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nametakensff · 5 months

Note

Ummmmmm… ⏰ for Steve??

Thank you so much for the 'Inopportune' prompt, anon! 🥰 Ended up writing 6.2k of S/teve suffering a torturous stuck sneeze that decided to make an appearance at the worst time imaginable 😇

S/teve has been trying to convince the stubborn tickle in his nose to form into a sneeze for hours. It just so happens that he will get his wish, but only when a stunning girl shows up to his work and takes an unprecedented amount of interest in his tickly nose

~~~~~

Content:

M sneezes, M/F (OC made up solely for the purpose of this fic lol), Stuck sneezes, buildups, false starts, manual inducing, tissues, platonic S/tobin, S/teve has a latent sneeze fetish, F OC has a sneeze fetish, sneezing from perfume, scent sensitivity, mentions of photic sneezing, mentions of cold sneezing, sneezing on someone, spray, a little bit of mess but nothing too graphic, sneezing in hands, nose rubbing, embarrassment/humiliation, mentions of masturbation and sex but only a little, S/teve has huge sneezes that he absolutely cannot control

Not explicitly NSFW but pretty close lol. Extremely fetishy

Minors DNI!

Steve had needed to sneeze all. Fucking. Day. It had started the moment he’d rolled out of bed – a distant tickle, not subtle enough to ignore but certainly not sharp enough to give him any kind of release. It was cloying and insistent, and no manner of nose rubbing, sniffling or snorting was doing anything to appease it. He’d sniffled repeatedly as he got dressed and brushed his teeth, hoping to fan the flames and stoke it into fruition. He’d rubbed the tip of his nose back and forth in the way that sometimes helped tip him over the edge of a sneeze just shy of completion. But no. Nothing. All he earned for his efforts was a couple of irritated tears rolling down his cheeks and an unpleasant burning sensation in his nostrils, as if the tickle was actively protesting the provocation.

He’d thought he would sneeze for sure when he’d styled his hair and inevitably inhaled his daily lungful of Farrah Fawcett hairspray fumes. It always tasted disgusting and lingered in his mouth and nose, but he was used to it. Today, the first whiff of the stuff seemed to skyrocket the dormant tickle into overdrive. His chest had jumped violently and the chemical scent seemed to drag the tickle forward through his sinuses; his nostrils began to flare.

“Hh…! HH! Hh-HAH!! HADHTT-!!”

But at the very last moment, when he’d been hanging right on the precipice of release, the sensation receded and the air in his lungs was let go with a startled, disappointed exhalation.

“God fucking dammit.” He’d muttered after several more moments of pleading with his body, eyelashes fluttering as he sniffled and panted, hoping that the manual inhalations would trigger an automatic onslaught of desperate gasps. Nope.

This tickle was definitely on his shitlist. It reared its ugly head again the second he put his car into drive. He’d white-knuckled the steering wheel, tipping his head back and taking in breath after lusty breath. God, but he needed to sneeze so badly.

Much the same as before, the tickle vanished right at the peak of his hitching, leaving him to deflate and scrub desperately at his tingling nostrils. This was fucking insane. A couple of minutes just sitting there and breathing experimentally made it clear that the mounting sensation was quite finished with him for the moment. It was still there, though, retreating back into the deepest recesses of his sinuses with a low grade buzz that left his eyes (and nose) perpetually damp. He swore and pulled out of the driveway, on his way to pick up Robin for their lengthy Saturday shift.

It was as he parked and honked the horn outside her house that the tickle made its unwelcome return. He inhaled deeply through his nostrils, alternating between sniffling and taking breaths through his mouth when that seemed to be stirring the tickle towards completion. He was far too invested in encouraging the sneeze along to care what he looked like when Robin sat down in the passenger seat, but he was sure the face he was making was ridiculous. He sat there and panted like a fucking dog, pressing his tongue against the bottom row of his teeth. Robin was silent next to him, but he could feel her eyes roving over his face as he hitched, and hitched, and hitched…

At last he bristled, one final, stuttering gasp expanding his chest to capacity and yes, he was going to sneeze, he was going to-!

“HAHHHDTTt’-!!”

He held that breath for one second, two seconds, but all at once it was withdrawing, pulling him back from that tantalising edge, bereft of release for the third time that day.

“Nooo, fuck my life!” He groaned, punching the steering wheel and pushing his nose firmly against one upraised palm, violently jostling it back and forth until an audibly damp squishing noise graced the air.

“Don’t tell me you forgot how to sneeze, Dingus?” Robin was giggling next to him, delighted at the sight of his bleary-eyed frustration.

“Haha, hilarious, Robin, thank you. No, it just won’t fucking come out. Dammit.”

He sniffled wetly, sawing a finger back and forth under his nostrils. A quick glance at himself in the front mirror made him grimace – the skin round his nose was looking increasingly irritated, pinkening in response to the repeated manhandling. All this and not even a single sneeze for his efforts.

Robin pressed a packet of tissues into his hand, and he offered a small thanks before blowing his nose. He ignored Robin’s comment about him signing up for a position in the brass section of band sans instrument and pulled away from her house.

“Have you even sneezed once?” She asked as he pocketed the tissues one-handed.

“Nope. Not one fucking sneeze.” He sighed, squeezing his eyes shut hard, for just a moment. The tickle simmered in response, as if in mockery.

“Doesn’t the sun make you sneeze?”

“Usually, first thing in the morning – but no, it should have happened by now. I have no idea what’s going on.”

“Caught a cold?”

He shook his head. He felt totally fine – the only thing wrong was the tickle, rolling through his sinuses in little waves. He blinked, and another set of tears dribbled slowly down his cheeks.

“Allergies?”

“Don’t have any. As far as I know? And nothing’s changed. I just woke up this way. Fuck, it burns, man!”

He reached up and bullied his nose back and forth with a balled-up fist this time, hoping the more aggressive approach would force the tickle to crest. All it did was hurt, and cause him to miss their turn.

By the time they’d pulled into the parking lot at Family Video, he had suffered two more agonising false starts, preceded by lengthy, dramatic buildups that made it a bitch to keep driving, to say the least. He slammed the car door behind him much harder than he would ever allow anyone else to do and strode angrily towards the building, but only made it a few steps before the tickle began to tease him all over again.

He peered up at the sun, knowing it would be useless but pleading with his body all the same. He gasped as the tickle ground against his sinuses, twisting his face into an expression of utter desperation. He’d never wanted to sneeze so badly before, never known his body to both hurtle towards and abjectly prevent the release of it in this cruel back and forth of “will he, won’t he”.

Well, he wouldn’t. Not this time, just like all the other times prior. His breath stuttered, a huge, definitive gasp, but even as it was sucked into his lungs he knew it wasn’t meant to be. It left him in an equally dramatic exhalation, immediately followed by an aggravated “Fuck!!”

Robin was next to him, patting his arm and steering him inside the building. He let her, waiting patiently whilst she unlocked the door and urged him through it.

“You feeling okay, buddy?” She asked, looking amused but genuinely concerned. He sighed and waved her off.

“Yeah, Robs, I’m fine. Kind of losing my mind a little but what else is new, you know?”

He meant to flash a reassuring smile her way, but the lingering tickle twisted it into a partial grimace. She snorted a goofy little laugh in response, and it was enough to make him laugh as well, though that also came out sounding more like a choking cough.

“I’ll cover phones and front desk today, okay, stud?”

“Thank you.”

~~~~~~

This shift was taking forever. Normally the passage of time was assuaged by dealing with customers and joking with Robin, but he was able to do neither, constantly assaulted with the prickling burn of the tickle. It had been hours since he woke up and he still hadn’t managed to sneeze. The false starts were, quite frankly, embarrassing beyond belief. He couldn’t help the way his expression crumpled, the gasps he sucked in, the way his entire body was immobilised by the building desire to sneeze. The best he could do was make sure he had his back turned on any potential spectators. A little girl had pointed and laughed at him, yanking at her mother’s skirt and announcing gleefully “Look, mommy! Funny faces!” That had sure fucking sucked. It totally didn’t make him want the floor to open up and swallow him at all.

It had taken one particularly aggressive false start – one he had been convinced was the real deal, so forceful that his body had been tossed forward with the half-sneeze – to piss him off entirely. He blushed right to the roots of his hair at the almost echoing silence after a monstrously loud “HUUUHHDTT’-!” had torn its way out of his throat, the sneeze cruelly fizzling into nothingness only after he had thoroughly embarrassed himself. Luckily, there had only been an older couple on the other side of the store at that particular moment – their conversation had vanished along with his sneeze, and he made a point of ignoring their curious gazes as he skulked into the back.

