before she gestures back at the room next to them.

“Names Mapi,” Misa supplies, and Ingrid’s eyebrows furrow at the fact she’s now been told two separate names for this woman. But honestly, if she was even half as attractive as the first woman, Ingrid was seriously going to be in trouble.

The first woman, Alexia, hadn’t exactly been her type per say, but objectively she was very attractive.

As Misa disappears down the hallway Ingrid takes a deep breath, trying to center herself and remain calm at what is about to occur. She knew what the deal was with men, how to dance and act.

But women were different, Ingrid knew that even if she had never had a female client. They were more watchful, more appreciative, more in tune.

And well, if this woman was as attractive as Misa was making her out to be, she might be in a bit of trouble.

The green eyed woman punched in the code before she stepped into the room, once again shutting the door behind her.

Ingrid turned around, taking in the room and the woman who was settled on one of the room's two armchairs.

And god was Misa wrong.

This woman wasn’t attractive.

She was mind numbingly, astronomically stunning, and it takes everything in Ingrid not to let her jaw physically drop.

The woman had her hair down in beach waves, lighter highlights against the brunette of her hair accenting the dark strands, framing dark eyes and supple, light pink lips that are set in a smirk.

She’s wearing a button down that has far too many buttons undone, but it only serves to show off her cleavage, biceps straining against the tight black fabric. She has on gray dress pants, and she shifts her shirt sleeve up to glance at her watch before she stands, making her way over to Ingrid.

“Hola princesa,” the woman greets softly, her voice raspy and deliciously low, and if Ingrid wasn’t wet at just the sight of her, she was now.

If there was anyone who was going to break her rule of not sleeping with someone, it would be this woman. That was assuming she wanted to as well, but if the glint in her eyes was anywhere near as serious as it looked, Ingrid thought her chances might be relatively high.

She scrambled to gather as much Spanish as she possibly could. It was a little pathetic that she wasn’t more fluent, but between this being her third language and the fact that her work was in English and most of her friends spoke the language, her Spanish could definitely use some work.

“Hola,” Ingrid rushed to reply, internally cringing at how bad her accent was while understanding washed over the woman’s face, and she switched to a heavily Spanish accented English.

“Ah, English, no?” The woman suggested, no malice in her tone, and Ingrid let out a small sigh before she nodded.

“Si,” she acquiesced in a bit of a defeated tone, but the woman simply tipped her head back in a delicious laugh, something light and breathy, her neck on full display. She had a tattoo on it, and Ingrid could see more ink peaking back at her on the woman’s available skin.

It did absolutely nothing to help the green eyed woman’s aching core, but she ignored it in favor of returning to the problem at hand, to the fact that she needed to get on with the performance for this woman.

“Sit?” Ingrid asked gently, gesturing to the table and chairs that surrounded it, walking over to pull one of them out.

The woman made no move to walk over, seemingly not done with the conversation.

“I’m Mapi,” she said instead, and Ingrid raised her brow at the woman, clearly a little curious.

“I’ve been told by a confident source that your name is María,” Ingrid sidesteps the introduction to ask the question, watching the way that the woman’s eyes darkened with lust when she says her name.

“Have you now?” Mapi drawls, the surprise clear in her face. The smirk is back, and she finally begins to walk toward the table, but before she sits she stands in front of Ingrid, still only looking her in the eyes.

The Norwegian keeps waiting for her to drop her eyes down, to look over the lace that could hardly be described as modest, but the smaller woman seems hell bent on keeping her eyes trained on Ingrid’s.

“And you are?” She asks lightly, the dark haired woman answering her question quickly and easily.

“My name is Ingrid,” she murmurs, once again gesturing at the chair, and this time Mapi takes her up on her offer. The Spaniard sits down before she looks up at the Norwegian, who strolls over to turn the music on.

“Any requests?” Ingrid questioned, looking back at Mapi to find the woman staring at her with hooded eyes and a hungry gaze. She shakes her head, finding no offers.

“Whatever you prefer,” Mapi decides, and Ingrid observes the woman for a moment before nodding, turning back to the speaker system. She sets up her playlist, playing the song TiO by Zayn, which had been a recent favorite of hers.

The song is a bit of a quicker pace, which she liked to start out with. It was easy to flash the quick movements before she let things get sensual, and her approach for this woman is absolutely no different.

She turns back toward the table, walking over in long strides before she comes to rest in front of Mapi, her ass pressed back into the table behind her.

“Can I touch you?” Ingrid asks in a low voice, tossing her thick, dark hair over one shoulder. Mapi looks up at her with an unreadable expression, holding eye contact before she nodded carefully.

The Norwegian stood from the table, stepping forward. She turned, rounding the chair that Mapi was currently settled in, just watching. The brunette didn’t look back at her, but did meet her eyes when Ingrid finally circled all the way back to the front of the chair.

It’s at this point that Ingrid brings her hand up, resting it over the Spaniard’s collarbone carefully. She slides her hand up, coming into contact with bare skin as she pushes her middle finger inside the cuff of the woman’s popped shirt.

The dark haired woman plays with the collar for a moment before she begins moving once again. She drags her fingers around to Mapi’s back, stopping when she is standing in front of the Spaniard’s back, pressing both of her palms to the brunette’s back, fingers down. She slowly runs her hands down, into the small of the footballers back, before she shifts, moving them to caress her sides gently.

She’s gone as soon as she arrived, however, continuing around the chair. Her hands travel over the Spaniard’s arm, down her side and around the underside of her chest before she splays it over the top of the brunette's abdomen.

The muscle beneath her palm is rock hard, and she cannot help but let out a harsh breath at the feeling. She hopes that the footballer doesn’t notice, but when she looks up to see that Mapi is smirking back at her, she considers the effort fruitless.

Ingrid’s hands retract from the Spaniard’s skin, and she shifts so that she can move her hips down and into the brunette’s lap, her back to Mapi’s front. It’s a bold first move, but she’s quick, in time with the song for just a tease before she’s gone, several steps away.

Mapi is watching her with eagle eyes as Ingrid runs her hands up her own sides, squeezing at her own chest, letting her eyes flutter shut at the feeling for emphasis. It’s a little pornographic, and perhaps a little bit of a sell out, but she doesn’t care.

The Norwegian makes sure to spend several moments just watching, teasing herself in whatever way possible, reveling in the way that the Spaniards eyes darken at the sight. Her nipples strain against the lace, hard and begging to be freed, but the dark haired woman ignores them in favor of returning to the footballer.

The song changes to Lose Control by Teddy Swims, something more slow and sensual. Ingrid stalks back to the brunette, her intent clear when she places her hands on the woman’s knees, sliding them up her thighs before squeezing, lightly.

The Norwegian moves her hands up the Spaniard’s side as she settles in her lap, her knees spread wide as she presses forward into the brunette’s personal space. She moves her hips slowly in an infinity pattern, sensual and enough to drive any man crazy.

And yet still, Mapi has yet to touch her. Her arms remain listless at her sides, rather awkwardly. It’s a staunch change from the male clients she has often, who feel that they are allowed to touch, to take as much as they want. They consider the fact that Ingrid has been paid for, that they are allowed to do whatever they want to her, within reason.

This doesn’t seem to be the case for this woman, however, and it only turns Ingrid on more. She leans forward even further, placing one hand on the woman’s shoulder while the other remains firmly planted on her side. Her lips are on the shell of the woman’s ear as she speaks, her voice low.

“You can touch…you know,” the Norwegian drawls, her words breathy and filled with lust. She leaned back to look the footballer in the eyes, noting that her gaze was dark, the way her tongue flicked out to wet her lips.