This was getting ridiculous. It had been ridiculous for hours, but he wasn’t sure how much more of the abject humiliation and fruitless buildups he could take. His nostrils flared involuntarily, rhythmically twitching like a bunny rabbit as the promise of a sneeze continued to tickle and tease the sensitive walls of his sinuses. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, leaning against the small counter where Keith would fix himself an endless stream of PB&J sandwiches. Steve noticed that he hadn’t even bothered to put the loaf away from his shift the night prior, and half was already gone. Hungry work, he guessed.

Absentmindedly regarding the bread, his hands reached out to secure the small metal wire that Keith had left lazily untwisted. He didn’t like Keith, but he wasn’t enough of an asshole to let the man’s bread go stale out of spite. It was in that moment, as his fingertips brushed over the tie in question, that an idea lit up his brain.

Looking over his shoulder in case Robin made an appearance, he undid the tie entirely and pocketed it. He didn’t know why the thought of what he was about to do felt so salacious, but his heart was beating in his chest all the same. He made his way into the employee bathroom, locked the door behind him, and with sweating palms, extracted the tie and unfurled it into its full extension.

He looked at that little wire for a moment. Why oh why was he feeling so fucking nervous? It was a simple enough idea – stick the thing up his nose and wiggle it around until he made himself sneeze, replace the wire, then back to work. He wanted to sneeze so badly he could hardly focus on anything else, and yet – this felt…naughty. Dangerous. Like he was pulling his cock out at work and going to town. Which was entirely ridiculous, because it was just sneezing. Maybe the suggestive notion of inserting a phallic object into a hole? He huffed out a disbelieving giggle at that.

“Fucking stupid.” He mumbled, bringing the wire up to his nose and hesitating for just a moment.

Steve started out by teasing the flaring rim of one nostril, getting used to the sensation. It was almost immediately too much to bear, and he yanked his head back, eyes watering. It seemed that the best way to do this was to get it over with, no dragging things out. He paused for a second longer, almost giddy with anticipation, before slipping the wire back into his nose and pushing up until he was met with resistance – the very back of his nostril.

“Hh’HAHH!!”

His chest jumped with a sudden inhale – the inside of his nose was so, so irritated. The tiniest little twitch of the wire elicited an even bigger, lustier gasp of air.

“HUHHHH!!”

God. His heart was fucking pounding, eyes streaming tears as the wire bullied the sensitive walls, driving him mad in response. He’d never known a tickle like this before – he was entirely at its mercy, barely able to continue stoking it into completion with the subtle motions of his hand. He reached out, bracing himself on the wall with one trembling hand. It was coming, at last – he was finally, finally going to sneeze. His eyebrows lifted up, nostrils flaring to capacity, mouth dropping open as he took in one last humongous gasp of air, and –

“Steve?”

He nearly jumped out of his skin at the sudden voice and gentle rapping on the bathroom door, dropping the wire as he shuddered in place. His heart had already going haywire in his chest, but now he swore his soul had almost left his body. The absolute shock, the fear – it was enough to terrify not only him, but the budding sneeze as well. He exhaled shakily, totally sneeze-less, feeling so frustrated he could cry.

“Yeah, I’m in here!” He grumbled, paranoid and hoping his voice didn’t somehow reveal to Robin the embarrassing nature of what he’d just been doing. He ignored the thought that it felt like the time his mom walked in on him jacking off in middle school.

“Okay, sorry!” She sounded concerned, and Steve sighed, running a hand over his face, willing himself to calm down. He sniffled, a distinctly liquid sound – the tickle continued its rampage, ever present but never enough to give him the relief he needed.

“You okay?” He offered back when he sensed her lingering. She would have heard that ridiculous false start before, watched him skulk into the back and not come back out.

“Yeah, I’m fine, just – checking in.”

“I’m fine, Robin. Promise.” He lied before blowing his nose as violently as he could, hoping in vain it would tickle enough to make him sneeze. It did not.

“Well, good. Listen, I was gonna go on lunch but I totally forgot to pack something – I’m gonna go grab a sandwich – I can get you one, too – but I just need you to cover for 15 teensy little minutes?”

He sighed.

“Yeah, it’s all good. Just go, I’ll be out in a second.”

He turned on the tap, hoping she would take the hint and leave.

“20 minutes tops!!” He heard her voice receding.

“Grab me a meatball sub!” He shouted after her. Maybe his irritability would deplete once he had the weight of a huge, greasy sandwich weighing him down and making him sleepy. At this point, he would take any kind of distraction.

He sighed again, sniffling once more and regretting it as the burning tickle brought fresh tears to his eyes, and made his way out to the front of the store.

~~~~~~

It would be just his fucking luck that within 4 minutes of Robin’s departure, one of the cutest girls he had ever seen strolled through the door and, upon witnessing Steve behind the front desk, made a beeline towards him. He willed the tickle to back the fuck off, at least enough so that he wasn’t wearing a permanent grimace of frustration.

Man, but this girl was smoking hot – he didn’t recall seeing her around, but then again, life was no longer high school and he wasn’t constantly crammed in a building with the same faces day in and day out. She didn’t look like a high schooler – she was, what, maybe a little older than him? College kid who was back in town for the holidays? He didn’t have much longer to consider, taking in her auburn perm and the pretty lilac eye shadow she’d daubed across the corners of her eyes.

“Hi.” She said simply, placing her manicured hands on the edge of the counter. She smiled at Steve, and it was radiant. He wished she hadn’t chosen today of all days to suddenly appear in all her mouth-watering perfection.

“Hey.” He offered back, managing to neither hitch or gasp. “Do you need any assistance today?”

She slowly drummed her pretty fingers on the counter – expensive manicure, French tipped nails.

“I’m visiting my girlfriends over summer break and we’re having a pizza party. I was really hoping you might know of any decent romcoms –“ She paused for a moment, eyes flicking to his badge then back up to his face – “Steve.”

He tried so, so hard not to let the way she practically purred his name affect him, but this was feeling more and more like a wet dream by the second. The only way he knew for certain it wasn’t was the evil little tickle, prickling away and making his nostrils flare for just a moment. He hoped she hadn’t noticed but how could she not, making eyes at him like that. He reached up with a crooked finger, allowing himself the briefest of rubs before flashing her right on back with one of his best-practiced smiles.

“I’d be happy to help a customer in need, Ms…?”

“Clara. Call me Clara.”

She flipped her silky hair over her shoulder, a charming gesture that exposed the column of her elegant neck – but Steve had barely a moment to focus on it before a sudden wave of lavender smacked him in the face. She was wearing perfume – an overwhelming amount of the stuff.

Unable to help it, he coughed into an upraised fist, then used his knuckles to quell the tickle that seemed to almost explode in a fizz of sensation. He’d spent all day pleading with his body to make him sneeze, and the second it seemed to want to comply, he wanted anything but. Fuck his life. Fuck it hard.

“Ah, sorry.” He started, hoping his tone came across as easy-going and unselfconscious. “Just a touch of allergies.”

It was a lie – he had no clue what the fuck had gotten into him. Maybe he was getting sick after all – but the last thing he wanted to do was offend Clara. His response seemed to mollify her, her expression of disappointment morphing into a much more jovial countenance. He didn’t want to read into it too much, but she kind of looked a little…excited? He could work with that.

“Aw, that’s too bad.” Clara twirled a lock of her hair round her finger, looking at him with unmasked interest, eyes lidded and pupils blown. Oh, he could definitely work with that. He nodded at her.

“It’s not ideal, Clara, but I can handle it. Not gonna let a little bit of pollen stop me from providing ladies such as yourself with only the best of service.”

He smiled at her again, laying it on a little thick, hoping it would compensate for the way his nostrils kept twitching. It seemed to work like a charm – she looked positively spellbound, gently chewing on her bottom lip, eyes periodically flitting back and forth from his nose and eyes. Huh. Maybe she liked a little bit of vulnerability in her men.

“You’re a card.” She giggled back at him.

It felt good to get back into the swing of easy-going flirtation. It was almost enough for him to ignore the tickle raging in his sinuses. Almost. He sniffled, grinding the knuckle of a forefinger into the side of his nose and squinting one eye shut. It helped to prevent him from launching into another buildup, and luckily Clara seemed not to mind. She reached out to pat him conciliatorily on the arm he had rested on the counter.

“You poor thing. Got a tickle?”

The way she was looking at him right now was a look he was painfully familiar with – those were bedroom eyes she was ravishing him with. But right now? When he looked like…this? Man, who was this chick? He decided to roll with it.

“Such a tickle. It just won’t leave me alone – I’ve been sniffling all day.”

Okay, now that really seemed to work – little spots of red were starting to appear on her cheeks, visible under her expertly applied makeup. She even looked picture perfect when she blushed. He didn’t understand why she was blushing, but it was electrifying all the same.

“Enough about me, though.” He lowered the hand he had been bullying his nose with to rest on top of her own. She shuddered almost imperceptibly. “Let’s find you ladies a movie.”

~~~~~~

Clara was cool and all, but she truly didn’t seem to understand the concept of personal space. She was right up against Steve’s side as he launched into a little spiel about their most popular movies, his own recommendations, and just the odd little bit of movie trivia he’d managed to absorb from Robin that he hoped would really seal the deal of his own expertise. Clara nodded along eagerly, asking him for more details on each and every movie. He got the distinct feeling that she was dragging this out and keeping him talking on purpose. He was happy to oblige, but the malingering tickle was clearly fed up with being ignored for as long as it had been.

He’d launched into two separate buildups already, turning away from Clara and burying his face in the upraised collar of his polo shirt. Each had ended with more embarrassingly loud false starts before he inevitably deflated, turning back to her with an apology and a sheepish smile. Each time she had assured him it was no problem at all, edging even closer. Her pupils were huge.

“So, what are you thinking?” Steve smiled at her.

“Hmm?”

“About the movies? Any idea which ones?”

“Oh! Umm…maybe those ones?” She seemed a little bashful about the suddenly all too obvious way she’d been staring. It was nothing new to him – girls staring at him like he was a total dreamboat. It was extremely flattering, no matter how often it happened.

“Sure thing.”

He reached over her shoulder to grab one of the cassettes she was pointing towards – they were stood almost flush together, the way Clara had angled herself between him and the wall shelves. There was hardly any wriggle room, the corner of a perpendicular row of shelves pressing into his back. Ordinarily, this would have been a simple manoeuvre – a tantalising moment of fleeting physical connection, video tape obtained, guaranteed swooning on any girl’s part. But Clara, instead of melting back against his chest, spun round in surprise, looking up at him with heated eyes.

He wouldn’t have minded this, her breasts almost pushing against his chest and her pretty face so close to his, but that overwhelming lavender scent…It was almost unbearable. Not to mention that her squirming as he leaned forward meant he’d gotten a faceful of tickly, soft perm, just as saturated with the cloying floral scent as the rest of her. The omnipresent tickle exploded with renewed sensation at the double combo of internal and external stimulation.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. He was gonna sneeze. It was so imminent and so overpowering, and he was trapped between Clara and the shelves. Even without the building pressure rendering him immobile it would have required an awkward amount of wriggling to escape his current situation without pressing right up against her. And maybe he would have, if he wasn’t at fucking work, if he wasn’t about to sneeze all over this beautiful fucking girl. He shuddered with a sudden, uncontrollable gasp, mouth dropping open in a desperate gape. He was surprised he didn’t lose all control then and there, but he managed to hold back through sheer willpower. He turned his watering, rapidly closing eyes on her and tried to utter a warning, a plea that she get herself out of his way before it was too late.

“Hh-! C-Clara, I’m g-hh!! Gonnahh-hHH!! HUHH!!”

It was too much. Hours and hours of teasing torment, the tickle playing with him, bringing him to the peak of release then pulling him back over and over – it was all about to come to an end. He’d done all he could, he’d warned her; now he simply had to give in and let his body work himself up to that long sought-after release.

His nostrils flared to capacity, the round ellipses of them even more apparent in contrast to the sleek, pointed shape of his nose at rest. His eyebrows rose in a beatific acceptance of the approaching climax; his mouth hung gently open, pink tongue curling as he gasped. His lungs filled with air until they could fill no more.

“HhUH! HUHH! HUHHDTt-!!”

He couldn’t help the way his chest swelled and jumped, expanding with every desperate inhale, but even through the sneeze-induced paralysis he could have sworn Clara moved closer still. There was enough room for her slender figure to weasel her way around him, enough time as the mounting sensation rendered him frozen, but no. They were almost face to face. It was mortifying – he couldn’t believe what was about to happen. But he hurtled towards the climactic release all the same, and for a few seconds whilst he held onto a final inhalation in statuesque serenity, his mind turned blank and all he could focus on was the sweet anticipation of a truly colossal surrender.

And so, it was happening. It was finally happening. He was vaguely aware of Clara pushing her body up against him, nuzzling into him, and then it was exploding out of him in a dizzying rush of air and spray.

“HUUUUHHHHRISSSHHHHAHHHH!!!”

Ohh fuck. That felt so fucking good. He trembled with it, forced forward and into Clara, bracing himself with one hand on the wall shelf. He barely had a moment to luxuriate in the release before the tickle flared again, even more insistently, and he was gasping and cringing into a second monstrous sneeze.

“AEGK’TISSSSSSHHHHHHH’IEWWW!!”

That one felt even better. The pleasure of an itch well scratched sent a delicious commotion of goosebumps up and down the skin of his arms. But again, he wasn’t finished. He inhaled deeply, lustily, surrendering entirely and beckoning in a third explosion.

“HAHHH’YISHHHHHIEWWWW!!”

He let it do as it would with him, rocking him forward and sending a shiver down his spine. He almost moaned at its conclusion but was shocked to feel yet another sneeze beginning to swell. He tilted his head back, inviting it in – when he was brought back into himself by a gentle little gasp that was decidedly not his own.

Fuck. Clara. She was clinging to him now, pressed between him and the shelves. He was suddenly all too aware of her presence; the soft, fluffy hair rubbing against his cheek. He could have died of mortification. He wanted to, but his body wanted to sneeze even more. He managed to lift his shaky free hand around Clara’s shoulder and up to his face, just a moment too late as the fourth barrelled through him. It doused his fingers with a heavy spray as they lingered a foot away from his flaring nostrils.

“TISHHHHHHHHH’UUUU!!”

He snuffled, finally bringing his hand to face for the next one – and just in time. The harsh sneeze brought not only a fresh dousing of spray, but the dams of his sinuses finally burst, and a splattering of light mess graced his palm.

“HH’RIIISSSSSCHHHH!! HAH’AEGK’TSCHHHHIEWWW!!”

That sneeze brought a friend, just as messy and violent. God, would it ever end? He was getting lightheaded from the sheer force of the releases, in equal amounts pleasurable and exhausting. He sniffled hard, the sound thick and crackling. He felt like if he could just get the residual tickle out in one last, huge explosion, he could put an end to it. Even as the sneeze built, he continued to sniffle, fanning the flames of the tickle and increasing the irritation beyond what he thought his body capable. This was going to be big, even for him.

“HAHHHdTT-!! HAHHHH’GITTSCHHHHHH’IEWWW!!!”

Holy fuck. He couldn’t help the little moan of pleasure that escaped him afterwards, clutching his dripping hand to his face. He stood there, almost swaying, as he came back to himself. What a fucking fit – definitely the worst he’d had in recent history, even worse than the ones brought on by the cold he’d managed to catch last Christmas.

After a couple of seconds of sheer, self-indulgent bliss, he realised Clara was embracing him, rubbing a tentative hand up and down his back as he practically leant over her, pressing her into the shelf. He hadn’t realised quite how much the sneezes had thrown him forward and backed her up – she was practically sandwiched in place. His face flushed and he withdrew in a sudden clumsy scramble, ignoring the pain of the shelf that prodded into his back and managing at last to put some space between them.

Clara was red in the face, looking absolutely dumbfounded. It was bad enough, that he had practically smothered her at his place of work, but worst of all, his eyes could make out the distinctive darkened patches of moisture all over her pretty pink blouse. His sneezes, all over the fabric, so damp that it was almost clinging to her skin in places. Now he really wanted to die.

“Fuck, I am so, so sorry-!” He scrambled for a clean tissue one handed, his other hand still precariously pressed against his messy face, then started dabbing ineffectively at the saturated fabric of her blouse once he managed to yank one out of his pocket.

“No, it’s – it’s fine, honestly.” She said, gently taking the tissue from him and resuming his work, and he just had to take her word for it. She looked shy, but not disgusted. If anything, she looked – no. Surely the fuck not.

He extracted another tissue and turned away from her, grimacing as he wiped his hands and face clean. He hesitated for a short moment, glancing around the store and finding it empty – sweet Jesus in heaven, thank you. It took him several tissues to successfully blow his nose, but once he’d finished, he felt brand new. Completely purged of the tickle, he was an irritation-free man.

“Bless you.”

He turned around, a fresh wave of mortification crashing over him. The damage to her shirt had barely been dented by the measly little tissue. He’d effectively super-soaked her. It took all his remaining energy not to cringe and flee into the back of the store.

“I’m so sorry, Clara. I totally sneezed all over you. I promise I’m not getting sick. Shit.”

She smiled at him as he fumbled over his words, appearing not the least bit worried about getting sick at all.

“Honestly, Steve. It’s okay.”

He caught himself just before he cocked his head at her like a dog. This was not a normal response to being sneezed and spit on. Maybe she was just really, really kind. The alternative was much more ridiculous – he wouldn’t entertain it.

“You’re being so nice about this but I feel like such a jerk. I’ve been needing that all day and I just – couldn’t control it.”