They held the others' gaze for a moment, neither moving until finally, finally Ingrid felt two hands carefully, respectfully placing themselves on her side, down toward her lower back.

It was the Norwegian who moved them, removing her hands from the Spaniard to place hers over the brunette’s, sliding them lower, lower, lower, until they were resting firmly on her ass. Only then did Ingrid remove her own hands, planting them on the back of the chair as she rolled her hips down into the brunette.

Mapi was staring at her intently, and she gently palmed at the Norwegian’s ass to test, rewarded greatly for her efforts when Ingrid arched into her, letting out a breathy noise.

The dark haired woman’s body could only be described as fluid as she moved above the Spaniard, finally moving her leg to hook over the back of the chair, wrapping around the brunette’s back.

Mapi slid her hands up, pulling Ingrid’s body more flush with hers. The Norwegian smiled, their faces just centimeters from one another. The Spaniard’s breath on hers was hot and insistent, her eyes roving over Ingrid’s face, finally eyeing the lace that covered the dark haired woman’s body.

“You like it?” Ingrid purred, a smile evident in her voice as she gripped Mapi’s shoulders. The Spaniard scoffed lightly, looking back up at Ingrid.

“You could say that,” the brunette hummed, her voice thick and low. It sent a shot of heat straight to the Norwegian’s core, and she arched even further into the smaller woman.

Ingrid turned her head, brushing her nose against the Spanaird’s temple, her breathing shallow.

“I don’t sleep with clients,” the Norwegian explained, and felt the shift immediately from the woman beneath her, the instant reaction to move away.

Ingrid had to give the footballer that, she was nothing if not respectful. It only made the Norwegian want her more, only made her flush further at the thought.

It was her choice.

Ingrid intercepts her hands, shoving them back down onto her ass before she brought her own to the brunette’s neck, pulling her in.

“You didn’t let me finish,” the dark haired woman pouted, her lower lip jutting out slightly. Mapi reached forward, running her thumb over Ingrid’s lip slowly, softly.

“Lo siento, princesa,” Mapi soothed, her expression willing Ingrid to continue. The Norwegian smiled gently, leaning down so that her lips hovered over the Spaniard’s throat.

“I don’t sleep with clients, not unless I want to,” Ingrid continued, her hot breath leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. Her fingertips trail up Mapi’s side, running over ridges of muscles and soft skin, dipping under her shirt before they retracted. Never direct, always teasing.

“And trust me, I want to,” the Norwegian promised as she brought her face back to level with Mapi’s, her eyebrow quirked, almost daring the Spaniard to disagree.

But the brunette would never do that, especially not when she has the most gorgeous woman she had ever laid eyes on sitting in her lap.

They are left staring at one another for a few moments, their eyes flickering back and forth between the others eyes and lips, waiting to see who breaks first. A game of wills, a question of who is going to hold the power.

It’s the Spaniard who snaps first, lunging forward to capture Ingrid’s lips in her own. She’s impatient, unable to resist having Ingrid in front of her looking so delectable, without doing anything about it.

Mapi’s mouth is hot and insistent on her own, the brunette’s hands coming up to cradle Ingrid’s face as she kisses her senseless.

It’s only a few moments later that the Spaniard presses her tongue into the Norwegian’s mouth, silently asking for entrance. The dark haired woman allows her access instantly, completely floored at the feeling of Mapi’s mouth on her own.

The footballer swipes her tongue over the roof of Ingrid’s mouth, smiling into the kiss at the whine that slips past Ingrid’s lips at the feeling.

The Norwegian’s head is dizzy, completely and utterly overwhelmed with the feeling of the Spaniard, of her hands being everywhere, of the press of her lips to Ingrid’s. It feels as though life is being breathed back into her, transformed into a fire that is sent straight to her core.

She knows that she’s soaked the lace beneath her completely, but she can’t bring herself to care. Especially not when Mapi leans back, gesturing for her to stand. Ingrid is quick to comply, not bothering to try to make herself seem as cocky as she was pretending earlier.

It’s been a long time since she’s been fucked properly, and something in this woman’s eyes tells her that the Spaniard is exactly what she needs.

“Get on the bed,” Mapi instructs, and Ingrid is quick to comply, walking with purpose before laying back on the bed, sitting with her head up near the pillows, still clad only in her lace.

The Spaniard stands from her spot on the chair, flipping the lock on her watch open as she sets it on the table in front of her. She pulled her shirt up from its spot having been tucked into her pants, looking over at the Norwegian as she undid the last few buttons.

She laid the shirt down on the table, the picture of control and composure. The loss of the garment leaves her in only a black bra, which contrasts against the tan of her skin. She loses the belt she had on but elects to keep her pants on, instead moving toward the bed.

Throughout this, the footballer had never let her eyes leave contact with Ingrid, not wanting to let the Norwegian out of her sight, even for a second.

Ingrid lays back as Mapi joins her on the bed, crawling up the Norwegian’s body until she was positioned over the taller woman’s body, where she had wanted to be from the beginning.

“You tell me to stop the minute you do not like something, si?” Mapi asked, her voice clear and leaving no room for argument. The Spaniard had no interest in making Ingrid do anything she did not want to.

“Si,” the Norwegian parroted, squirming just slightly under the Spaniard, desperate for her to do something.

Once she has confirmed Ingrid’s answer, the Spaniard is quick to begin her descent down the woman’s body. She captures the dark haired woman’s lips in a bruising kiss, applying just the right amount of pressure and tongue to have Ingrid gasping for more.

She releases the Norwegian’s perfect, plump lips only in favor of working her mouth across Ingrid’s jaw, sucking and nipping lightly at the skin there. When she reaches the dark haired woman’s ear, she works her lips down and over the column of Ingrid’s throat. She pays close attention to the areas that make the taller woman let out a heavier breath, or the ghost of a whine, doubling down on her attention to those spots.

She kisses over soft, pale skin, and down toward the soft flesh of her chest. Ingrid is arching into her before she even reaches her destination, desperate for more.

“Can I–” Mapi removes her lips only to start a sentence that is never finished.

“Yes, please, do anything to me,” Ingrid gasped, her entire body on fire at the thought of Mapi’s mouth over her chest, at the apex of her thighs. A flush is blooming on her chest as the Spaniard pulls the lace down, revealing Ingrid’s chest.

Her nipples are peaked, aching to be touched and played with. The footballer doesn’t even bother with using her fingers first, simply leaning down to wrap her mouth around one of Ingrid’s nipples, her hand coming to cover the other.

“Aye, María,” Ingrid hisses at the feeling, her whole back leaving the bed as she arches into Mapi’s mouth. Her hand has flown to the Spaniard’s head, her fingers tangling in the brunette’s hair and tugging lightly.

Mapi doubles her attention at the feeling, swirling the tip of her nipple around her tongue, teasing her teeth over the sensitive area. Ingrid ate every lap of attention up, basking in it. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had made her feel so much, and it was turning her on in a way that was borderline painful.

“Please, more,” the Norwegian begged once attention had been laved to both sides of her chest, and Mapi released her other nipple with a lewd pop sound. The footballer raised a brow at her, but Ingrid shook her head, her breaths shallow and desperate.

The stripper is well aware of the irony, given her profession. She’s the one who is supposed to be pleasuring, not the other way around. But there was something about the way this woman composed herself, something about the reverence with which she touched the Norwegian that made her comfortable.

Mapi considers the request for a moment before she relents, pulling further at the lace, signaling that she wanted it off. The dark haired woman is quick to comply with her request, removing the hunter green fabric before she threw it to the ground, already forgotten.