“I could tell.” She giggled, looking more than okay to be in receipt of that information. Okay, so maybe she was more than just kind. He smiled back at her, relieved in more ways than one. Fuck, it had been great to sneeze, and being able to do so – making a total fucking mess of himself in front of a beautiful girl, who even seemed to like it – he would never curse his bad luck again. Deciding to test the waters a little, he rubbed a finger under his damp, flaring nostrils, delighting in the way her eyes followed the motion.

“Actually, it smells great and all but I think your perfume might be bothering me a little. Not that that’s a bad thing. I’d rather sneeze like that all day than be stuck with a tickle that won’t go away.”

He flashed her one of the cockiest grins he could muster. She looked like she was about to swoon.

“You really helped me out there.”

“Really?” She all but sighed, stepping towards him – and bringing with her a fresh wave of lavender.

“Y-yeah. Sorry, Clara, I’m gonna-!”

He managed to bring a new tissue up to his nose, quaking as an earth-shattering double raced through him and exploded into the soft paper.

“HAGK’TISSSSSSHHHH!! AESSSHHHHHUUU!! Ohh, god. Bless me.”

Clara offered him a breathy ‘Bless you’ of her own, which he thanked enthusiastically, making a show of wiping his nostrils clean. This seemed to have an almost hypnotic effect on her, broken only when he asked her if she’d still like to rent any movies.

“What?” She blinked her big, pretty eyes at him. He smiled.

“Want me to ring those movies up for you? These two, right?”

He reached for the tapes she’d been after and held them up for her to consider.

“Oh. Um. Yeah, those would be great, thanks.” She seemed embarrassed, like a spell had suddenly been broken and she finally realised she’d been making the sultriest bedroom eyes at him in the middle of an open store again.

He nodded, making his way back to the desk and gesturing for her to follow. He was almost euphoric as he updated her information on the computer. If one could experience afterglow from sneezing alone, he was definitely there. He just wanted to laze around and bask in the joy of being entirely tickle free, completely purged of all irritation. Maybe it wasn’t so bad, being teased and tormented like that, if the final result felt so damn good.

“Here you go! All set.”

He handed her the tapes with a winning smile and she took them with a little smile of her own. His eyes drifted to the speckled fabric of her blouse, still drenched with the result of his sneezing.

“Listen, I know you said you don’t mind but I still feel real awful about ruining your top. Will you let me pay for dry cleaning?”

She fixed him with another heated glance, twirling her pretty hair round her finger.

“I’d rather you use the money to take me out sometime.”

He grinned.

“Yeah? I can make that happen. You have a number I can call?”

Steve was grinning like an idiot and waving goodbye to a giggling Clara when Robin nearly made him jump out of his skin for the second time that day.

“What the fuck was that?”

“Jesus, Robin! That’s it, I’m getting you a bell.”

The irritation he intended to exude was clearly lost in translation, likely due to the fact that he couldn’t stop the smug grinning. Robin jabbed him in the ribs with her finger until he squirmed in protest.

“Who was that?”

He set about stacking tapes, enjoying the way Robin’s frustration built as he turned away from her. She poked him harder.

“Steve, tell me who that crazy hot girl was and why she was still making eyes at you even after you snotted all over her right now.”

He groaned. He mustn’t have heard her come back in – which made total sense. He could have been on another planet for how out of it that sneezing had made him.

“How long were you watching?”

“Long enough.” Robin smirked, before handing him a sandwich. He took it gratefully.

“You’re a saint, Robs.”

“Worked up an appetite?” She smirked at him, taking a bite out of her own. Keith would have chewed them out for eating out front, but Steve couldn’t care less. He practically tore into his own, getting sauce all over the tip of his nose with the sheer voracity of his bite.

“You could say that.” He mumbled round a mouthful of bread and meat. “Her name is Clara.” He offered before taking another huge bite.

“I’ve never seen her before.”

“Me neither. Think she’s from out of town, visiting friends. Didn’t really ask. College girl.”

“She was cute. And totally weird.”

“That’s a fucking understatement. I can’t believe I sneezed all over her and she still wants me take her on a date.”

“Steve, you’re great, but believe me, if I could figure out what the fuck it is you manage to do to charm these girls, I would bottle that shit and make a million in sales overnight.”

“Hmm. This felt different though. I think she – maybe liked me more? After I started sneezing? She kept giving me these eyes, Robin – and I wasn’t even trying.”

“Well,” Robin started with a gentle slap on his shoulder. “If you figure it out, let me know. Maybe all I need to do is start sneezing on the girls I like.”

“Shut up, man!” Steve called after her as she sauntered away, laughing through another huge mouthful of food.

He didn’t know what the fuck this girl’s deal was, but with any luck, she would let him know in the back of his car. Or in the back of a movie theatre. Or in her bed. And he hoped she was wearing that perfume when she did.

#I had so much fun writing this. like. so much #s/tranger t/hings #nametakenfic #sneeze fic #sneeze kink #snz kink #snzfucker #sneeze fucker #snz fet #snzblr

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katyawriteswhump · 1 month

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moonlight and lace

For @steddieangstyaugust day 7 prompt, Moonlight. (Originally, it was for day 6, ‘who did this’ but then moonlight took over somehow, which gave me more time, too!)

Rating: M WC: 1880 Content warnings: kidnap, captivity, abuse, severe trauma, non-explicit horror and torture, unwanted touching, victim self-blaming, all dead dove, so yeah, I mean it, sorry! Tags: extreme angst with eventual hurt/comfort. No Upside Down AU.

Summary: That last night with Eddie, Steve did literally everything wrong… and then he went and got kidnapped and clings to fraying dreams of putting things right.

…

Steve watched the strip of moonlight creep slowly across the cellar. With his thumb, he fretted his bloodstained lace cuff, freeing it from where it caught beneath his manacles.

Night time. Moonlight. A lump clogged Steve’s throat.

The moon had shone that last time he’d seen Eddie—not imagined, nor hallucinated, but properly laid eyes on his boyfriend, Eddie Munson. He and Eddie had kissed, and Steve had been in a rush. Crap, he’d been in a shitty mood, and he’d taken Eddie’s smoochy sweetness for granted.

Not anymore.

He’d relived each moment of that parting a thousand times over. Eddie had wound his arms around Steve’s neck and rubbed his face in Steve’s hair. “I could get high on you, Babe. Even without inhaling a lungful of Farrah Fawcett.”

Steve had wriggled free, and their last kiss had been rushed. He’d been cranky, tired, in a hurry to get home.

Now, Steve sniffled and shifted his aching bones. His chains didn’t allow him to lie flat, or even sit comfortably on the concrete floor. He’d literally trade his wretched life to press his clammy brow to a dry pillow. Or to snuggle beneath a warm blanket that would cut out the biting cold. Or to go back to that fateful evening with Eddie, and…

…not toss his entire world into a dumpster.

Because, somehow, this was Steve’s fault, right?

Scoops had been quiet the final hour of that final day, with only one or two lone customers. Robin had disappeared round the back of the store with Vickie, and Steve had gotten all intense with Eddie in a booth. His words had haunted him for… Shit, he didn’t know how long he’d been a prisoner here. He’d not scratched the days on the walls, like Dustin or anybody who wasn’t a braindead idiot would’ve done.

He’d just slowly lost count.

“It’s not that I don’t wanna be with you, Eddie,” he’d said, back in that booth, idly picking the fudge topping from their shared sundae. “It’s only that… Look, I always dreamed about a wedding and then family, and I just can’t wrap my head around how that’s gonna work with us. I mean, I know I’m only nineteen and all, but if we’re gonna foster or adopt, we have to think about this adult shit. And, seriously, I want a proper wedding, which isn’t even legal! Could be one day, though, and Robin says we need to make a stand about these things, so we gotta think about costume and—”

“Sssssh.” Eddie had pressed his fingertips to Steve’s lips. “We’ll make it work, Babe.”

Steve scowled, and Eddie’s warm touch slipped away. “You gonna give me more bullshit about marriage being a crypto-fascist institution?"

“Nope.” Eddie leaned closer and said, in a barely audible whisper, “That dude in the next booth is listening.”

Steve flicked his hair from his eyes, surreptitiously peeped. He couldn’t even see the accused guy’s face beneath his hooded top. “You’re the one who says we should be out and proud,” bitched Steve. “Why be a wuss about it now? Jesus!”

“It’s not that, Honey. He keeps staring at you, and I’ve seen him here before. He’s giving me the creeps.”

“Woah. Jealous?”

“Always. But I’m being serious for once.”

After that, Eddie had wanted to walk Steve back to his car. Of course, Steve had refused: “Like I need the Prince of Geek to defend my honor.”

They’d parted near the delivery entrance of Starcourt, and Eddie had walked away to his van. Steve had hurried toward his BMW alone, across the moonlit employee parking lot.

He’d been here, in this cellar, ever since. Long enough to understand that a future with Eddie would always have been beautiful. Might even have been that Winnebago and six little nuggets, and instead…

…there’d been that sickening crack across the back of his head and then nothing. Then worse than nothing.

In his prison, a flash of daylight between the broken shutters usually woke Steve. He’d often be ripped from a fevered dream about Eddie. He dreamed about his other friends, too, but it was always Eddie who he imagined coming to free him.

And when that too-bright light stirred him? His heart would thump like it was gonna burst through his ribcage and he’d blink the mists from his eyes.

For a magical heartbeat, Eddie would still be there, rushing toward him, arms open, eyes wide with forgiveness. Always forgiveness, because Steve craved that most of all.

“Who did this?” Eddie would ask, taking Steve’s face in his hands.

I did? I deserved it, Eddie, I…

Eddie would crumble to dust. The masked figure looming in Eddie’s place would grab Steve bodily, partially unchaining him, then hauling and twisting and shoving him toward the bucket and then… and then…

Some days, they’d strip that disgusting lacey wedding dress from him, sponge him down with ice-cold water, dress him again. Like he was a doll. Bending and manipulating him, the sicko would arrange Steve however he chose, because Steve was too weak to struggle. He was a ragdoll.

Steve had gotten good at shutting his mind down to the touching. He’d learned that skill fast—even in the early days, when they’d kept him in his Scoops uniform, and when he’d still tried to fight back.

Which never went well.

His movements were sluggish—he figured he’d been drugged, though his head hadn’t been right since they’d brained him behind Starcourt. Also in those early times, when he’d realized screaming meant more pain, he used to suck on that dumbass red neckerchief from his Scoops uniform. Recently, in the wedding dress, he’d battle to get to that grubby lace cuff, so he could bite and tear and chew.

That was his mornings. He was okay at night, though. Always left alone.

Until everything changed.

Steve heard shouting and thumping, the petrifying ratter-tat of gunshots, and then his own desperate cry, frail and distant. Then he froze completely, ragged nails gouging through the lace and into his palm. This was not the routine. Eddie was here and his face was eerily underlit by torchlight, rather than marbled by the moon, and it was wrong, all wrong, and…

…it’s not Eddie. It’s never Eddie. It’s HIM.

Steve attempted to curl into a ball, chains clinking, teeth grinding as he braced for… what? A gentle touch on his shoulder had his lungs jamming up.

“Hey, Steve? You with me?” The rumbling voice was distantly familiar. The smell… male and sweaty… different to that putrid musk he’d choked on too many times. “It’s me, Chief Hopper. You’re safe now, okay? We caught the crazy son-of-a-bitch, and we’re gonna get you out of here. You with me? You understand?”

Steve peeped up. Then screwed his eyes tightly shut. “Dream,” he whispered. The furnace-like heat of the other man’s body made him shiver violently.

“No, kid. I’m really here. You’re gonna be okay now.” Then, in an ear-splitting yell: “Hey? HEY! Where are those goddamn bolt-cutters? This kid is not in good shape.”

In the hospital, Steve fiddled with the IV drip then the bracelet they lopped about this wrist. He missed the tattered lace and he had to focus on something. Looking up into people’s faces was more than he could handle.

His friends were freaked by him. From the tail of his eye, he watched his parents gawking at him, like he was a china doll. Still a fucking doll. His mom squeezed his hand and it hurt way worse than it should. He bit his sore lip that, even now, refused to heal.

Eventually, he snatched a sharp inbreath, and glanced up at Robin. Her squeak reminded him of that cellar rat that’d bit his foot once. Drawing on every last ounce of his strength, he tried again and this time held her terror-struck gaze.

“Steve, um, sorry. It’s just this is the first you’ve looked at—"

“How long since they brought me here?”

“Uh… lemme think. Eight days?”

She’d turned ghostly white beneath her freckles. His heart heaved a dull thud. “Why hasn’t Eddie come to see me?”

“He has, Steve. He visits every day. They stopped letting him in. When you see him… I dunno, he triggers something bad. You totally flake out.”

“Oh.” What more was there to say? Other than, “Can you say sorry for me?”

“What for?”

“I… I honestly can’t remember, apart from... Oh God, please, Robin. You gotta help me. I need to see him.”

The next thing he knew, he’d flung his arms around her, and he was sobbing into her chest. She hugged back, rubbing juddering circles on his back. He didn’t remember the last time he cried. Then again, his memory had more holes in it than… a frayed lace cuff.

It felt like a century between when she left and when she came back. She held his hand loosely and said, “Eddie’s here, Steve. He’s real, I promise. It’s all real and you’re gonna get through this, and you’re gonna be okay.”

“Liar.” Steve smirked, then his mouth dropped open and turned dry. Eddie stood not two yards off, clutching the doorframe.

“Stevie, listen—I’ll never forgive myself for not walking you back to your car.”

“Seriously?” Steve shrank from Eddie’s tragedy-filled eyes. Panic jostled from every angle, especially as Robin released his hand and backed away. “Well... I guess it would’ve been cool to have some company in that basement.”

“Honey, how can you joke—”

“Gotta do something.” Steve fiddled with his wristband. He sensed Eddie edging closer.

Don’t lose your shit, Harrington. Say what you have to say. You thought about it long enough.

“Look, Eddie, I’m sorry. I’m really fucking sorry I was a bitch that night. I’m still up for kids, if I’m not too broken to be a parent, though you’re in luck on one thing. There’s no goddamn way I’m ever getting dressed up for a wedding.”

“I can’t laugh at that either,” said Eddie, “you’re sick, Baby.”

“Hah! No shit.”

Eddie enfolded Steve in his arms. He whispered that there was nothing to forgive. He’d known Steve was beat that night and had never been mad about it, even before Steve had been snatched. Anyhow, Eddie had apparently been dead cranky the day before it all happened, although Steve remembered nothing of that, and…

Steve tuned out. It was all too much. Thank Christ he hasn’t taken my face in his hands.

He pressed his cheek to Eddie’s shoulder, revelled in that fluffy hair, breathed deep of the scent of Eddie. Tobacco… A touch of cherry twizzlers? Really, truly, Eddie. The lights seemed to dim, and he watched the moonlight trickle through the hospital blinds.

Moonlight. Oh shit.

“This is real,” murmured Steve. “Right?”

...

(it is real, he really got rescued, okay? Unless you reeeeally wanted the angsty horror ending, but I say he escaped...)

Thanks for reading!

All my ST stuff on AO3

#steddieangstyaugust #steddie #steve harrington #steddie fic #steve x eddie #steve harrington whump #steddie fanfic #steddie fanfiction #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie angst

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strangersatellites · 1 year

Text

very excited to announce this!!!!

envy, wrath, sloth, gluttony, greed, lust, ao3

this is part one of what will be the

Seven Deadly Sins Series (NSFW 18+)

pride (noun) - inordinate esteem for one’s own excellence. It is a habit or vice that disposes us to think more of ourselves than we ought.

The Hair.

King Steve.

Pretty Boy.

Steve is no stranger to objectification. He’s well acquainted with the way girls blush and giggle when he smiles their way in the halls. The way guys seem to puff out their chests when they speak to him.

In fact, his physical appearance has become so much a part of who he is at this point that he’s probably single-handedly keeping Farrah Fawcett spray on shelves across the nation.

But the thing about being naturally attractive, Steve learned the hard way, is that humility is what really gets under people’s skin.

Blushes go pinker when his response to a giggly “You look handsome today, Steve,” is looking at his shoes with a quiet, “What, this? Thank you.”

Other boys look less ready to throw a punch or an insult his way when they sprinkle their gametime trash-talk with “Pretty Boy” and “King Steve” if he just laughs and keeps playing.

Humility is what really does it.

For most people.

In the past few months he’s been dating Eddie Munson though, he’s realized there’s one exception.

It's not that Steve doesn’t think he’s attractive. It’s not that at all. He knows he’s good looking, spends an inordinate amount of time making sure he highlights it daily. Loves it about himself actually.

He doesn’t usually let people know that he knows, is the thing.

But Eddie loves when he’s vain.

Loves the way he primps in the mirror before they go out.

How he spins around to make sure his best assets are on display.

Steve’s honestly lost count of the number of times he’s been talking to himself in the bathroom, staring at his reflection saying “Damn, I look good in this outfit,” before arms are snaking around his waist and squeezing at his hips. A gravelly, “Fuck yeah you do,” in his ear.

That’s why, with a Herculean effort, Steve pulls himself away from Eddie’s lips where he’s in his lap on his couch.

They’re both breathing heavy, lips swollen, and eyes glassy. But Steve has an idea.

He rubs his thumbs over Eddie’s cheeks and breathes a laugh when he turns to nip at one of them. Can’t help but to lean in and kiss him again.

“Can we try something, baby?” He whispers into the barely there space between them.

Feels Eddie nod and hands grip at his thighs.

“Anything you want, Stevie.”