Ingrid lay back down on the bed, her hair splaying out against the pillow. The Spaniard watched her with hungry eyes, her lips turning up into a smirk.

“So beautiful,” she murmured softly, her words filled with clear appreciation. “Espléndida, princesa,” Mapi whispered as she returned to Ingrid, softly holding the Norwegian’s face in her hands. Her lips were gentle against the taller woman this time, leaving the Norwegian with the feeling that she was delicate, and deserved to be treated as such.

Oh, and what a different feeling it was to be touched by the Spaniard, as opposed to the heavy handed men she usually interacted with.

To be touched and praised as though she was the most important thing in the world. No drug could compare, not to her anyways.

Even as she trails down the Norwegian’s body, Mapi stops to press kisses into her skin, imbuing the fire of their interaction with a level of sweetness and ingenuity Ingrid had not been expecting.

But nothing, absolutely nothing, could have prepared the Norwegian for what the first run of the Spaniard’s tongue through her would feel like.

She is unsure of where her voice ends and Mapi’s begins, but all she knows is that two moans are filling the room, both equally desperate. Ingrid clutched at the sheets desperately, her hands fisting the pristine white fabric beneath them as Mapi ran her tongue through her again.

The Spaniard eats her out as though it will save her, with an intent and passion that Ingrid cannot remember ever having in the bedroom. She brings her tongue up to circle the Norwegian’s clit several times, and every time a new wave of pleasure washes over her.

“You taste perfect,” Mapi mumbles against her heat, and Ingrid flushes completely at the praise, struggling to compose her own pleasure. She attempts to bring her hand up to cover her own mouth, something that Mapi notices instantly.

“Aye, I want to hear you,” the Spaniard chides softly when she sees what Ingrid is doing, and the dark haired woman lets out a filthy moan as she removes her hand, at the feeling of Mapi’s finger teasing at her entrance.

“Is this okay?” The footballer confirms, waiting for the fervent head nod that she receives from Ingrid before she finally dips her finger in at a painfully slow rate, before curling gently.

Ingrid is writhing under her, letting a string of mewls and moans that tumble from her lips of their own accord. She doesn’t care that she had no idea if anyone can hear them, only focused on her own pleasure and the feeling of the brunette’s body near her own.

“Si, si, si,” Ingrid begs, moaning unabashedly when Mapi adds a second finger, curling with more purpose this time.

The footballer could admit, her plan had been to tease more than this. She was a playful woman, and enjoyed picking her partners apart before allowing them to come, usually.

Something about this Norwegian, the flush in her chest and the noises slipping past her lips, has Mapi throwing her entire playbook out the window.

She’s more than happy to continue this, so long as Ingrid continues making those noises.

“You like that, princesa?” Mapi asks, her voice hoarse with arousal. Ingrid nods tightly, her chest arching up as the Spaniard curls her fingers deep within her.

The set of her jaw, the way it opened with pleasure left Mapi flooded with the need to please, so the Spaniard lowered her mouth down to Ingrid’s clit, sucking lightly. The dark haired woman cries out, her hips rutting down into Mapi as the footballer continued her brutal pace.

“Fuck!” Ingrid wailed, her voice dripping with need as she hurtled toward orgasm. Her hips grew erratic, jumping into Mapi’s hand as her whole body squirmed. The brunette could tell that the dark haired woman was close, doubling down on her pace and intensity, intent on getting her there.

It only took a few more curls of Mapi’s fingers from deep within the Norwegian for the taller woman to let out a sharp cry, her whole body tightening. The Spaniard couldn’t help but smirk against the dark haired woman’s core as her whole body began to shudder, her orgasm working through her like a forest fire.

Her whole body was arched off the bed, the sheets gripped in her fists as Mapi worked her through her orgasm, her entire body shaking. She collapses against the sheets, her breath coming in quick gasps as waves of pleasure flooded her system, her eyes still screwed shut.

It took her a few moments, but she forced her eyes open when Mapi removed her fingers from Ingrid. The green eyed woman looked up at the Spaniard, who had sat back on her heels, her own breath short and lustful.

The brunette reached her finger up to her own face, brushing some of the arousal away from her lips with the pad of her thumb as Ingrid looked up at her. The Norwegian’s dark hair was a sharp contrast to the pillow, the flush of her chest and stomach the complete antithesis to her pale skin.

Mapi would never see a sight prettier than this under her again, she knew that for certain. Ingrid turned her head, glancing over at the clock and realizing with a rush that they still had several hours before either of them had to go anywhere.

When the Norwegian looks back up at the Spaniard, it’s with a smirk on her lips, one eyebrow raised, almost as though she was challenging the brunette.

“Fuck, princesa,” Mapi swore before surging forward to claim Ingrid’s lips once more, pressing her back into the bed.

Ingrid let herself moan out, half at the feeling of Mapi’s body above her own, and half of the self satisfied feeling of knowing that it was going to be hard to walk tomorrow.

So yeah…maybe some rules are worth being broken every once in a while.

#ingrid engen #mapi leon #woso #barcelona femeni #alexia putellas #misa rodriguez

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xanasaurusrex · 1 year ago

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Hii, I've read your Percy Jackson cabins headcanons and I loved them! They're are soo good! Could you please write for the Aphrodite cabin?

⇢ ˗ˏˋ aphrodite cabin headcanons ࿐ྂ

a/n: so it's been a while since i've posted some cabin headcanons, and i LOVE aphrodite kids, and i've gotten a bunch of requests for aphrodite cabin hcs 😭 i'm sorry it took this long, i'm getting back into the cabin hcs but i'm focusing on fics rn, but yeah! i hope you all enjoy this, and thank you to everyone who requested aphrodite cabin! taglist: @asvterias @lvrue @thewritingbarbie @kroumi @ravisinghs-wife

so aphrodite kids are generally pretty cool

they're naturally very outgoing and caring people, who love big and hard and are wonderful people to have in your life

but they can also be a bit of a handful

they tend to have very big and dramatic emotions, and they cry at a lot of things

every aphrodite kid had the experience of being labeled a crybaby when they were younger

they come by their emotional-ness naturally

aphrodite kids are naturally very flirty as well

like they're the kind of people that flirt with their friends no matter what

which you would think would make it difficult to tell when they actually have a crush on somebody, but it doesn't for some reason, you can just kinda tell

aphrodite kids are not shy when they like someone

aphrodite kids are the type of people who as soon as they come to the conclusion that they have a crush on someone they just flat out tell them

obviously this doesn't happen every time because there are some aphrodite kids that are more shy, but for the most part, that's just the type of person they are

so not every aphrodite kid has the ability to charmspeak, but they all have a better skill at convincing people to do things for them

like it’s not charmspeak but they are naturally more charming/convincing

obviously kids who get the charmspeak gene are much more convincing than other aphrodite kids but you know what i mean

weird little quirk about aphrodite kids, they love sugar cookies

they could not tell you why, they just really love them for like, no reason

aphrodite kids are also huge matchmakers

like HUUUUGE

do not tell an aphrodite kid who you have a crush on if you don't want them to start trying to set you up with that person

although, if they do it's a good sign, because aphrodite kids really try not to matchmake a person with someone they don't like, because they think that's really mean on both parts

aphrodite kids were the kids that were dating in elementary and middle school

and saying "i love you" two days in, let's be totally honest

they also were totally wearing makeup at like 10

not that that's necessarily a bad thing, other demigods probably wore makeup at 10, aphrodite kids are just so much more likely