He trails a hand back to tangle in Eddie’s curls and shifts to bite at his ear and whisper, “Want you to fuck me in front of the mirror. Wanna watch.”

When Eddie pulls back from him it’s with a wicked smirk and eyes darker than Steve’s ever seen. He bucks Steve up and off and smacks him on the ass when he turns to leave.

“Yeah baby. Let's go watch how pretty you are.”

He knows his smile is blinding when he laughs back over his shoulder.

*****

Steve always thinks he’s hot, but he thinks he’s prettiest when he’s kneeling and sitting back on his boyfriend’s dick with tear streaks down his cheeks and drool down his chest.

He’s so spacey, and so stuffed full that he’d agree with almost anything Eddie said.

Currently it's a litany of, “Look at you baby, you’re so hot,” and “My sweet baby. Prettiest angel,” and “Look how pretty you are, huh,” with every punch of his hips and bite to the side of his neck.

Between Steve’s punched out breaths and whines he’s nodding. “Mhm. ‘M the prettiest. So pretty when I cry.”

His agreements have Eddie groaning and wrapping the hand not digging into his hip around the front of his neck and dragging him backward into a bruising kiss.

He’s smiling and Steve can feel him laugh when he whimpers against his mouth. “Tell me about it baby. Tell me what’s pretty.”

Gasps from deep in his chest when Eddie wraps his hand around his cock and tugs.

“Tell me.”

Steve whines once and squirms under the attention. Loves it.

“My eyes,” he gasps. Eddie hums from behind him and slows his hips to a deep grind. “My eyes look really green when I’m crying. I like them.”

A soft kiss dropped to his shoulder and two sets of eyes on him in the mirror.

“My hair. Like it when– when it's messy,” a hiccup and eyes squeezed shut when Eddie shifts inside him just right. “Like when it’s messy from your hands.”

He slides his own hands up his thighs and squeezes at the hand Eddie still has against his hip.

He meets his own gaze in the mirror and his face breaks into a smile as his chest heaves.

“Like my lips when they’re swollen. People can tell I just kissed you. Want ‘em to know.”

In a second Eddie’s got a palm flat against his back and has his shoulders shoved down into the carpet, his head twisted to see himself.

He knows he’s falling fast because he giggles when Eddie grips at his hips and pulls him back onto his dick. Giggles even more when Eddie looks up at him in the mirror and smirks when he pushes in deep.

“Pretty when I’m ass up for you,” he smiles and his eyes finally stray away from his own reflection to meet his boyfriends gaze, fucked out and cocky.

Eddie lands a sharp smack to his ass and squeezes. “Hell yeah you are baby. So pretty when you’re on my dick.”

One of his hands slides up Steve’s spine and presses down on the back of his neck and pulls a gasp from his lungs.

“But you know what baby?”

Steve hums with his eyes locked on the way his ass bounces with each meeting of Eddie’s hips.

The hand snakes back around to tug at his cock again and he knows it won’t take much more when Eddie grits out “Prettiest when you come for me.”

His legs shake and he lets out a high whine as he spurts into Eddie’s hand.

“That’s it angel. God you feel so good, Stevie,” is all Eddie can get out before Steve feels his hips stutter and his breath leave him in low groan.

Steve knows he’s attractive is the thing.

Knows he’s pretty and loves it.

People tell him all the time.

But one of his favorite things to hear is when he’s coming down from his orgasm high, his boyfriend lists the things he finds prettiest.

“Your smile.”

“Your laugh.”

“Your heart.”

“The way you love people.”

“The way you love me.”

“The prettiest is the way you love yourself.”

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romanarose · 1 year

Text

If You Wanna Be Wild: Chapter 3

Co-written with @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction

Javier Peña x Latina!sex worker!informant!Reader/OC x Santiago Garcia

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Summary: Javier goes to see Candy to 'get information', runs into the last person he was expecting.

Content and warnings for whole fic, not chapter by chapter unless something is added: Sex work, drug trade, some drug use/pressured used, sex workers and the mistreatment/stigma surrounding them specifically in the 70’s (my blog is sex worker positive) but ima put potential dub con depending how you look at it as a sex worker who works with dangerous men, some action surrounding reader and the guys and the drug trade, SMUT HEAVY, corruption kink (were corrupting santi here, he’s young, 25), no loss of virginity tho, threesomes, some slight m/m smut but that’s not the focus here, but as you know this blog is an lgbt blog so I’m always open to gay shit. Talk of war and some PTSD but I won't be going a whole lot into it.

Additional warnings: References to BDSM and rough sex thats consensual, but consenual under the blanket of prostitution so much that I think I'll put it as dub con due to lack on comfort and ability to say no. None it is shown but the aftermath is, and Javi provides aftercare although he was not a participant. Smut today! The usual smut warnings I'm not gonna detail everything lol it's nothing crazy like my usual lol, there's lots of oral, piv sex, teasing, begging. B

For the record, this is a fic that takes place in the drug trade and deals with the darker side of humanity, so anything from Narco's and Triple Frontier is liable to be discussed or mentioned here. This is your warning. This is not a dark fic nor is it centered around dark themes like Leather and Lace or Sunshine Starlight Sweetheart Brightside, but they are open to be talked about.

Reader has a nick name: Candy. Not her real name just what she goes by on her profession. Much of the inspo for this and for the title came from the Bruce Springsteen song “Candy’s room” so check it out for the vibes.

Reader speaks Spanish and had hair. I've decided Candy is just latina coded bc she's a sex worker in colombia so this is what I'm doing.

4.3 words, a good chunk of which was written by my beloved Fen. I've been rather burnt out of smut lately, and I wanted this to be good to establish Candy and Javier's connection and chemistry so my dear @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction wrote ALL THE SMUT FOR ME. They write wonderful fanfiction so pleeaasseeee check out their work!!

Support writers! Reblog and comment!

*****************

“And just what do you want to know this time, Peña?” You say, leaned up against the wall under a poster of Farrah Faucet.

Javier stepped up to you, broad frame and tall figure encasing you up against the wall of your apartment. He was anything but intimidating, and he wasn’t trying to be; Javier Peña was a good man, even if he didn’t think he was. You couldn’t help but care for him, blurring the lines of what a hooker and a John’s relationship should be, but you couldn’t help it, and Javi knew. Javi was protective of the women he sleeps with, and you were no exception. In addition to getting you out of legal trouble a few times, he had helped you when you had issues with creepy, dangerous men and had even helped a friend or two.

He was someone you trusted and someone whose time you looked forward to; someone who made you cum, multiple times and hard. But it was more than that. Javier was gentle with you, fucking you hard but never leaving a mark and if he thought you were tired or in pain from previous activities, he’d allow you to take care of him in other ways, even down to a hand job. He loved connection, but he loved your comfort more.

Once, after a grueling bondage session with impact play from another client, you had been left worn, bruised, and in pain when Javi called you for a late night fuck. Sure. You could squeeze him in although you had been looking forward to giving yourself aftercare since clients didn’t pay for that side of things.

Javi had come over in his usual charm, making out on the couch and grinding against you as per usual, touching you sensually to warm you up, but when he slid off your skirt and tried to touch you only to find you dry he stopped. “What’s wrong?”

You had tried to insist nothing was wrong, tried to promise it was fine; you had lube for a reason. When he lifted up your skirt and saw the bruises forming on your skin, he went into a rage.

“WHO THE HELL DID THIS?”

Eventually, you are able to calm him down and start to explain the concept of BDSM to him and he tells you that no one should be leaving marks like that. He gestures to the bruises and the welts

“He pays for it and I let him, Javi. You don’t have to be a hero to something I consent to.”

He begins to settle, tracing the bruises that showed despite your tan skin and the dim lighting. Yeah, okay, maybe they were kinda bad. He’d gotten carried away with the belt, but you had said he could use a belt. Technically, you could tell him to stop, or to go less hard… but this world didn’t look kindly on whores who had rules.

“Where all did he hurt you?” Checking your exposed skin over but not undressing you anymore, Javier’s lips were pursed into a hard line and his eyebrows drawn together in focus. It was mainly just your ass that had taken the beating. Javi carried you to your bed, gently laying you down on your stomach and asked if you had any aloe vera. When you said no, he ran down to the bodega down the street. Javier took care of you that night, providing the after care you hadn’t gotten and held you close the remainder of the time he had asked for. That morning despite not giving sex and thus not expecting payment, you found the money he had promised on your kitchen counter.

“Can’t I just take time out of my day to visit my favorite girl?” He asked, leaning over you with his forearm pressed against the wall above you.

You scoff playfully. “You tell that to all your girls?”

Javi’s lip quirks up, eye squinting in a small smile that crinkled at the corners, showing the early signs of age on his handsome face. Pushing 40 looked nice on him. “I do, but you’re the only one I mean it with.” He solidified his tease with a wink.

“Really?” You raise your own eyebrow in turn. “This has nothing to do with Lorea?”

At that, Javi pushes himself off the wall with a laugh, a genuine and hearty laugh that you love to see. “You’re a quick one, arentcha, Candy?” He crosses his arms, hip popped and takes in your whole body. He wasn’t just here for information on Lorea, after all. He’s never just here for information.

“Gotta keep an ear to the ground, never know when it’ll come in handy, like-” You gently shove him with one hand. “Getting me that visa.”

His playful manner faded but his face remained soft. “If it were up to me, I would.”

You knew that, of course. There really was no reason for the DEA to give you a vida; you’d been helpful, but nothing groundbreaking and there was no reason to believe your life was at risk so you were stuck. There were some days, however, that you dreamed… dreamed of moving to America… maybe with Javi… but those were just daydreams to get you through.

“I know, baby. Now, enough talking” Javi opened his mouth to protest, but you pressed a finger up against those lips. “We can go over what I know and what I can find out while you give me that after-sex massage.” You hook your finger on his collar and start pulling him towards the bedroom.

“Oh, I see” He teases before grabbing your wrist, yanking it and twirling you towards him in order to wrap you up in his arms. “You think you’re in charge, all of a sudden?”

You smile sweetly at him, purposefully batting your eyelashes. There’s a familiar edge to his tone that you recognise immediately. One that just activates every bratty bone in your body.

“When am I not in charge, Javi?” You purr.

He stares at you for a second, his muscles tense as he holds you, that split second of quiet before all hell breaks loose.

And then he pounces.

With a snarl his lips meet yours, all tongue and teeth as his right hand snakes up to grab your jaw and tilt your head up to meet him. The pressure is firm, controlling, but careful. Safe.

He swallows down your chuckle and pushes you back against the wall firmly, moving his left arm to cradle your head from any real force. His facial hair scratches at your skin as he trails sloppy kisses and light bites over your cheek, down to your neck where he’s light enough not to leave a bruise but hard enough to leave you wanting.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, tugging at his shirt as he slides his hand to your shorts and pops the top button.

His fingers are warm against your skin and he wastes little time, barely undoing the zip, before he’s pushing his hand under the waistband.

Javi groans, the sound low and deep in his chest as he realises you’re not wearing any underwear. He slips his forefinger over your clit, circling it lightly. His mouth hovers near yours, sharing your air, his hot breath against your cheek as he watches your face.

The second you bite your lip, trying to muffle that first little whine of pleasure, he sinks two fingers into your heat and presses his thumb against your bundle of nerves.

It’s a little awkward at this angle with the tight denim of your shorts still on your hips. He can’t quite sink as deep as you’d like, as you need. But you know he’s doing this on purpose. Working you up without giving you true relief. Wanting to make you beg.

You squirm against him, trying to wriggle and get the angle just right.

“What’s wrong, mi amor?” He whispers teasingly. “Something wrong?”

“Javi…” Your voice comes out in a whine and he chuckles.

“Can’t the princesa ask for what she wants?” He lightly scraps the edge of his short nail against your clit, dragging downwards before falling back into the previous rubbing rhythm.

You bite back a moan, screwing up your eyes as he presses lightly at that perfect spot inside before quickly moving his fingers away. “Please.”

“Please what?”

You glare at him.

“Please what?” He strokes against you again and you gasp, your words falling out in a jumble.

“Please sir.” You spit, shooting him a dark look that you know he’ll love.

He chuckles, pressing the heavy bulge in his jeans against your thigh. “Oh, someone’s in a bratty mood today, aren’t they?” He kisses your mouth, not giving you a chance to retort back. And nips at your bottom lip as you slide your hands into his hair.

He circles your clit faster, grinding against your leg as you scrape your nails across his scalp. “Fuck,” he breaks the kiss and presses his forehead against yours. His eyes screw shut as he drags his thick cock against your skin. How the jean’s button hasn’t pinged open from the strain of the size of him, you’ll never know. The burn of the denim against your thigh is oddly pleasant, the shallow thrust of his hips just punctuating the slick glide of his fingers in and out of you.

The air catches in your throat as you try to hold in your moan and Javi’s eyes snap open. The look he gives you is dark and hungry.

He tuts. “Oh, no, we can’t have that, can we?” He hooks his left thumb through a belt loop and tugs your shorts down over your ass before letting them drop the rest of the way to the floor.

Now, without the material’s restriction, he sinks his fingers deeper into you. Curling them perfectly against your walls, your slick coating his skin. Liquid pleasure flows along your nerves and steals your breath.

You grab hold of Javi’s shoulders, your fingernails digging in as your back arches. “Ah- oh god!”

He shakes his head, a condescending frown on his face. “Shouldn’t take the Lord’s name in vain. I thought you were a good little Catholic?”

“Javi, please-”

“Not good enough.” He grows in your ear before suddenly pulling his fingers out of you and dropping to his knees.

You gasp, but don’t have longer than a second to lament the loss before his mouth is on you. He sucks your clit into his mouth, pinching the bud lightly between his teeth as he flicks over it with his tongue. At the same time he grabs a hold of your thighs, spreading you wide and hooking your right leg over his shoulder.

He groans deeply, savoring your taste as he sinks his fingers back into your aching folds.

You moan loudly, grabbing onto Javi’s hair for support as he fucks you with his fingers and tongue, pushing up and against you so hard that you have to balance on the tip of your left toes and trust in his strong arms to support you.

The words that fall from your lips are boarding on incoherent, whimpered out sounds of ‘more’ and ‘please’ that barely sting together. Javi knew your body far too well by now and used every single trick he had in fucking you dumb as quickly as he could.

You fight your body’s urge to clamp your legs around his face, even though his forearm pressed firmly against your thigh would stop you from getting too far anyway.

Your orgasm builds dizzyingly fast, just scratching on the edge of your mind. Your hips buck against his mouth wildly, no longer under your own control and instead just following Javi’s tantalizing rhythm.

“Javi, fuck-” This is what you love about having sex with Javi; it felt normal, it was fun, it was good, and you gt paid for it. Win/win.

He growls low in his throat approvingly as you tug on his hair, trying to warn him of how close you are. He thrusts his fingers deeper, pushes his face against you completely as if he had no need for oxygen as he grinds against you.

Heat sparks up from your core and you come against him with a sharp cry, tears in your eyes from the force of it. The ecstasy overwhelms you, so sharp it is almost painful as he pulls your orgasm out from your soaking folds, demanding your pleasure.

He only moves his mouth away from you and stills his hand when he feels you slump a little against him, your limbs turning boneless.

You breathe heavily, almost light headed as you come back to yourself.

When you look down, you see Javi looking up at you with a shit eating grin that makes you want to slap him playfully.

“I think that was the fastest one yet, hermosa?”

You scowl at him, but can’t keep the smile from your lips. “Maybe.” You say finally.

Javi chuckles, pressing kisses to your thigh and slowly pulls his fingers out of you with a wet drawn out pop.

“Hmm, look at what a mess you made?” He raises his eyebrow teasingly as he holds up his fingers for you to see. Your creamy slick covers his fingers, catching the light as he moves his hand before he licks them clean. Purposefully making a show of it.

He waits until you begin to speak before he swipes his tongue through your folds.

“Javi,” you begin to chastise.

“Just cleaning up your mess.” He mutters, dipping his tongue back inside. He hums approvingly, dragging his tongue along your slit and swirling around your clit before diving back in.

“Javi-”

“Didn’t realize how messy you are.” He moans against your core. “Gonna take longer than I thought it would.”

You whine as he curls his tongue inside, pressing against your clit with the bridge of his nose. That familiar heat begins to build between your legs. You worry your lip between your teeth, letting the sensation tighten in your belly until it becomes too much.

You tug on his hair, pulling him away from you. The bottom half of his face shining.

“Tesoro, ” you breath, “if you don’t fuck me now, I’m gonna-”

“Oh, you’re gonna what?” He raises his eyebrows at you.

You pause, then pout. “Cry.”

He chuckles and sighs, getting up. “You sure have me bent around your little finger, bebita.”

“What?” You blink at him in mock surprise, “I don’t know what you mean, you’re the one incharge here.”

“Sure.” He murmurs, lightly taking hold of your chin again to kiss you deeply. He intentionally wipes some of your wetness from his cheek onto yours as he moves back, a cheeky smirk on his face.

You tut, but he quickly kisses you again, wrapping his arms around you and pulling off your top and bra, quickly followed by his own clothes.

His cock is burning and hard as he rubs it firmly against your skin, only breaking contact to grab hold of your ass and lift you up. He presses you against the wall and raises your legs to his hips, which you quickly wrap around him with a yelp and a giggle into his neck.

“Gonna fuck me against the wall, sir?”

“Mmm hmm.”

You grin. “Can’t wait the ten seconds it will take to get to the bed?”