although it's a common misconception that aphrodite kids always wake up at 5 in the morning to put on an elaborate glam makeup look for everyday wear

that is not true

well, in some cases it is, but it's much more common for aphrodite kids to just wear casual, feature-enhancing makeup for everyday

don't get me wrong, when there's an occasion, they JUMP at the opportunity to go full glam

aphrodite kids also do other demigods' makeup when they need it

also, if you ever need a personal stylist, go to the aphrodite cabin beacuse they LOVE it when people need fashion advice

they often give it anyway, so it's extra nice when people don't yell at them for telling them how to style their orange camp t-shirts

yes, the camp half-blood orange shirts are iconic, but there are definitely aphrodite kids that have wanted to change the color to something a bit less... harsh, as it's hard to style something so bright

aphrodite kids LOVE making friendship bracelets

you know, the ones with embroidery floss that you tie knots to make, and you like tape it/tie it to your water bottle

aphrodite kids make those all day every day

they have a little plastic drawer thing that has just SO MUCH embroidery floss in it, all the colors you can imagine, complete with a few printed out templates that they sometimes use to make some fun ones

they give these out to literally everyone

they make sure that everyone in camp has at least one friendship bracelet made by them

they also like to teach kids from other cabins how to make them, and whenever an aphrodite kid gets a bracelet made by someone other than an aphrodite kid, they get so happy

their hearts just warm so quickly

it's adorable to see because their whole face lights up, and then they hug you, and it's so cute

they've even given a couple to chiron and mr. d, and they actually wear them

chiron doesn't wear them as often, because he likes looking formal sometimes

but mr. d wears them all the times

it's so funny, because mr. d claims that the campers are the bane of his existence, they're so annoying, but if an aphrodite kid hands him a friendship bracelet, he looks at it for a second, nods his head, and then slips it on his wrist to add to his collection

the collection is getting a little bit too big for his one hand, so he's started putting them on his other wrist

everytime this happens, the aphrodite kid that gave him the bracelet makes fun of him for being a softie, but he just rolls his eyes and goes back to sipping his coke while watching the lake

aphrodite kids are also super touchy

they honestly have all the love languages, but their big one is physical affection

they LOVE hugs

they LOVE holding hands

they LOVE kissing

obviously the kissing is only in a romantic aspect, but you get it

if you're friends with an aphrodite kid, they're going to hug you all the freaking time

they just love showing their love for you by squeezing the air out of you!

aphrodite kids will hold hands with you platonically as well

obviously, if this makes you uncomfortable and you don't want to hold hands and/or hug, they'll respect that, but they kinda won't think to ask you if that makes sense

they'll never be like "are you okay if i hug you?"

but if you ever tell them politely that you don't want to be hugged, they won't hug you anymore

aphrodite kids are also crazy passionate

about literally everything

when they have a passion for something, they have a passion for it

like, they will dedicate their whole heart and soul to something because they love it

they just have a lot of love in their hearts that needs to go somewhere

another random thing: aphrodite children were born to be fangirls

(and boys but you know)

they all have a celebrity crush that they are obsessed with and will like dedicate their life to watching edits of

(if i was a child of aphrodite, it would be dior goodjohn)

(what am i talking about it already is)

they also have a love for art

like specifically art from the renaissance period, they LOVE that

they just can appreciate a really beautiful piece of artwork, because they see beauty in everything

there's a common misconception that aphrodite kids are mean and stuck up, and there definitely are mean and stuck up kids, but there's mean and stuck up kids from every cabin.

aphrodite kids are honestly some of the nicest and kindest and most loving people you'll ever come across

they do have a tendency to throw temper tantrums every once in a while, but not in the way that like a toddler throws a temper tantrum

like i said, they just have a lot of big emotions, and they don't always know what to do with them

aphrodite kids are also often overlooked in a battle sense

everyone thinks that just because they care about their appearance, they won't be good soldiers, but that is 100% NOT TRUE

aphrodite kids are amazing at fighting and battle, maybe not as good as others, but they are good and can hold their own

don't underestimate them, though, because if you do, they make it their mission to prove you wrong

also, when aphrodite kids set their mind to something, they make it happen

so if someone makes a comment about them not knowing how to use a sword... let's just say they'll show you they do

all in all, aphrodite kids are super fun to be around, and they're the kind of friend that you can depend on no matter what, so it's always good to have an aphrodite kid in your corner

#percy jackson #cabin headcanons #percy jackson and the olympians #percy jackson cabins #cabin hcs #pjo cabin hcs #headcanons #hcs #aphrodite #aphrodite cabin #cabin 10 #❛ xanasaurusrex ༉‧₊˚

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terresdebrume · 3 months ago

Text

I think I want to point at the elephant in the room today

The problem when we have the ever more frequent conversation of how to keep a fandom alive after the show it's based on stops airing is that we tend talk about it in a way that ignores the very real differences between the juggernauts of old fandoms like Star Trek and newer shows like Dead Boy Detectives, namely:

1. The difference in amount of material

2. The accessibility of said material

Part of the reason why Star Trek or The X-Files still have active fans so long after they aired is because those shows had multiple seasons with an average of 20 episodes each. For the X-Files' 11 seasons that's about 200 episodes each with their own storylines, themes, interesting ideas and frustrating mistakes right there to inspire Fanart, fic, meta, and any number of fanwork. I'm not even going to do the math on Star Trek: this show got about a bazillion shows

Dead Boy Detectives, and a lot of genre shows nowadays have like... Eight episodes. Ten, if we're lucky. Fandoms for procedurals or more broadly appealing shows fare better (Lone Star comes to mind, or sitcoms for example) because networks tend to keep them online longer, but genre series get ever shorter with ever fewer opportunities to really grow an audience... Think of all the shows that got popular on Tumblr in the past few years and tell me how many got a proper season? Shadow and Bones was cancelled. My Lady Jane: one season. Gentleman Jack, two (three?). Good Omens: maybe 3, depending on how the network handle the Gaiman situation. The Umbrella Academy got four seasons. Stranger Things, with 5 seasons and 42 episodes managed to equate roughly 2 seasons of the X-Files (probably not even that if you account for episode length). The Witcher currently has 3 seasons for 24 episodes.

Contrast this to shows like Dead Boy Detectives with, again, eight episodes. Maybe 16 if we get really lucky, but I'm not holding my breath. This is just materially WAY LESS soil for a fandom to grow in. It's not that people aren't motivated, it's that as much as you want to keep it going, there's only so much to say about 8 episodes! George Rexstrew, who plays one of the leads, even recently admitted that he's running out of things to say about his performance, and who can blame him? So after a while, you gotta turn to AU which by definition are always going to be potential hits and misses, since they diverge from what brought people to the show in the first place.

I know we're all real good at spinning yarn but sometimes it gets really hard not to run out of fiber.

As for accessibility: the Big Olds benefitted from two things. One, they were broadcast on much wider-reaching channels, if not from the start, then when they eventually made it on public networks. They had a regular play time, and you could stumble onto them by accident, this getting interested and picking it up. And two: the popular shows had a decent chance of getting tape or DVD sets, which made them easier to own and show to your friends so they could binge the story and join you in the fandom

By comparison, look at the barrier of access for Dead Boy Detectives:

Need to have a Netflix account

Need to see it somewhere in your recommendation (good luck if you come in more than a month after it released)

Need to see people talk about it as they binge (need to be in the right place at the right time, and by that I mean where fandom happens since Netflix has a habit of doing zero advertising for new shows)

Need to keep paying for a Netflix account if you wanna rewatch, or figure out how to do a piracy, which is getting more difficult and riskier every year

Need to be willing to get invested in a forever unfinished story

And when on top of that the writing in the first episode is, let's say it frankly, far from the best, that is a LOT of obstacle to overcome for a pretty small sandbox

So like, yeah, sure, we should be willing to keep making a fandom happen after a show ends, but at some point we can't ignore that the effort it takes to keep fandoms alive is getting way more intense than it used to be

#On Fandom #dead boy detectives #x files #star trek #meta #my meta #10n #30n #40n #50n #70n

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eatmeandbirthmeagain · 7 months ago

Note

Are you willing to write a kingdom of heaven fic where the reader has a child from a previous marriage that ended when her previous husband died. A girl like 6-8 years old who is shy at first

♡ New Family - King Baldwin x Reader ♡

♡ Fluff ♡

A/N: Hello Anon, thank you for your request! This is such a cute idea, so sorry its taken so long to get to. I hope it's what you had in mind! As always, this is based on the film Kingdom Of Heaven, not the real historical figures. Enjoy!

TW: Leprosy, Mention of Death, Mention of Domestic Violence (Not Baldwin dw), Nightmares/PTSD, Mention of Trauma.

It was a warm spring day when y/n and Baldwin were wed.

Their marriage was one of preference instead of arrangement after the two had met at the Jerusalem market.

Y/n ran a silk stand with her daughter, Miriam, when the king had decided to attend the market himself one day instead of sending a servant. He had been feeling well lately and wanted to take the opportunity to get some fresh air.

When their eyes met, it was love at first sight. There was no denying it.

However, there was one small problem. Y/n was a widow. Her husband had died in battle and as much of an inconvenience as it was, she couldn't help herself but feel slightly relieved.

He was a cruel man, a harsh man who believed in discipline for both wives and children. So needless to say, y/n couldn't help herself but feel relieved when she received news of his death.

But because of this, it was expected that she would not be married again and for a time, she had no issue with this. That was until she met Baldwin.

At first, she thought of herself as ridiculous when he had come by her stall. He was the king! And she was a widowed peasant who already had a daughter. It was simply not possible she had thought, until a servant came by her stall with an invite to the castle sent directly by the king.

Their love bloomed from there and despite being frowned upon, they were wed.

Y/n’s daughter was a naturally shy girl. The first time she had met Baldwin, she hid behind her mother and peeked out at the man from behind her robes.

His metal mask was less of the issue when it came to her fear (even though it did make him look far less human to her), it was more the past with her father.

At only seven years of age, she had experienced so much which was a great pain to her mother.

When they first met, the king gifted her a small carved, wooden horse as a present. She loved it and even approached him to take it from his gloved hand.

She was still nervous around him in the beginning, but she began to enjoy the benefits of becoming royalty. She loved the teachers who taught her all kinds of things that a peasant would simply not have the resources to know and she enjoyed playing with her cousin, Baldwin V.

She thought it funny that he had the same name as her step father and looked up to him as a big brother and he protected her as such.

Miriam’s nervousness around the king ended in just one night when her mother was away on royal duties overnight.

------------------

It was late at night when the girl’s eyes snapped open and she came awake, sweating and shaking.

She was prone to nightmares from the incidents with her late father.

Usually, Miriam would run to the royal chambers and call for her mother, who was a vastly light sleeper due to her own trauma. She would comfort her and bring her back to her own chambers. Y/n would read her a story and hold her until she fell back into sleep, but this time she was not there to do that.

The girl sat up in bed, her heart racing. All she could think about was her mother. She knew she was not going to fall back into sleep easily and would most likely lay awake in bed, with the fear of her fathers undead spirit returning and harming her.

Then she remembered Baldwin.

She was incredibly nervous approaching him about the subject.

It was late at night as she assumed he would be sleeping, she caught herself wondering if he slept in the mask or not. After a few minutes of thinking, a small noise made her practically jump out of her skin and she sprinted to the royal chambers.

Stopping outside the door she realized that her body had made the decision for her. Taking a deep breath, she pushed open the door as quietly as she could and slipped inside, closing it behind her.

Inside she was greeted by a comforting warmth and the distant sound of the king's quiet snoring. Taking another deep inhale, she focused on her footsteps as she approached the bed.

Her heart was pounding.

What if he was angry at her for waking him? What if he told her to get over it? No, he would not do that. He was a kind man, a gentle man. The opposite of her father.

He had told her the day they met that “if you ever need anything, I am here when you are ready”, and she really needed him now.

Finally, she reached the side of his bed.

The moonlight that shone through the window illuminated his face that was covered in.. bandages? His cheeks, forehead, nose, and chin were all covered with clean, white bandages. That explains the mask.

Seeing him like this took her nerves away instantly.

He looked entirely human without his mask. Without it, he was just a man. A human, like herself.

He had soft curly blonde hair that spread out on his white pillow like the halo of an angel, this was completely different to the harsh, rough textured brown hair of her father.

He lay on his back with one hand resting on his chest, the plush blankets covered his body and he looked quite comfortable.

Miriam observed him for a moment longer as she decided whether to wake him or not. Finally, she made up her mind.

Reaching out an arm, she touched his shoulder softly. His night clothes were just as soft as she imagined them to be. She pulled her hand back quickly when he shifted.

Baldwin groaned and stretched as his body awoke from a deep sleep. He turned his head, fully expecting Tibarias to be standing there with important news as he had done countless times before.

His eyes widened at the sight of Miriam standing beside his bed, her cheeks stained with tears.

“Miriam, are you okay? What happened?” suddenly realizing the absence of his mask, the king panicked and reached to his bedside table for it.

“No, don't! I like your face without it” the girl said urgently. Baldwin smiled slightly at that.

“That's okay. Are you alright? What are you doing here?” she was surprised at his concern for her over his concern for being woken in the dead of night.

“I had a nightmare” she whispered. Baldwin’s face turned from one of slight panic to one of sorrow and concern.

“Oh angel, it will be okay. Come on, let's get you back to bed and you can tell me about it if you would like?” he offered, she nodded quickly.

Baldwin sat up from the bed, desperately attempting to keep his face free from a pained expression as he stood slowly.

-------------------

Once back in the girl's chambers, the king tucked her in and sat down on the edge of the her bed.

“Would you like to tell me about this nightmare of yours?” he asked, his voice was so kind.

Miriam nodded and began to tell him all about the recurring nightmares that she had been having since she was five years old.

The nightmare consisted of her father returning from beyond the grave to kill her mother and eventually her, after he forced her to watch her mother be torn appart.

The king listened to her words intently as she spoke.

“That sounds awful Miriam, I am so sorry” he told her, a look of sincerity on his bandaged face. She thanked him and gave a weak smile.

“Would you like me to read to you until you fall asleep?” he asked, returning the smile.

The girl nodded, her eyes lighting up at the words.

Baldwin walked to her bookshelf and retrieved a short story book that he recognised from his own childhood.

He sat down on the edge of the bed when Miriam spoke, “could you sit here?” she asked, gesturing to the space right beside her, against the headboard of the bed.

The king smiled at the innocent request and shifted positions to where he was sitting right next to her.

She moved closer to him, leaning against the side of his body.

Baldwin tried his best not to smile, it was the first time she had requested his affection. This was a massive step in their relationship.

“Could you stay with me the whole night, father? I don't want to be alone” she whispered, causing the young man's smile to widen.

“Yes of course Miriam'' he replied, relishing for a moment in the fact that she called him ‘father’.