He shakes his head. “Nope. Plus I want Farrah to see.” He nods to the Farrah Faucet poster above you.

You snort and shake your head at him. “You’re such a goof.”

He kisses your cheek, rubbing firm circles into your thighs with his fingers as he holds you up. He slowly rubs the head of his cock against you, rocking his hips to make swallow circles.

“You fucking love it.” He mutters against your lips as he thrusts into you.

You moan as he fills you, the stretch of him igniting your deep burn of arousal into a full on blaze.

“That’s it, that’s better isn’t it? Better for you to be full of my cock, sweet thing.” He mutters as he sheethes himself fully inside, the head of him rubbing perfectly deep.

You barely manage a nod before he starts moving, fucking you hard against the wall. His hand once again around the back of your head to stop it from smacking against the plaster.

You hang on for dear life, your fingernails digging into his skin unintentionally as he hits that sweet spot again and again and again, knowing he would take care of you, relentless in his pursuit of your pleasure.

You kiss him hard between your moans and gasp for breath, biting sharply at his bottom lip and whining when he nips you back.

He shifts his weight slightly, pushing forward with his left leg and your back arches as he presses deeper, your legs shaking. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoes around your apartment. Javi mutters in half broken sentences under his breath, jumbles of words that would probably still be incoherent if you weren’t distracted by the way rams into you. How he hits every sweet soft so perfectly.

Pleasure builds in your stomach, your toes curl as he keeps up his relentless pace. Not giving you a moment of reprieve as your hurtle towards your second orgasm.

You squeeze his biceps, trying to stave off your pleasure for a moment longer, but it’s seemingly impossible with the way he moves in you.

“Gonna make me cum, baby.” You whine in his ear and Javi’s thrusts stutter for the smallest moment, a quiet groan escaping his lips before he recovers himself and focuses all his energy on stuffing himself into you at the exact same pace.

“That’s it baby,” he grunts, sweat beading on his brow, “squeeze my cock, cum for me-oh shit!”

You cum hard against him, gasping as your walls clamp down around his thick length and digging your nails into his skin. For a second it’s like you're floating.

He thrusts twice more before he buries himself to the hilt and cums deep, pressing his face into your neck and he groans and shakes with the force of it.

You hold him for a second as he breathes hard, still pinning you to the wall. Once he regained his own composer, Javi took note of your shaking legs and knew as soon as his body weight was taken off you, you were going to sink to the floor. Always a caretaker, Javi gripped your thighs and hoisted you up; instinctively your legs wrapped around him as he carried you to your bed.

“Rub my back?”

“Happily.”

Moments like this seemed so domestic with him, seemed like you were just a normal couple spending a sweaty summer day in bed. Never mind the fact he had 10 minutes before he needed to get the hell out of here before your next client showed up, lest they ran the risk of running into each other. Always a little awkward, and you always tried to schedule a little time in between clients to prevent such meetings. Nothing but class in Candy’s room.

“What do you wanna know about Gabriel?” Candy asks him, the sun from her open window illuminating golden off the skin of her back. She lazily smoked a cigarette that Javi gave her; it was practically an agreed upon part of payment at this point.

“Do we really have to just jump into it? Feels so transactional.”

She laughed at that. “Well it is a transaction, Peña. I’m not just calling you up on a random Tuesday to talk drug lords.”

“Yeah, okay. What do you know? Apparently enough if you’re on a first name basis.”

She shrugged. “That’s pretty standard. I’m not going to call him Señor Lorea while he’s balls d-”

“I get the picture.”

Candy gave him some information that was useful to start with; where he socializes with other deals and producers (and hookers), how many children he has, and where they go to school (after making him promise the children wouldn’t be involved), and a few other details. Candy said she could find out more with some time, but Javi had to work to get her out of Colombia.

“C’mon, you gotta get going before my next client.”

Javier groaned loudly, not wanting to move away from her. “I’ll pay for any time he’s paying for.”

“That’s not how it works, I can’t just call him up and cancel, this isn’t a dinner date.”

“You’re telling me you don’t have his number?” Javi teased, trailing his finger down her spin, noting the way it was more visible than the last time he noticed. He wondered if she was eating okay, or if this was a by-produce of coke parties.

“Most clients want to stay anonymous, they don’t want me calling them in the middle of the day to play boyfriend-girlfriend.”

Javi gently flicked her shoulder, making her giggle. “It’s for your safety, Candy”

“Oh yeah, I won’t know how to get a hold of you otherwise, I can’t just walk into the DEA office, heaven forbid.”

“Well, you could-”

“Can’t let the whole office know you solicit hookers.”

“I think that ship sailed.”

“Your sweet little catholic boy of a partner would have a heart attack.”

Javi chuckled at that. For his own privacy and everyone’s safety, Javi never told Candy the names of his partners; except for Steve, but Steve had met her several times. He did, however, give them all nick names if they stayed around long enough, and Santi’s was obvious. “Pope turns into a blushing virgin every time we have to go to a- a, uuhhhhh” He hesitated on what to call it without offending Candy.

“A whore house?”

“You said it, not me”

Candy turned over and smiled, shoving at him. “Go, I gotta wipe your cum out of me. This boy is a bit of a blushing virgin himself so I gotta be thorough.”

With an over dramatic groan, Javi rolled over and put out his cigarette and took Candy’s to put it out for her. Still, he stuck around as she went to the bathroom to clean up. He lit up a fresh one as he took a look around the apartment. It was clean, dressed up in an effort to hide how cheap the place actually was; posters covering cracks from age and holes made by angry clients, a carpet covering the scratches from when one shoved her into her side table, curtains perpetually covering a side window to hide the bullet hole and duct tape from when a John’s wife caught them. He wanted better for her, he did. He wanted better for all the women he was involved with, for his community, that’s why he did what he did. But Candy was special. He’d been trying to get her a visa for years, but she hadn’t given anything big enough and her life hadn’t been put in danger on behalf of the government for her to be granted one.

Least he could do was fix her window next time. Let a little sun in.

He looked over the posters. “You got an Aubrey Hephburn poster yet?”

“No, surprisingly.”

“Good, I got you one I saw at a store. Didn’t wanna bring it in case you had one already.”

Candy poked her head out of the bathroom, watching Javi pull on his socks and shoes as he sat on the bed, jeans still unbuttoned. “Javi! You didn’t!”

“I did, hermosa, I’ll bring it next time.”

Grinning, she turned back to fix up her hair in the mirror. “You’re the best, I’m going to give you the best blowjob of your life. Can you hand me some lingerie, baby?”

“Making me pick out what you’re wearing for your next boyfriend, awfully messy.” He teased, but found a red and black bra and panty set.

She dressed as Javier finished smoking his second cigarette.

“Alright! Out!” Candy walked out of the bathroom in a silky, fluffy robe. Javier couldn’t help but smirk at the juxtaposition between how she looked for this new man and him. For him, Candy was perfectly happy to be dressed down with him comfortable, herself. She didn’t have to dress up for him.

As she ushered him out the door, Candy planted a kiss on his cheek before opening it, only to find Santiago on the other side of the door, leaned up against the wall.

“Diego!” Candy said, sounding surprised. “You’re early.”

Santiago, however, was staring wide-eyed at Javier with a strike of fear in him.

“Garcia, what the hell are you doing here?” Javi couldn’t help the jealousy that crept up in him, instinctively trying to wrap an arm around her that Candy shrugged off. What was he doing with her? He needed to be careful, a DEA agent in bed with a prostitute that was frequented by powerful and dangerous men, he was setting her up for harm. Santiago couldn’t protect her like him.

“I… I was going to wait until it-it’s time… I didn’t want… to be… rudeImsorryIllgo” Santi averted his eyes and headed back towards the stairs. He stopped only long enough to stuff his hand into his pocket, pulling out the money he was going to pay her and sitting it on a wide guard rail before descending down the several flights of stairs.

Candy turned to Javi. “What the hell was that?”

Grabbing the money and placing it in Candy’s hands. “My partner.” Javi quickly ran down the stairs, following after the flustered kid. “GARCIA!”

*****************************

CATS OUT OF THE BAAAAGGGGGG

Poor little flustered santi ;-; I love him.

And my precious, protective baby boy.

Also, THERES A PLAYLIST NOW! Please comment songs you think fic the vibe. 70's music but 80's and 60's is okay too, even outside of those decades as long as they fit the vibe or the content (I.e. I have some Lana Del Rey because I think it sounds right, or I have sugar sugar by the archies bc the line "you are my candy girl" etc.)

Gonna take a moment to plus my latest series on my dark blog, Blessed be the Fruit, a Handmaid's Tale AU with Joel (and some Tommy) it is a dark fic so dub con due to the nature of the AU, but not the gaphic horrors of TWW.

Again, thank you thank you thank you for my beleoved Fen for writing the smut!

Comment to be added the tag list!

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