Baldwin moved his arm and placed it around her, pulling her close as he began to read.

---------------

Around twenty minutes past when the king looked down to see that she had fallen asleep against his side, her eyes were shut peacefully and her chest moved up and down silently.

The smile returned to his face at the sight, before he moved his hand to cover a soft yawn.

The king gave his daughter one last look before letting his eyes fall shut, joining her in sleep once again.

---------------

The following morning, y/n arrived home early. The sun had only just started to peek above the horizon when she entered the castle.

Entering the royal chambers, she expected to see her husband sprawled out on the bed, fast asleep. But he was not there?

Placing her bags down, she assumed he must have left to attend his duties early.

Y/n decided to check on her daughter, since she missed her greatly overnight.

She entered the room and a wide smile crossed her face at the sight before her. Baldwin and Miriam curled up against each other, sleeping soundly as the first rays of sun streamed in through the window.

She walked up to her daughter's bedside, pulling the covers further over the two.

This certainly was the progress that she hoped would happen while she was away.

Y/n bent down and kissed her husband's forehead gently.

“Im so proud of you” she whispered to him before turning to leave her beautiful family in peaceful rest.

#king baldwin iv #kingdom of heaven #kingdom of heaven fandom #king baldwin #king baldwin iv x reader #king baldwin x you #king baldwin x reader #kingdom of heaven 2005 #the leper king #king baldwin iv x oc #baldwin iv #koh fandom #koh #baldwin iv of jerusalem #baldwin

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callsign-muffin · 3 months ago

Text

Heal Together: Chapter 7 (Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw fic)

Hi Friends! I have another chapter here! I hope y'all like it!

Again, every single like, comment, and reblog of my writing means soooo much to me. Thank you so much to all of you for even reading my stuff! It means the world!

Masterlist + Playlist

Content warning: death, discussion of dying and grief

Word Count: 2.2k+

Ah, ah, ah, ah, stayin’ alive, stayin’ alive… You sang in your head as you gave chest compressions with all your strength. You felt the unmistakable sensation of your patient’s ribs cracking under your weight. Though it took less than a minute for your coworkers to arrive to assist you in the code, it felt like a lifetime. The other nurses worked around you like a well oiled machine, applying the defibrillator pads and starting rescue breaths. Every muscle in your body was burning as you continued pushing on this man’s chest.

“Tap out, Y/N. I have the next round.” Carly said from behind you.

During the pause for two breaths, Carly jumped into your place with ease and took over seamlessly.

The code team arrived shortly thereafter, you quickly gave the rundown of the situation to the physicians. They went to work quickly intubating, ordering meds to be pushed, and watching the flat line of asystole. Despite everyone’s best efforts, after 20 minutes of pushing medications, ventilating, and chest compressions… there was no heart rhythm to be shocked.

“Time of death: 4:26.” Kara, a young resident said flatly.

Everyone ceased their assigned activities and took a big deep breath then slowly dispersed from the room.

You spoke softly through the lump in your throat, “Carly, can you open the window to your left?”

You stayed later than you should have, not leaving the unit until 8:30AM. You had to debrief the code with the team, do post mortem care, and make sure the docs filled out a hell of a lot of paperwork. Carly stayed with you after handing off her patient to the day team, cutting the time in half. You two finished out your shift by taking the body down to the morgue… what a way to end your work day.

“Why did you ask me to open a window when they called it?” She asked, finally breaking a long stretch of silence as you walked to the parking garage.

“It’s something I do after a patient expires. I had a preceptor tell me that it’s a way of allowing the patient’s spirit to pass on to a better place.” You explained quietly, “It’s just become a part of my nursing practice. If there’s no window in the room, I make sure the door remains open for a little while.”

Carly sighed, “That’s really lovely, Y/N… you did right by him. Even though his family should’ve signed the DNR when given the opportunity… it’s just wrong that we had to do that to him.”

You nodded, “I think family members don’t realize just how violent resuscitation is. If they knew, they’d never have let his life end like that.”

“What are you doing when you get home?” She asked.

You stopped at your car, “Cry the whole way home, take a shower, and go to sleep.”

█ ✪ █▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓█ ✪ █

Y/N never answered Rooster’s good morning text. He assumed it was busy at the hospital and that he’d see an answer when he finally got a chance to check his phone at lunch, however, there was radio silence. Weird. Luckily, he checked his instagram and saw he’d received a DM from Carly.

Carly_Pope: Hey Bradley, I wanted to let you know that Y/N had a really tough shift last night. Her patient ended up dying this morning and she seems pretty torn up about it. I just wanted to let you know so that you can check in on her if you want. I know you care about her a lot.

Rooster’s heart sank. It’s no wonder Y/N hadn’t answered his text, he was the least of her concerns at the moment. He remembered her telling him how hard it was on her to take care of patients who never get better; how it was burning her out. It was evident when she was his nurse that Y/N cared so deeply about her patients. He knew she must have been absolutely crushed. He answered Carly’s DM, thanking her for the info and then quickly texted Y/N.

Bradley: Hey Y/N, a little bird (Carly) told me you had a really tough shift last night. I hope you’re getting some decent rest and taking care of yourself. If you want, I can come over after work with some food and give you some company after I get off at 5. We can talk about it or not at all, whatever you want.

He knew Y/N was probably still sleeping, this was her last night of three in a row. He didn’t expect an answer right away; she must have been exhausted. A couple hours later, his phone buzzed in his pocket.

Y/N <3: I like pizza.

A few hours later, Bradley pulled up to her apartment with two pizzas in hand. One pepperoni and one cheese, just in case Y/N was a secret vegetarian or hated pepperoni. After a soft knock on her door, the door swung open and she B-lined straight into his arms, almost making him drop the pizzas. He quickly shuffled them into the apartment, placed the boxes down, and then fully embraced her with both arms.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N…” he kissed the crown of her head and whispered softly.

Her face was buried in his chest, he could feel her tears saturate his cotton shirt. But she still remained quiet, no sobbing or shaking. Just silent tears.

“He should’ve been able to die in peace,” she sniffled, “not with me slamming my entire body weight into his chest. He was 93, he deserved peace.”

Bradley gently stroked your hair, “It must have been so awful.”

She looked up at him, resting her on his chest, “We tried to tell the family he was never going to get better. We told them the kind thing to do was to let him die comfortably and peacefully. But they refused to sign the paperwork, they were convinced we could save him… We couldn’t save him. Keeping him alive felt cruel… But my hands were tied.”

Bradley gently wiped the tears from her face with his thumbs, “I can’t imagine, Sweetheart.”

“I’m just so tired, Bradley.” She whispered, “I’m so tired of watching people suffer… and sometimes even causing them to suffer.”

“Look at me,” he cradled her cheeks in his hands, “You do not cause suffering. You alleviate suffering. I can say that with 100% certainty because I’ve experienced your care. You stopped my suffering and made me want to get well.”

A soft whimper escaped Y/N’s lips, which then turned into sobs.

“When was the last time you ate something?” He asked, walking you to your living room couch.

“Around… midnight.” She sniveled through her sobs.

Bradley placed his hands on your shoulders, guiding you to sit down on the couch, “I’m going to get you some pizza and you’re gonna sit your pretty little butt here and eat.”

You opened your mouth to argue but he cut you off.

“That wasn’t a suggestion,” he said, “I’m taking care of you now.”

█ ✪ █▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓█ ✪ █

You laid across your couch with your head in Bradley’s lap, he played with your hair gently as the TV hummed quietly in the background.

“I’m sorry for breaking down like that.” You whispered quietly.

Bradley shook his head, “You have nothing to be sorry for, Sweetheart. Your grief and frustration were completely justified… There’s nothing worse than watching someone suffer.”

“Especially when they don’t have to.” You added, “I think families don’t realize how keeping someone that sick and fragile alive does more harm than good… it’s a disservice to them.”

Bradley’s eyes got glassy, filling with tears, “You’re right.”

You sat up from his lap so you could look at him straight on, “Your mom was sick, wasn’t she?”

He nodded, “Pancreatic cancer, basically a death sentence. But she put up a good fight until she couldn’t anymore, until it was hurting her more than it helped.”

“Was she able to go peacefully?” You asked.

“Yeah…” his voice cracked, “She was on hospice at my aunt’s house in Virginia Beach. She asked us to take her out to see the ocean one last time and we did, even though it was cold as balls in November. We took her wheelchair to the shoreline and she got her feet wet one last time… then a couple hours later, as the sun was setting, she passed in bed with me, my aunt and the nurse by her side. The family grew very close to her, my mom’s nurse, Heather. She still sends me Christmas cards.”

You placed your hand on Bradley’s shoulder softly, “I’m so sorry you lost her. But I’m glad your mother got the peace she deserved and you made it happen for her.”

“C’mere sweetheart.” He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you into his lap, “You always know just what to say.”

With your thumb, you gently wiped his tears from his cheek, “Now, I’m not sure about that… I’m just calling it like I see it.”

He sighed and took a moment to look at you, “You’re so beautiful.”

“Are you sure about that?” You looked down at your outfit of a ratty t-shirt and gym shorts and gestured towards the messy top-knot on your head.

He smiled so widely, the corners of his eyes crinkled, “Just calling it like I see it.”

You and Bradley passed out on the couch around one in the morning. Still slightly nocturnal from 3 night shifts in a row, you woke up around five before the sun started to rise. You turned to look at Bradley as he slept peacefully beside you, his usually bright and animated face was completely relaxed. It took everything in you don’t to run your fingers gently along the scars on his beautiful face, you desperately wanted to know how they got there. You desperately wanted to know everything about him, honestly. Still nestled into his side, you grabbed your phone to see missed texts from your mom, best friend from college, and your group chat with Carly, Madi, and Sam. You pulled up your email to see a subject line, Request for Interview. Holy shit. Sharp Hospital for Women and Newborns wanted to interview you for your dream job?! You had to read it multiple times to believe it. You bit your lip to stay silent so that Bradley could continue to snooze beside you; it took everything in you not to gasp out loud. With all the excitement running through your veins, you were unfortunately unable to go back to sleep, despite your best efforts. You slipped off the couch slowly, so as to not disturb the sleeping man beside you and found some quiet chores to do around your apartment. You couldn’t help but smile so hard your cheeks hurt as you folded laundry quietly on the living room floor.

You didn’t realize it, but you were humming along to the music in your headphones as you cleaned up the kitchen. It was dirty not only from the night before, but from the string of night shifts before that. Bradley initially woke up to the sun beaming across his face from your living room window but once he heard your quiet humming, he didn’t want to fight it and go back to sleep. He sat up slowly, watching you as you danced around the kitchen with your back to him, swinging your hips and wiping down the counter. He needed to get his hands on you, now. You were pulled out of your own little world when you felt two strong arms wrap around your waist, making you let out a startled squeal.

“What’s got you dancing around like that, Sweetheart?” His mustache tickled your neck with every word he spoke.

You took out one of your headphones, “Queen Dolly Parton.”

“You love that country music.” He rolled his eyes.

You turned around to face him, confused, “I’ve never listened to country music with you.”

Bradley chuckled, “You don’t remember the day we met? In the hospital? When I had that damn tube down my throat and you were bathing me, you were playing Kenny Chesney.”

“Was I?” You asked, shocked that he remembered.”

He nodded, “I couldn’t even open my eyes because of the sedatives, but I just remember hearing the music and thinking to myself ‘Who the fuck listens to Kenny Chesney anymore?’”

You gasped and swatted him playfully, “Hey! When the Sun Goes Down is a classic! Don’t be a hater!”

“You and Hangman have more in common than I thought with your yeehaw music.” He rolled his eyes.

You broke free from his arms and grabbed your phone, “That’s it! Dolly’s going on the speaker. You’re gonna learn today, Bradshaw!”

The intro to Islands In the Stream started playing and a smile spread across Bradley’s face.

“I know this song,” He said, “My mom and dad used to dance to this…”

You took his hands in yours, “Well let's make like your folks and dance.”

“You are something else, Y/N.” He whispered in your ear, pulling you closer, and swaying to the music.

You softly sang the lyrics in his ear as the two of you danced in the morning sunlight without a care in the world.

Tag list:

@sarah-bear706318

@dizzybee03

@that-gay-person-27

@alwayshave-faith

@caitsymichelle13

@thespillingvoid

@shanimallina87

#bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x y/n #bradley rooster bradshaw fic #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x y/n #rooster x reader #rooster x y/n #rooster x you #top gun fic #top gun maverick fanfiction #bradley bradshaw fluff #top gun maverick fluff #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw fanfiction

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thegreymarveljedi · 3 months ago

Text

My Dear Cyar’ika

Dom! Tech x Sub! Reader

Here is another SPICY fic but this time, with our favourite clone genius😈.

This is also a fic that I had in my drafts, written for another character from another fandom but I decided to improve it, extend it, and make it extremely kinky and filthy because why not. Let Tech fuck okay?!

Warnings: SMUTT, cockwarming, teasing, Tech has a big dick, collaring! Kink, lingerie, clothing gets ripped, rough fucking, overstimulated, squirting, cum play, slight cum eating, dirty talk, praise! Kink, pet names, Tech is sexy🔥

(Can anyone guess just by my writing that I have a thing for certain kinks🫣)

Words: 2.0k

—————

You had originally come back from the training room to get him for lunch and save the panties as a surprise for later but he insisted you stay. That’s what led to right now.

“So warm sweetheart~” Tech cooed, his cock buried inside you as he worked on something at his work bench. You were sat in his lap, tunic ridden up, pants pulled down and his favourite pair of crotch-less panties on you.

“Yeah?” You said and wiggled your ass just a bit. Tech let his head fall back a little, the sensation of you around him making him even harder.

This wasn’t the first time Tech had had you like this, his cock buried in you as he tinkered. It was one of his favourite pastimes for you both, something to pleasure and be productive with.

“Y-yes,” he replied with a stutter and placed his hands on your hips, holding them tightly but gently. His gloves had been discarded a little bit ago, carelessly tossed on the messy floor of the barracks.

“I’m glad,” you teased and stopped moving, just relaxing into his lap. You took the opportunity to squeeze his cock teasingly with your cunt, your tight pussy doing wonderful things to him.

“You are making it very hard to do any work ad’ika,” he said darkly through grit teeth, his hands tightening on your hips as he buried his face in your neck. He nipped and sucked marks there, just enough out of the way that no one would see them unless your Jedi robes were removed.

“Weren’t you the one that said they wanted to have me sit on their cock while they did work?” You deadpanned and looked at him with the most serious expression you could muster. It was a fun game to play, teasing him with as much seriousness as you could muster. You and Tech stared at each other for another minute before you burst out laughing together, not being able to resist each other.

“Touché mesh’la,” Tech chuckled and adjusted you on his lap, somehow finding a way to go even deeper. Your eyes rolled back a little at the shift, your pussy clenching even harder around him.

“Mmhmm,” you moaned and braced your hands on Tech’s thighs, head lolling back against his shoulder.

“Fuck, you feel so warm around me pretty girl,” Tech said and wrapped his arms around your middle, applying a little pressure to your fupa. You moaned again as he started to massage it, upping the pleasure even more. It always felt like heaven when he toyed with your body, the pleasure only feeling more enhanced. You could feel him cock from the outside he pushed down hard enough, and massaging your fupa did just that.

“Yeah. You feel really good inside me,” you moaned out as the timer on Tech’s work bench dinged. Tech smirked as he looked to his work bench, shifting and adjusting you again so he could reach for his latest project.

“Process complete,” a little automated voice said and the machine stopped, opening to reveal a red and black Beskar collar. Your eyes widened a little at the sight, feeling a new wave of arousal wash over you.

“Perfect timing,” Tech’s smirk widened and he picked up the collar, the beskar folding into a beautiful necklace in his hand. He lifted it up and placed it around your neck before pressing a button on his data pad to activate the collar again, watching as it wrapped snuggly around your neck.

You brought a hand up to touch the collar, the cool feeling of the metal around your neck making you moan. Your eyes met his, filled with lust and longing as Tech thrusted into you shallowly. You moaned at the feeling, eyes closing and pussy fluttering.

“Now everyone will know, you are mine,” Tech growled in your ear and you smiled, his possessive nature making your insides tingle. Tech wasn’t always this way, but when it came to you, he never liked to share. You were his woman, the love of his life and his favourite person to be with.

You turned yourself around in his lap, his cock never leaving you. Tech groaned at the feeling, helping you turn around before grasping your hips once more. Your pants by now had been ripped in half to accommodate the shift in positions, neither of you caring about the destroyed garment.

“I’m all yours,” you said and wrapped your arms around his neck, placing teasing kisses on his neck. Tech leaned his head to the opposite side, giving you better access to his neck under his blacks.

“Kriff yes, you are squeezing me so well and I haven’t even begun to fuck you yet,” Tech said and held you down on his lap making you moan. Your eyes rolled back again, the feeling of him holding you down on his very impressive cock was like heaven. You came back down to earth again and made quick work of his blacks, the top hitting the floor without grace and giving you better access to his chest.

“You feel so good inside me, so full with your cock,” you moaned out and tried to move your hips but Tech held you down for another few moments. His eyes bore into yours, his pupils dilated beyond recognition.

“And you feel so good around me, keeping my cock nice and warm, so tight and ready for me,” Tech said and begin thrusting up into you at a fast, deep pace, his cock hitting all the right places.

“Always. Always tight and ready for you my love. You always make me feel so good,” you moaned and clawed at his back, leaving scratch mark in your wake but Tech didn’t care. He loved it when you marked his body, leaving your imprint on him in more ways than one.

“I know you are darling. And that’s why I love there panties on you,” Tech teased, thumbing at the waist band of them and pulling it out before releasing it and watching them snap back against your body. You yelped and moaned at the sensation, the slight pain adding to the pleasure of it all.

Tech suddenly swung around on the bench causing you to yelp and wrap your arms tightly around his neck. The way his cock pushed in to you as he turned was invigorating, making you moan as the yelp left your mouth. Tech only smirked as he stood up, walking you both over to his bunk all while keeping his cock buried inside you.

He tossed you down on the bed unceremoniously, keeping himself sheathed as he bent over you and caged your body between his and the mattress. He kissed you hungrily, his tongue probing your lips and begging to be let in. You smiled and opened for him, your tongues meeting and fighting for dominance. As usual Tech won and made sure to nip at your tongue and lips as he slowly pulled away.

The kiss left you breathless and speechless, panting and wanting nothing more than to pull him back in. Tech looked down at you with pure lust and adoration before a shit eating grin broke out into his face and he began thrusting into you again faster and harder.

The pace knocked your breath out of your lungs, a cry of ecstasy leaving your lips as Tech fucked you like a monster. He lift your legs up and held the underside of your knees, pushing them down until they lay against your chest. Your mouth hung open as he railed into you, the head of his cock hitting your g-spot perfectly.

“Fuck! Oh maker, tech, you fe-feel so good!” You cried out. All of your praises inflated his ego more and more as he thrusted faster and deeper into you.

“Look at you cyar’ika, taking me so well. You’re so tight, such a gorgeous pussy. So stretched out around my cock,” Tech growled out, his thrusts hitting every nerve inside you. The collar around your neck was a perfect contrast of cool to how hot you were feeling right now, the beskar doing wonders for your heated skin. Tech moved one of his hands upward, placing it over the metal of the collar and pushing down slightly. The pressure wasn’t enough to cut off any circulation but it was enough to draw a pleased moan from your throat.

“Fuck!” You practically screamed as you came, your orgasm so powerful in pushed Tech out, the squad genius mowing at the feeling and force. He waited a moment before moving back and pushing back in, your cunt still spasming with the force of your orgasm. You moaned, the over simulation of your pussy becoming almost too much.

“Tech!” You yelped, hands grabbing for his shoulders trying to remain grounded. Tech only growled and continued to plow into you, his hips and balls slapping against your ass.

“I’m almost there my darling. You’ve taken me so well and you will continue to take me until I am finished,” he said, his voice deep and hushed as he brought his hand down to your clit. Tech used his thumb to vigorously circle your clit, applying pressure and making your hips jerk.

“T-too much! Fuck! Te-tech it’s too m-much!” You cried out, trying to push his hand away from your swollen clit. He wouldn’t let you though, grabbing both your wrists and holding them above your head while pushing further into your body. You cried out as you came again, feeling yourself soak your thighs as well as Tech’s bottom half.

“That’s it darling girl. Cum for me,” Tech said as his thrusts falter, his hips stuttering as you squirted. Tech held himself in place against you, burning himself deep in you as he himself let go, coming hard and deep inside you.

Your eyes rolled even farther back and your back arched, feeling warm and tingly inside thanks to his cum. Tech panted above you, leaning down to nip at your breasts as his cock continued to twitch, slowly softening inside. You both panted, the exertion of your activities leaving you breathless.

Your eyes met his for a brief moment before trailing down to look at his legs, thighs covered in you. You blushed profusely before meeting Tech’s eyes, only to be greeted with his malicious grin. Tech leaned down and kissed you hungrily, nipping at your lips.

“That was so incredibly sexy my dear. You were so good for me,” Tech whispered, slowly pulling out of you and letting go of your wrists. You groaned softly , closing your eyes at the feeling of his cum dripping out of you. Tech watched as it did before moving his fingers down and stopping anymore from leaking out, pushing it back into your pussy. You jolted at the feeling, cunt over stimulated and sensitive.

“I do not want you to loose any,” Tech continued, his voice husky and not above a whisper. You moaned, watching as tech pushed his cum back into you. It was a filthy sight but you did nothing to stop him. Eventually he stopped on his own, bringing his fingers back up and to your lips, encouraging you to open up. You did so without a fight and sucked his fingers into your mouth, making a show of sucking them clean. You could see Tech’s cock twitch at the sight, something about you sucking on his fingers covered in cum turning him on once more.

“You are such a dirty girl, so eager to please me are you not?” I put could only nod at his question, giving him the best puppy eyes you could muster.

“Such a good girl,” Tech said and removed his fingers from your mouth, watching you pant a little before licking your lips.

“Only for you,” you whispered and gave him a cheeky smile which made him chuckle darkly.

“Then let us test that theory, shall we?”

—————

Thank you so much for reading! Drop a comment or a request if you’d like to see more of this kind of writing, but with whom?😈

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